Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 24, 1991

The sitting room hearth in Potter Manor billowed and grew as an anxious werewolf floo’d through, the green flames nipping harmlessly at his soot-covered ankles. The light faded as quickly as it appeared and the room settled back into the near-darkness of shadowy twilight.

“James!” Remus Lupin called, his voice frantic. “James, where are you?”

A wearied voice answered him from the next room. “In here!”

Remus hurried through the empty, shadowed sitting room and into the brightly-lit kitchen. James was perched on a barstool at one of the long kitchen counters; his expression was tight and worried, his black hair even more wild than it usually was. 

“I came as quickly as I could,” Remus said, rushing forward to grasp his friend’s shoulder in a supportive gesture. “What can I do? Can I make you a cup of tea? Something stronger?”

“Tea would hit the spot,” James grimaced. “I’d like something stronger, but, you know…just in case they call…”

Remus nodded understandingly and moved towards the hob, filling the kettle with a swish of his wand. “Are Jack and Neville asleep?”

“Yeah,” James nodded tightly. “They don’t know what’s happening or where Lily’s gone. They just think she’s working a bit late.”

Lily had left the manor an hour earlier, her Auror robes wrapped tightly with battle armour and warding runes. James was proud of her, of course, but he’d often wished she’d chosen a safer line of work.

But not tonight. Tonight, he was glad of his wife’s warlike nature, her fierce protectiveness; tonight, he hoped she found a way to bring their long lost son home.

“I’m guessing the old guard went with her? Including Sirius, of course. He owled me from work to let me know what was going on.” Remus pushed a steaming mug of chamomile tea towards his friend with a faintly shaking hand.

“Yep. Lily got special dispensation from Kingsley to take civilians as long as they’d been a part of the Order. She’s bringing Dumbledore, of all people.”

“Dumbledore?” Remus huffed, eyebrows raised. “I’ll be damned. That makes me feel a lot better about it all.”

James smiled weakly. “‘Spose so.”

“Have you eaten?” Remus asked.

“No…I fed the boys but I couldn’t bear to eat anything myself. Nerves, I guess.”

Remus nodded. “Right, let’s get some food in you then. I meant to cook for Sirius when he got home so I haven’t eaten either. Mind if I whip something up?”

“Be my guest,” James waved a hand dismissively.

“Looks like you’ve got…eggs, sausage, potatoes…I can make a hash?” Remus said, peering into their charmed pantry.

“It’ll be a miracle if I’m able to eat anything, just so you know. Make whatever you’d like,” James shrugged. He shoved his hands under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m just…Merlin, I just don’t know how this could have happened. It still doesn’t feel real.”

Remus nodded slowly. “I only got a quick summary from Sirius. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Hah! The beginning,” James laughed dryly, dropping his head onto the counter. “Where’s the beginning? Was it when he killed Harry? Or was it when we lost Harry’s body?”

And in fairness, neither James nor Lily really knew where the trouble had started. 

They’d both fought in the war against Voldemort as members of the Order of the Phoenix, at least until Lily fell pregnant with twins. But once Harry and Jack were born they’d been forced into hiding, desperate to avoid the attentions of a prophecy-obsessed Voldemort.

It hadn’t worked.

They were betrayed, the Fidelus charm broken, and on Halloween of 1981 Voldemort had stormed their home in a murderous passion. James had fought him off as long as he could, grateful that Lily had forced him to buy a dueling holster for his wand - how long would he have lasted if he hadn’t kept his wand close? - but inevitably, he was felled by a wicked curse and left for dead.

Next, Voldemort had to contend with Lily. She blocked his passage just outside the nursery, raining spells down on him like hellfire. She was a glorious duelist, a lioness incarnate, but even she was no match for the darkest wizard of their age. 

He cut her to pieces, believing her dead, and stepped over her body towards the nursery.

No one knows what happened next. James and Lily were incapacitated and near death; it took almost a year for them to recover from their wounds and they were unconscious for most of it. They were in no state to witness the downfall of Lord Voldemort at the hands of a toddler.

But, unbelievably, where two fully-trained, battle tested wixen had failed, Jack had succeeded. When the dust had cleared and the Aurors had arrived, they’d found a living child crying in his crib. A shining, bloodied wound stretched like a lightning bolt across his left temple and the corpse of Lord Voldemort was laid out in the rubble before them.

His twin, Harry, had not survived the encounter. His body wore a lightning bolt wound as well, on his forehead just over his right eye. But where Jack’s wound eventually healed until it was nothing but a faint pale scar on copper skin, Harry’s would forever be preserved in death.

Or so they’d thought.

James grit his teeth angrily. He’d seen the pictures, of course, and knew what the wound had looked like - he knew what a horrible thing it was to see Harry’s tiny, innocent body, his form too still and his green eyes empty of life - but neither he nor Lily had gotten a chance to bury their son. 

His body had been stolen from the morgue of St Mungo's mere hours after it had arrived. 

No one knew for sure who’d done it, but the general consensus was that Death Eaters had broken into St Mungo’s, eager for any form of revenge they could manage.

For years, the theft had tortured their family. Bad enough that they’d lost a beloved child - that Jack had lost his twin - but they had no closure, no grave to visit. James couldn’t even bear to think of what use a child’s corpse might be to a magic user and the fear of unknown defilement kept him awake on many a long night.

Their family hadn’t been the only ones to suffer the consequences of that cursed Halloween. James and Lily were unconscious for months healing from their spell wounds and during that time Sirius had been thrown in Azkaban. He hadn’t been their secret keeper, of course - they’d switched to Peter at the last minute - but still, without James and Lily to vouch for him, nothing could be proven. Once James had woken up he didn’t rest until Sirius had been freed, but it had taken a long time for his friend to recover from even that brief period of incarceration. 

It had taken even longer for his relationship with Remus to recover, as they’d each believed the other one had turned traitor.

And unfortunately, when James and Lily had woken up, Sirius’ incarceration wasn’t the only tragedy they’d missed. They discovered that Lily’s godson Neville Longbottom had been effectively orphaned, his parents tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange. Frank and Alice had been especially close with Lily and their loss was devastating.

But eventually they had healed. Remus and Sirius were happier and more in love than ever. James and Lily had bruised souls but otherwise experienced no lasting effects. And the Boy Who Lived, Jack Potter, was as healthy and charming as expected for a boy his age. 

He’d even gained an adoptive brother; Lily had witnessed Neville being dangled out a window by his great uncle in the fall of 1989 and had subsequently fought tooth and nail for guardianship, furious that Neville’s grandmother had allowed such abuses under her roof.

They were a small family, a family shaped by tragedy, but life was good. 

They had moved on; they had accepted that Alice and Frank would never recover, that they would never find Harry’s body, that they would never know why Harry and Voldemort had died but Jack had lived.

It was funny how life could surprise you. How it could horrify you.

Albus Dumbledore had apparated to the manor earlier that afternoon, his face white as a sheet.

“I need to speak with you both privately,” he’d announced, interrupting their lunch.

James was bemused but Lily had nodded quickly, leaping into action with the cool nerves of an experienced Auror. “Boys, why don’t you take your lunch upstairs?”

“Can we play Super Mario during?!” Jack asked excitedly, his auburn hair wild and glasses crooked.

“Sure,” James grinned. “Gotta practice if you’re going to beat your mom’s high score.”

“We’ll practice, Uncle James,” Neville said seriously, his expression determined.

They’d watched the boys scramble upstairs with their plates, small bits of carrot falling on the polished wooden floors.

“I apologize for dropping in so suddenly,” Dumbledore grimaced, waving his wand to cast a privacy ward. “This matter cannot wait. As you know, the Hogwarts letters are going out tomorrow morning. Rowena’s Quill has just finished addressing the last few envelopes so Minerva and I were reviewing them, and, well...”

Lily gasped. “Oh my - did Neville not get one? He hasn’t shown any accidental magic, but we’d hoped…”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Both Neville and Jack will be attending Hogwarts in September. No, I’m afraid this matter is much stranger…”

He held out an envelope.

James grabbed it quickly and skimmed the address. He suddenly froze, his dark skin taking on a gray pallor as he blanched.

“Is this some kind of fucked up joke?” he croaked.

“Language, James, honestly,” Lily sighed, grabbing the envelope from his hands. “It couldn’t - oh.”

Mr H Potter

Cell 314

Vauxhall Research Complex

Lavenham, Suffolk

“This is impossible,” she whispered, her hands shaking.

“Rowena’s Quill does not make mistakes,” Dumbledore said gravely. 

“Dear god,” Lily choked. She threw the letter onto the table and stared at James with wide eyes. “A cell. He lives in a cell!”

“He’s alive,” James said numbly. 

They sat together for a moment, stunned into silence.

“I have to go get him,” Lily blurted out, throwing herself to her feet. “I need to - I have to get to the office. I need to speak with Kingsley.”

“May I offer my services?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, god yes, thank you Albus. James, love, I’m going to get dressed. I’ll send a Patronus when we have more information.”

“Send a Patronus?” James yelped, jumping to his feet. “Fuck that, I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Lily said sternly. “You’ve been out of action for almost ten years now. I’m a trained auror, Sirius is a trained Auror, and there are other Aurors at the Ministry who would be thrilled to help us as well. We’re going to rally some forces and bring Harry home.”

And if I die, at least Jack will have one parent left. The sentence was unspoken but it hung heavy in the air.

“Fine,” James choked. “Fine. Just…send me an update when you can.”

“I will,” Lily promised, rushing close and kissing him quickly. “I love you, James. Albus, we can floo from here directly to Kingsley’s office.”

“Excellent. Lead the way, my dear.”

That had been hours ago. The boys had played video games all day before going to bed and James was still sitting in the kitchen, waiting. 

It was late now and the evening had crawled by at a snail’s pace. He would give anything, anything, for answers.

“So the letter was addressed to him, then?” Remus said finally, their food forgotten.

“Looks like it,” James sighed, rumpling his hair with a worried hand. “I just - I wish I knew what was going on. He was dead. Dead for hours. Sirius confirmed it, Dumbledore confirmed it, the bloody doctors at St Mungo’s confirmed it, even…”

James paused, his throat suddenly thick with emotion.

“But - but I never saw his body,” he said finally, choking on his despair. “So maybe he was alive. And he’s been alone all this time, for a decade…”

“James, you can’t think like that,” Remus said quietly. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

James struggled to regain his composure as they sat together in the quiet kitchen.

Ten minutes later, an enormous stag Patronus materialized before them.

“We found him, James,” the Patronus said with Lily’s voice. “He’s alive. Come to the children’s ward at St Mungo’s. We’ve connected a direct floo to the manor that should be active for the next ten minutes.”

James gasped and jumped to his feet, looking at his friend with desperate eyes. “Remus -”

“Go,” Remus ordered, pushing James towards the sitting room. “Don’t grab a coat, don’t get anything, just go. I’ll watch Jack and Neville. Go now.”

James nodded jerkily and darted towards the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder from an urn and cast it into the hearth.

“St Mungo’s Children’s Ward,” he yelled, throwing himself into the green flames.

He fell out into a sanitized hallway filled with green-robed healers. They all seemed so calm and collected as they watched him stumble out of the fire. 

Their composure was strange and foreign to James; how could they not see that everything was changing, that everything was falling apart?

“Mr Potter?” a red haired woman asked politely. “Your wife is waiting for you in room sixteen. If you’ll follow me, please.”

James nodded, straightening his jumper with shaking hands, and followed the woman towards a closed door.

“I recommend speaking quietly,” the healer whispered. “You don’t want to startle him.”

“Of course,” James croaked, his throat suddenly dry.

The door opened silently and James stepped inside the small room, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lily was here, of course, sitting in a chair near the bed in the center of the room. Her red Auror robes and body armour were gone, all shed in favor of a loose ratty sweater. Even in old clothes, she was gloriously beautiful; she smiled at James with tired green eyes, her hand restlessly tucking a stray red lock behind her ear. Sirius was there as well, haunting the corner of the room like an unfairly attractive punk-rock ghost, his expression tight with stress.

And there, on the hospital bed, sat a miniature version of James himself; too skinny and with a stranger’s eyes - his irises were not familiar green but as red as fresh blood - yet still, it was undeniably Harry. It was his son.

“Oh,” James whispered tearfully, walking slowly towards the bed.

Sirius stepped forward from the corner of the room and gestured towards an empty chair at Lily’s side. “Sit down, Prongs,” he whispered. “I’ll grab you both something to drink. Coffee? Tea?”

“I - oh, Harry,” James choked, ignoring Sirius and falling into the empty chair.

“Coffee, I think,” Lily murmured. “Thank you, Sirius.”

Harry looked at them with a blank expression, his eerie eyes calm.

“How can this be?” James whispered.

“Harry, this is your father, James,” Lily said quietly, taking James’ hand in her own.

Harry peered at him curiously. “James,” he said slowly, savoring the word like a sweet candy.

James laughed brokenly. “It’s so wonderful to see you Harry - may I hold your hand?”

Harry nodded slowly, reaching out a small light brown hand with a serious expression.

James held onto his son like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. He stared, enchanted - this was Harry, his Harry, here in the flesh. He looked so much like his twin - a thinner, malnourished version - and yet he looked so different. Where Jack’s hair was auburn and curling like his mothers, Harry had the wild black locks of the Potter line; Jack’s eyes were both a lush, forest green, while Harry’s red eyes were almost frightening in their intensity of color. But they both had their mother’s high, sharp cheekbones; they both had James’ dusky sienna complexion and full lips.

“I didn’t realize I had parents,” Harry said quietly. His voice was even - no accusations, no excitement, no emotion at all.

James felt his heart shatter. 

He blinked away tears and smiled weakly. “Well, you do,” he huffed, trying to laugh. “We’re so, so happy to have you home.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Is it true that I have a brother?”

“Yes,” James nodded. “A fraternal twin. His name is Jack. You’ll get to meet him soon. You also have an adoptive brother, Neville. He moved in with us last year. He’s not blood related but he’s a part of our family nonetheless.”

“Our family,” Harry nodded. “That includes me?”

“Yes, sweet boy,” Lily murmured, running a hand through Harry’s hair. His eyes closed blissfully and he leaned into the touch. “You have so much family and they’re all so excited to meet you. You have an Uncle Remus and an Uncle Severus and an Aunt Molly - and a hundred other aunts and uncles.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed contentedly. “That’s a lot of people.” He lay back against his pillow while Lily pet his hair. After a moment, his eyes cracked open.

“But you don’t trust them, do you?” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “I can’t tell them what I did. You said so.”

James saw a flash of wariness cross Lily’s face.

“No,” Lily agreed. “Like we discussed, you can only speak about that with James, Uncle Sirius, Uncle Remus, and myself.”

“Not even Mr Dumbledore?”

“Not even him.”

“Okay,” Harry breathed, closing his eyes again. After a moment his movements stilled and he fell asleep, his tiny figure falling further into the mess of blankets around him.

James waved his wand and whispered a quick privacy spell so that Harry wouldn’t be disturbed by their conversation.

“What was that about?” he asked quietly.

Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“When we found Harry…it was bad,” she said finally.

“Bad how?” James asked, his heart clenching.

“He was being kept in an underground research facility out in Suffolk - it was a small muggle facility, only run by a few people, but it had really advanced equipment and…and…” Lily’s expression grew furious. “They were keeping him locked up there like a lab rat, James. A fucking lab rat! They were performing experiments on him and torturing him! We found files and recordings and it was horrible, just years of awful, awful abuse -”

She dissolved into angry tears, her teeth bared in a feral grimace. James reached out and grabbed her desperately, pulling her to his chest in a frantic embrace.

After a moment, she continued.

“It took us a while but we finally found his cell,” she spat. “When we broke him out he seemed so sick and weak. He had a huge metal collar on and every time we touched it, our hands would go numb. It wouldn’t respond to any spells either. We had to find the key somewhere, so Sirius set a charm that would compel all the muggles in the building to join us in one of the break rooms. Eventually he convinced them to show us where the keys were kept. Dumbledore was still outside making sure none of the alarms would go off so he didn’t see - we got the collar off Harry and he just -”

She stopped, panting, her pale skin sallow and ill.

“What happened, Lils?” James whispered.

“Once his collar was gone he seemed so much stronger. He could stand on his own so I let him - but then he saw the researchers huddled there, completely vulnerable, and he just raised a hand and - and he used his magic to - to behead them all. Just like that, without even using a wand or saying a word.”

James felt dizzy.

That was impossible.

“No,” he whispered, horrified.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said haltingly, her expression haunted. “He didn’t even blink, didn’t even look upset or - or anything. He just - he waved a hand and their heads just toppled away from their bodies.”

James felt his chest constrict. “Well - well he was traumatized,” he said quickly, his eyes darting back and forth between his sleeping son and his wife’s devastated gaze. “Who can say what they did to him? We can’t - we can’t -”

“I know,” Lily interrupted. “We can’t tell anyone. No one can know. It’s not his fault. I don’t know how he did it, but it’s not his fault.”

James nodded slowly, his mind racing. “Yes. He’s just a child - he couldn’t possibly be performing wandless, wordless magic…”

“And even if he did, he’s a traumatized little boy,” Lily breathed, her expression ferocious. “I won’t let anyone take him away from us, James. Not again.”

They clung to one another as they watched their son sleep, a strange sense of foreboding settling deep into their souls.

Chapter Text

October 31, 1981

It was Halloween and something bad had happened. Harry knows he was scared - there were loud noises and his mother was yelling, screaming - but then there was pain and everything went dark.

He found himself floating in deep black water. 

It was peaceful and quiet. He liked it there. No one was yelling or screaming and his head wasn’t hurting anymore. He decided to stay.

You can go back, you know, a strange voice said.

Harry looked to his right. A handsome man with red eyes floated next to him, clutching his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, the voice continued. I wasn’t supposed to break away from the Self. Now I’m in you, though, so I suppose I’ll have to make the best of it. Can we go back?

Harry was only a year old. He didn’t understand what the voice was saying, not really. But he saw a pinprick of light appear in the water and he reached towards it with a chubby hand.

That’s right, the voice said excitedly. Grab the light!

Harry giggled and reached and the black water swirled around him -

Moments later, his eyes snapped open. His face hurt and he was hungry and he cried.

“Merlin’s saggy tits!” a man’s voice shouted. “He’s alive! That’s not possible!”

“Quiet, you idiot!” a woman hissed. “It doesn’t change anything. We’ll bring him to the old sorcerer and see what he can do.”

“But Bella - he was dead for at least thirteen hours. Dead dead! As in fucking perished!”

“I’m aware, Rodolphus,” the woman sneered. “Now shut your fucking mouth and help me get this gate open. Stun the brat, will you?”

And Harry fell into darkness once more.

****

November 1, 1981

Harry woke up.

The pain in his forehead was gone, which was a relief. He was wrapped in a warm blanket and sitting in front of a cheerful fire. He was comfortable, but hungry.

Well, this is an improvement in circumstances, a voice said in his head. It was the man from the dark, blissful waters of oblivion.

Harry didn’t understand what the man was saying, but it was nice that he wasn’t alone. He thought about crying for his mother but decided he was too warm and comfortable…although if he didn’t get fed soon, he might cry regardless.

As if summoned, strong arms lifted him easily into the air, cradling him against a flat chest. A bottle appeared before him like magic.

“Eat up, little wizard,” yet another strange voice said. This voice seemed to be coming from the person holding him, a low soothing tone that made Harry’s eyes droop wearily.

The man in his head seemed satisfied. They’ve taken us to a sorcerer. Yes, this is an improvement in circumstances indeed.

****

August 21, 1987

“Have you finished your reading, Harry?”

Harry looked up from the thick tome before him, his smile bright. “Yes, sir! Can I go play outside?”

The sorcerer’s study was a large space made small by numerous shelves and tables crammed with books, parchments, and arcane devices. A merry fire burned high in the hearth, painting the shadowed room with a dancing golden cast.

The sorcerer, Methusela, was a friendly enough guardian. His long gray hair, magnificent beard, and velvet smoking jacket were synonymous to “provider” in Harry’s mind at this point. It was all Harry had ever known; he’d watched over the young wizard ever since Harry’s mysterious arrival back in 1981. Harry himself could barely remember the occasion, but the man who lived in his head reminisced about it every once in a while.

“Hmm…” Methusela hummed, sinking into the wingback armchair opposite to Harry. “Let’s test your reading skills, shall we? A quick quiz.”

Harry nodded seriously. The sorcerer loved quick quizzes, so Harry was always preparing for them.

“What’s the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer?”

“Wizards draw power from within themselves,” Harry answered quickly, mentally recalling the exact line in the text that he needed. “Sorcerers use the power granted to them by demons.”

“Correct. And how does a sorcerer summon a demon?”

Harry looked apprehensive. He rubbed the raised, bright red scar on his forehead, a nervous tic that he couldn’t seem to shake. “I don’t know if I know how to draw a summoning circle yet, sir.”

“No, no.” Methusela waved a dismissive hand. “We won’t work on drawing summoning circles until you’re a bit older. The fact that you know one is required is answer enough.”

“May I ask a question, sir?” Harry ventured.

His guardian nodded indulgently. “Questions are always welcome, young man.”

“This book says wizards and sorcerers don’t like each other. Why is that?”

Methusela laughed. “An excellent question. Most wizards look down on us, you see - they see our methods as cruel and consider Demonology to be an evil practice. We aren’t born with magic, so we must seek it out. They believe us to be little better than muggles.”

“What’s a muggle, sir?”

“A person without any kind of magic at all.”

“But you have magic,” Harry frowned. “I’ve seen you use it. You light fires and torches, you make food appear, you make things in the house move around and serve us.”

“Ah, but I don’t use a wand,” the sorcerer grinned, his teeth sharp. “And I have a minor demon living in my soul. I’ve damned myself for power. Wizards don’t like that.”

Harry felt a sharp sting of disappointment. “But - but you said I’m a wizard, right? Does this mean that you don’t like me?”

His guardian chuckled, waving a lazy hand. A bottle of wine and a crystal goblet floated through the air, pouring itself and then lowering down into his waiting hand. “Not to worry, Harry. Wizards can perform sorcery as easily as sorcerers can, they just usually choose not to. In fact, it might give you an advantage.”

“That’s great!” Harry said excitedly. The man that lived in his head seemed less thrilled, but Harry ignored that.

“As for your original question - yes, you may go outside, but first I need you to help me with a summoning.”

Harry’s good mood plummeted. “A - a summoning, sir? But we did one last week!”

“Harry,” the sorcerer said, his tone dangerous as he sipped his wine. The shadows in the room seemed to loom closer. “Do not disobey me.”

Harry gulped.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, his eyes downcast.

“I’ve set up a summoning circle already. Go change into your white robes and meet me in the red room.”

Harry nodded slowly, closing his book with trembling hands and sliding it onto the coffee table. He walked quickly from the room with his head held low.

He reached his quarters and tore off his clothes as quickly as he could. He hated being a part of the summonings, but if he were late - if he showed any kind of disobedience or rebellion - his kindly guardian turned into…something else. Someone that Harry didn’t feel safe around.

He rooted around his wardrobe until he found a plain white linen robe and pulled it over his head. He straightened his robes in the mirror, kicking off his shoes one at a time, and left the room as quickly as he’d entered it.

I hate the red room, Harry thought, chewing on his lip. The longest summonings happen in the red room.

You should just run away, the man in his head hissed. Sorcerers are stupid, vile beasts who play with forces far beyond their control. Better to live on the streets than risk being possessed by a demon lord.

Harry ignored him. The man in his head - or Voldemort, as he preferred to be called - didn’t have a high opinion of sorcerers. But Harry had wanted to be a sorcerer for as long as he could remember.

Methusela was so wise, so powerful. Harry admired him terribly and wanted nothing more than to be just like his guardian.

You’re a fool, too, Voldemort sniffed. You’re going to get us both killed. Again.

Again? Harry thought, but Voldemort fell silent.

Harry rushed into the red room, his heart thuddiing with dread.

The vast, circular room was lit by five torches that were evenly spaced along the walls. A large pentagram was drawn in the center, its lines painted with a mixture of fine ash and water. Methusela hovered around the edge with a paintbrush, his glass of wine bobbing along behind him in the air; he added a rune here, a symbol there, tweaking the complex pentagram until it met his high standards.

“In the center, Harry,” his guardian said softly, handing him a small silver blade.

Harry gulped and stepped towards the pentagram, careful to avoid the drawings on the floor. He settled himself in the very center and crossed his legs.

Methusela nodded approvingly and stepped inside a smaller, less ornate circle that had been drawn near the door.

He began to chant in low, dulcet tones.

“Pater daemon, te ad hunc circulum voco 

Xezu, Paimonis nepotem, te voco 

Benedicat me sapientia et virtute tua 

Offero tibi hoc munus puri sanguinis, veneficus 

Pater daemon, te ad hunc circulum voco…”

That was Harry’s cue. 

He raised the knife in a trembling hand and pressed it against his throat.

You fool, Voldemort whispered. If your guardian cared at all for you, he would not ask this of you over and over again.

Harry whimpered and dragged the blade through his flesh, pulling it across his throat in a sickening motion, pain exploding like fireworks.

He gurgled wetly and leaned forward, the knife clattering to the ground. Blood pulsed from the jagged wound in his neck and spurt across the floor, filling the pentagram and pooling along the ashwater lines drawn against the stone.

The blood seemed to trace the intricate design of the pentagram but never left its bounds.

Harry saw dark spots in his vision, felt a scalding heat burn along his skin as it burst into flames. He screamed soundlessly, bloodlessly, drowning in pain and fire.

A sinister presence fell heavily into the room, engulfing him completely. 

“A WIZARD CHILD’S BLOOD. THIS IS A GOOD SACRIFICE, METHUSELA. AND HE’S A DEATHWALKER AS WELL, UNDYING…WHERE DID YOU FIND SUCH A TREASURE?”

The voice was hideous, a sonorous hell-sound situated somewhere above Harry’s head, a mouth in the flames.

“It fell into my lap, my lord,” Methusela bowed. “Foolish wizards once hoped that I could use the child’s body to resurrect their weakened master.”

“HOW DELIGHTFUL. THIS BOY IS A HORCRUX, YOU KNOW - IT WOULD HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE. BUT I SUPPOSE YOU DIDN’T SHARE THAT INFORMATION WITH THE WIZARDS?” 

“I did not. The boy is a treasure indeed. It was a chance I couldn’t pass up.”

“I CAN SEE WHY. A POWERFUL SACRIFICE YOU CAN USE AGAIN AND AGAIN…METHUSELA, YOU NEVER CEASE TO SURPRISE ME…BUT I IMAGINE THIS IS NOT A SOCIAL CALL. TELL ME WHAT YOU DESIRE.”

“I seek a boon for my son, my lord,” Methusela shrugged. “He and his wife are having trouble conceiving. I know this boon is not beyond a demon of your magnificent strength.”

“IT IS NOT,” the hellish voice mused. “I CAN DO SUCH A THING FOR YOU. I WILL CHANGE THEIR BODIES, WHICHEVER ONE OF THEM IS INFERTILE. IT’S THE LEAST I CAN DO FOR SUCH A DELICIOUS SACRIFICE.”

Methusela bowed low, his expression pleased.

“TELL ME, SORCERER…WHY IS YOUR SON NOT HERE WITH US? WHY IS HE NOT THE ONE PERFORMING THIS SUMMONING?”

“My lord, as you know, it’s a rare sorcerer indeed that allows his children to follow in his footsteps,” Methusela said carefully. “My son is a smart boy, a scientist, but he is ignorant of sorcery.”

“I SEE. THAT IS WISE. THEN THIS WIZARD BOY…YOU DO NOT CARE FOR HIM?”

“He is a tool to be used,” Methusela smiled. “I don’t love him like I love my son, of course.”

The demon laughed delightedly. “HOW CHARMING. BUT HE IS AGING QUICKLY, IS HE NOT? SOON HE WILL BE ELEVEN YEARS OF AGE. WHAT WILL YOU DO WHEN THE WIZARDS COME FOR HIM?”

Methusela shrugged. “I have some time to plan. Besides, the boy is interested in sorcery. Perhaps he will want to stay.”

“VERY INTERESTING. AND YET, AS A HORCRUX, IT WILL BE HARD FOR HIM TO BECOME POSSESSED BY A LESSER DEMON. HE IS ALREADY POSSESSED, IN A WAY. YOU HAVE A PLAN FOR THIS, I ASSUME?”

“Oh yes. The Draught of Combination should work well in this case, I would think.”

The demon cackled again. “ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL. WELL, THIS HAS BEEN A TRUE PLEASURE, METHUSELA. I WILL LEAVE YOU TO YOUR TOYS. YOU CAN EXPECT GOOD NEWS FROM YOUR SON BEFORE THE YEAR IS OUT.”

“So mote it be,” the sorcerer muttered, bowing again.

The fire waned, the demonic presence lifted. 

Soon, Harry was alone in the pentagram. He fell onto his side, twitching and gaping like a fish out of water, his long white robes stained red with wet blood.

He heard footsteps approaching.

“Come on, it’s over now. Clean yourself up, Harry.”

Do it quick before you cross over, Voldemort advised, his tone surprisingly venomous. He’d made no secret of hating sorcerers and sorcery but this heated anger surprised Harry.

The young wizard reached a shaking hand towards his neck. He ran weak fingers along his ragged wound and felt a cool, familiar magic alight on his fingertips. The wound knit together slowly, so slowly, and second by second the pain receded.

His guardian crouched down next to him with an amused expression.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing him a purple vial. “A blood replenishing potion. Lord Xezu seemed to take a lot out of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry rasped, grabbing weakly at the potion. He downed it with trembling hands and closed his eyes.

“Rest here until you’re well and then go get dressed for dinner,” Methusela ordered. “I’m having a few friends over, so make sure you’re on your best behavior. You’ve been practicing your table manners, yes? I don’t want you mixing up the soup and dessert spoons again. An apprentice must show decorum.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry coughed. “Sir…may I ask a question?”

“You’ve earned that, I suppose,” Methusela smiled.

“You said…you said you didn’t love me. That you love your son but not me.”

“Of course I don’t love you, Harry,” Methusela said gently, caressing Harry’s bloodied cheek with a cool hand. “You’re a wretched, vile thing, aren’t you? Horcruxes are a nasty business. But I am fond of you, and that will have to be enough.”

Harry nodded obediently, his heart cold.

****

October 31, 1988

I’ve always hated Halloween, Voldemort complained.

Harry secretly agreed, but said nothing. He straightened his formal robes with shaking hands, examining himself in the mirror.

You’re starting to look more and more like me when I was a child, aside from that garish scar, Voldemort mused. You look a lot like your father too, of course…but I think the older you get, the more we’ll resemble one another.

You knew my father? Harry thought, intrigued.

He’s dead, it doesn’t matter, Voldemort sniffed.  Fathers are useless anyway.

Harry shrugged. What did he know about it?

A knock sounded on the door to his quarters. 

“Are you ready, Harry?” Methusela’s voice was muted but there was a current of excitement in his dulcet tones.

Harry sighed and walked towards the door, opening it with a timid smile. “I’m ready,” he said quietly. “Which room?”

“The red room, of course,” Methusela chuckled. “That’s where all important things happen, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded solemnly in agreement.

They began walking down the torchlit corridors, following the winding stonework until they reached the thick wooden doorway to the red room.

“After you,” Methusela grinned, opening the door.

Harry walked inside.

There was no pentagram on the floor today. Instead, the room was empty save for a small wooden table at its center. A large vial of dark blue liquid sat heavily on the polished surface.

“Here it is,” Methusela said proudly. “The Draught of Combination. I had to trade many a demonic favor for this potion. Never let it be said that I don’t do anything for you.”

I earned every single one of those demonic favors with my blood, Harry thought wearily.

“Thank you, sir,” he said politely. “And this potion will help me become a sorcerer?”

“It will indeed. This potion is normally used to help minor demonic possession - it forces a weaker soul to absorb into a stronger one. I believe it will work in the same way with your Horcrux. Your soul, being larger and stronger, will likely absorb the smaller Horcrux piece, which will allow you to open yourself up to minor possession when the time comes.”

“Likely?”

“There is a small chance that the Horcrux will win out and take over your soul,” Methusela chuckled. “However, from what we’ve seen these past few weeks, I think it’s unlikely.”

Harry nodded dutifully. Voldemort had not been happy about this Draught of Combination. Over the last fortnight, he’d fought tooth and nail, sending nightmares, stomach cramps, even trying to possess Harry outright and force him to run away. Harry had reported each outburst with clinical precision, and each failed attempt at possession had made Methusela laugh with glee.

“You’ll make a powerful sorcerer, Harry,” he’d said. “If you can resist possession by a Horcrux that’s been in your mind your whole life, you could host any number of powerful demons and keep control of your soul.”

And here they were.

You don’t have to do this, Harry, Voldemort crooned. Think of how much more powerful we are as a team. I can guide you with my wisdom, my knowledge.

I’m sorry, Harry thought. I hope this doesn’t hurt you.

You stupid boy! Voldemort shrieked. This will hurt BOTH of us! You will not escape this ordeal unscathed! Merlin save me from idiotic, overly-trusting CHILDREN!

Harry approached the small table, noting that Methusela had chosen to hover near the door.

“Drink the potion, Harry,” he said quietly.

Harry nodded.

He uncorked the vial and lifted it to his lips. It smelled like roses and wet metal.

He tipped it back and began swallowing, resisting the urge to gag as the thick, viscous fluid poured down his throat. It seemed to stick to whatever it touched, fighting him as he tried to consume it, but he held his breath and choked it down.

Finally, he shook the last drop from the vial onto his tongue. He lay the empty container back on the table and lowered his hands.

“Is…is that it? Did I do it?” he whispered.

“Wait for it,” Methusela cautioned, his voice filled with amusement.

If only I could feel remorse, Voldemort mused. I might spare myself. Oh, well. I suppose it was always going to play out like this, wasn’t it?

What do you mean by that? Harry asked, but he never heard the answer.

A sharp, terrible pain pierced his stomach and he fell to the ground gasping. He retched and screamed, hugging his arms close. He felt as if he were being gutted, eviscerated -

And then his whole world was on fire, his skin was electric, he was feeling too many things at once and all of them were flaying his mind. Pain richoched across his soul and he wept, begging for death, begging for an ending.

He began to see double. Two tables had been kicked to the floor during his convulsions; two shattered glass vials were spread across the stone floor of the red room; two Methuselas knelt closer, their expressions curious.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” they said, their voices overlapping and echoing in a nauseating way.

“My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Harry choked, clutching at his stomach and dry heaving. “My - my name…I’m…”

“Fight him, Harry. Fight for your life,” the Methuselas crooned, brushing his cheek with a too-cold hand.

Harry closed his eyes against the unwelcome sensation.

He felt something pure and fundamental inside himself breaking, shredding away in the intensity of the poison flowing through his veins. Voldemort was screaming distantly, begging for escape -

But there was no escape, because hell was in his mind.

He thrashed as he fought against a swell of strange memories. Torture, anger, a childhood in an orphanege, a lifetime of ambition and power and magic -

He felt himself being swept along, changing, morphing - heard Voldemort’s triumphant gasp as he wrest control away from Harry -

But Harry was whole. Harry had a pure, unbroken soul, and the weight of that was too great for Voldemort’s horcrux to bear. It crumbled into screaming pieces and was absorbed into Harry’s mind, sliver by sliver.

More time passed as Harry panted and writhed on the floor of the red room.

Finally…it was over.

He blinked slowly, his breathing ragged, his face pressed against cold stone. He was still Harry, but he was not unchanged - he felt stronger, his magic more tactile and ready. He was a little bit Tom and a little bit Voldemort and a lot Harry, but not only Harry. Not anymore.

He was smarter.

He was angrier.

He stood slowly, wincing as his tense muscles unclenched.

Methusela chuckled from somewhere behind him. “Nicely done, lad.”

Harry turned to meet his gaze. Methusela took a step back.

“Your eyes…” he breathed. An expression of discontent crossed his face for the first time in Harry’s memory. “Your eyes are red. Are you still Harry?”

“I am,” Harry whispered, his jaw tight.

“How curious,” Methusela said quietly. “How do you feel?”

Harry snorted. “I feel like you fed a soul-tarnishing potion to a child. I feel like you have broken one of the most fundamental laws of magic and I will be the one who carries that burden…and I’ll have to carry it for the rest of my life.”

Methusela took a step back, his eyes searching.

“You know why I did what I did,” he said defensively. “You wanted this too.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted because I’m fucking eight years old,” Harry snarled.

A tense moment passed.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, I suppose we have a few things to discuss,” Methusela said quietly.

“There is nothing to discuss,” Harry breathed, and he reached for his magic, sharpening it and thrusting it forward like a many-bladed axe.

Methusela screamed as he fell with a symphony of wet splatters, his limbs rolling away and his torso cleaved into two pieces. The various bits of him twitched against the stone, his lush velvet smoking jacket wet and tacky with blood. Redness foamed at his mouth as he gasped for breath, his eyes wild and horrifying.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” he screamed. Harry raised an eyebrow; apparently he’d left the sorcerer’s lungs intact.

He walked towards the mess that was once Methusela and crouched down, peering blankly into his guardian’s bloodied face.

“I did what I should have done years ago,” he whispered. “Voldemort isn’t with me anymore but he had good advice. Better to live on the streets than stay here with you and die over and over, letting you whore out my lifeblood for demonic favors.”

Maybe he’d take a few arcane tomes along with him - he was still interested in sorcery, after all - but his time with Methusela was finished.

He watched the light leave his guardians eyes, watched the corpse cool on the ground.

He straightened up with a groan. He still felt weak from the potion. He’d take a shower and then sleep, he decided. After that, he could take his time ransacking the manor and making his escape.

He was free.

****

He was not free.

Harry woke up in restraints. He was tied to some kind of padded bed in a brightly lit room. He squinted his eyes against the light and considered struggling, but there was a heaviness in his veins that made him feel lethargic and useless.

“He’s waking up,” a strange voice called. “Dose him again. I want him completely out until we can collar him properly.”

Harry whimpered, his muscles twitching weakly against the restraints.

A blurry face loomed close.

“I can’t believe you’re awake, although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” the voice said, a note of anger in its otherwise soothing tone. “My father got into all kinds of trouble. I’m sure you were a part of that, you murderer.”

“Your father?” Harry asked weakly.

“Yes. My father, Methusela. You think I wouldn’t know if something happened to him? He didn’t let me participate in his little rituals but he let me bug his house. I saw what you did to him.”

Harry groaned desperately, lethargy tugging at his consciousness with strong hands.

But Methusela’s son wasn’t finished. “I built a collar for demons like you. It dampens your powers, makes you weak. I’m going to bind you and then take you apart and see how you work. My father may not have shared his gift with me but I know I can figure you out regardless. He’s used his power to give me everything I wanted - a research facility, an education, a family. He gave me everything and you stole him from me.”

The voice was right next to his ear, breath hot against his skin.

“You’re going to suffer for what you did to my father, little demon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Chapter Text

August 5, 1991

The Headmaster’s office was a bright, cheerful place. Magical instruments whirred quietly on their respective shelves, emitting quick puffs of colored steam; hundreds of portraits rustled around in their frames, some pretending to sleep while others gazed shamelessly with open eyes; Fawks, a bright-red phoenix with glorious shining plumage, sat comfortably on a perch behind Dumbledore’s chair.

It was just as Lily remembered it when she was in school, all those years ago.

“Thank you for meeting with me today, Albus,” she sighed, falling easily into a plush armchair in front of the Headmaster’s desk.

“It’s my pleasure, my dear,” Dumbledore smiled. His blue eyes twinkled brightly over his half-moon glasses. “I assume this is about Harry?”

“Yes,” Lily groaned, rubbing her face. “Merlin, I don’t know what to do. He’s incredibly unstable, Albus. We’re bringing him home from the hospital tonight and I’m just so worried that everything will go wrong.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“He never has the appropriate emotional response,” she frowned. “He’s usually laughing at someone, even if something sad is being discussed. Violence is especially hilarious to him - you should have seen his face when we walked past the Curse ward at St Mungo’s, it was like Christmas had come early. And he’s so incredibly possessive. God forbid another child talk to us while we’re wandering the halls of the Children’s Ward -he got so angry, Albus. It was terrifying.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, tenting his fingers in front of his chin. “Young Harry has been through quite an ordeal,” he said slowly. “We may never know exactly what he’s survived. It’s unsurprising that he’s having…adjustment issues.”

Lily huffed angrily. “That’s just it! If we were in the muggle world, I would know exactly what to do. If there was ever a wizarding child that needed therapy, it’s Harry! But no, wizards have to be decades behind muggles in the stupidest, simplest things - and I can’t take him to a muggle therapist without breaking the Statute of Secrecy!”

“I see your point,” the Headmaster grimaced. “We are woefully behind the times, in that regard especially. But rest assured that Madame Pomfrey is well aware of the situation and has been working hard to brush up on the latest muggle literature. She’s agreed to see Harry twice a week once he starts school for as long as he needs it.”

“That does make me feel better,” Lily admitted. “But I’m just…I’m still worried. He calls us Lily and James! It’s like he doesn’t care that we’re his parents!”

“My dear, he has lived all this time without parents,” Dumbledore said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. “You must allow him time to adjust. We cannot forget that despite his supposed maturity, he is an eleven year old boy.”

“He seems older,” Lily whispered, grasping at Dumbledore’s aged hand. “I’m just - I want to do the right thing by him. I want to help him heal.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I found a facility in Australia that could take him in,” she said finally. “It’s a recovery facility for addicts, but they do have a Youth Ward. It’s for wizards, the only one like it in the world.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “A boarding school?”

“Yes,” Lily frowned. “That’s why I’m hesitant to send him. He wouldn’t be allowed to come home until he completed the program. It could take years. Years! And we just got him back!”

“I understand your hesitation,” Dumbledore frowned. “You know, I’ve always believed that Hogwarts had a special kind of healing magic present in its hallowed halls, especially for children.”

“It does?” Lily asked, her voice hopeful.

“I believe it is so,” he nodded. “I wonder if young Harry might benefit from it during his time here. And if that is not enough…you can always send him to this center for specialized healing at a later date.”

Lily’s face crumpled in relief. “That’s a good point. Do you think - I’ve asked Sev to keep an eye on him, but I wonder -”

“I’m happy to watch out for Harry during his time here, my dear,” Dumbledore interrupted gently.

“Thank you, Albus,” Lily mumbled, her eyes wet. “That means more than I can say.”

****

“Alright, you two, help me get the table set,” James yelled, juggling a bowl of pasta in one hand and a tray of fresh garlic bread in the other. “Put away the Nintendo or I’ll put it away for you!”

“Coming!” Jack and Neville yelled frantically. James heard the sound of console controllers being flung to the ground (he winced, thinking of the expense of the damned things, not to mention the expense of installing electricity in a wizarding manor) and then grinned as he heard two pairs of feet race down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Is Harry here yet?” Jack wheezed, running headlong into a chair.

“Not yet,” James laughed. “Come on, you two. Grab some knives and napkins and such. There’ll be five at dinner tonight!”

“Five people!” Neville said excitedly. “Us and Harry, right?”

“That’s right,” James grinned. “Nice to see your muggle education has paid off. Lily will be thrilled.”

“We can do basic addition, Dad,” Jack drawled pompously, dragging Neville towards the cutlery drawer. “Even purebloods can do that.”

“I wonder if Harry likes math,” Neville said curiously.

“Why don’t you ask him when he gets here?” James frowned, his smile faltering.

Harry was an odd duck. There was something…off about him.

But things would get better. He was still healing. Their family was healing.

Things would get better.

James heard the floo go off in the other room.

“He’s here!” Jack squealed. “We’re finally going to meet Harry!”

“Remember what we talked about, boys. Try not to overwhelm him too much,” James whispered. He suddenly felt anxious. What if the boys didn’t get along? What if they fought? What if Harry said something creepy and things just fell apart -

“We’re home!” Lily crowed, ushering a small, dark-haired figure into the room.

Harry blinked his large, red eyes as he examined the spacious kitchen. He looked like a deer in headlights, chewing on his lip with an uncertain expression.

James felt his heart twist at the sight.

“Welcome home, Harry!” he said, his voice only wavering a little. He rushed forward and pulled the small boy into a tight hug. He held on for a few moments, struggling for composure, then leaned back and kissed Harry squarely on the forehead. “We’re so happy you’re here. Come meet your brothers!”

“I’m your twin!” Jack said excitedly, pushing past James and grabbing Harry by the shoulders. James winced at his manhandling but Harry didn’t seem bothered by it. “We’re fraternal twins though so we don’t look exactly alike. Not like the Weasley twins, they’re identical.”

And really, when compared side by side, they looked more like cousins than twins. While they both took after their father in looks, their grandmother’s African heritage present in their dusky glowing skin, Jack’s red hair and green eyes were one hundred percent Lily. Harry, on the other hand, had wild black hair and delicate features. Where Jack was stocky and brazen, Harry was waifish and fey; Jack was a few inches taller than Harry and wore round, golden-framed glasses, while Harry’s disturbingly red eyes had perfect 20/20 vision. He could even see in the dark, apparently.

That had been a disturbing bit of news to receive at St Mungo’s.

“Jack,” Harry said slowly, a strange smile spreading across his face. “My twin. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Same to you,” Jack chirped. “Here, come meet Neville! He has his own parents but they’re sick. He’s a part of our family now instead.”

“Jack,” Lily scolded, looking scandalized. “Neville gets to tell his own stories, darling. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his parents with Harry.”

“It’s fine,” Neville said quickly. He was used to Jack’s boisterous personality and took it all in stride.

Harry, however…

Neville couldn’t believe how red Harry’s irises were. They’d been warned, of course, and were asked not to mention it, but it was really remarkable. They were so very red, and his eyelashes thick and dark. He was an unusually handsome person, Neville thought distantly. Or maybe beautiful, like a girl. He was probably the most beautiful person in the room, at any rate.

Neville realized he was staring and looked away with a blush.

“Neville, is it?” Harry said quietly. He stepped forward, his gaze curious, and reached out to grab Neville’s chin, forcing the taller blonde to meet his strange red eyes. He smirked, the expression haunting on a face so young.

“Harry, darling, don’t grab at Neville,” James muttered through gritted teeth. He absolutely hated it when Harry decided to be creepy.

“Sorry,” Harry said lightly, releasing Neville’s face and patting it gently. “So. Pasta? I’m starving.”

“You can’t just grab people’s faces, Harry,” Jack said authoritatively. “Don’t worry though, we’ll teach you all the rules. Here, come sit next to me.” He led Harry towards the table and pushed him eagerly into a chair.

Harry’s gaze flicked towards James’ tight expression and his smile grew wider. James pretended not to notice; instead, he levitated the food onto the table and sat, joining the rest of the family as they settled in.

“Looks great. Did you make all this yourself, James?” Harry asked quietly. “Are there no Potter house elves?”

“You call him James?” Jack said loudly, mouth gaping. He hung off the edge of his chair, staring at his twin with an incredulous expression.

“Why not?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised. “It’s his name.”

“Boys, you can all call me whatever you’d like. James, father, uncle, it doesn’t matter,” James said placatingly. “Anyway, Harry, we do have a few house elves working for us, but they prefer to tend to the rest of the manor. We have a more traditional arrangement than most do these days - we allow the elves access to the family magic and they maintain the property at their leisure. We don’t bother them and they don’t bother us.”

“So basically, dad does all the cooking,” Jack chirped. “He’s a stay at home dad. He's been off the Aurors for years. That means my mom could definitely kick his ass in a duel!”

“Jack!” Lily sputtered. James coughed into his pasta, his face red with repressed laughter. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Uncle Sirius says it all the time,” Neville said helpfully.

“That mutt bastard,” James grinned. “He’s right though, Lils, you’re unstoppable.”

“Language,” Lily moaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Why did I marry a Marauder? What was I thinking?”

“Not only did you marry a Marauder, you helped raise more Marauders,” James chuckled.

“I’m not interested in pranking,” Neville said nervously. “I’d like to opt out of being a Marauder.”

“What do you like to do in your free time, Neville?” Harry asked curiously. He turned his red eyes onto Neville, his expression strangely hungry. “What’s your very favorite thing to do in the world?”

“I’m not sure,” Neville squeaked, his brown eyes wide.

Yikes, James thought. He loved Harry - he really did - but something about this interaction was extremely unnerving.

“Harry, love, please don’t frighten Neville,” Lily muttered.

“Sorry, Lily,” Harry grinned. “I don’t mean to. I just want to get to know him.”

“You want to get to know me, too, right?” Jack asked petulantly. 

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Neville’s face.

James and Lily looked at one another wearily.

September 1st couldn’t come quickly enough.

****

Harry was in his element. 

Dinner had been a resounding success. He couldn’t believe how kind, how vulnerable his family was. He loved pushing their buttons, especially his parents. He liked to watch them grimace and squirm as they explained away his weirdness, clearly hoping that he’d even out at some point and act like a normal child.

Harry loved them for it. He wouldn’t change - couldn’t change, really - but he appreciated their efforts.

He had a family. They were so weak, so emotionally fragile, and Harry would murder a thousand innocent people to keep them safe.

They were his.

His father was wary of him, he could tell. But even despite that, James had a well of love that he tapped freely for his wayward son. He was generous with his hugs and was eager to regale Harry with his past glories at Hogwarts. He made Harry breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every single day, and Harry never went to bed without first having a cup of hot cocoa. Harry absolutely loved James.

He was equally fond of his mother. She clearly had her reservations and would snap at Harry if he acted too strangely, but she genuinely cared for him. She answered all of his morbid questions about dark curses and her Auror work with a clinical precision - she had a strong spirit and was clearly not one to shy away from harsh realities - but she also loved to pet his hair while he drifted off to sleep, or rub his back while they watched television. He liked to orbit her in hopes that she’d reach out and pull him close, smothering him with an affection he hadn’t known he was starved for.

Harry very much enjoyed having parents.

He also enjoyed having a twin brother. Jack was a pleasant enough child - he was wildly famous but didn’t act like it beyond a tendency to seek attention when ignored - and as long as he allotted a certain amount of conversation to his twin, then all was well. Jack would fill the air with bright words and drag Harry from bauble to bauble, excited to finally meet the mysterious spectre that had haunted his family for years.

And then there was Neville. Sweet, quiet Neville.

There was something about the timid boy that was absolutely fascinating to Harry. Neville was happy enough, but he had a sorrowful cast that was mesmerizing. 

Was it because of his parents, tortured into insanity? Was it due to his traumatizing upbringing in a house full of thoughtless grandparents and great-uncles? 

Whatever it was, there was a foundation of pain and reluctance in his demeanor that Harry related to. Out of everyone in the house, he felt he had the most in common with Neville.

It was a shame that Neville couldn’t seem to speak to him for more than a few sentences without turning bright red and running away.

“Alright, you lot,” James called from the kitchen. “We’re leaving for Diagon Alley in ten minutes. Get your sorry arses downstairs and eat some breakfast before I vanish the lot of it!”

Harry grinned, rising from his bed and approaching the mirror in his small bedroom. He was dressed in a muggle tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers - hand-me-downs from Jack that they would be replacing today, of course - and if one ignored his red eyes, Harry almost looked like a normal eleven-year-old boy. Even his Horcrux scar had faded - after the Draught of Combination, the once-prominent lightning bolt had healed into a thin pale line.

He examined his features in the mirror, leaning close. He was looking more and more like Tom - there, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brow. He barely remembered being Tom and didn’t remember being Voldemort at all. He wasn’t sure how he knew that he looked like Tom, but he felt it in his bones.

It was confusing, being a mixture of people. But the person he was most was Harry, and Harry was an eleven-year-old boy. He supposed that things would make more sense once he got a bit older.

He brushed a hand across his wild mane, his expression pensieve. The one feature he begrudged his twin was his striking red hair. Harry would have loved to have inherited that from their mother. If his hair was red, he’d grow it out as long as Lily’s and wear it like a badge of honor.

In fact…

He prodded at his magic and felt it come jumping at his call. His wild hair lengthened rapidly, unfurling around his shoulders until it fell past his shoulder blades.

It wasn’t red, but a bit of length caused his raven locks to hang more manageably. He ran a careful hand through his hair. Would Lily braid it for him if he asked, or would she be upset that he had a girl’s hairstyle?

He wandered downstairs, eager to test his mother’s patience.

****

Sirius and Remus sat at the kitchen table waiting for the Potter clan to gather themselves up. 

“Can I get you two anything? Coffee? Tea?” James asked frantically, checking his watch.

“I’ll grab it,” Remus smiled. “You go get your boys ready. We’re well handled here.”

“You’re an angel. A big, furry angel,” James grinned, running towards the stairs. “I have a feeling Neville isn’t even awake yet. That boy loves his sleep.”

Remus puttered around the hob for a moment, fixing them a pot of coffee. Within moments they were huddled over steaming mugs, pouring varying amounts of cream and sugar into their cups.

“Merlin, do you want some coffee with your sugar?” Sirius laughed.

“Don’t judge me,” Remus said petulantly, a smile twitching his lips. “I’ve seen the way you behave around lemon bars.”

They ribbed each other affectionately as they waited. After a few moments, a small figure made its way into the kitchen. 

Harry approached the table, his bright red eyes staring curiously through a frame of long onyx locks. He looked much healthier than he had in the hospital. He’d clearly been eating more; the gauntness had left his cheeks and his dusky skin glowed with renewed health. 

And somehow, his hair was almost four times as long as it had been a month previously.

“I see you inherited the Potter hair magic,” Sirius grinned.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked curiously, drawing up a chair.

Remus snorted. “Your father, your grandfather, your great-grandfather…all of them have had particularly willful hair. Your grandmother tried to shave your father’s head once, did you know that? He’d gotten about a pound of taffy in it and she couldn’t get it out. It all grew back within the day.”

Harry smiled slowly, petting his long hair with a vacant expression. “That’s interesting...I like that my hair has a history. I suppose it’s almost as nice as having red hair.”

Sirius laughed. “You’re not the only one jealous of your ma’s locks. Are you planning on doing anything with it?”

“I was hoping Lily could braid it for me,” Harry said carefully, eyeing his uncles with an appraising gaze.

“Lily can’t braid for shit,” Sirius snorted. “Here, I know a solid French braid charm. How’s that sound?”

“Alright..."

Sirius pulled his wand from his wrist holster and waved it in a circle, whispering an incantation. Harry’s hair furled out like a fan before folding quickly into a pattern, invisible fingers parting it into sections and passing it back and forth until a long braid hung down his back.

“Will I learn that kind of magic at Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“Not unless you look for it,” Sirius shrugged. “They don’t teach it in classes but there are plenty of wixen who like to trade hair care spells.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said thoughtfully.

A few seconds later, the rest of the Potter clan descended upon the kitchen, and eventually they made their way towards the floo.

****

Diagon Alley was bright with magic. Harry resisted the urge to squint as he looked around. Had wizards never heard of restraint?

In all fairness, he’d been raised by a sorcerer and wasn’t used to such thoughtless displays of magical power; sorcerers were a secretive bunch and their magic usually involved hellish demons, human sacrifice, and carefully negotiated boons. He should probably get used to blocking out the faint network of lines crisscrossing the alley, connecting one charm to the next.

I think Tom could see magic like this, he thought, brow furrowed. It was just a feeling though. He couldn’t be sure.

All in all, the shopping trip was turning out to be an enjoyable experience. The shops were interesting, the clerks were polite, and the air had practically crackled with youthful anticipation. They’d all been especially pleased to receive their wands.

“Ten inches, holly, and dragon heartstring for young Jack,” Ollivander crooned. “A powerful combination, a powerful combination to be sure…and Neville has been sorted as well, twelve inches, cherry wood and unicorn hair…all that’s left is to find young Harry a match, no?”

Harry nodded, his expression vacant. He was so bored. He didn’t need a wand, not really. 

“Let’s try this, then,” Ollivander whispered, pushing a thin rod into his hands. As soon as Harry’s fingers touched it, it was whisked away. “No no, that wasn’t right…here’s another, give it a wave…”

It seemed to take ages. Harry grew more and more bored with each failed wand. Honestly, couldn’t he just go without?

“Oh my…tricky customer, tricky customer…I have just the thing. Yes, I think that will do nicely. Try this one…”

As soon as Harry touched the wand, he felt a sense of recognition, as if he was greeting an old friend. Black sparks spewed forth from the tip in a mighty arc, lighting the floor on fire and pulling the shadows in the room ever closer.

“Oh my,” Ollivander chuckled, watching the adults hastily stomp out the flames. “That’s a match then. Curious, very curious…”

“What’s curious?” Harry asked, deadpan. He really didn’t appreciate dramatics…unless they were his own, of course. 

“Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix core…it’s just that this wand has a brother. The phoenix that provided this feather only provided one other, and its pair gave you and Jack your scars.”

Harry looked incredulously at his twin brother. Their scars were a whisper of pale skin, almost unnoticeable in the riot of their wild hair. “You’re referring to Voldemort?”

Ollivander nodded slowly.

Harry gazed down at his wand with a new appreciation. “Tom,” he whispered, trailing his finger down the handle. His eyes seemed to glow with a demonic fire, the red iridescent in the dark shop.

His parents shifted uncomfortably.

“Who the fuck is Tom?” Sirius asked, elbowing James out of his way so he could stare at Harry.

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered. He stared lovingly at the wand. Someday…someday he would destroy every last bit of Voldemort, every last Horcrux. The man was a part of him, but there could only be one point of darkness in this bright world; there was no room for Voldemort in Harry’s worldview, especially after he’d already caused such pain and suffering among his newly-found family.

He would break his soul and drink his blood.

Harry couldn’t wait.

“Ugh!” Lily groaned, throwing her hands into the air. “He’s doing it again. Let’s go to the animal menagerie, you lot all need owls.”

“Doing what, mother? What’s Harry doing?” Jack asked, trailing behind her.

“...Nothing,” Lily said shortly. “Here’s a cashiers check, Mr Ollivander - you can wire it directly to Gringotts, they’ll give you your money - come on, children, let’s go -”

They wandered across the street towards the animal shop.

“I personally think it’s normal to get a bit weird about your wand,” Sirius said, regaling the adults with his opinions on Harry’s strange behavior without mentioning it outright. He waxed philosophical about life-changing events and magical frequencies, ignoring the way Lily rolled her eyes and James grimaced.

Harry was slowly growing to love Sirius. Another person to add to my collection, he thought with great satisfaction.

And perhaps Remus as well. There was something inherently dark about the man - was he a creature? Harry couldn’t quite tell - but he seemed nice enough.

Harry was greedy. He wanted to own everyone. He was the first to admit it.

“Here we are!” James smiled, throwing the doors of the menagerie open. “Alright, boys, go ahead and choose an owl. Remember - this is an important choice in a young wixens life. Choose carefully.”

“Yes, Uncle James!” Neville said excitedly, inching towards a colorful parrot.

Harry rolled his eyes. He didn’t care about owls. Now snakes, that was a different story.

He wandered away from the chattering group of people, losing himself deep in the shadowed interior of the shop. The stacks of cages were housed in darkness this far away from the large windows at the front. Many of the creatures seemed to prefer it; Harry was sure he spotted a lethifold nestled deep in some wood chips, hiding away in a particularly large glass case.

He sighed dramatically. James would never let him buy a lethifold.

Oh, well. Maybe a snake.

He reached a wall of large glass terraria and peered inside the closest one with a curious expression. A small, red snake was curled on a magically heated rock, its posture relaxed.

“Hello,” Harry hissed in Parsletongue. “I’m looking for a companion.”

“Don’t look at me,” the snake hissed. “I’m perfectly comfortable where I am.”

Harry nodded slowly and moved to the next terrarium. “How about you?” he asked, peering at a medium sized green snake. “Are you looking for an adventure?”

“No way,” the snake yelled. “I get fed live mice and sleep on hot rocks all day. Count me out.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Is there a single snake here that actually wants to come with me?”

A chorus of hissed shushing met his ears.

“Lazy little shits,” Harry scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets and meandering back towards the front of the shop.”Wild snakes are more fun anyway.”

“Oh, there you are, Harry,” James whispered, rushing over with an anxious expression. “You need to stay with the group, remember?”

“Of course, James,” Harry smiled. “Sorry. I was just looking at the snakes.”

James grimaced. “Of course you were. What do you think of the owls, son? Do you see one that you like?”

Harry shrugged. “Any owl will do.”

James frowned. “Let’s go see what your brother thinks. Maybe he can help you pick one out.”

He led Harry over to the larger group. Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Neville were all crowded around Jack, watching him pet the soft white feathers of a large snowy owl.

“I like this one,” Jack announced. “Can I have her?”

“Him,” the clerk corrected. “His feathers are white throughout the year. That’s how you know he’s a male snowy owl.”

“Okay. Can I have him, mum? Please?” Jack begged.

“Alright, then,” Lily smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Hedwig! No…that’s a girl’s name…actually, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Fair enough,” Lily laughed. “I don’t think the owl will care much either. Neville, darling, what do you think?”

“I think it’s a fine name,” he said seriously.

“No, love, which owl would you like?”

“Well…I really like this little guy,” he said nervously, pointing towards a small brown owl in a copper cage.

“Oh, a wonderful choice,” the clerk said excitedly. “She’s a North American Burrowing Owl. They build nests underground, like little feathered prairie dogs. They’re great companions to gardeners. Do you like Herbology, young man?”

“I’m not sure,” Neville said shyly. “I do like plants, though. Maybe I could call her Petal?”

“What a lovely name! This is definitely the bird for you,” the clerk said confidently. “What do we think, mum and dad?”

“Perfect,” James said cheerfully. “Let’s do it.”

“Excellent! And what about you, young man?”

Harry shrugged.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll find you the perfect owl,” Jack chirped. He turned towards the clerk. “Is there another snowy owl here? We can have the same kind, since we’re twins and all. Did you know I have a twin?”

The clerk’s eyes darted back and forth between the famous Boy Who Lived and his smirking, red-eyed brother. “Oh, uh…I didn’t realize…no, this is the only snowy owl we have in the shop right now.”

“Do you have any really mean birds?” Harry asked, his eyes darting towards his mother. Her brow furrowed and his smirk grew wider.

The clerk looked flustered. “Well, I - I mean, I’m not sure -”

“That’s actually a good question,” Sirius grinned, pushing towards the front of the group. “I would like to see the mean birds too.”

“Sirius, don’t encourage him,” Remus hissed quietly.

“What? I would!”

“Well - we do have a raven, and while I wouldn’t describe him as mean persay, he is quite the protective sort,” the clerk said carefully. She disappeared behind the counter and reappeared moments later wearing thick dragonhide gloves. “I’ll bring him out shortly.”

She wandered towards the back of the shop, her shoulders tense.

“Harry, don’t you want a nice, friendly owl that will get along with the others?” Remus asked kindly.

“Actually, I want a snake,” Harry muttered, fighting a grin.

“Well, hang on now - let’s see what this raven is all about, shall we?” James said quickly. “Maybe it’s only a little bit mean.”

“Alright,” Lily huffed. “But if this one doesn’t work out, I’m going to pick out a nice, normal barn owl for you, Harry. Deal?”

Harry bit his lip, holding back laughter at her frustration. “You’ve got a deal, Lily.”

The clerk walked back towards the front, her footsteps frantic. Her arm was held out away from her body, and a large, wretched-looking raven was perched on her dragonhide glove. Its feathers were thin and patchy, its eyes a milky white. It had clearly seen better days.

“Careful now, he likes to peck,” the clerk said with false cheer. Her eyes grew wide as Harry reached out with an eager hand. “No, really - hang on now, young man, don’t grab -”

The raven gave a great, croaking shriek, its large black beak darting dangerously close to Harry’s questing fingers.

“Harry, for Merlin’s sake, keep your fingers away from that thing,” Lily hissed, running over and grabbing his hand mid-air.

“He’s perfect,” Harry announced. “This is the bird for me.”

“Is that thing safe for children?” Remus asked incredulously, hiding behind a delighted-looking Sirius.

“Well, perhaps not right this second - but ravens have all the same magic that owls do, he’ll recognize his owner just as soon as he’s purchased, no doubt about that,” the clerk said desperately.

“How much?” James groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Two galleons for the raven, ten each for the others. Let me get this one into a cage and I’ll take care of you at the counter, sir.”

Chapter Text

An hour after they left the menagerie, they stood in front of Potter Manor and released their owls. It was a Potter tradition, a celebration of the new bond between owl and master. The owls would fly off to acquaint themselves with the grounds and make their way to the owlry while their humans relaxed and drank lemonade in the garden. It was a lovely tradition.

Of course, nothing went right where Harry was involved. 

The red eyed boy had been asked to release his raven several yards away from the others in the hope that it wouldn’t bother the owls; unfortunately, as soon as all three birds were in the air, the cranky old raven made a beeline for Hedwig and attacked in a flurry of scraggly black feathers. 

Despite the raven’s aggressive spirit, Hedwig was undeniably triumphant in that encounter; the snowy owl knocked the old raven straight to the ground, never to rise again.

“I don’t believe it,” Sirius called, poking at the sad feathered corpse with his boot as the two owls flew away. “The blasted thing is dead!”

“How sad,” Harry grinned.

Lily gave her son a disturbed grimace before turning back to her husband. “What a wonderful Potter tradition,” she said, deadpan. “More lemonade, James?”

“Yes, please,” he coughed. He’d spilled his all down his front during the avian ambush.

Jack and Neville jogged towards Sirius and crouched over the dead bird. Harry followed along behind them at a leisurely pace, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Blimey, Harry, I’m sorry about your raven,” Jack said sheepishly. “Maybe dad can get you another?”

“Nah, I’ll just borrow your owl if I really need one,” Harry shrugged. “And no need to apologize. It’s not Hedwig’s fault. He was just defending himself.”

“You didn’t even get the chance to name it, Harry,” Neville said sadly.

Harry looked at Neville through his eyelashes. “What would you have named it, Neville?”

The blond boy felt his face grow hot. “Oh - I don’t know - I’m not very good with names.”

“I think you’re great, Nev!” Jack said encouragingly. “Petal is a lovely name.”

Harry nodded in agreement, his eyes locked onto Neville’s blushing face.

“Well, I guess we should bury the thing,” Sirius frowned.

“I’ll do it,” Harry said quickly, gathering the corpse up into his arms with a wide smile. Feathers fell off onto the ground at an alarming rate. “I’m just so very sad about it all. My very first pet, dead before his time.”

“Do you have to touch it?” Lily said desperately. “That thing is filthy.”

“It’s not a thing, Lily, it’s a beloved animal companion,” Harry smirked. “Anyway, I’m going to go bury him in the woods. He liked quiet, shady places, after all.”

“Did he?” Jack asked. “How did you know that?”

“We’ll come with you, Harry,” Neville said, his lip wobbling. Neville would have been absolutely devastated if anything had happened to Petal, even though he’d just barely met her. He couldn’t imagine what his new friend must be going through. “You won’t have to do this alone.”

“Thank you Neville, but no,” Harry said solemnly, shaking his head. “I need some time alone to process my grief. Specifically, ten minutes or so.”

James covered his face with a hoarse moan.

“Yes, it’s very sad, isn’t it, James?” Harry grinned. “I’m going to go cry in the woods for a bit. Save me some lemonade.”

He wandered off towards the treeline and disappeared from sight, his small figure melting into the shadows of the forest.

“Boys, why don’t you go take your trunks upstairs?” Lily croaked.

“Good idea, mum,” Jack cried. “We’ll get Harry’s too since he’s grieving. Come on, Neville!”

They raced inside, Neville nodding seriously as Jack yelled eager instructions.

“Anyone fancy a bit of vodka in their lemonade?” Sirius asked wickedly, pulling a flask from his leather jacket.

“God, yes,” Lily moaned, holding out her frosted glass.

The four adults topped off their drinks and settled down onto conjured lawn chairs, their eyes locked on the treeline.

“What could he possibly be doing with that horrible corpse?” James said weakly.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Honesty, he’s probably just messing with you. He clearly likes to push your buttons. I think it’s hilarious.”

James’ lips twitched. “I suppose it’s karma for all the trouble I caused in school.”

“Your karma, not mine,” Lily huffed. “I don’t know why I have to suffer right along with you. Honestly, that thing was disgusting before it was disemboweled by Hedwig. Can you get lice from birds? Does anyone know any full-body disinfectant spells we can cast on Harry when he gets back?”

****

Harry, admittedly, did love to push James’ buttons. However, when it came to his dead raven he actually had a different goal in mind. 

Later that night, Harry crept out of his bedroom and snuck down the stairs, his footsteps silent in the darkness. He made his way to the kitchen and pulled a small bowl down from the shelves; next, he tiptoed into the sitting room and knelt before the hearth, gathering a handful of fine black ash into his bowl. He returned to the kitchen and carefully added water, one splash at a time, until the ash had the consistency of thick paint.

He smiled happily, his eyes almost glowing in the darkness.

He opened the back door slowly and slipped outside.

Harry found the raven’s body right where he’d left it in the woods under a pile of rocks. He pulled the rocks away and smiled at the small broken form, brushing ants away from its milk-white eyes and gathering it up in his arms. He carried it lovingly into a moonlit clearing, where a large, flat rock sat in the middle.

It was the perfect spot for a bit of summoning.

Harry drew a simple summoning circle on the flat rock, using the ashwater as paint and his bare fingers as his paintbrush. It took him about an hour to get it perfect; once he was finished, he rinsed his hands in a nearby stream and placed the dead bird in the center of the pentagram.

He sat cross legged before the stone.

Let’s hope I don’t fuck this up, he thought with a grin. He hadn’t performed a summoning in years and had never performed one solo.

He sharpened his magic into a point and pricked his finger, drawing a droplet of blood. He let the blood collect on his fingertip as he chanted quietly in latin.

“Daemon puer, audi vocem meam

Veni ad me, sequere sacrificium meum

Afferte mihi spiritum ave

Daemon puer, audi vocem meam.”

He reached out his finger and let the drop of blood fall onto the raven’s corpse.

He jerked his hand back as the pentagram exploded into a column of bright red flames that reached almost seven feet high, a writhing mass of hellfire and smoke. The heat was almost unbearable, washing over Harry’s toothy grin and chapping his lips.

A moment later, the column of fire settled down into a smaller, amorphous lump of flames that hovered directly over the raven’s corpse. Bright eyes watched Harry as he scooted closer to the pentagram.

“Hello there,” Harry said quietly. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

The flames seemed to shrug.

“Thanks for answering my call,” Harry grinned. “My raven died. Would you like to be a raven? It’s probably more fun than running around in hell, avoiding all the more powerful demons.”

The lump of fire seemed thoughtful. Its glowing eyes pointed inward, examining the crispy bird corpse.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Harry said, his smile wide. “You become my raven - you know, deliver my letters, follow my orders, et cetera. As long as you don’t hurt any of my people you can basically do whatever you want. It’s a bargain, really, all things considered.”

The flames looked intrigued. It really was a good deal. Most humans didn’t like having demons hanging around. They certainly wouldn’t let one possess a small creature and then let it loose without any sort of deadline on its return to hell. And this particular demon was the curious sort - what would it be like to be a delivery raven on earth, it wondered?

The flames nodded in agreement.

“Wicked,” Harry grinned. “Right then. So mote it be.”

Instead of disappearing, the flames disconnected from the ashen pentagram beneath it, soaring into the air in another bright column before slamming into the half-burnt corpse. Dark shadows writhed, obscuring the raven completely, growing and changing and pulsing…and then they coalesced into being.

A large bird stood before Harry, its eyes red and demonic, its plumes as dark as the space between stars. A faint shadowy essence seemed to cling to its wings, curling about its frightening black talons and glistening feathers.

“You certainly clean up well,” Harry said approvingly. “Although, really, you look more like a North American crow than a raven.”

An image of a moccasin-clad sorcerer entered his mind, their footsteps quick along an infinite plane of tall yellow grass.

“Your last master was American, then?” Harry smiled. “Fair enough. Don’t get mad if people call you a raven though, that’s what everyone’s used to around here. Speaking of which, do you have a preferred name?”

The crow shrugged.

“How about Corvo?” Harry asked. “I think it’s fitting.”

The crow shrieked happily, beating its massive wings in the air.

“Right,” Harry laughed. “Well, off you go. I have to get back in bed before anyone notices I’m not in my room. Make sure you drop in a few times before September first, but otherwise, have fun!”

The demonic crow cawed happily in agreement, lifting into the air and flying off into the moonlight.

****

There was something strange about Harry’s bird.

James didn’t know how he did it, but somehow, Harry had found another raven. Or crow, rather. Corvo was an enormous, intelligent beast with glorious black plumage and shining red eyes. It seemed eerily connected to Harry, anticipating his every move, and loved to linger around the breakfast table and catch scraps.

It was bad enough that the bird was as big as an eagle, but it also seemed to leak shadows and set off every dark magic alarm in the manor.

“Harry, darling, where did you find your new friend?” Lily asked over breakfast one morning, her eye twitching.

“You know what they say about animal companions and wands, Lily. He found me,” Harry smirked. He threw a piece of bacon up and watched Corvo snap it out of the air with his frighteningly sharp beak.

“I’m going to owl Albus,” Lily muttered furiously, throwing her napkin down onto the table as she stormed away.

“Harry, love, is there anything you want to tell me about your new pet?” James asked nervously.

“Why, yes, James, thank you for asking,” Harry nodded. “Corvo doesn’t like being put in cages. He’ll meet me directly at Hogwarts after we board the train. Also he doesn’t like owls, but he’s promised not to murder any as long as we give him a steady supply of peanuts.”

“I don’t - I don’t think we have any peanuts,” James said weakly.

“I’ll send an owl order,” Harry grinned. “Or crow order. Whatever. I meant to ask, do I get an allowance? Neville and Jack said they get a galleon a month to spend as they please.”

“God, please, no,” James groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “I suppose I have no choice.”

Harry laughed, the sound bright and pure.

How ironic, James thought.

September first couldn’t come soon enough.

****

“I’m not sure this counts as a prank,” Jack frowned.

“Sure it does,” Harry smiled. “You and Neville are helping me sneak out of the manor. It’s hilarious. That makes it a prank.”

“Does it?” Neville asked, confused. “I thought pranks usually involved a victim of some kind.” He wasn’t terribly fond of pranks himself, but he’d heard enough about them from James and Sirius to know the basic details.

“Oh, there will definitely be victims,” Harry grinned.

Neville and Jack shared an uneasy glance.

“Uh, so, what exactly do you need us to do?” Jack asked nervously.

“Just cover for me,” Harry said soothingly. “Pop downstairs every once in a while and tell dad I’m beating you at Super Mario so that he doesn’t know I’ve left.”

“Hah! Fat chance of that working,” Jack said confidently. “You’re pants at video games. I’ll say you lost horribly and went to have a sulk in the bath.”

“Genius,” Harry nodded. “Right then, lads, I’m off. Operation Prank James is officially in motion.”

They watched the red eyed boy stuff a large, jingling sack into his pockets - where had he gotten so many galleons? Surely he was only getting one a month like the rest of them - and saunter confidently over to the floo. He threw a handful of floo powder into the fire with practiced ease.

“Knockturn Alley,” he said breezily, stepping into the green flames and disappearing.

Jack and Neville stared at one another with furrowed brows.

“We probably shouldn’t agree to do any more pranks with Harry,” Jack said finally.

****

Harry didn’t remember much from being Tom, but he did have a vague recollection of Knockturn Alley and the kinds of wares one could purchase there. He’d picked Sirius’ pocket while they were buying their owls (he’d figured the filthy rich bastard would be the least upset about theft if it was somehow discovered) and was eager to spend it all on illegal books and summoning supplies.

He walked down the dirty, run down alley with a skip in his step, whistling an eerie song he’d picked up from his time with Methusela.

He hadn’t felt this good in years. 

He stopped next to a wizened hag selling dried human ears and gave her his most charming smile.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is there a bookstore around here?” he dimpled.

The hag cackled, clearly delighted, and leered close with a hungry expression. “What a fascinating young man you are. Lovely eyes. Yes, there’s a bookstore just around the corner - the Coffin House, I think it’s called.”

“Thank you very much,” Harry nodded. “How much for an ear?”

“Six sickles for an ear, dearie.”

“I’ll take two,” Harry grinned, pulling out a handful of silver coins.

“How lovely! So very polite. Here you are, then. A matching pair.”

Harry pocketed his new treasures and left with a friendly nod. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do with two dried human ears but one never knew when they might need one, did they?

After he purchased his books, he should probably look into buying a mokeskin pouch so he could keep everything close at hand.

He quickly found the Coffin House and stepped inside. The interior was dark and quiet, lit tremulously by a collection of listlessly floating candles; the air had a faint note of formaldehyde and the bookshelves were made of coffins.

“Welcome, welcome,” a quiet voice rasped. Harry turned to see a wizened old man sitting at a desk near the front of the shop. “You’re a little young to be wandering around Knockturn Alley all on your own, aren’t you?”

Harry shrugged cheerfully. “Perhaps. I’m looking for books on Demonology. Do you have any?”

The wizard blinked, surprised. “A sorcerer, then? I haven’t seen one of your kind in quite some time. We have a section near the back. Follow me, young sir.”

Harry followed the old man through the labyrinthian shelves, a few of the more industrious candles floating behind them.

“Here we are, then,” the man said finally, gesturing towards a splintering coffin stuffed with a collection of ancient tomes. 

Harry ran a finger down the nearest one, his smile growing wider; it appeared to be bound with human skin. “This is perfect,” he nodded. “Thank you for your help.”

“I’ll be at the front if you need anything,” the old man chuckled, turning and disappearing into the darkness.

Harry browsed through the books with an expert gaze. Methusela’s collection had been much more robust but the offerings he saw before him were decent enough. He grabbed a nice beginners tome, an encyclopedia of summoning circles, a more advanced book that he’d heard his old guardian reference a few times, and a collection of sorcerous theory essays.

This should be enough to get started with, he thought, satisfied. It was time to resume his arcane education.

He wandered back towards the front of the shop with his new treasures, setting them down on the counter with a heavy thump.

“Find everything you needed, young man?” the old man asked, his eyebrow raised.

“Well, actually, there was one more thing I wanted to ask you about,” Harry mused. “Have you heard the term ‘deathwalker’?” He’d heard Methusela and his demons throw that word around a few times but he’d never learned what it meant - beyond the fact that apparently, he was one.

The old man looked at Harry with a strange expression. “That’s an ancient form of necromancy. A wizarding ability passed down through blood. What interest would a young sorcerer have in that?”

“I’ve heard the phrase used here and there,” Harry shrugged. “Do you know anything about it?”

“I know they can heal themselves from self-inflicted wounds,” the old man said slowly, his brow furrowed. “It’s also rumored that a deathwalker can pass through the gates of hell unscathed, traveling deep into death in search of the demon lords. There’s many a sorcerer that would be eager to find a deathwalker, many a sorcerer indeed.”

Harry nodded understandingly. “I can see why. You don’t happen to have any literature on the subject, do you?”

“Not presently,” the old man sighed. “But for a fee…”

“I understand completely,” Harry said smoothly, pulling out his sack of galleons. “I’ll take this lot, then. Here’s an additional ten galleons for your discretion, and another ten as a gesture of good faith - if you set aside anything you get on deathwalkers or deathwalking, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The man’s eyes lit up greedily. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, the boys are in bed,” James said quietly, rejoining Lily, Remus, and Sirius at the kitchen table. “Wine?”

“That sounds lovely,” Remus smiled.

James waved his wand and set a bottle to pouring, levitating four glasses towards the group. Sirius snatched one out of the air and gulped about half of it down in one swallow.

“That bad, huh?” Lily grimaced.

Sirius and Remus had joined their dinner that night, ostensibly to spend more time with their three godsons before they left for Hogwarts. However, Sirius had also quietly confided that he had news to share, news that was best relayed in person.

Sirius cast a quick privacy charm around the group before speaking.

“As you all know, I’ve been doing a solo investigation of the research facility where we found Harry,” he began.

“Merlin, it’s going to be that kind of news,” James sighed, resigned.

“Yeah,” Sirius scowled. “Buckle up, kiddos. So, in addition to the random tortures we uncovered when we found Harry, it turns out they were also doing actual research on him.”

“What kind of research?” Lily asked, nauseated.

“Well, they definitely knew that Harry was magical in some way, except that they used the words ‘psychic’ and ‘demonic’,” Sirius said grimly. “Usually they’d tell him to complete some kind of task, like lifting a chair or cutting a melon in half. If he didn’t succeed, he’d get punished…usually with an electrical shock, but sometimes with beatings, or, um…needles.”

“Merlin,” James moaned, covering his face with his hands.

Sirius shook his head and continued. “I saw some recordings of their tests, and I have to say - that child is an absolute prodigy at wandless magic. He didn’t seem to do any complicated spells, but lifting and cutting…well, he got very very good at it. He can even fly when he really wants to.” Sirius looked a bit disturbed. “He’s a bit dangerous, honestly.”

“He hasn’t done anything like that since he’s come home,” Lily said defensively.

“I’m aware of that,” Sirius said gently. “I’m just letting you know what he’s capable of.”

“Merlin, what if he loses his temper at Hogwarts?” James said suddenly. “He could murder someone without even pulling out his wand!”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Remus grimaced. “I think it’ll be more important than ever before to make sure Harry has healthy ways to cope with any strong emotions he might feel.”

“Madame Pomfrey will be meeting with him twice weekly,” Lily said slowly. “She’s been reading up on modern therapy practices. It’s not ideal, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. And Albus is hopeful that Hogwarts herself will be a positive influence on Harry’s mind.”

“Has Harry talked about his past with either of you?” Remus asked.

Lily shook her head, chewing on her lip. “Not in any detail. If there was anything he remembers from before he went to the research facility then he hasn’t mentioned it, either. And he certainly hasn’t done any wandless magic recently…at least not that I’ve seen.”

James frowned. “This has just occurred to me…has the Statute of Secrecy been broken? All those muggle researchers who experimented on Harry were somewhat aware of his magic.”

“Harry has taken care of that problem very nicely,” Sirius laughed dryly. “As far as I can tell, anyone who had ever interacted with him had their heads separated from their bodies the night he was rescued.”

“But did they share their research with anyone? Surely they weren’t keeping their findings to themselves,” Remus pressed.

Sirius shrugged, his expression pained. “I wouldn’t know how to check for that. Their muggle technology gets a bit beyond me there.”

“Merlin save us. Are we doing the right thing by keeping all of this a secret?” James asked wearily.

Lily shook her head. “Frankly, I don’t care. Harry has had a difficult enough life as it is. I just…I want him to be able to go to Hogwarts like everyone else and enjoy being young.”

“There is the potential that he’ll hurt another student,” Sirius said quietly.

“If he does, we’ll send him to the facility in Australia,” Lily said tremulously.

James nodded. “I can live with that.”

Sirius sighed heavily. “Then we’re in agreement? We’ll keep everything quiet, try to give Harry a normal life?”

“As normal as it can be when your twin brother is the Boy-Who-Lived,” James said dryly. “But yes. I think we are.”

“Alright. I’ll destroy the evidence,” Sirius nodded.

Lily wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Thank you, Sirius. For everything. I know you’re sticking your neck out for us and I can’t even express how much we appreciate it.”

“He’s family,” Sirius grinned. “Anything for family, right? Even when they’re creepy little buggers.”

****

Before they knew it, James and Lily were standing in front of the Hogwarts express, fussing over their brood of children and ignoring the nosy busybodies that stared unashamedly at the Boy Who Lived. 

“Oh, Neville,” Lily said thickly, her eyes bright. “Your mother and father would be so proud of you. We’re so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Aunt Lily,” Neville said shyly, leaning into her hug and closing his eyes. His lips trembled a bit as they drew apart.

“I’m proud of you both as well, Jack and Harry. All three of you. Look at our boys, James! They’re growing up!”

“They are,” James nodded, his throat tight. “The three of you are going to have an amazing time at Hogwarts, no matter what house you’re sorted into.”

“We’ll all definitely be in Gryffindor,” Jack said confidently. Neville nodded dutifully behind him, while Harry gave a small, sly smile.

“All the houses are equally good,” James said stubbornly. Once he might have playfully agreed that Gryffindor was the best house and of course his sons would be in it, but he was fairly sure that Harry wouldn’t be coming home wearing red and gold. 

Merlin, I hope Harry isn’t in Slytherin, he thought desperately, glancing at Harry. Anything but Slytherin. He’d be taking over the country in a week.

“So, you think you’ll be in Gryffindor too, Neville?” Harry asked curiously, watching Neville with a rapt expression.

Neville shrugged. “I’d like to be. My - my parents were.”

“They would be proud of you no matter what house you got sorted into,” Lily said soothingly, running a hand through Neville’s golden locks. “We all had friends in all the houses. Your Uncle Severus was in Slytherin, even.”

Personally, if she had to put money on it, she’d guess that Jack would be in Gryffindor, Neville in Hufflepuff, and Harry…ugh, Harry would probably be in Slytherin, and they’d all have to live with the consequences.

Not that there was anything wrong with Slytherin, but if there was anything that Harry didn’t need, it was large amounts of ambition.

She shuddered at the thought.

“You’d better hurry onto the train,” James sniffed, his eyes red. “One last hug before you go!”

They hugged each of the boys in turn, whispering words of encouragement into their ears. Lily made sure to give Harry an extra long hug, just like he liked.

“Make sure you don’t miss your sessions with Madame Pomfrey,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Remember that we love you.”

“I will,” Harry said quietly, his red eyes half closed in contentment.

“Let’s go already!” Jack crowed, pulling at his brothers’ arms. “We’ve gotta get a good compartment!”

“Bye, Aunt Lily, Uncle James!” Neville said nervously. “I’ll - we’re -”

“Come on Neville,” Harry grinned, locking arms with the quiet boy. “Let’s find a compartment together, shall we?”

The three boys rushed off towards the train, excited to start their new adventure.

****

“Is this seat taken?” a small, redheaded boy asked.

Harry looked up and smiled.

“Oi, your eyes are red,” the boy yelled.

“Hey, it’s Ron!” Jack crowed delightedly. “Ron, it’s been ages! Come sit next to Neville. We were about to play a game of Exploding Snap. I’ll deal you in.”

“Thanks,” Ron grinned, falling into his seat. “Only three players? What about you, um…”

“I’m Harry,” Harry said helpfully. “The dead Potter.”

“He’s not dead,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, he likes to be creepy. Mum says he’s not allowed to play Exploding Snap. He likes to throw the explosive cards at people’s heads.”

“You sound like my brothers Fred and George,” Ron shuddered.

“I’ll have to meet them,” Harry smirked. “So, you’re a Weasley then? What house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”

“Gryffindor’s the house for me,” he answered proudly. “My whole family has been sorted there.”

“And you want to be just like them, yes? Exactly like your older brothers?” Harry asked, his expression piercing.

Ron faltered. “Well…no, I mean, I want to go my own way, be known for my own talents, you know.”

“What talents?”

Ron frowned.

“Harry, you’re being rude,” Neville muttered.

Harry grinned widely. “I didn’t mean to be. I’m just trying to get to know Ron better.”

“Ron has a lot of talents,” Jack said loyally. “For example, he’s a whiz at chess.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “Well, in that case, why don’t we play a round?”

“You’re on,” Ron grinned, pulling a chessboard out of his trunk.

Twenty minutes later, Ron was checkmating Harry’s king with a triumphant expression while Jack and Neville ignored them in favor of their noisy card game.

“You’re very, very good,” Harry said admiringly. “Jack was right. You have a real talent for strategy.”

“See?” Ron said smugly. “I’m different from my brothers. They’re all bollocks at chess.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry narrowed his eyes. “If you’re so keen on strategy, why would you want to be a Gryffindor? Why not Ravenclaw or Slytherin?”

Ron’s face grew pale. “Ravenclaws are dorks and Slytherins are evil, everyone knows that.”

“Evil?” Harry asked, his head cocked to the side. “I heard they were ambitious. Sounds like it’s the perfect place for a master strategist that’s trying to get out from under his brothers’ shadows.”

Ron looked thoughtful as he packed his chess set away.

“I personally wouldn’t want to be in Slytherin, but Uncle Sev is pretty nice so they can’t all be bad, right?” Jack shrugged.

“You don’t think he’s scary?!” Neville squeaked.

“Not as scary as Harry,” Jack said proudly. “Everyone’s scared of Harry.”

Harry hummed happily, his eyes flashing in the muted light of the train compartment.

“Why are your eyes red, Harry?” Ron asked curiously.

“Ron!” Neville hissed. “You can’t just ask someone why their eyes are red…”

“I don’t mind,” Harry laughed. “Honestly, I’m not completely sure. I was experimented on quite a bit before Lily and Sirius found me. I’m sure it has something to do with that.”

Tom - Voldemort - had once had red eyes. Harry was fairly sure his own irises were red because his soul had been fused with the Horcrux…but he wasn’t about to share that information, not when he wasn’t sure if people would treat him differently knowing he’d once housed a butchered piece of Tom’s soul.

You’re a wretched, vile thing, aren’t you? Horcruxes are a nasty business… 

Methusela’s voice echoed through his memories like a poison.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to talk about that with people outside the family,” Jack scolded.

“Right you are,” Harry smirked. “Sorry, Ron.”

Ron looked disturbed, but let the matter rest.

****

“Potter, Harry!”

Harry sauntered forward, ignoring the whispering students around him. They only cared because he was the Boy-Who-Lived’s long lost twin - if he were anyone else’s twin, nobody would think twice about him. 

It was easy to let the attention roll off his back. He hadn’t earned it.

He didn’t really care about attention anyways…unless it came from Neville. And Neville had already been sorted into Gryffindor.

He sat heavily on the wooden stool before Professor McGonagall and waited for the large hat to be dropped on his head.

Within moments, his vision was obscured by ancient fabric.

“Oh my,” a small voice said next to his ear. “You don’t quite belong in any house, do you? You don’t seem interested in knowledge for knowledge’s sake. No great ambitions either - it looks like you don’t quite care where you end up as long as you get to play around with your demons. Dangerous stuff, that. Do be careful. Hm, and you’re not particularly brave because you’re never really afraid.”

Harry mentally shrugged. Can’t I just go with Neville? He’s the only interesting person here.

“Absolutely not. You’d be a pariah within the hour.” The hat seemed to pause for a moment, conflicted. 

“I hate to put a viper among babes but I think there’s only one place left for you,” the Sorting Hat finally sighed. “I promised Godrick I wouldn’t do this more than once in a century - but there’s nothing for it, your loyalty really is your only redeeming quality, no offense - better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. There was polite clapping as Harry removed the hat and made his way towards the yellow and black table. 

He’d just sat down when Jack’s name was called and everyone’s attention was diverted to the most famous boy in wizarding Britain. Children stood on their seats for a better view, craning their necks and whispering frantically.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff,” a handsome boy smiled, offering his hand. “I’m Cedric Diggory.”

“Harry Potter,” he grinned in return. “It’s good to be here.”

He distantly heard Jack get sorted into Gryffindor; the proclamation was greeted with thunderous applause.

“I’m Hannah Abbott,” a girl with long blond locks and pale skin shouted, eager to be heard over the noise. She’d been one of the first to be sorted. “I love your hair. Did you use a braiding charm?”

“Yes, my uncle did it for me,” Harry answered. “I still need to learn the spell. You don’t know any, do you?”

“Not yet,” she frowned. “I have to do it the old fashioned way. I can teach you if you’d like.”

Harry thought of careful fingers carding through his hair, their motions soothing. “That sounds great,” he smiled. “I’d love to learn. I’ll braid your hair if you braid mine.”

“It’s a deal,” Hannah grinned. “Friends?”

“Friends,” Harry agreed. He felt a wave of possessive pleasure wash through him. 

She’s mine, he thought contentedly.

Eventually, the clapping for Harry ceased. They then clapped politely for the rest of the first years as they each got sorted. 

When Ron Weasley was sorted into Slytherin, Harry was the only one clapping, the noise ringing loud into the stunned silence - but he had a feeling that Ron was going to do great things in that house.

****

The Hufflepuff common room was like a spacious pillow fort. There were multiple levels and each of them were covered in large bean bags, plush blankets, and fluffy pillows. There were bookshelves scattered about, a dozen magical campfires with s’mores ingredients at hand, and a carpet of feather-soft grass underfoot.

“I feel like Peter Pan will come zipping around the corner any minute now,” Hannah giggled.

Harry nodded in agreement. “This place really does have a Lost Boys vibe, doesn’t it?”

“Who are the lost boys?” Susan Bones asked curiously, inching closer.

“It’s a muggle thing,” Harry grinned. “Say, do you know how to braid hair?”

“What, me?” Susan squeaked, grabbing her mane of black locks with a frantic look. “I’m - I’m not any good at it, but…”

“I can teach you!” Hannah said brightly. “I was going to teach Harry as well.”

Susan looked relieved. “Oh, well that sounds lovely, then. As long as I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to do it…”

Harry peered into her face with a hungry expression. “Friends?” he asked quietly.

“Sure!” Susan grinned.

She’s mine now too, Harry thought. He chuckled darkly, his red eyes glowing with a faint, unholy light.

Hannah and Susan looked nervously at one another. “That’s a very creepy laugh, Harry,” Hannah whispered.

“Sorry,” Harry smirked, threading their arms together. “I’m just being my most genuine self.”

“Your ‘most genuine self’ is a bit unsettling,” Susan muttered.

“Why, yes, that’s right,” Harry grinned.

Susan and Hannah felt smiles twitching at their lips, finding themselves reluctantly charmed by the creepy child.

“First years over here!” a prefect called from the corner of the room.

Harry led his new friends towards the prefect, their steps in sync.

“Hello everyone, I’m Tamsin Applebee, fifth year prefect,” she began. “Right, let’s go over the rules. Breakfast is from six thirty to eight every morning. As long as you show up before seven fifty, you’ll have plenty of time to eat. You’ll get your schedule tomorrow over breakfast, by the way, so don’t be late. If you need one, we have a whole cabinet of charmed alarm clocks over there -” she waved a hand towards a tall rickety structure at the back of the room. “- just make sure to return it before you graduate. Any questions so far?”

The group of small first years shook their heads.

“Right,” Tamsin continued. “Next we’ll talk about the rules. Curfew for first through fifth years is ten o’clock - you don’t need to be in bed, but you do need to be in the common room. Sixth and seventh years have a curfew of midnight. As for schoolwork, if you’re falling behind in a class, come talk to a prefect. That’s why we’re here. We’re not expecting you lot to be Ravenclaws but we do want you to try your hardest to make good grades - as long as you’re putting in your very best effort, it doesn’t matter what the exact grades are. Understood?”

More nodding from the first years.

“Excellent. Now, onto a less pleasant subject - bullying.” Tamsin graced them with an impressively intense glare. “I know for a lot of you, loyalty is something that is earned. However, now that you’re a Hufflepuff, you’re a part of the Hufflepuff family and we take care of our own. If you see anyone being bullied, get a teacher or a prefect. If you feel the need to bully someone, just don’t. Our house doesn’t have the issues that other houses do with that kind of nonsense and we’d like to keep it that way.

“That being said, there are a lot of bullies among the other houses, especially the upperclassmen. The biggest offenders are Slytherin and Gryffindor. It’s a good idea to just avoid groups of older students if you can, but that’s not always possible. That’s why we have the Big Sibling rule.”

Tamsin waved an arm towards a collection of intimidating black wing chairs near the largest hearth. An assortment of older Hufflepuff students lounged within them, reading books and chatting quietly.

“If you’re ever being bothered by an older member of another house, go find one of the Big Siblings. They’re the ten best ranked duelists from the sixth and seventh years and they’re sitting in those chairs specifically to be available to anyone that needs assistance. They’ll always help you out, no questions asked, whether it’s with prevention or revenge.”

Harry was utterly charmed by the whole concept. He stared covetously towards the large chairs, wondering what it would feel like to be such a protective resource for so many people. He glanced sideways at his new friends; he’d only known Hannah and Susan for a few hours but he’d happily brutalize anyone who messed with them.

He couldn’t wait until it was his turn to compete for a chair. 

“Right, that just about wraps things up,” Tamsin said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “Any questions?”

Susan raised her hand. “How will we find our classes tomorrow?” she asked nervously.

“Good question! You’ll have a prefect leading you from class to class during this first week. Next week, you should know where everything is, but if you ever get lost just grab an older Hufflepuff and they’ll help you out.”

Harry raised his hand next. “What happens if we get in trouble? Are there beatings?”

“Uhh…no,” Tamsin frowned, looking vaguely disturbed. “You lose house points and get detentions.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry said cheerfully.

Tamsin narrowed her eyes as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Yes…anyway, girls with me, boys with Drew over there. You can choose whichever group makes you the most comfortable.”

Before much longer, Harry was making his way towards the boys dormitory.

His Hogwarts career had officially begun.

Chapter Text

“Lils!” James yelled, his eyes wide. “Sev wrote you a letter! An owl just dropped it on the breakfast table!”

Lily careened into the kitchen, her eyes wide and pajamas disheveled. “Already?! It’s barely five past six in the morning! When does that man sleep?!”

“I bet it’s about the sorting,” James whined, jumping up and down and waving the letter in her face. “Open it! Open it! Open -”

“Alright, you big baby,” Lily chuckled, rolling her eyes. She snatched the letter from her husband and tore it open.

“Let’s see,” she muttered. “Smaller class than normal, lots of potential, yada yada…” Her eyes grew wide. “Jesus, Mary and Merlin! Harry’s a Hufflepuff!”

“Thank Circe,” James moaned, feeling faint. “I think I need to sit down.”

Lily waved her wand distractedly, summoning a chair from the breakfast table for James to collapse on. “Jack and Neville are both in Gryffindor. That’s great news too - it’s good that they’ll be together. Our Neville is so shy…”

“Hufflepuff!” James cried. “Who would have thought?! I was sure that it would be Slytherin.”

“We really dodged a bullet, didn’t we?” Lily sighed, the very picture of relief.

All was well in the world…or so they thought.

****

Ron Weasley fell asleep crying, and when he woke up, he was crying again.

Luckily, the Slytherin four posters were designed with silencing charms. As long as he kept the curtains closed, no one would know.

I’m so stupid, he thought tearily, rubbing his eyes with trembling fists. 

The hat had offered both Slytherin and Gryffindor as options. He’d impulsively chosen Slytherin, believing for one bright moment that it would help him achieve the greatness he’d always desired.

But now…now he was stuck in a house full of blood purists. Or at least, blood purists and a bunch of people who weren’t bothered enough about the issue to challenge their friends’ bigotry.

And they all hated him.

I should have gone to Gryffindor, he thought wearily. 

What would life be like if he were waking up in a dorm room with Jack and Neville? Surely they’d all be laughing together after a late night filled with exploding snap and chocolate frogs, excited to begin their magical school adventure. He might have even had a chance to talk to that cute muggleborn with the onyx skin and fluffy afro fun buns…Hermione Granger had been her name, right?

He’d always wanted a girlfriend. In his most secret daydreams, he was tall and suave like Bill, daring like Charley, with a magnetic personality to rival the twins…and of course, this older and cooler version of him always had a beautiful, smart, adoring girlfriend by his side; she would be standing right next to him, looking up with doe-like eyes and telling him he was special and clever and worthy…

He curled himself around his pillow, wallowing in his misery. Who was he kidding? He was nothing like his older brothers. He was nothing special. No girl would look at him twice, no matter what house he was in. 

And even if he had been in Gryffindor, who in their right mind would choose Ron Weasley over Jack Potter, the Boy Who Lived? Jack had always been a nice bloke but it was hard to not feel at least slightly jealous of the boy. He was handsome, popular, and famous…Ron was none of those things. Ron was gangly and freckled and awkward, with too-short pants and threadbare school robes.

Speaking of which, he should probably get dressed and go down to breakfast. He didn’t want to be late, especially if his excuse for his tardiness was that he’d been crying like a baby in the dorms.

He wiped his face, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he’d been crying, and opened the curtains of his four poster with a weary gesture.

Draco Malfoy was already awake and puttering about the room, gathering his books and shoving them into a bespoke dragon-hide satchel.

“The oaf awakens,” he said delightedly, his pale blue eyes running up and down Ron’s bedraggled form. “Are those Chudley Cannons pajamas, blood traitor?!”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Ron grumbled.

Malfoy’s smile grew sour. “You shouldn’t curse, Weasel,” the blond sniffed. “It’s not becoming for wizards of our age.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Ron said earnestly. “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry, your highness.”

A muffled laugh sounded in the corner of the room; a tall, handsome boy with dark umber skin darted an approving look at Ron as he straightened his tie.

Ron raised an eyebrow. The boy’s name was Blaise Zabini, wasn’t it? Maybe he wasn’t shit out of luck for friends after all.

He got dressed quickly, squashing down his self-consciousness at his second-hand robes and battered bookbag. He gave himself a critical look in the mirror and grimaced.

At least my hair doesn’t clash so much with green and grey, he thought. He would have looked absolutely horrible in red and gold.

He hurried after Zabini and tapped the other boy gently on the shoulder.

“Walk to breakfast together?” he asked nervously.

Zabini gave him a pitying look.

“I think not, Weasley,” he said quietly.

Ron grit his jaw as he watched the other boy leave the dorm room, fighting back tears of frustration and embarrassment.

It looked like he was going to have to get used to not having friends.

****

Severus Snape was usually the first to arrive at breakfast in the Great Hall, but he made a special point to be extra early on the first morning of the school year. He liked to keep an eye on the newest students as they trickled in; the social hierarchy of each Slytherin class was usually decided after the welcoming feast, and the seating arrangements the next day were good indicators of how the rest of the semester would play out.

He grimaced as he saw a disheveled redhead enter the Great Hall alone, sitting far away from the rest of the first years and hunching over his plate.

Ronald Weasley, he thought despairingly. What are you doing in my house?

Everyone had been shocked when the youngest Weasley boy found himself sorted into Slytherin. Severus grimaced as he thought of the trials that lay ahead of him; many Slytherins saw the Weasley family as blood traitors, and Ronald’s ratty second-hand clothes certainly wouldn’t endear him to his wealthy peers either. 

At least Severus had managed to convince Molly to purchase the boy his own wand instead of forcing him to use a hand-me-down. It was even more of a blessing in hindsight; Ronald would need all the help he could get and a lacklustre performance in class wouldn’t win him any favors with his Slytherin peers.

He watched the young Weasley shifting uneasily in his seat, poking at his toast. His robes looked especially threadbare next to the custom cuts and fabrics of the likes of Malfoy, Parkinson, and Nott.

Severus’ frown twitched as he thought of his own time in Slytherin. He’d been bullied for his impoverished appearance as well, and as such, was intimately familiar with where that path of unchecked shame and rage could lead. 

He’d have to make sure to keep an eye on Ronald.

A trio of yellow and black garbed first years entered the great hall. Severus raised an eyebrow as one of them made a beeline for the Slytherin table, the other two reluctantly trailing behind.

Harry Potter, Severus thought wearily. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were with him as well. 

He scowled as he watched the trio approach Ronald. 

Harry leaned forward and whispered into Ronald’s ear. Whatever it was, it seemed to perk up the young man quite a bit; he whispered back and graced the trio with a quick grin.

This can’t be good, Severus thought with a groan. 

Lily had asked him to watch out for Harry. Of course, Severus planned to honor his friend’s request, even going so far as to make sure Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had more classes together than normal so that Jack, Harry, and Neville could all learn together…but really, he had a feeling that Harry didn’t need any protection; instead, the rest of the school might need protection from him.

Severus stood reluctantly, levitating a stack of timetables before him, and swooped towards the Slytherin table with a dramatic swish of his black robes.

Harry looked up at him as he approached, a smirk playing about his lips.

Merlin, his eyes are so very red.

“Good morning, children,” Severus drawled.

“Good morning, Uncle Sev,” Harry grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Lily’s told me so much about you.”

Severus’ lips twitched. “Likewise, Mr Potter. I imagine we’ll have lots of catching up to do. While we’re in school, however, I must insist that you call me Professor Snape.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry nodded, his expression innocent.

Severus resisted the urge to shudder.

“Mr Potter, Ms Abbott, Ms Bones, please make your way towards the Hufflepuff table,” he said finally. “Your head of house will be passing out your timetables and you don’t want to be missed. You may join Mr Weasley for subsequent meals if you so desire.”

“Of course, Professor,” Susan said quickly, grabbing Harry’s arm. “We’ll go there straight away. Won’t we, Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry chuckled, allowing himself to be dragged along by his friends.

Severus and Ronald watched them wander off, both of them wearing pensieve expressions.

“Everything’s as it should be, I hope?” Severus frowned.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s brill,” Ronald said airily, stabbing at a bit of sausage with renewed vigor. “Harry was just asking me to be his friend.”

Severus frowned. “Mr Weasley - Ronald - you should consider making friends with members of your own house, as well.”

“Eurgh, you know I hate being called Ronald,” the young boy muttered. His cheeks instantly grew red. “Uh, I mean…yes, Professor Snape.”

Severus fought to keep a smirk off his face. “Very good, Mr Weasley. Think on my advice; it would serve you well to have a few allies among the other snakes. At any rate, here’s your timetable. And if there’s anything you’d like to discuss…well, you know my door is always open to any Slytherin who needs it.”

****

Harry was in his element. He loved, loved being at Hogwarts.

First, they had Herbology with the Ravenclaws. It was shaping up to be a fascinating class and was taught by their head of house, Professor Sprout. She’d fussed over them like a mother hen before sending them off to pair up and explore; their very first assignment was to poke around the less dangerous greenhouses and become familiar with the plants within.

“Let’s sneak into Greenhouse six,” Harry hissed excitedly, his red eyes flashing.

“No, Harry!” Susan moaned, grabbing his arm. “Professor Sprout specifically said to avoid that one. Hannah, help me talk some sense into him!”

Before much longer, they were in their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, paired with Gryffindor. He’d noticed Professor Quirrell at the welcoming feast. The frightened professor seemed meek but there was something vaguely unholy about him. It called faintly to Harry, making his scar twitch. 

Perhaps the teacher was possessed by a minor demon? It would be nice to have another sorcerer at the school.

Harry filed that thought away for later. He’d be keeping an eye on Professor Quirrell, that was for sure.

In the meantime, their class was about to begin. He’d managed to weasel his way into the seat next to Neville. Hannah and Susan sat on the Hufflepuff side of the room with identical expressions of vague frustration while Jack (who was seated in the first row next to a boy named Seamus Finnagin) threw Harry an incredulous look.

“You have two pretty Hufflepuff girls that want to sit next to you and you’re going to sit here?” Jack whispered disbelievingly.

Harry looked at Neville’s wide brown eyes and smiled slowly, encircling his wrist with a creeping hand.

“Never mind,” Jack grumbled. “You’re off your rocker, Harry.”

“How was your first class, Neville?” Harry asked quietly, peering into Neville’s face with a rapt expression.

“Oh, fine,” Neville blushed, shaking his wrist free from Harry’s weirdly strong grasp. “We had Transfiguration. I didn’t change my match into a pin, but I think I’m close.”

“That’s wonderful,” Harry crooned, scooting closer. Neville heard twin groans of embarrassment from the Hufflepuff side of the room.

“Who are those two girls you were with?” Neville asked curiously. “They seem nice.”

“They’re absolutely lovely,” Harry agreed. “Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. We’re all very close already. Would you like to meet them after class?”

“Sure,” Neville smiled shyly. “I wouldn’t mind making a new friend.”

“Me neither, Harry,” Jack hissed suddenly, whipping around so quickly his chair rocked against the ground. “I want to meet the pretty Hufflepuffs -”

“Sure,” Harry grinned.

“What about me? Can I meet them too?” Seamus Finnigan asked.

“I suppose so,” Harry mused. “Only if you agree to be my friend.”

“Well I’ve only just met you, haven’t I?” Seamus shrugged. “We’ll have to see if a friendship develops on its own.”

Harry’s red eyes slowly narrowed, his expression becoming icy and terrible.

“I see,” he hissed furiously.

Seamus looked uncomfortable. “Well, uh…I mean…”

“Mum said you have to be nice to everyone, Harry,” Jack whispered sternly.

Harry ignored his twin. He leaned across his desk, his posture rigid and threatening, his eyes still narrowed into red slits. “Tell me, Finnegan,” he snarled quietly. “If we’re not friends, then what are we? What are you to me? Consider that carefully before you speak to me again.”

“Right,” Seamus squeaked. “I’ll do that.”

“If I c-c-c-could have your att-att-attention, p-p-please,” Quirrell stuttered from the front of the room. “C-c-class will b-begin.”

Harry’s eyes darted away from Seamus’ pale face, distracted by the maybe-sorcerer and his strange, fake-sounding stutter.

“Your brother is really weird,” Seamus muttered, looking askance at Jack.

Jack shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Thank goodness Harry isn’t in Gryffindor, Jack thought. He probably wouldn’t be very popular here.

****

Soon, it was time for lunch. Hannah and Susan each grabbed one of his arms, steering him towards the great hall.

“What was that all about?” Susan hissed. “You’re supposed to sit with us! We’re your friends, not some stupid Gryffindors!”

Harry looked delighted. “Susan! Are you telling me you’re jealous?”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Don’t change the subject. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal, remember?”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s just the first day, Susan. Harry’s well within his rights to try to expand his friend group.”

“Our friend group,” Harry said confidently, locking arms with his two friends. “Remember, my friends are your friends. In fact, two of the Gryffindors were very interested in meeting you.”

“Which ones?” Susan asked suspiciously.

“Neville Longbottom - hands off, by the way, he’s mine, but you can be friends - and my twin, Jack Potter,” Harry said nonchalantly. “Jack said you were both pretty.”

“Jack Potter?!” Hannah squealed. “He wants to meet us? He thinks we’re pretty?!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting because he’s so very famous,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“And dreamy,” Hannah sighed.

Susan looked like she was fighting back a laugh. “Alright, you’re forgiven. But only because you’re going to tell us what your deal with Neville is. Do you have a crush on him? I didn’t know you liked boys.”

“I like that boy,” Harry said brightly, his grin almost feral. “He’s mine.”

“Fair enough,” Susan laughed. “Alright, I suppose if you want to sit next to your crush, we’ll forgive you for abandoning us when we have classes with Gryffindor.”

They wandered into the great hall and watched Harry peer towards the Slytherin table.

“I suppose you want to go sit with that Weasley boy,” Susan sighed dramatically. “Is he another one you’re adding to your collection?”

“Correct,” Harry nodded.

Susan rolled her eyes. “I suppose I’ll come with you. It wouldn’t hurt to start networking a bit, even if it is only the first day.”

“I’m just along for the ride,” Hannah said happily. “Being Harry’s friend is very exciting, isn’t it?”

Susan grumbled good-naturedly as they wandered towards a lonely redhead sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. He looked up as they approached, his morose expression turning bright and cheerful.

“Hello, you lot,” Ron said excitedly. “Have you come to eat lunch with me?”

“We have indeed,” Harry said regally, planting himself on the long bench and ignoring the glares of the other Slytherins. Hannah sat next to Harry while Susan wandered around to the other side of the table, dropping down next to Ron with a warm smile. “How were your classes, Ron?”

The redhead’s expression soured. “The lessons themselves are alright, I suppose. We had Transfiguration with the Gryffindors first, so I got to say hi to Jack and Neville. We had Potions with the Ravenclaws next, though, and then it was back to being ignored or insulted by almost everyone in the room.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “I can’t imagine it’ll be easy for you here. You’re a clever wizard, though. They’ll regret not getting on your good side when they had the chance, no doubt about that.”

Ron looked hopeful. “You think?”

Harry nodded, his red eyes bright. “I know it.”

“The first thing you’ll want to do is excel at your classes, I imagine,” Susan said primly, serving herself a large helping of roasted parsnips and carrots. “It’s hard to look down on a powerful wizard, isn’t it?”

“I hate studying, but I think you’re right,” Ron grumbled. “I was never very good at school though.”

“You’re not stupid, not by a long shot,” Harry said pointedly. “I’ve seen you play chess.”

“Maybe you just need to learn how to study,” Hannah shrugged. “That’s a skill all on its own.”

“Would you mind giving me a few pointers?” Ron asked nervously. “I can’t offer you much, but -”

“We’re friends, Ron, remember?” Hannah laughed. “No payment necessary. Although actually, I was thinking of introducing you to a girl I met on the train. I have a feeling she’s going to be the top of our year. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping you build a revision plan.”

“This girl sounds interesting,” Harry said curiously, peering at Hannah with a greedy look. “What’s her name?”

“Hermione Granger,” Hannah answered cheerfully. “She’s a Gryffindor. She’s just right over there, see?”

She pointed towards the Gryffindor table across the hall. A young girl with cute hair puffs was eating alone, staring longingly at the rowdy first years at the other end of the table.

“Another loner,” Harry said approvingly. “Perfect.”

“Another one for your collection, then?” Susan asked, eyebrows raised.

“His what?” Ron gawped. 

“Harry likes to collect people, if you haven’t noticed,” Susan stage-whispered, rolling her eyes.

Ron huffed a laugh. “Well, I’m certainly not complaining. Shall we go talk to Hermione, then?”

“Yes, let’s,” Harry said decisively, rising to his feet.

“I’m not done eating,” Hannah squawked.

“We can just eat the Gryffindor’s food,” Susan shrugged. “It’s not like they’ll run out, right?”

“True,” Hannah agreed, following them as they wove their way across the great hall. “May as well see if the food tastes different at different tables.”

They fell into place around a surprised Hermione and began loading food onto fresh plates.

“Good afternoon, Ms Granger,” Harry smiled, extending his hand. “My name is Harry Potter. May I call you Hermione?”

“Uh, sure,” Hermione said stiffly, shaking his hand. “Hi Harry. Uh, I know Hannah…who are the rest of you?”

“I’m Susan Bones,” Susan said brightly, loading more carrots and parsnips onto her plate. “Cheers.”

“I’m, uh, Ron Weasley,” Ron said, his cheeks going bright red.

“Not that it’s not nice to meet you all, but what are you doing here?” Hermione frowned. 

“Well, we wanted to be friends,” Harry grinned, dimples on full display. “We’re working on forming a study group and we heard you might be interested.”

“A study group?” Hermione gasped. “Oh, I would be delighted to join! Yes, of course I’ll be your friend.”

“Excellent,” Harry hissed, his eyes glowing red.

Hermione looked vaguely unnerved.

“He does that,” Susan said dismissively. “You get used to it pretty quickly. Anyway, we’re all interested in studying together - and just hanging out, really, whatever we feel like doing - but Ron here had something specific to ask you.”

Hermione looked curiously at the redhead, smiling slightly as she watched him turning purple under her scrutiny.

“I - uh - could - I mean, can you teach me how to study?” he babbled. “It’s just that I’m not very good at it and I heard you were the best -”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me that,” Hermione said thickly, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a napkin. “My, Hogwarts really is magical, isn’t it? And here I was thinking everyone was as thick as Jack Potter!”

Harry laughed. “What did he do?”

“He doesn’t respect me,” Hermione said tremulously, her lip wobbling. “I try letting him know when he’s breaking the rules or doing a spell wrong and he just scowls at me!”

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry reassured her, patting her on the arm. “Don’t worry. Now that we’re friends, if you have any problems, you can come to me. No questions asked.”

He thought longingly of the Sibling Rule and the powerful duelists that occupied places of honor in their common room. Harry himself would look so very regal in a large, black wing-back chair, he was sure of it. He could see it now; the fire would provide an appropriately dramatic backdrop, flickering across his perfect cheekbones and dusky skin, his fingers tented ominously in front of his glowing red eyes…

“Oh boy,” Susan muttered. “I can tell this is going to end well.”

Chapter Text

March 4th, 1989

Harry slumped against the cold white tiles of the floor beneath him, his breathing ragged. He yanked fruitlessly at the chains tethering his collar to the metal grate at the center of the room.

Without his collar and its strange, magic-dampening properties, he could have pulled the grate out of the floor, broken through the walls, and made his escape.

But with the collar on…he was muted. His access to his magic was weak.

It seemed like the scientists could dial the effects of the collar back enough to perform their little experiments; this was a bright spot of hope in the otherwise bleak landscape of Harry’s existence. They were careful to fully shackle him before and after his powers were needed, but he was always waiting, always watching for an opportunity to escape.

They were careful, so careful. But he was patient.

He fought off a tremor as he lolled on the floor, a wide grin plastered across his sweaty face.

A loud buzzing sound filled the air.

“Decontamination in progress,” a familiar robotic voice said.

The head scientist - Methusela’s unnamed son, who he called Lamech in his head because Harry was as well-read as he was hilarious - marched confidently through the door, a cloud of decontamination mist dogging his footsteps.

“You have the most ghastly smile, you little monster,” Lamech sneered.

Harry’s grin grew wider.

“We’re going to do a fun little social experiment,” the man continued. 

He waved his hand and a few more scientists entered the room. One of them was pushing a wheelchair in front of them; a withered old man was shackled within it, his expression resigned.

“Set him up over here,” Lamech ordered, pointing towards a chalk line on the floor that was just beyond Harry’s reach.

They positioned the prisoner behind the line and tested his restraints. After a few moments, the scientists filed out one by one, even Lamech, leaving two damned souls behind them.

Something deep in the wall clanked loudly. Harry’s eyebrows rose as he saw the chains moving, pooling up around the metal grate and creating some slack.

He stood carefully, his legs trembling, and walked towards the door.

The chains went taut when he was about a foot away from it.

“Figures,” he chuckled.

He turned towards the prisoner, his expression curious.

The old man seemed to quail in his chair, realizing that Harry could now reach well past the chalk line if he wanted.

Harry raised an eyebrow. This man was afraid of him?

He walked towards him slowly, enjoying the small noises of fear that followed each one of his footsteps. When he was toe to toe with the old man, he leaned close, relishing the expression of terror on the weathered face before him.

“Please,” the old man whispered, twisting and fighting against his restraints.

Harry reached a finger out and placed it on the old man’s forehead, chuckling at the whimpered response.

“Please what?” Harry asked quietly.

“Please don’t kill me,” the old man babbled.

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on it, but…no promises.”

He turned away and sat heavily on the floor, rubbing at the raw sores under his collar and closing his eyes.

A few moments passed.

“That’s…that’s it?” the man whispered.

Harry peeked at him from under dark eyelashes. “What do you mean?” he muttered.

“They said…they said you were a demon child. Possessed.”

“Hah!” Harry laughed. He coughed slightly, his throat dry, but that didn’t dampen his good humor. “Yes, that’s true.”

Harry heard Lamech’s voice echo out from a speaker placed high on the ceiling.

“You can kill the man if you want, demon child. You won’t be punished.”

Harry felt the pressure of the collar lessen. He could access slightly more of his magic than he usually could now - he could feel it running through his system, frantically soothing his injuries and warming his chilled extremities.

He settled more deeply onto the floor and tried to take a nap.

A few more moments passed.

Lamech spoke again. “Demon child, this man is a convicted felon. He murdered a family of six in their sleep. He was scheduled to be executed anyway.”

“I don’t care,” Harry mumbled, yawning.

The old man’s eyes were watery with emotion.

“You’re just a boy,” he whispered. “Just a regular boy. I knew it…you - you look like an angel.”

Harry grimaced. “What? Don’t say that. Weirdo.”

“It’s true,” the man continued. “It’s clear to me now. You’re an innocent child. How’d a nice young man like you get trapped here with these monsters?”

Harry snickered. “Looks are deceiving. They say Lucifer himself was the most beautiful among the angels.”

The man lowered his voice even further. “Listen…I wanted you to know that I’m innocent too. I was wrongfully convicted.”

Harry opened one eye. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” the man said desperately. “Please, if you can undo my restraints, I can help you escape - we can escape together…I’ll tell you everything once we’ve gotten out, you’ll see…”

“You really think they let you in here and got you close enough for me to touch, but they don’t have a plan in place for that exact scenario?” Harry said incredulously. “The only way you make it out of here alive is if they don’t offer me anything I want -”

“Harry,” Lamech said loudly, his voice robotic over the intercom. “If you kill the prisoner, we’ll let you sleep through the night for the rest of the week.”

Harry sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes with numb hands. “Well, looks like your time is up, old man.”

The prisoner looked panicked. “Wait - wait, let’s talk about this, don’t do anything hasty, wait, WAIT -”

Harry wrapped himself in magic, ignoring the bone-deep ache he felt around the muted collar; he sharpened his power and threw it forward, his fingers splayed wide in front of him. 

His wide grin was splattered with blood as the old man exploded into a dozen meaty pieces, the wheelchair beneath him breaking into hunks of jagged metal.

Harry walked towards a bisected piece of skull, poking it with his foot and snickering.

“Sorry, old man,” he whispered, fighting back hysterical laughter. “It’s not that I don’t believe that you were innocent, it’s just that I don’t care.”

****

September 7th, 1991 (The Present)

Harry didn’t care about Potions class. If he ever really needed a potion, he could just buy it, or even trade a demonic favor for it like his old guardian used to do. He wasn’t planning on doing well in that class and hadn’t even bothered to open their book before showing up.

But while Harry didn’t really care about Potions, he did care about drama. Flair. Style. And Professor Snape had that in spades.

He leaned forward eagerly, his red eyes narrowed, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” the man drawled quietly.

Good, something we can agree on, Harry thought, thoroughly satisfied. Wands are dumb.

“I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making,” the man continued, looking down his nose at the trembling first years. “However, for those select few who possess the predisposition…”

He glanced pointedly at Neville Longbottom, who was, of course, seated directly next to Harry. The boy blushed heavily under the implied praise.

“I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

He finished his dramatic rotation around the class, stopping at the front of the room with a snap of his robes.

“Mr Macmillan,” he drawled. “Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand flew into the air.

“Draught of the Living Death, sir,” Macmillan answered proudly. He came from a long line of well-known potioneers; his ancestor, Bertie Macmillan, had become famous for developing that very potion.

“Excellent. Two points to Hufflepuff. Now, Ms Granger, since you seem to have studied ahead…Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, sir,” she answered happily, her cheeks flushed.

“Very good,” Snape nodded. “Two points to Gryffindor. And in the future, there is no need to raise your hand as I will call on students for answers…”

Hermione looked devastated.

“However,” he continued. “You are clearly well prepared. Expect to be called upon quite frequently, Ms Granger. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” she squeaked happily, the stars back in her eyes.

“Now…” Severus’ dark eyes trailed the room, leaving quailing first years in their wake. The notable exception (besides Ernie and Hermione, of course) was Harry Potter.

The boy had a rabid look on his face. He grinned creepily, leaning almost halfway across his desk.

Eurgh, Severus shuddered internally, thoroughly weirded out.

“Mr Longbottom,” he said finally, fixing the blond boy with a stern look. “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“It’s - it’s the same plant, sir,” Neville stuttered. “It’s also called aconite.”

“Correct,” Severus nodded. “Two points to Gryffindor. Well done as always, Mr Longbottom.”

A few minutes later they were tasked with a simple potion to brew in pairs. Harry went off to gather their supplies while Neville fiddled with their cauldron, making sure the temperature was just right.

“So,” Harry said, dumping their ingredients onto the desk. “Uncle Sev seems to like you. Are you good at potions?”

“I’m alright,” Neville frowned. “Uncle Sev - uh, I mean, Professor Snape says I have an intuitive knowledge of ingredients.”

“It’s because he’s so good at plants,” Jack chirped, turning around in his chair to inject himself into the conversation. “He always knows what’s good for a potion and what’s not. But Uncle - I mean Professor Snape says he lacks confidence.”

“I’m not…I’ve never been good at stuff,” Neville said quietly, eyes locked on his cauldron. “My gran…”

They all held their breath but he didn’t continue.

Harry’s eyes slowly narrowed.

“What did your gran say?” he whispered menacingly.

“Nothing.” Neville shook his head and sighed. “We should get started. Blimey, Harry, how did you manage to get the very best of everything?” He held up a perfectly emerald chunk of moss, his eyes wide with appreciation.

“Because he bloody threatened anyone who got in his way,” Seamus said hotly, dumping bruised and tattered ingredients onto the desk he shared with Jack. “Especially me! First years shouldn’t know the stinging hex, it’s not taught until third year!”

“Do not speak to me, Finnegan,” Harry hissed angrily.

Seamus scowled and turned to sit. His chair seemed to move away right as he made for it, sending him crashing into the ground.

“Mr Finnegan, do I need to attach you to your seat with a rope?” Snape called grumpily from across the room.

“No sir,” Seamus choked, his face beet red. He righted his chair and threw himself into it, fuming. “You did that,” he said angrily, jabbing a finger at Harry.

Harry ignored him, choosing instead to arrange their pristine toadstools in a perfect line.

“He’s not even holding his wand, Seamus,” Neville said awkwardly. “It couldn’t have been him.”

“Hey, Harry,” Jack frowned. “Our toadstools are garbage. Look at them, they’re all bruised. Can we have one of yours?”

“These are for Neville,” Harry huffed.

“I don’t mind sharing, Harry,” Neville shrugged.

“See? Come on. Just one?” Jack pleaded. “Don’t make me fail just because you hate Seamus. You have what…eight of them? You only need two for this potion!”

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, ignoring Seamus’ sputtering.

“Fine,” he said finally, choosing the two least perfect toadstools and tossing them towards Jack. “But only because you’re my twin. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.” He said this last sentence loudly, glaring around at the surrounding Gryffindors with his teeth bared.

“Thanks Harry, you’re the best,” Jack grinned.

“Do you want to dice this mouse liver, Harry?” Neville asked politely. “Make sure they’re very small chunks. I’ll start peeling these toadstools and then we can begin adding things to the cauldron.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know how to dice things.”

“I’ll show you, Harry!” Jack said excitedly, clambering around to Harry’s side of the table. “You’ve gotta hold the knife like this and chop everything into little tiny cubes. See?”

“Huh,” Harry said, dreadfully bored already. He could have done that with his magic in about half a second.

Knives were stupid. Potions were stupider.

“It’s alright that you didn’t know,” Neville said encouragingly, mistaking Harry’s apathy for insecurity. “We only know this stuff because we spent so much time with Professor Severus over the summers. We’re lucky that he’s such good friends with Aunt Lily.”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “We’re lucky he had nothing else to do but teach us how to mix stuff in cauldrons, either. When I was a little kid, he used to have to spend a lot of time at Malfoy Manor too - Draco Malfoy, remember him? That Slytherin? - anyway, he used to be his godfather, but apparently they removed him when he turned out to be a spy for Dumbledore during the…uh…”

Jack trailed off, his face white as a sheet as he stared over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned his head curiously.

Severus Snape loomed behind them, his cloak billowing gloriously, his expression perfectly icy.

Harry grinned, delighted.

“Messrs Potter,” he said coldly. “Why is it that your partners seem to be working alone? This is a paired project, is it not?”

“It is not! I mean, it is!” Jack squeaked. “Sorry sir!” He ran to his chair and faced his desk, shoving his head directly above the cauldron in an effort to appear studious.

“Don’t inhale the fumes, Jack,” Snape groaned, pinching his nose. “Lean back, if you would.”

“Of course,” Jack stammered, jerking backwards in his chair.

“Mr Potter…Harry Potter, that is…why is Mr Longbottom doing all of the ingredient preparation?”

“I don’t know how to dice things, sir,” Harry said cheerfully. 

Snape frowned. That…made sense, actually. From what he’d heard about Harry’s life, the boy probably hadn’t been taught anything about potions or even cooking.

“You may observe Mr Longbottom for today,” he said finally. “I would like to see you in my office tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. We will review proper chopping technique and terminology.”

Hermione made a small noise behind them; it sounded like a kettle that had been left on the hob too long.

“Ms Granger, would you like to join us?” Snape asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, please,” she squeaked.

“Very well. I will see you both tomorrow evening. Now, if we could return to the potion at hand…”

****

Jack whistled cheerfully as he meandered through the castle towards the owlery, a letter for his parents in hand.

His first week of classes had gone swimmingly. His father had been right - it was so much fun to be a Gryffindor! The common room was always boisterous, the other students were loud and exciting, and the Weasley twins were especially entertaining in close quarters. Jack couldn’t even count the number of times he’d been breathless with laughter at their antics.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the others (especially the first years) were starstruck by his Boy-Who-Lived status. Jack secretly liked the attention, not that he would ever admit that to his parents - or to Neville, who knew him far too well to be at all impressed by his celebrity - and anyway, his parents had always stressed that fame was not a replacement for personality or character.

Yes, it was quite nice to be a Gryffindor. It was the house of charismatic troublemakers; Jack felt as if he fit right in.

The only downside was that he shared a common room with Hermione Granger of all people. Honestly, how had such a bossy know-it-all been sorted into the house of lions? She’d already tattled on him twice - twice! - for trying to sneak into the forbidden third-floor corridor with Neville, Dean, and Seamus. 

“Hey Jack, wait up!” a familiar voice called.

Jack turned around with a grin. “Harry!” he said delightedly. “Fancy meeting you here! I’m on my way to the owlery to send a letter to mum and dad. Wanna join?”

“Sure,” Harry nodded, falling into step beside Jack. “I wrote them something yesterday but Corvo burnt it up - mind if I add a few sentences to the bottom of your letter?”

“Corvo burnt it?” Jack yelped. “Merlin…how?!”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Harry smirked. “We have an agreement. He’s still working on the whole letter carrying thing, that’s all. Anyway, my letter was written in code, so James and Lily probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway.”

“Huh,” Jack frowned, feeling a spike of jealousy. “Do you have a secret code with mum and dad?”

“Nope,” Harry chortled. “It was supposed to be a fun mystery for them.”

“I see,” Jack said, relieved. “Well, sure, I guess you can add a bit to mine. I don’t have a quill though.”

“I’ve got one in my bag,” Harry nodded. “Hey, by the way, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, what’s going on?” Jack asked suspiciously.

“Do you know someone named Hermione Granger?” Harry asked, watching Jack’s face with an intense expression.

“Ugh! Do I ever,” Jack scowled. “She’s only the nosiest, bossiest girl in the whole school! She never stops telling me what to do, whether we’re in class or not! It’s like she thinks she’s a professor!”

“I see,” Harry said slowly, rubbing his chin. “Well, she’s one of my new friends.”

“Why?!” Jack cried. “She’s horrible!”

“I quite like her,” Harry said coolly, giving his twin a stern look. “She’s clever, she’s nice, and she’s extremely lonely. None of the other lions seem to like her at all. Haven’t you noticed how she sits alone for every meal? How she cries in the bathroom between classes? How she -”

“Merlin, alright, I get it!” Jack yelped. He felt immensely guilty despite his dislike of the girl. He hadn’t meant to make her cry…

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings,” Harry said placatingly. “Here, I’ll make you a deal.”

“Okay…”

“If you agree to be nicer to Hermione, I’ll talk to her about bossing you around less,” Harry smiled. “Although honestly, if she’s giving you pointers in class, you should listen. She’s a fantastically gifted witch, you know.”

“I suppose I could listen every once in a while,” Jack grumbled. “You’ll talk to her?

“I will.”

“Fine! Ugh. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Harry grinned. “Looks like we’re almost at the owlery anyway. Let’s go see Hedwig.”

They marched up the stairs together side by side. The higher they climbed, the cooler the air seemed to be - and the smellier.

“Owls are more fragrant than I thought they would be,” Harry grimaced.

Jack laughed. “Mum says birds are kinda gross. I guess she’s right. Anyway, grab your quill and get writing. I’ll call Hedwig.”

Harry unfurled the letter with a grin. 

He couldn’t resist giving it a quick skim. It was all very on-brand and boring, unfortunately; Gryffindor is great, Draco Malfoy is evil, blah blah blah.

Harry penned a few quick sentences and handed the letter back to Jack. His redheaded twin balanced Hedwig on his shoulder while he read Harry’s addition.

“‘James, don’t go in my room while I’m gone, please. There are things in there that I don’t want you to see. Warm regards, Harry.’ What’s in your room?” Jack asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Harry snickered. “I just want to get in his head a bit. It’s funny, right?”

“If you say so,” Jack shrugged. 

Harry has such a weird sense of humor, he thought fondly.

****

Later that evening, Sirius cackled joyfully as he watched James pace back and forth outside Harry’s room.

“I can’t search his room, that’s an invasion of privacy,” James mumbled, rubbing his chin. “I want Harry to trust me.”

“Sure,” Sirius grinned.

“But it’s Harry. Who knows what he has in there? A dark object? A gun? A severed head? That ratty old bird corpse? It could be anything!”

“Yep.”

“I should go look.”

“Maybe,” Sirius agreed.

“But I can’t. He would know! But wait…how would he find out? He’s at school.”

“Maybe he laid a trap in there,” Sirius chortled.

“No,” James gasped. “He wouldn’t! Fuck…he would. I shouldn’t go in there.”

“Probably not.”

“But…but I need to know. What doesn’t he want me to see?! Argh!”

This continued on for some time, much to Sirius’ delight.

****

“Ickle Ronnikins!”

Ron sighed heavily and turned, watching the Weasley twins stalk down the empty corridor towards him.

“Hello, Forge,” he said wearily.

“Now, that’s no way to greet your most beloved big brothers!” Fred winked, throwing an arm around Ron’s shoulders. George flanked him on the other side and they frog marched him into an empty classroom, closing the door behind them.

“How did you find me?” Ron complained, throwing his book bag on a nearby desk and falling into a chair. “This is nowhere near the Gryffindor common room. Is it?”

“Nah,” George shook his head. “It’s not important. Although what is important is that there’s a handful of Slytherin sixth years just around the corner. They’ve been standing there for a while, which makes us think…”

“They were probably waiting for me,” Ron gulped, going pale behind his freckles.

“You do walk very predictably,” George chided. “Always taking the same empty corridors to and from the great hall. You should really consider shaking things up.”

“How do you know that?” Ron yelped. “Are you spying -”

“Has that been happening a lot?” Fred interrupted, his expression concerned. “Older Slytherins lurking in wait for unsuspecting Ronnikins, I mean.”

Ron shook his head. “I’ve managed to avoid an actual confrontation so far. No one’s been nice to me, but I haven’t been smacked around. Yet. I think it helps that I spend most of my free time with Harry.”

“Harry Potter?” George asked curiously. “Wasn’t he the kid that was dissecting those old rotten frog corpses out in the courtyard? Isn’t he, you know, evil? People call him the Evil Twin.”

“Yeah,” Ron shrugged. “He is a bit. But, you know, he’s a Hufflepuff. As long as you’re one of ‘his people’ the evil is directed elsewhere. It’s useful. Plus, he’s kinda funny.”

“Fascinating,” Fred chuckled. “We’ll have to meet this young man. He sounds delightful.”

“But enough about the Evil Twin,” George frowned. “Is there anything we can do to help you, Ron? Anyone you want us to prank?”

Ron was genuinely touched. “Thanks, guys, that means a lot. You know, I wouldn’t mind learning a few hexes. Just in case I end up needing to defend myself, of course.”

“You came to the right place,” the twins said in unison, rolling up their sleeves. Fred waved his wand, shoving the desks against the walls, while George cast a locking spell on the door.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Fred said seriously. “Have you learned Expelliarmus yet?”

Chapter Text

A confident knock sounded on the door to Severus Snape’s office.

Harry is surprisingly punctual, he thought wryly. He must take after Lily.

He opened the door and froze at the sight of the students before him.

Hermione looked as she always did; eyes bright and fashionable fun buns in place, her uniform impeccably pressed.

Harry, however…

The strange boy was sneering dramatically, his eyes glowing red and his dark hair unbound. He wore a long, flowing set of black robes that pooled behind him like a bridal train; they billowed softly in an artificial wind, charmed into constant movement.

“What are you wearing, Mr Potter?” Snape said finally.

“I altered my school robes to look more like yours,” Harry said cheerfully, pushing past Snape and dragging Hermione into the office. “So. Knives?”

Snape repressed a shudder of unease at his words. “Why do I get the feeling that this is a terrible idea?” he muttered.

****

Every evening, Ron made a point to do an hour of homework in the Slytherin common room. Nobody sat next to him - in fact, people would move if he sat anywhere near them - but he’d decided that hiding in his dorm room was the equivalent of admitting defeat.

He was unpopular now, it was true. But someday…

Someday he would be the king of Slytherin.

He sighed as he examined his study planner. At least I have Hermione, he thought fondly. Studying didn’t come naturally to him, but with her help, it was getting easier and easier.

In fact, his hour in the common room was just about up. 

Time to wander around the library and try to “accidentally” run into Hermione again.

He was about to start packing his things away when he heard Harry’s name mentioned by a group of sixth years. He narrowed his eyes slightly, the scratching of his quill continuing as if nothing had happened; he didn’t want to alert the older students to an eavesdropper, after all.

“The other Potter twin is bloody weird,” one of them hissed. “He keeps hanging around in empty corridors right when the sixth year classes get out. It’s like he knows we’re going to be there and he’s begging to get beat up.”

“Well, you won’t catch me fucking with a firstie Hufflepuff,” his friend grimaced. “Those Big Siblings are brutal.”

“I could take ‘em. They’re just students. It’s not like they’re trained Aurors or anything.”

“I think he’s doing the whole ‘lurking about’ thing to the Gryffindorks, too,” another one added. “I heard McGonagall complaining about it the other day.”

“He’s going to be a smear on the wall soon enough, mark my words.”

The group wandered towards the dormitories until they were out of earshot.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Ron muttered anxiously.

Hopefully Harry was in the library with Hermione and he could ask him directly. The red-eyed boy had recently taken to sneaking around the bookshelves and trying to break into the restricted section.

Ron gathered his things into his ratty bookbag and walked carefully out of the common room. As always, he tried to look casual and unhurried, projecting an air of confidence. Even if no one respected him now, they might someday. It was worth practicing his “walk” whenever he could. 

Susan agreed with him, so it must be true.

Ten minutes later he was shuffling hopefully through the library, eager to catch a glimpse of adorably voluminous fun buns. He sighed with relief as he heard a familiar voice from behind a bookshelf.

“I just don’t understand why they don’t like me,” Hermione whispered. It sounded like she was in tears.

“Because they’re all a bunch of assholes,” Susan muttered consolingly. “You’re a force of nature, Hermione. Don’t concern yourself with the opinion of lesser beings.”

“I just…I didn’t think it would be like this,” Hermione sniffed. “I was never very popular in my old school - the muggle one - but I was so hopeful that it would be different here, that people would c-care about learning…”

“The Ravenclaws do,” Susan said. “Maybe you could make a few friends in that house?”

“The hat tried to put me there,” Hermione admitted quietly. “But I wanted to be more than just smart. I wanted to be brave. I wanted…well, it’s stupid. Anyway, none of the Ravenclaws like me either.”

“Ahh. Because you get better grades and you’re not in their house?”

“Because I get better grades and I’m not in their house,” Hermione agreed, her voice dull. “And isn’t that lovely? If I’d known Gryffindor was going to be like this I might have chosen differently. Maybe Hufflepuff. You all seem to have the right idea about things.”

Ron felt a pang of sympathy. He and Hermione had so much in common; both outsiders, both bullied by their houses and overlooked for circumstances outside of their control. Both wondering if they made the right choice under the Sorting Hat.

He gathered up his courage and peeked around the edge of the bookshelf.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Ron!” Hermione squeaked. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with frenzied hands. “I didn’t know - I mean, what are you doing here? I’m - we’re just doing homework -”

“I wanted to do homework too,” Ron smiled. He sat down at their work table and began to pull out his books. “The revision guide you made me is a real lifesaver. I actually know the answers to questions before the lessons are taught. Imagine that!”

“Nice,” Susan said approvingly. “Have you finished the Potions essay?”

“I have,” Ron said proudly.

“Wanna swap? I’ll review yours if you review mine.”

Hermione shifted in her seat, looking fit to burst. Her red-rimmed eyes darted between her two friends.

“You can read our essays too, Hermione,” Susan whispered consolingly, rolling her eyes. “And even mark them if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely,” Hermione sniffed. “Thank you, Susan.”

Ron bit his lip.

“Listen,” he said quietly, leaning close. “I, um, heard what you were talking about earlier.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Oh, how embarrassing -”

“No, don’t be embarrassed,” Ron said quickly. “I understand, trust me. I’m the lone Weasley in Slytherin, remember? The rest of my house absolutely hates me.”

“They do?” Hermione hiccupped.

“Definitely,” Ron grimaced. “The whole lot of them either hate me because I’m poor or because I’m a blood traitor. Or both. Or neither, and they just don’t want my bad reputation to rub off on them, but it all amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Susan nodded.

“You’ve been so helpful to me, Hermione,” Ron said bashfully, twisting his quill in his hands. “I don’t have much I can offer in return, but…well, Slytherins are good at scheming, right? I can help you cook up a scheme that’ll make the Gryffindors have no choice but to love you.”

Susan leaned forward, intrigued.

“I’m listening,” Hermione said slowly. 

“What’s the one thing that Gryffindors value above everything else?” Ron asked.

“Bravery?” Hermione frowned.

Ron shrugged. “And…?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione huffed. “Bad grades? Bullying the intelligentsia? Quidditch?”

“Exactly,” Ron breathed. “Quidditch. Hermione, you are amazing at basically everything you put your mind to. I bet if you practiced enough, you could get on the Gryffindor quidditch team.”

Susan whistled appreciatively. “Damn, Ron, you really are a Slytherin. That’s pretty clever, actually.”

“But I’m rubbish at flying,” Hermione moaned. “We had our very first lesson this week and I was awful! Even Neville was better than me, and he almost fell off his broom!”

“Most of the others have been flying since they were little kids,” Ron said dismissively. “I promise you that they were just as clumsy as you when they first got on a broom. You just need to practice. Are there any muggle sports you liked to play when you were younger?”

“I’m actually fairly decent at football,” Hermione admitted. “I was usually one of the first few chosen for teams when we played at school.”

“I don’t know what that is but I’m sure at least some of the skills translate, right?” Ron grinned. “Here’s the plan: Continue acting like you’re a rubbish flyer during classes for the whole entire year. I’ll help you train in secret - we’ll need to see what position you would be best at and then consider whether we need to bring in outside help. We can use the school brooms. They’re terrible, but they’ll do the job. And then next year, when you try out for the team, everyone will be floored.”

“What positions are opening up next year?” Susan asked.

“Two Chaser spots and the Keeper position,” Ron answered quickly. His brothers lived and breathed quidditch; it was impossible that he wouldn’t know every detail of the Gryffindor team, not when he’d been yearning to join it for so many years.

“Isn’t the current Keeper a fifth year? Oliver Wood, right?” Susan frowned.

“He was headhunted by Puddlemere United, actually,” Ron grumbled. He was only a little bit jealous. “He’s going to join their Reserve Youth Team and do his last two years by owl. My brother Percy said something about a special homeschool curriculum that all the athletes had access to.”

“By owl?” Hermione said, looking scandalized. “But what about Potions? Or - or - Charms, or anything else where there’s a practical portion?”

“If your dream is to go into pro quidditch, I suppose things like practicals take a back seat,” Susan shrugged. “It’s more important that you have more playing time while you’re young and relatively unbroken.”

“So the question is, would Hermione be better as a Chaser or as a Keeper?” Ron mused.

“Keeper, definitely,” Susan said confidently. “If she’s good at football she’ll be amazing at this. It’s the only position where you can use your feet. That’s all you do in football.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ron nodded.

“Keeper?” Hermione asked nervously.

“They protect the goals,” Susan answered.

“Oh! Yes, that sounds perfect,” Hermione breathed.

“It’s also the only position I’m any good at, so I can definitely help you with that,” Ron chuckled. “Maybe we can get my brothers involved too. The twins love a good secret. Susan, do you play?”

“Fuck yeah, I play,” Susan grinned. “I play everything. Football, volleyball, quidditch, you name it. I’m definitely in. I wanna help Hermione humiliate some bullies.”

“Well, humiliate isn’t quite the right word,” Hermione said carefully.

“You want to win their affection while shaming them for rejecting you, right?” Ron smirked. “Quidditch is the perfect way to do that. Are you in?”

Hermione nodded, her expression determined. “I’m in.”

Susan grinned delightedly. “First thing first, we’re going to have to get you on a physical conditioning regimen. You should join us, Ron, it’ll make it easier to keep up. I’ll see you both at the school gym at six in the morning tomorrow.”

“Six AM!” Ron cried. “That’s too bloody early!”

“I do it every day,” Susan sniffed. “If you want to be an excellent athlete, you have to work hard. Plus, it’s good for your body. We’re just eleven now but when you’re older, you’ll be glad you have a good foundation to build on.”

“To build what? What are you building?!” Ron groaned. What had he gotten himself into?

“Perfectly toned musculature, of course,” Susan winked. “To impress the ladies.”

Ron perked up. Now he was interested. He wouldn’t mind impressing ladies…

“I’m on board with being healthier,” Hermione mused. “Although I’ll leave the ladies to you two. I’m fairly sure I’m straight.”

“More’s the pity,” Susan grinned. She glanced at the redhead in front of them, her expression wicked. “Sounds like you might still have a chance though, Ron.”

Ron's ears turned so red, he thought they might fall off.

****

Harry stalked through the hallways near the Gryffindor common room, doing his best to look vulnerable and pathetic.

He heard the distant sound of footsteps and confident laughter; the voices were deep and mature.

Seventh years, he thought excitedly. He arranged himself in the middle of the corridor, ready to look extremely bully-able.

Three seventh year Gryffindors rounded the corner, chatting amiably among themselves.

“Oops!” Harry squealed, dropping his bag. His books fell across the stones, his wand rolling out of reach; he made sure to tangle his foot in the strap and fall roughly to the floor.

“What’s this?” one of the Gryffindors asked, an eyebrow raised. “A Hufflepuff firstie? What’re you doing hanging around here?”

“Just ignore that one, Perkins,” his friend hissed. “That’s the Evil Twin, remember? He does shit like this all the time.”

Perkins frowned, looking confused. “What? Why?”

Harry blinked innocently from the floor. “Why what?”

“Why are you…I don’t know, making yourself a victim? Do you want to get hexed?”

Harry grinned widely, losing the fight to control his expression. He covered his mouth with his hand instead. “No,” he giggled, voice muffled.

“He probably wants to sic one of the Big Siblings on us,” the third Gryffindor sighed. “There’s one every year. God, Hufflepuffs are such duffers. Let’s just keep going, alright?”

Harry pouted. He’d been found out; that was exactly what he was trying to do. “You lot are no fun. Can’t even properly bully a defenseless first year.”

Perkins laughed. “Yeah, well, you look like a possessed doll. Nobody really wants to get involved with…” he waved a hand towards Harry’s red eyes. “With whatever the fuck you’ve got going on there.”

“Cowards,” Harry sneered.

“Eurgh. He’s so weird! Screw the library. Let’s just go study in the common room,” the first Gryffindor mumbled.

The group turned around and headed back towards their dorm, throwing unsettled glances over their shoulders.

Harry fell back onto the floor with an exasperated huff. He extended his magic, raking his things back into his bag and pulling his wand into his hand. 

A few moments passed as he stared dramatically at the stone ceiling. 

“This is never going to work,” he muttered. 

He gathered his magic around himself and pushed off the floor, floating up until he was back on his feet. The gloomy hallway seemed to mock him with its emptiness.

“I suppose I’ll just have to hope that one of my friends gets bullied,” Harry sighed wistfully.

****

Neville stared blankly at the parchment on his desk, oblivious to the ruckus of the Gryffindor common room around him. He was supposed to be writing an essay about the ten uses of dragon blood but he couldn’t quite focus.

I wonder what Harry’s doing right now, he thought. 

The lesser-known Potter twin was still a mystery to him. How could one person be so unsettling, yet so fascinating? Every other thing that left Harry’s mouth sent eerie shivers down his spine, and yet…When Harry acted possessively - when he touched Neville’s hand, or brushed against his arm, or grabbed his wrist - it made Neville feel…something. Important? Special? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Jack seemed to accept his sibling’s foibles, but the other Gryffindors thought Harry was weird. They thought his red eyes were creepy, especially when they seemed to glow.

Neville disagreed. Red was such a lovely color, wasn’t it? And it made sense that it would suit Harry. Crimson tones complemented his dusky complexion perfectly, especially when framed by thick, dark eyelashes and a lush mess of long black hair…

“Nev! Finished with your essay?” Jack yelled, barreling into Neville’s chair.

“What?! Oh, uh, yes,” Neville sputtered, a flush rising in his cheeks. “I mean no. I’ll finish it later. What’s going on?”

“We’re about to play Exploding Snap!” Jack said excitedly. “Wanna join?”

“Sure,” Neville sighed, abandoning his essay. He’d have time to finish it over the weekend.

Maybe Harry hadn’t finished the essay either.

Maybe they could do it together?

Chapter Text

“I don’t write essays and I don’t care about dragon blood,” Harry said resolutely, punctuating his sentence by brandishing a breakfast sausage.

Neville looked panicked. “You - you don’t write essays?!”

He’d joined the Hufflepuffs for breakfast, venturing away from the safety of Gryffindor in hopes of tempting Harry into spending time together over the weekend. It seemed like his plan was failing, however.

“We’re aware it’s a problem,” Susan said wryly.

“He’s basically failing everything but Potions and Defense,” Hannah said mournfully. “It’s only the end of the second week! That shouldn’t be possible!”

“It’s got to be some kind of record,” Susan grimaced.

“I have my own stuff to study,” Harry sniffed, tossing his braid behind his shoulder. “And anyway, I don’t know why I’m not failing Defense either. That class is a waste of time. We never even get to duel!”

“What could you possibly have to study that’s not related to your school work?” Susan asked incredulously.

“Do you really want to know?” Harry asked curiously, his eyes gleaming.

“No,” Neville shuddered.

“I mean…yeah? I kinda do,” Susan said thoughtfully. Hannah nodded in agreement.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry grinned.

“But you like Potions?” Neville asked desperately. All he wanted to do was spend time with Harry doing something normal, like working on an essay. Something innocent and quiet, where he could stare at Harry out of the corner of his eye and no one would notice…

“I like it enough,” Harry shrugged. “I like Uncle Sev. He’s got style.”

“He’s so dreamy,” Hannah drooled.

Susan rolled her eyes. “The dragon blood essay is for Potions, Harry,” she drawled. “This is one you might actually want to consider writing.”

“Are you guys talking about the Potions essay?” Ron asked, falling into the seat next to Neville and shoveling eggs onto his plate. Hermione sat across from him with a shy smile. “I haven’t written that one yet. ‘Mione, I’m sure you’ve already finished yours - any advice?”

“Why, thank you for asking, Ron!” she said brightly. “Make sure you write about all of them equally. Everyone likes to talk about the first three uses because they’re the most commonly used, but if you want your essay to stand out, you’ll need to go a bit further. Expound on each use individually; make sure to discuss the merits and drawbacks in a variety of scenarios.”

“What could dragon’s blood possibly be -” Harry froze, his eyes going wide and his mouth hanging open.

“I hate this expression on you. Stop it,” Susan ordered. “Stop thinking about whatever it is you’re thinking about.”

“Do you think…no…how did I not realize…that would be a wonderful sacrifice…” Harry whispered, tapping his fingers on the tabletop and staring at the ceiling.

“I have a feeling the future of the wizarding world might hinge on this moment,” Hermione said with a resigned expression. “Someone interrupt his train of thought, please.”

“Harry doesn’t do essays,” Hannah said helpfully.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She spun around, grabbing Harry by the shoulders with both hands and shaking him out of his reverie. “Harry James Potter, is that true? Have you not submitted any assignments this year?!”

“What?” he blinked. “Oh. Yeah, of course not. I don’t do essays. They’re boring.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped like a fish.

“How - how are you not always in detention?” she asked weakly.

“Oh, no one bothers me about it,” Harry said smugly. “I’m traumatized. They let me do whatever I want. I think they’re just happy I come to class.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Wait, hang on. What?”

“I know,” Harry snickered, taking a dainty sip of coffee. “This is my first time at school so Lily says I’m still ‘learning boundaries’. Before I got to Hogwarts, I was a test subject in a muggle lab. Funny, right?”

The table went quiet.

“That’s - uh, wow,” Hermione grimaced. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Harry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry shrugged, patting his lips with a napkin. “I learned loads. Anyway, I have a mandatory therapy session with Pomfrey on Saturday mornings. I’ll see you all later.”

“Wait!” Neville cried desperately. “Essay?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I might write an essay just this once. But only if you help me, Neville.”

Neville sighed with relief. “Great. Meet you in the library at noon?”

“Sure,” Harry smirked, his eyes locked on Neville’s pink face. “See you then, Nev.”

They all watched the strange boy wander off through the great hall, whistling a creepy tune under his breath. He waved cheerfully at Snape as he passed the head table; Snape glared suspiciously at him in return.

“Did you all know he used to be a test subject?” Hannah whispered, her eyes wide.

“I knew,” Neville said reluctantly. “He’s not really supposed to talk about it, but…I don’t know. It’s his life, right? He can say what he wants.”

“Poor Harry,” Hermione muttered, her eyes bright. “Neville, would you like me to come help this afternoon? I wonder if anyone’s ever actually shown him how to properly research and outline an essay.”

“Sure,” Neville said reluctantly.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione smiled. “I’ll make sure you still get to sit next to Harry.”

“Oh,” Neville said, relieved. “Well, great! The more the merrier.”

“Can I come too, Hermione?” Ron asked. “Since it sounds like there will be a seat open next to you…”

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Susan and Hannah locked eyes with one another, their expressions amused. 

“Is there anyone that you want to invite to the library while we’re at it, Hannah?” Susan drawled.

“Good question,” Hannah mused. “Draco Malfoy is quite fit, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll see if he’s finished the dragon blood essay…”

****

Neville waited anxiously for Harry to join him in the library, rearranging his parchments and making sure his ink and quill were placed just so.

Ron and Hermione watched him fidget with amused expressions.

“Didn’t you live in the same house over the summer?” Ron asked curiously. “Why are you so nervous?”

“We only lived together for a few weeks,” Neville frowned. “And anyway, most of the time he was either at a healer appointment or locked up in his room reading. We actually didn’t spend very much time together.”

“Healer appointment?” Ron asked, confused.

Hermione grimaced. “I’m sure it had something to do with, you know…”

“Yeah,” Neville sighed. “They almost didn’t even let him come to Hogwarts.”

“I can’t believe he used to be a test subject,” Ron muttered. “All the newspapers just said that he’d been living with some muggle relatives until he turned eleven. Something about him not interfering with Jack’s training as the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Training?” Hermione asked curiously.

Ron shrugged. “To defeat the next dark lord, apparently.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Neville scoffed. “Like Aunt Lily would ever let Jack train to kill You-Know-Who. Like she’d ever let You-Know-Who get anywhere near Jack ever again. Or Harry!”

“Or you,” Hermione added.

Neville shrugged. “Or me. And anyway, Aunt Lily and Uncle James were always so sad that Harry was dead - or that they thought he was dead, I suppose - they never would have shipped him off to live with someone else, no matter what.”

“So they didn’t know he was alive? How did they find him?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.

“Hogwarts letter,” Neville said grimly. “That’s how they found out.”

Ron and Hermione looked stunned.

“Those are sent out barely a month before school starts,” Ron hissed. “Are you telling me that just over two months ago, Harry was being experimented on in a muggle lab?!”

Neville nodded, his expression pained.

“Is that why he has the, uh…you know,” Ron said, gesturing at his arms.

“The what?” Hermione asked, looking sick.

“Scars,” Neville said quietly. “His arms, legs and torso are covered in scars. If he rolls his sleeves up you can see them.”

A few moments of disturbed silence passed.

“Well, I for one think he’s adjusting quite well,” Hermione said tearfully, wiping her face. “No wonder he’s given leeway on essays. It’s a miracle he’s here at all!”

“We should talk about something else,” Ron said reluctantly. “Harry could be here any minute.”

As if summoned, Harry walked through the doors of the library and sauntered over to their small table.

“Hello, Neville,” he said slowly, a possessive grin creeping across his face.

“We’re here too, Harry,” Ron said helpfully, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, not looking away from Neville’s blush.

“Hi, Harry,” he squeaked.

“Harry, I was thinking we could discuss the ins and outs of writing an essay,” Hermione said primly, patting a large book that sat in front of her. “Have you brought your things?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, falling into the chair next to Neville and pulling his books from his bag. “We’ll just need the one book, right? It’s in our first year reading or whatever.”

“Well, you could just use the first year book,” Hermione agreed. “But there’s a lot of additional information in here -” she tapped the large tome in front of her. “- and in here.” She pointed towards the tome in front of Ron.

“What kind of additional information?” Harry asked curiously, his eyes narrowed. “Is there anything that mentions a secret, more sorcerous eleventh use of dragon’s blood?”

“Sorcerous?” Hermione frowned. “No, I don’t think so…”

“Hmm…” Harry mused. “Let me see that.”

He grabbed the book and flipped it open to the index, running a quick finger down the page as he skimmed.

“So, Harry,” Ron said conversationally. “When did you learn how to read?”

“Ronald!” Hermione gasped. “You can’t just ask someone that, it sounds like you’re implying they can’t read…”

“I’m just curious!” Ron said frantically. “I mean, Harry said he was a lab experiment right? And this is his first time in school?”

“It’s a good question, actually,” Harry grinned, his eyes locked on the book before him. He flipped the pages until they fell open on the section discussing the uses of dragon’s blood. “I was wondering if you’d pick up on that, Ron. Anyway, I learned how to read when I was three.”

“When you were three?” Hermione said indignantly. “That seems rather young.”

Harry smirked. "I had a dedicated tutor. He hounded me day and night to pick up books. I suppose disincorporation will do that to you..."

"What?" Hermoine frowned, leaning forward, but Harry ignored her.

Moments later, he snapped the book shut and grabbed the one in front of Ron. “That one’s rubbish. Let’s see here…”

“There’s no way you read everything,” Hermione grumbled.

Harry flipped the next book open and began skimming again.

“Nothing here either,” he muttered. “Oh well, may as well start writing.”

“Do you need help drafting an outline, Harry?” Hermione asked kindly.

“No thanks,” he grinned. “I appreciate the offer, though. You’re a good friend, Hermione.”

Hermione looked pleased. “Thank you, Harry. I do try.”

“Do you want to look at my outline, ‘Mione?” Ron asked nervously.

“Of course!” she said delightedly. “Let’s see…yes, this is all very good, Ron, but I wouldn’t even outline the introduction at all. Just start at the second paragraph and write the whole thing; the conclusion comes next, and the introduction last. Say what you want to say, summarize it, and then it’ll be easy to introduce it.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to write my essay more than once?” he asked, confused. “If I don’t write the introduction first, I might not leave enough room on the parchment for it.”

“That’s right,” Hermione nodded. “But an essay is always better after a rewrite. It can only help.”

“You’re a genius,” Ron said admiringly.

They stared at one another for a moment, smiling happily.

Neville didn’t notice. He was busy examining Harry out of the corner of his eye. The red-eyed boy’s hand was flying across the parchment, writing out lines and lines of text in a tiny, exacting script.

“Finished,” Harry said finally, dropping his quill. “Whew, that was awful. Almost done, Nev? Wanna help me break into the restricted section?”

“I’m only halfway finished,” Neville squawked.

“It’s just now been twenty minutes, Harry,” Hermione frowned. “Surely you need to revise your essay? And you only skimmed the reading.”

“Here, you can revise it,” Harry said automatically, pushing it towards her without looking. He settled down with his head on his hands to stare at Neville while he worked. “I’ll wait here until you’re done, Neville,” he whispered loudly, scooting even closer.

Neville felt sweat break out on the back of his neck. He glanced to his right; Harry’s intense red eyes were right next to his face. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d invited Harry to write an essay together…but he didn’t dislike it. Or did he? He wasn’t sure. Was it hot in here?

“Harry, this…this essay is perfect,” Hermione choked. “How…when…”

“It’s an okay essay,” he said dismissively. “It’s nothing groundbreaking. It’s not like I’ve changed the face of science or anything.”

“But Harry!” she whispered, her expression frantic. “If you already know how to write essays - if you can effortlessly whip one out - when did you learn how to write like this?”

“I once had a guardian that held me to extremely exacting scholastic standards,” Harry drawled, his expression amused. He trailed a delicate finger along Neville’s back and watched the blond boy shiver, his quill blobbing ink across his parchment. “I studied ten hours a day, seven days a week, from the age of three until I turned eight. We would break for meals and…certain extracurriculars, but nothing else.”

“Wait, you said you’d never been in school before!” Ron harrumphed. 

“I haven’t,” Harry dimpled. “I never said I hadn’t read books or written essays.”

“And you did all that at the muggle lab?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“I didn’t say that either,” Harry laughed. “The lab came after. You’ll figure my timeline out eventually, Ron, don’t worry. You just don’t have all the details yet.”

“You could just tell us,” Ron grumbled.

Harry grinned delightedly, now running his fingers through Neville’s blond locks and enjoying the boy’s wide, panicked eyes. “But then there would be no mystery! Not even my parents know what happened to me before the lab. Ergo, they don't know that I can even write properly, and as such, I don’t have to write essays.”

“I’m done!” Neville said desperately, rolling his wet, nigh-illegible parchment up and shoving it into his book bag. “Alright, time to leave the library.”

“Where to, Neville?” Harry crooned.

“To the - uh - to the outside,” Neville squawked. “To, uh, practice brooms. Flying. Or wait - no, to look at the greenhouses.”

“Greenhouses?” Harry gasped. “Can we go into Greenhouse Six?”

Neville looked reluctantly interested. “We’re not supposed to be in that one…but I am pretty curious. I heard there was a Venomous Tentacula in there.”

“Really? Wicked!” Harry breathed, his eyes wide. “Fuck that stupid essay, who cares about Potions anyway. You can just have it, Hermione. See you later!”

“I’ll bring it to…class…” she trailed off, watching the two boys scamper out of the library. “He really hates schoolwork, doesn’t he?”

“I’m glad he’s gone, honestly,” Ron admitted. “I wasn’t getting anything done. The library is for studying, you know? Not petting Neville.”

Hermione felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She nodded in agreement, finding herself breathless.

Chapter Text

Severus rearranged the tea set for the tenth time, twisting the teapot so that it was angled just so. Nothing could be too perfect when Lily came to visit. His dearest friend deserved the best.

A polite knock sounded on the door to his living quarters. Severus straightened his charcoal-gray jumper and strode forward to open the door, a bright smile shining on his pale face.

“Sev!” Lily squealed, jumping forward and pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

“L-Lily,” Severus wheezed. “Too tight - akkk -”

She released him with a grin and planted a fond kiss on his cheek. “You’re looking wonderful! Greece really agreed with you. I want to hear all about your trip this past summer - did you end up finding that ancient Potions Master you were looking for? Asclepius, right?”

Severus rolled his eyes as he ushered her in and closed the door behind her. “We are not talking about my summer trip today, not until we’ve thoroughly exhausted more important topics. I want to hear all about the day you found Harry. I know there were things you couldn’t put in your letters.”

Lily grimaced, shucking off her Auror robe and laying it neatly on the arm of the plush couch before sitting. “There’s so much, Sev. So much. I’m not even really sure where to begin…”

“Let’s start with the Hogwarts letters,” Severus said soothingly, sitting down next to her and pouring two cups of tea. “You said that Dumbledore made a house call?”

Lily nodded and launched into her tale, sparing no details as she outlined their rescue of Harry and the horrors that awaited them inside the research facility. Severus felt himself grow more and more faint as the story progressed.

“He - he beheaded eight people at once?” he stuttered. “Wandlessly?”

“You can’t tell anyone, Sev,” Lily said desperately. “Trust me, these people were awful - one of them in particular, the head researcher or owner or whatever, did so many terrible things to Harry...and Harry hasn’t done anything violent like that since!”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Severus said reassuringly, patting her hand. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

Lily nodded gratefully. “Thank you. The only ones who know besides us are Remus, Sirius, and James.”

“You mean the flea brigade,” Severus muttered petulantly, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Lily chuckled and sipped her tea, rolling her eyes. During their sixth year, James’ wooing tactics had included a genuine attempt at befriending Severus, much to Lily’s surprise. They’d since resolved their past animosities - James in particular was especially careful to stay in his good graces, understanding that this was the easiest way to stay in Lily’s good graces - but despite their years of cautious friendship, Severus could never resist needling the Marauders when the opportunity presented itself.

“I’m surprised Dumbledore doesn’t know,” Severus admitted. “I’m guessing he wasn’t present?”

“He was outside the facility,” Lily nodded miserably. “It was difficult lying to him about it…but I was worried that he would see Harry differently, or try to take him away from us, or not let him attend Hogwarts. I hate keeping secrets from him, Severus.”

“I think it’s completely understandable. You want to protect your son.”

“At what cost, though?” Lily whispered guiltily, glancing at her friend’s worried expression. “I love Harry, but he’s dangerous. By keeping his abilities a secret, by allowing him to go to school with innocent children and putting them at risk…is this the right thing to do?”

Severus sighed and refilled her tea. “From a purely moralistic perspective? Probably not. It’s wrong to needlessly endanger children, and their parents would be rightfully angry. But this issue isn’t so black and white, not in my opinion. It sounds like Harry’s been through quite a lot in his short life. I believe he deserves a chance at normalcy just as much as any other child would. And as his mother, it’s natural - even morally correct - for you to want him to have that chance.”

Lily felt relieved tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She sniffed quietly and brushed trembling fingers across her cheeks. “Yes, exactly!” she nodded. “And anyway, from your letters it sounds like he’s been perfectly normal - well, normal for Harry - and he’s been getting along well with the other students. Right?” She gazed hopefully at her dearest friend, biting her lip.

Severus smiled gently and squeezed her hand. “He’s acclimating to Hogwarts life remarkably well, especially considering his background. He’s a strange boy, of course, but friendly enough. He’s made quite a few friends so far. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones in Hufflepuff, Hermione Granger from Gryffindor, and of course Ronald…”

“Oh, god, I forgot about everything going on with poor Ron,” Lily gasped. “He was sorted into Slytherin, right?”

“Yes,” Severus deadpanned. “A fate worse than death, to be sure. However will he survive this hardship?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Sev. Traditional purebloods are brutal, and there’s more of those in Slytherin than anywhere else.”

Severus grimaced. “You’re not wrong. To be honest, I see a lot of myself in young Ronald. I am unsure if this is a good thing or not.”

When he’d first started school, most Slytherins had looked down their noses at Severus. That had all changed when his skill at Potions attracted the attention of the Dark Lord. The smallest amount of recognition and encouragement had found Severus doing and saying things he had never thought he would. If Lily had been less forgiving - if James had been less earnest in pursuit of friendship and hadn’t opened the Potter manor to him as an unexpected sanctuary - Severus likely would have continued on that path and joined the Dark Lord’s ranks.

He shuddered at the thought. What kind of man would he have become if he’d been doomed to a life of violence, bitterness, and resentment? A life without his best friend at his side, without the freedom of research and the joys of teaching…it didn’t bear dwelling on.

“At any rate,” he continued. “Right now it seems that the majority of the house is ignoring him. He’s had a few issues with Draco Malfoy and some of the other younger Slytherins, but nothing like I’d initially expected.”

“He’s lucky to have you keeping an eye on him,” Lily said proudly.

“Actually, I don’t know if it has much to do with me,” Severus admitted. “I think the other snakes are wary of him because he spends so much time with Harry. He’s been claimed, so to speak.”

“Really?” Lily grinned, delighted. “Well, I like the sound of that. Harry Potter, defender of the downtrodden! He’s putting his general creepiness to good use then?”

“You could say that,” Severus laughed. “Speaking of which, your boys should be here in the next five minutes or so.” He summoned three extra tea cups and a tray of hearty sandwiches from the small kitchen.

“Oh, before they get here, I’ve got a story that’ll make you laugh. So Harry loves pushing James’ buttons, it’s quite funny actually. The other day he sent James a letter written entirely in code…”

Severus was almost breathless with mirth by the end of the story. Apparently, James had spent the better part of a week decoding the letter, only to discover that it was all nonsense anyway save for the first line which read “Hufflepuff Rulez, Gryffindor Droolz.”

“Merlin, I’m going to have to find a way to give Harry extra points in class,” he chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “James does realize that this is incredibly karmic, doesn’t he?”

“Oh yes,” Lily grinned. “Once he got over the indignity of it all he was quite amused.”

A barrage of loud bangs sounded on the door. Severus grimaced and stood, straightening his jumper with a sniff.

“The hooligans are here,” he said archly, opening the door.

Jack and Neville tumbled inside and ran towards Lily with their arms outstretched, collapsing on her in a pile and chattering excitedly. Harry followed at a slower pace but seemed just as delighted; a slow, content smile stretched across his face as he sat next to his mother, leaning against her with half-closed eyes.

“Hello, boys,” Lily laughed, kissing them each on the forehead and ruffling their hair in turn. “Glad to see I could tear you away from your studies.”

“It’s lunchtime, mum, we don’t have classes right now,” Jack said helpfully. “Anyway, none of us particularly like studying. No offense, Uncle Sev.”

Severus smirked. Jack and Neville seemed much less intimidated by him outside of the potions classroom. It was charming, even if a bit annoying. “Cheeky brats,” he drawled, pouring three cups of tea. “Despite their best efforts, Lily, all three of your sons are doing very well in my class.”

“Really?” Jack asked, delighted. He yanked on Neville’s sleeve excitedly. “Did you hear that, Neville?”

Severus nodded. “It’s true. Keep up the hard work and we’ll make Master Potioneers out of you yet.”

Neville smiled shyly. “I think I would like that.”

“You’d be great, Neville! Neville always makes the best potions,” Jack explained to Lily. “Of course, Harry’s his brewing partner and he always hoards all the best ingredients, but he lets me have a few mushrooms sometimes so that’s all right.”

“I learned how to dice mouse livers last week,” Harry said proudly, pulling a long, sharp knife out of his sleeve with a flourish. “Here, let me cut your sandwich for you, Lily -”

“Harry James Potter, what are you doing waving that thing around?!” Lily hissed, her eyes going wide. “Give me that…”

Harry shrugged and handed it over handle-first, fighting to control the manic grin that blossomed on his face. “What? You’re the one who bought it for me -”

“Yes, to use in Potions, in the Potions classroom,” Lily despaired.

“I’ll hang on to it between classes, shall I?” Severus grimaced, taking the knife from Lily and setting it aside.

Harry grinned. “Whatever you say, Uncle Sev.”

****

“C-class d-d-dismissed,” Professor Quirrell stuttered. 

The first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs jumped to their feet, stuffing parchments and quills into their bags and racing towards the door. Within moments, the classroom was blessedly empty…save for one red-eyed student.

Harry Potter. 

Quirrell narrowed his eyes as he examined the strange boy before him. Some might say Harry was the lesser twin, doomed to be overshadowed by the famous Boy-Who-Lived…

But Quirrell knew better. He shared a mind with his Lord now; he knew all of his secrets. His Lord had entered Godric’s Hollow intending to kill two children. He’d only gotten the chance to curse one of them. Jack Potter might have been scarred by the backlash, but Harry Potter was the one he’d miscast Avada Kedavra on. He was the true child of prophecy, the catalyst of Lord Voldemort’s destruction.

Temporary destruction, he reminded himself. All in due time.

“S-s-something I c-c-can help you w-w-with, Mr Potter?” Quirrell asked politely, moving to sit behind his desk.

“Why, yes,” Harry smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling forward. “It’s somewhat private, though.”

Quirrell frowned. “P-p-private?” He cast a quick silencing ward around the room with a shaky wave of his wand.

“Yes,” Harry continued, drawing closer and leaning over his professor’s desk. Quirrell leaned back involuntarily, a shiver traveling up his spine as a feral grin stretched over the boy’s handsome features. “You see, I know your secret. I know what you are. I’ve figured it out.”

A numb sort of dread bled through Quirrell, fear twisting his stomach. He’d always thought there was something especially strange about this boy. He seemed a little too perceptive, a little too cunning, and his lord always went pensively quiet when the boy was near. 

Had they been discovered?

Quirrell felt panic rising up in his throat, amplified by his constant state of exhaustion, choking him - and suddenly, he was overpowered by a terrible darkness that rolled through his mind, shoving him aside until he was a helpless spectator in his own body.

Voldemort was in control now.

“Interesting,” Voldemort-as-Quirrell whispered, spinning his wand in his fingers. “Do go on. What exactly do you think I am, Mr Potter?”

Harry didn’t comment on the lack of a stutter. “It’s obvious if you know what to look for. And I do. You’re a sorcerer.”

Voldemort blinked.

“What a strange conclusion to come to,” he said finally. “You’ve seen me use a wand. How could I be a sorcerer?”

“Nice try,” Harry laughed, rapping the desk with his knuckles. He leaned closer, his toothy grin inches away from Voldemort-as-Quirrell’s nose. “I know for a fact that wizards can perform sorcerous magic. It’s no use pretending anymore. If you’re not a sorcerer, then why do you have that extra bit of demonic soul stuffed into your head? It’s awfully crowded in there for a mere wizard, isn’t it?”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, his mind spinning. He was above such petty things as panic, of course, but he could recognize danger when he saw it and act swiftly. How could the boy tell that Quirrell was possessed? And he’d mentioned sorcery…Voldemort had never dabbled in that particular dark art, even when he was still Tom, and his knowledge was limited. Was Harry Potter a practitioner? Did his sorcery allow him to literally sense the presence of souls?

His eyes darted between the two red irises before him; the boy had some natural occlumency barriers, it seemed, but if he were to push…

“Stop it,” Harry said suddenly, rearing back and blinking. “I know what you’re doing. Stop.”

“Apologies,” Voldemort said mildly, crossing his legs. “But can you blame me? You know one of my secrets. It’s only natural that I’d want to know how.” No need to mention that he wasn’t, in fact, a sorcerer. He would need to do some more research on the subject before he decided if that would remain to be true.

“My secrets are my own,” Harry muttered, a rare frown creasing his brow. He chewed on his lip. “But don’t worry. I have no plans to out you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A deal,” Harry smirked. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about your sorcery, if you’ll agree to help me find a place in the castle to summon demons.”

“Impossible,” Voldemort sneered. “Hogwarts is well-warded against any kind of summoning, demonic or otherwise.”

“I said ‘help’,” Harry shrugged. “I’m not unreasonable. If we truly can’t find a place, we’ll revisit our deal.”

“Acceptable,” Voldemort said finally. “Now get out.”

Harry grinned and turned on his heel, marching out of the classroom without another word.

Voldemort sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a lot of reading ahead of him if he wanted to maintain the charade long enough to figure out how the brat could sense Quirrell’s possession.

He would need to visit the bookshop in Knockturn Alley.

****

Neville shifted his feet anxiously, his eyes darting up and down the mostly-abandoned corridor. Seamus and Dean stood beside him, their faces pink with anger. Jack had positioned himself in front of the other Gryffindors and was trading barbs with Malfoy and his brainless goons.

We’re going to be in so much trouble if they start hexing one another again, he thought wearily. 

“I bet you’re not so brave without your little friends,” Jack snarled, gesturing towards Crabbe and Goyle dismissively.

“You’re one to talk!” Malfoy sputtered, glaring at the four Gryffindors. “Fine, you know what? Let’s settle this once and for all. Wizard’s duel. Tonight, if you want. Wands only - no contact.”

“Done,” Jack said immediately, his face lighting up with fervor. “Neville’s my second. Who’s yours?”

Malfoy turned to look at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

“I’ll choose -”

The group fell quiet, their heads turning in unison towards the sound of whistling and approaching footsteps. The Gryffindors looked especially grim; Malfoy frowned at them and whispered, “What? Is it a prefect?”

“Harry,” Dean muttered.

Draco blanched. “Oh Merlin, everybody act normal -”

Harry rounded the corner, his red eyes bright with good humor and his hands in his pockets. He stopped short as he noticed the crowd of first years.

“What’s going on here?” he asked curiously, his eyebrows raised.

Jack and Malfoy looked at one another, then looked away. Draco’s eyes were wide and his lips were bloodless. His hand began to inch towards his wand…

“We were just talking about Quidditch,” Jack said quickly. “Who’d you say your favorite team was again, Malfoy?”

“The - the Hollyhead Harpies,” Malfoy stuttered. “Best in the league, hands down.”

Jack laughed loudly and unconvincingly. “Ha ha. Everyone knows the Falcons are going to take the cup this year.” 

Malfoy laughed along weakley and shrugged.

“Oh really?” Harry said slowly, his red eyes narrowing.

A few moments of intensely uncomfortable silence passed as Harry peered at Jack and Malfoy in turn, his expression becoming more and more suspicious. 

Neville cleared his throat.

“Harry, that Tentacula cutting we stole seems to be doing very nicely,” he ventured. “I know I was against planting it in the main courtyard, but I’ve changed my mind. Do you want to do that now? Er, together?”

Harry spun around so quickly, he might have ignited a fire underneath his heel.

“Why, Neville, what a delightful idea,” he gasped. “I knew you’d come around. Do you have it on you?” His fingers flexed and twitched as his eyes roved over Neville’s form.

Neville looked half unsettled, half enchanted. “No, I left it under my bed. I think we’d have time to go get it and plant it before dinner - if we run, that is.”

“I’m not allowed in the Gryffindor common room anymore but I can wait for you outside the portrait,” Harry said gleefully, darting forward to grab onto Neville’s arm. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“Not allowed - what happened?” Neville groaned. Harry laughed and began to whisper in his ear as they marched away.

Nobody moved until the pair turned the corner. 

“That was surprisingly decent of you,” Malfoy said finally. “I thought for sure you would rat me out for challenging you to a duel.”

“I didn’t do it to be nice,” Jack scowled. “I just don’t want Harry going to Azkaban for murder.”

“I bet I could take him,” Crabbe grunted. “He’s puny. Shortest first year.”

Both Jack and Malfoy turned towards him with expressions of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

“Anyway,” Malfoy continued, shaking his head. “I’ve had about enough today. Truce?”

“Agreed. Just for today though,” Jack added quickly. “Tomorrow, you’re dead meat, ferret.”

“You wish, Potty,” Malfoy said archly. “Until tomorrow.”

The Gryffindors and Slytherins parted ways, their pride intact.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you were thinking of agreeing to a duel,” Hermione hissed angrily, stomping along after Jack and his friends. “Imagine the house points you’d lose if you got caught! Of all the selfish, thoughtless -”

“Yes, alright, thank you,” Jack said loudly, walking faster and grimacing. His brisk pace had him pulling away from Dean, Seamus, and Neville. 

Hermione, however, had been exercising daily with Ron and Susan. She had no trouble keeping up. She shifted her heavy bookbag higher on her shoulder and began to jog. “And to drag Neville into it without even asking - you know that would upset Harry, and you know he would take it out on Malfoy and then he would get in trouble too, did you think about that -”

“Merlin, just give it a rest already!” Jack shouted, turning around and waving his arms. “You think you’re everyone’s mum! You’re not! Stop bossing me around!”

Hermione’s lip wobbled tremulously. “I was only saying -”

“Well, don’t,” Jack snapped. “You’re always sticking your big nose in where it doesn’t belong -”

“My - my what?” Hermione squeaked, her hand rising to cover a perfectly normal-sized nose.

“- and we’ve all had just about enough of you, I mean it! All of us! First you’re going on and on about ‘Win-gar-dium Levi-oooh-sah all through class, on and on and on, and now this! You’re an absolute nightmare, I don’t know how Harry puts up with it!”

Hermione gasped wetly and shoved past him, disappearing down the corridor in a flurry of tears. 

Jack’s eyes widened as watched her hurry away. “Is she…crying?” he croaked disbelievingly.

“Nice going, mate,” Seamus sniggered. “At least you got rid of her. She has been a right pill today.”

Neville gave them both a supremely unimpressed look. “I don’t think it’s very nice to make someone cry.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jack said hastily. “I just - she just - ugh!”

“We all get it, Jack,” Dean said awkwardly. “I’m sure she’ll calm down. She always does. Maybe you can talk to her after our next class?”

Neville chewed on his lip, unconvinced. “I don’t know. D’you think someone should go after her now?”

“No way, we’ll be late for Transfiguration.”

Unexpectedly, Hermione didn’t show up to class. Even the Slytherins seemed surprised; Draco looked mildly intrigued and Ron was throwing suspicious gazes towards Jack and Neville.

“Where’s Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked, her eyebrow raised threateningly.

“I don’t think she’s feeling well, Professor,” Parvati said.

“Very well,” McGonagall frowned. “Let’s get started, then. If you’ll all turn your textbooks to page thirty two…”

“Not feeling well?” Lavender whispered.

“I heard her crying in the girl’s bathroom in the dungeons,” Parvati shrugged. 

Jack’s eyes kept darting towards Hermione’s empty chair, his mouth set in an uncomfortable grimace.

****

“I’m going to run to the loo,” Hannah chirped. “You two go on ahead.”

“I’m going to come with you, Hannah,” Susan said quickly. “I don’t want to have to leave in the middle of the feast. Besides, the dungeon loos are just around the corner. We can be quick.”

“I don’t want to walk to the Halloween feast all by myself,” Harry grumbled.

“What?!” Susan cried, aghast. “But you have to! We need to make sure we get good seats! I want to be within arms reach of the roasted turkey and the pumpkin soup! I’ve heard it’s a fight for dominance at these things - you have to go save us some seats, Harry!”

“Unless you have to go to the bathroom too?” Hannah said helpfully. “I’m sure we could sneak you into the girls’ if you don’t want to go alone. And like Susan said, you don’t want to have to leave in the middle of the feast. Someone might steal your spot!”

A bright, demonic light invaded Harry’s eerie eyes. “No, no, I’m fine…a fight for dominance, you said?”

“Yes, exactly!” Susan grinned. “Yes, do your creepy Harry thing and scare people away from a good spot! Ooh ooh actually, get a few seats next to the turkey, the pumpkin soup, and a tureen of gravy! And some dinner rolls!”

“Consider it done,” Harry said gleefully, his teeth bright in the dimly-lit dungeons.

“You’re the best, Harry!” Susan called, dragging Hannah behind her. They ran quickly around the corner and barrelled into the girls bathroom, chattering excitedly.

“I’m going to eat so many mashed potatoes that I vomit,” Hannah said happily, washing her hands.

Susan laughed. “Well, I’m going to drink an entire tureen of gravy -”

They heard a quiet sniffle in one of the stalls and paused.

“Hello?” Hannah called nervously. “Is anyone there?”

A moment of silence.

“Yes,” a sad voice said finally. “It’s Hermione.”

Hannah gasped, horrified. “Hermione! Are you crying?!”

“Let us in,” Susan ordered, banging on the stall door.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a disheveled, puffy-faced Hermione, her blouse dotted with wet spots and her voluminous fun-buns off-kilter.

“Darling,” Hannah cried, darting forward and wrapping her arms around her friend. “What in Merlin’s name happened?!” She cooed soothingly as Hermione burst into fresh tears, hiding her face in the blond’s shoulder and gripping her shirt with shaking hands.

“Yes, tell us so that we can tell Harry,” Susan said wickedly, moving forward to pat Hermione on the back.

****

“She’s not here,” Jack said nervously, looking up and down the Gryffindor table. The Halloween feast was well in progress, and yet, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

“Surely she’s not still crying,” Dean frowned. “It’s been ages! Even girls don’t cry that much, right?”

“I don’t think crying a lot has anything to do with being a girl,” Neville said dubiously. “Uncle James cries way more than Aunt Lily…”

“Focus!” Jack hissed desperately, leaning over his plate and smearing mashed potatoes all along his front. “What do I do?!”

“What are you doing here?” Seamus said suddenly. “I thought Slytherins didn’t like Gryffindors?”

Jack and Neville turned quickly to see Ron standing behind them, a curiously unpleasant expression on the redhead’s freckled face.

“He’s cool, Seamus,” Jack said quickly. “Ron, what’s up?”

Ron chewed on his lip, his brow furrowed. “What did you do to Hermione?”

“I didn’t - I didn’t do anything,” Jack whined desperately. “I just - she was being horrible! I was only trying to get her to listen to me -”

“They got in an argument just before Transfiguration and Jack made her cry,” Neville said wearily.

“The fact that she cried doesn’t invalidate my side of things -”

“Wait, she’s been crying this whole time?” Ron said disbelievingly. “Transfiguration was ages ago, wasn’t it? That’s a long time to be upset…”

“That’s what I said!” Jack huffed, crossing his arms.

Neville covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly. “People are allowed to be upset about things for longer than you two might be upset about them. ”

Ron nodded sheepishly. “Good point. Well, I’m going to go find her. You know, uh…to comfort her. As a friend. Do you know where she went?”

Neville looked pointedly at Jack.

“She could be anywhere by now,” Jack whined.

Neville raised his eyebrows.

“Merlin! Fine, ugh. She’s in the girls’ loo in the dungeons,” Jack grumbled. He threw himself to his feet and sighed loudly, grabbing a dinner roll. “I’ll come too, I guess. I should probably apologize or something.”

“Yes, you should,” Neville said primly, standing as well. “Well, let’s get on with it then. If we hurry we can be back before the feast ends.”

The trio snuck out of the Great Hall together, unseen by all…save for one pair of narrowed red eyes.

“Where are you three going?” Harry mumbled suspiciously, chewing on an entire turkey leg.

In the past fifteen minutes, Harry had discovered that he loved feasts. He loved the elbowing and snarling, the hissing and stinging hexes, the blood-pumping excitement of threatening upperclassmen as he fought to clear a section of the table for his friends. He was clearly a natural at feast-going; the results spoke for themselves. There was no one sitting next to him (or across from him) for a good eight feet in every direction.

He hoped every feast was like this. What a rush.

He gazed smugly over his stolen kingdom. The wooden table almost seemed to groan under the weight of all of the food. Turkey, pies, potatoes, gravy, dinner rolls, thick slices of fresh brown bread…

“Perfect,” he grinned, poking a platter of mashed potatoes until it was a bit closer to the seat on his right. “Susan can sit here - everything she wanted is within reach - and Hannah can sit there and have access to two platters of potatoes..”

“There’s something wrong with you,” a disgruntled sixth-year Hufflepuff called from afar.

“Silence!” Harry snarled, casting another wandless stinging hex at the student’s already-red face. “Do not challenge me!”

The sixth-year rubbed his raw skin and scooted even further away. “Fucking mental…”

Another few minutes passed. Harry’s friends had still not arrived.

He began to grow suspicious.

They wouldn’t just…not show up, would they?

He mulled the thought around in his head, testing it, tasting it. Why did this make him feel…sad? Betrayed? What was this sour feeling in his chest?

He gripped the front of his robe, his eyes narrowed, feeling the parts of him that were Harry and the parts of him that were Tom war against one another in his heart.

No…he wasn’t sad.

He was worried.

Hannah and Susan wouldn’t abandon him. He knew this. He knew it. So what had happened?

His thoughts were interrupted by the dramatic arrival of Professor Quirrell. The older man came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. The hall grew quiet as they watched him reach the head table and slump against it.

“Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know -”

He sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Chaos reigned. Students jumped to their feet, screaming and shouting, while professors tried to regain order with raised wands. Professor Dumbledore caused a few attention-grabbing explosions and seemed to be saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear it.

He stood slowly, immune to the pandemonium around him, and let the crowd of students draw him along through the doors of the Great Hall and into the corridors beyond.

At the very last moment, he slipped away from the group, waiting quietly behind a tapestry until the hallway cleared.

A few seconds passed.

Silence.

He began to run down a side corridor, down towards the dungeons, down towards the stench of sewage and bile that wafted through the air.

Chapter Text

“We should probably go to the feast,” Hermione sniffed, rubbing her eyes. “I think - I think I’m feeling much better.”

“Take as long as you’d like,” Hannah said soothingly. “You’re much more important to us than food, right Susan?”

“Right,” Susan nodded, swallowing her yearning for turkey and potatoes. “Besides, Harry said he would save us seats.”

“Oh god, we should get going then,” Hermione said, horrified. “He’s at the feast unsupervised? Who knows what he’s done?!”

Susan laughed. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Really, we don’t have to go just yet,” Hannah agreed.

“Actually, I am a bit peckish, now,” Hermione admitted. “Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be ready. Can I sit at your table tonight?”

“Of course!” Hannah said gleefully. “We’d love to have you!”

The trio wandered back to the sinks, chattering happily among themselves. 

Having friends is quite lovely, Hermione thought, smiling sheepishly as Hannah helped readjust her lopsided fun buns and Susan smoothed the Gryffindor lining of her robes. 

A reluctant knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” Susan called, crossing her arms.

“It’s Jack,” a voice answered grumpily. “Can I talk to Hermione?”

“It’s also Ron,” another voice said quickly. A muffled umph sounded, as if the first speaker had been pushed out of the way. “I’m not with him, obviously - are you alright, Hermione? Would you like a hug? I give great hugs.”

“Can we come in?” Neville called. “I know it’s a girls bathroom, but we don’t want to get caught in the corridors by Filch. I think we’re all supposed to be at the feast…and anyway, Jack has something he’d like to say.”

There was a heavy silence, followed by a muffled thump.

“Ow! Ugh. Can…can I talk to you, Hermione?” Jack grumbled. “I’d like to…ugh…apologize.”

“Fine,” Hermione sniffed. “I suppose you three should come in after all. We don’t want you losing even more house points…”

The door banged open and Jack stalked grumpily inside, his hands in his pockets, Neville and Ron trailing a few steps behind him. “What do you mean, more?” Jack complained. “I never actually lost any house points!”

“Yes, but you could have,” Hermione frowned.

“Yes, but I didn’t -”

Ron shoved Jack out of his way and into a sink. “Anyway, Hermione, are you feeling better? I can’t believe Jack made you cry -” He ignored Jack’s indignant bleat and shuffled closer to the group of girls, his arms spread wide. “ - honestly, he’s such an asshole sometimes -”

“Ron, why don’t you let Jack talk to Hermione before you try to hug her?” Neville sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I wouldn’t mind a hug, actually,” Hermione squeaked, blushing furiously, her hands twisting in her robes as she inched closer to Ron’s open arms.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake -”

“Quiet,” Susan barked suddenly.

“Yes, thank you, Susan. Hermione, I’m sorry that I -”

“QUIET!”

The group turned towards the raven-haired Hufflepuff, frozen in a tableau of hugging and shoving. 

Susan was breathing heavily, anxiety lacing her features. “I think I heard something in the corridor,” she whispered. “Something big.”

“What, like Hagrid?” Jack asked, perplexed.

“No - it was growling, or something - I don’t know, I just have a really, really bad feeling about this -”

The door to the bathroom exploded into a cloud of splinters.

The first-years screamed and fled towards the back of the bathroom to cower against the wall as a group, watching with horrified expressions as a massive mountain troll pushed its way through the ruined doorway. It was enormous and leathery, with wrinkled grey skin, tiny beady shark-like eyes, and a tree-sized club in its gnarled, filthy hand.

“It’s a fucking troll!” Susan screamed, pushing Hannah behind her and squashing her against the wall with her back. “What the fuck?!”

“But - but trolls aren’t allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione cried, panicking as she gripped Ron’s robes.

The troll rumbled angrily as it tried to stand tall. The ceiling was slightly short, however, and it knocked its head against the stone with a hollow thud. It hollered angrily, spewing droplets of foul spittle all across the cowering students.

Jack felt a horrible twist of terror and guilt. It was his fault that everyone was here - if anyone got hurt, or Merlin forbid, died, it would he all his fault -

He swallowed his fear and stepped forward.

“We need to get out of here,” Jack hissed, a crazed glint in his eye. “I’ll distract it - you lot run to the right and try to make it to the door. Ready, go!” He darted to the left and began to race towards the sinks again, hollering and waving his arms.

The troll paused, its pinprick eyes following Jack’s moving form with murderous interest.

“Jack! What are you doing?!” Neville cried, running after his reckless friend. 

The troll locked its tiny black eyes on the two Gryffindors and snarled, pulling its club closer and attempting to raise it high in the small, enclosed space.

“Idiots,” Susan hissed. “Fuck. Come on, may as well use the distraction!” She grabbed the arm of Hannah’s robes and began to dart to the right, sprinting towards the splintered doorway.

The troll opened its jagged maw in a terrible war cry and lifted its club as high as it could, knocking it against the ceiling with a thud. The students screamed as rocks and plaster rained down from above, bruising their flesh and filling their eyes with dust. 

“Jack! Watch out!” Neville screamed, grabbing his friend’s robes and yanking him backwards, just out of reach of the troll’s stomping foot. They stumbled together and fell heavily onto the floor. 

The troll roared and brought his club hurtling downwards, directly towards Neville and Jack’s quivering forms.

Neville raised arms with a shriek of terror, his hands stragely electrified with silvery magic.

An ear splitting gong exploded through the bathroom as the club seemed to slam into an invisible wall. It sparked and pulsed, sending out a shockwave of power that shattered the mirrors and extinguished the torches. The students screamed again as glass went flying through the air, slicing their skin in the darkness.

“Lumos Maxima!” Hermione cried, throwing up her wand. An orb of light pulsed into being, floating up towards the ceiling and hovering gently.

The troll was blinking stupidly, rubbing its eyes and bellowing, its club forgotten on the ground. Jack and Neville were both covered in a hundred small cuts, their faces pale in the magical light; Jack looked desperately towards the others, his face bleak, and began to drag a half-conscious Neville towards the ruined door.

“He’s exhausted from accidental magic,” he groaned. “God, this is all my fault. Come on, help me carry him, let’s go while the troll is distracted -”

Susan rushed forward and grabbed one of Nevilles arms and they hoisted his limp form up between them.

“Alright,” Jack grunted. “Let’s get going -”

“NO YOU DON’T!” Ron bellowed, looking past them and throwing out his wand. “WIN-GAR-DIUM LEVI-OH-SAH!”

The troll’s club hovered just over Jack and Susan’s shoulders, shivering in mid-air. The troll grunted and pushed, fighting Ron’s magic, but it held.

“Run!” Ron shouted, sweat beading on his brow and his arms shaking with the force of his spell. “I can’t - I can’t -”

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Hermione cried, standing beside Ron and squaring her shoulders.

The combined levitation spells seemed to have just enough force to fight the troll’s incredible strength. The club shivered - stuttered - and then began to inch upwards towards the ceiling. The troll snarled angrily, its knuckles tightening on the handle.

Hannah pushed half of a bathroom stall door out of the way of the door, clearing a path for the others. “Bring Neville through!” she urged. “We need to run!”

“I can - I can walk on my own,” Neville breathed, his eyes half-closed. A thick droplet of blood ran down the side of his face.

“Shut up Neville,” Susan said furiously. “Come on, almost out, let’s go -”

Jack, Neville, Susan, and Hannah were now through the doorway and rushing into the corridor beyond. Hermione and Ron made eye contact, each one waiting for the other to release the spell first -

The troll snarled and kicked a foot in anger, shattering a pile of rubble and sending chunks of debris flying. 

A large rock flew right into Ron’s, colliding with his wand arm in a sickening crunch.

“Shit!” Ron screamed, dropping his wand and falling to his knees. “Shit! My…my arm!”

“Ron!” Hermione cried. She canceled her spell, darting downwards and stuffing his dropped wand into her pocket, and then grabbed the neck of his robes to pull him to his feet. “Ron, come on!”

They ran after the others, exiting the bathroom just as the club slammed down into the doorway again. They narrowly missed being crushed by the club, but even so, the force of the impact threw them to the ground. Ron gagged weakly as he fell onto his broken limb, his face deathly white, and Hermione scrabbled towards him through the debris.

“We have to keep moving,” Susan panted, drawing Neville’s arm more tightly around her shoulder. “Hannah, Hermione, grab Ron - Jack and I will carry Neville - come on, let’s go, let’s go -”

The six first-years scurried down the corridor, moving desperately as they hung onto one another. The troll seemed to have trouble squeezing back through the doorway, but much too soon, it was barreling down the corridor after them, bellowing and snarling.

“No, no, no, no,” Hermione moaned. “This - this is a dead end! We’ve turned the wrong way!”

“Go as far as we can,” Susan said grimly, her jaw tight. “We’ll just have to do what we can, we’ll have to go as far as we can go -”

They turned a corner and found themselves at the head of a long, torchlit corridor.

A plain stone wall lay at the end, its dreadful blankness illuminated by faintly flickering light.

“Keep moving!” Susan barked, dragging Neville and Jack along with her.

They ran until they hit the wall. Susan dropped Neville onto the ground and ran her hands along the stone, her breathing panicked.

“Surely there’s something,” she muttered. “A secret door or - or a passage, or something -”

Hannah nodded and extended her hands, searching furiously, blinking tears out of her eyes.

“It really is a dead end,” Ron groaned. “My brothers - the twins always said not to get stuck in this corridor -” he turned to the side and vomited from the pain in his arm.

“I - I’ve read about a shield spell we’ll learn in fourth year,” Hermione babbled, drawing her wand. “I’ll - I’ll try to -”

The troll barrelled closer and closer, its nasty shark-like eyes alight with violent promise.

“Pro - protego,” Hermione warbled. A faint silver spark zapped sadly from the end of her wand.

“Protego?” Susan asked desperately. “That’s the incantation?”

“Y-yes,” Hermione stuttered. “It’s - there’s no wand movement -”

“Protego!” Susan cried, raising her wand. Nothing happened.

“Let’s all try,” Hannah whispered, her face white. They all raised their wands, even Neville, but a heavy despair sunk into their souls. “On three. One, two, three -”

“Protego!” they shouted, and a handful of sparks shot out from their wands.

The troll froze in place, struggling against invisible restraints.

“Did it work?” Susan asked, her mouth dropping open in awe.

“No,” Hermione breathed. “No, it’s supposed to look like a shining wall - no, it didn’t work, I don’t understand -”

The troll screamed in pain as a long, bloody slice appeared up the side of its thigh, revealing a ropy patch of bloody muscle and misting the air with red. It stumbled, lifting its club angrily - 

And was thrown into the wall to their right, crunching through the thick stone and disappearing into the emptiness beyond. Rocks and debris tumbled to the ground and the troll shrieked angrily, just out of sight.

And there, at the end of the corridor, stood Harry.

His eyes were luminous and wrathful, his form shaking with anger. There were no smiles, no toothy grins; instead, his face was contorted in an expression of pure, unadulterated rage.

It was terrifying.

He lifted off the ground and flew - flew - through the air to disappear through the gaping hole in the wall, following the angry cries of the massive troll.

“Harry can fly?” Jack said stupidly.

They all sat for a moment, dazed and deflated.

Jack cleared his throat. “Do you think he could teach us how to fly -”

Harry ricocheted back into the corridor and slammed into the wall with a dull thud, sliding down to the ground and leaving a trail of blood painted on the stones behind him. The troll thundered after him, pushing itself through the ragged hole and screaming angrily, but it got stuck on the ragged stone edges. It was covered in hundreds of thin, long cuts, muscle and fat peeking out from each incision, its form red and soggy like it had been dunked in a lake of blood.

It reached towards Harry with a trumpeting cry, but withdrew its hand as an invisible knife seemed to cut deep into its palm. Harry grit his teeth and pushed with his magic, shoving the troll back away from the opening in the wall and into the empty classroom behind it.

He wanted that troll as far away from his friends as possible.

He gathered his magic all around him and darted back into the air, careening into the empty classroom beyond the broken wall, avoiding the trolls grasping hands with the grace of a hummingbird. He grit his teeth and cut, again and again and again, dodging flailing limbs and stomping feet.

“Why - won’t - you - DIE?!” Harry screamed, baring his teeth in a bloody grimace. The troll’s skin was so thick - so hard to pierce through - but he sharpened his magic out regardless and refused to bear up.

Finally, he managed to slice the beast along the same cut for the fourth time, opening its guts. Heavy ropes of slimy, pungent intestines glopped horribly onto the floor of the dusty classroom and the troll began to shriek.

Harry severed the soft intestines with a wave of his hand, his eyes alight with evil mirth as the troll's shrieks grew more intense. “Yes, that hurts, doesn’t it?” Harry hissed, darting closer. 

He reached out his magic and sharpened it into a point -

But a large, bloodied hand whipped out and finally managed to grab onto one of his legs.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, his face splitting into a wild grin.

The troll yanked him down, opening his mouth and biting onto Harry’s free leg with an awful crunch.

Harry felt the bones in his thigh disintegrating into splinters, sharp tiny things that dug into his pulping muscles. It didn’t bother him. He peered curiously into the troll’s face, his torso pressed right up against its leathery nose. 

This creature was so resilient - it had the toughest skin he’d ever encountered - but Harry suddenly realized that it had two glaring soft spots.

And he was right where he needed to be.

He laughed, delighted, and shoved his arm right into its left eye with a squelch, channeling his magic through his hand. The troll squealed and bucked backwards, but Harry was in its mouth.

There was no escaping him now.

“Never touch what’s mine,” he crooned, and diced its brain with a thought.

The troll froze mid-chew, groaning strangely. Its knees buckled, its hand growing limp, and finally, finally, it toppled to the ground, dull and lifeless.

Harry pulled his arm out of its eye socket, shaking blood and grayish goo from his robes, and began to hop away from the corpse. His manic grin slipped from his face and his brow furrowed as he turned towards the hole in the wall that lead back to the corridor, back to where his friends could be injured - dying, even - 

He pulled himself through the hole in the wall and fell heavily into the corridor.

A range of reactions greeted him. Susan seemed to be sobbing and laughing at the same time, while Hannah shivered and closed her eyes. Hermione’s face was completely blank; she was curled around Ron, who had passed out at some point, and Jack was standing next to them, his shaking wand still pointed at the troll.

“What - what happened to your - your -” he stuttered, his eyes wide.

Only Neville seemed able to move. He lurched towards Harry, fighting the leaden feeling in his limbs as he reached for his friend.

“Harry!” Neville gasped. “Your - your leg -”

“Huh?” Harry asked, perplexed. “Oh. Right. I’ll be fine. What happened to everyone else? You look sick, Neville…”

“I’m just magically exhausted,” Neville answered, gathering Harry into shaking arms. “We all have some scrapes and bruises but nothing serious - well, except for Ron. I think he broke his arm.”

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes closing with bliss. He loved being touched, loved being cradled in Neville’s embrace. “We should take him to the hospital wing,” he breathed. “I need to learn some healing spells, it seems…I’ve never considered that. Maybe wands aren’t as useless as I thought.”

“Harry, you need to go to the hospital wing,” Neville choked. “Your leg - it’s destroyed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry shrugged. He leaned out of Neville's arms and looked down at the trailing gore that was once a limb. “‘Magic can heal anything, right?" Despite his nonchalance, he was starting to feel faint, and black spots appeared on the edges of his vision. “I think I’m about to pass out. Fuck.”

“No! What do I do? What do I do?” Neville cried, clutching Harry closer.

“I’ll be fine, seriously,” Harry chuckled. “Can you do me a favor, though?”

“Anything,” Neville whispered. He leaned close, his lips trembling.

“Can you collect some of that troll’s blood for me? Before the professors get here, I mean.”

Neville fought the urge to laugh hysterically. “You want some of its blood?!”

“If you don’t mind,” Harry said peacefully. "A vial or two should do the trick..."

And then he passed out.

Chapter Text

Harry died.

He knew was dead because he was back in the dark, eternally cool waters of death. He’d been here enough times to recognize the feel of the place. It was familiar to him, more familiar than anywhere else.

The very first time he’d been here, he’d been a toddler. Tom Riddle was no longer floating beside him, though; he’d been absorbed long ago. They were one being now, one soul.

Harry reached for the distant light floating above, smiling fondly as the warmth of life brushed across his cool skin.

Life.

His soul ricocheted back into his body and it felt like his nerves had been doused in a lake of fire.

The process of un-dying always hurt.

This didn’t bother Harry, not really. But despite his peace with the situation, his flesh rebelled. He gasped and gagged as he involuntarily seized up, thrashing slightly in Neville’s arms.

“Oh god oh god Harry, hang in there,” Neville sobbed, his lips bloodless with shock. “I thought we’d lost you - I thought -”

Harry died.

“Damn,” he muttered, fighting a grin. “I thought that time would stick.”

He reached for the light again, brushing it with gentle fingers.

And again, he slammed back into his body, shivering uncontrollably.

“Merlin - he’s alive! Quick, get me a blood replenishing potion -” That sounded an awful lot like his favorite professor, Severus Snape. He felt strong hands wrapping a tourniquet of some sort around his thigh and sighed happily. 

“I knew I was right to like Potions,” he tried to say.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Harry died.

“Goddamn it, not again,” he muttered.

He reached for the light.

This time, his small body seemed to have a bit more blood in it. He felt his little heart beating weakly, fiercely, working hard to send life to his trembling extremities.

“Much better,” Harry rasped. “Thank you, Severus.”

But now he was somewhere else. He groaned as he recognized the smell of antiseptic spells and monitoring charms. St Mungo's. Damn.

“He’s - he’s alive!” someone gasped.

“Can you fucking fix me, please? Even if I seem dead?” Harry snapped. “Look, people lose limbs all the time. Just put a plug in it or something -”

Harry died.

He blinked, floating peacefully in the infinite waters of death. After a moment, he began to laugh uncontrollably, tears of mirth dissolving into the ocean around him.

“This is fun,” he sighed happily. “Well, might as well give them some time to sort things out.”

He waited for a few minutes - or perhaps hours - watching the small light above him flicker and slowly draw away. When it was almost out of reach, he lifted his hand again.

“Fourth time’s the charm!” he crowed, tumbling back into the land of the living.

This time, when he came to, blood was roaring in his veins. A team of medi-wizards were bent over him, their masked faces blank with shock. He could hear the faint beeping of a heart monitoring charm as it begin to chime, its rhythm welcome and regular.

“It’s - by Merlin, you were right, Tina -”

“I’m back!” Harry said cheerfully. He looked around with interest, noting the various tubes and bottles floating around his heavily-scarred skin. “Am I in surgery? Can I watch?”

“Please sedate the patient,” one of the medi-wizards croaked.

“No,” Harry begged. “I wanna see - wait, you took my whole leg off? Can I have the leftovers?” He shook off a badly-cast sedation charm, fighting to stay conscious. “No, wait - just promise me you won’t throw it away! Promise meee -”

And everything went dark.

But this time, at least, he wasn’t dead.

****

Albus Dumbledore was terrifying when he was angry.

He loomed over the staff table, his blue eyes steely and incensed, staring out at the gathered professors before him. The dark room was ominously silent; no one twitched, no one dared to even breathe, not even the Aurors gathered in the shadowy corners.

“How. Did. This. Happen,” he said flatly.

No one spoke.

After a moment, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Albus, if I may…”

The Headmaster nodded cordially. Even when enraged, he was unfailingly polite.

“We have records of a request to house a troll here at Hogwarts. I believe the beast was brought in at the end of the summer,” Shacklebolt said slowly. “All of the paperwork is in order.”

“That’s correct,” Professor McGonagall nodded. “You’ve heard about the Philosopher’s Stone project?”

The Auror looked towards her and shrugged.

“We have a handful of seventh year Transfiguration and Arithmancy students taking part in a group project,” McGonagall continued stiffly. “They petitioned Nicholas Flamel for temporary access to his Philosopher’s Stone and are testing the inherent power in magical challenges.”

“I’m unfamiliar with this kind of experiment,” Shacklebolt admitted.

“There’s a quantifiable amount of energy output in a magical challenge,” said the Arithmancy professor, Septima Vector, pushing her large glasses up her nose. “Think of the labors of Hercules, or Psyche’s great tasks to save her lover Cupid. These challenges, done in sequence, call upon ancient binding magics. To replicate this effect - the hero’s journey, as it were - one must construct a series of obstacles and place a true treasure at the center. This creates rings of power, power that can be measured and harnessed, much like the output of an engine.”

“A what?” the Auror asked, confused.

“Never mind,” Professor Vector shook her head. “The troll was a part of the experiment. The fifth obstacle. Provided by Professor Quirrell, if I’m not mistaken.”

The Defense professor wilted under their stares, slumping down in his chair.

“This seems like a very dangerous experiment,” another voice said from the shadows. Auror Sirius Black stepped forward, his expression tight. “Were there no safeguards in place to make sure the ‘obstacles’ didn’t wander away?”

“There were,” the Headmaster said quietly, staring intensely at Quirrell. 

The room was silent for a moment.

“I had my reservations about housing such a famous magical artifact in a school full of children,” Dumbledore continued. “There are many wizards and witches that would happily murder innocents for the chance to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. I agreed to this project under one condition: That no harm befall any student, whether from an obstacle or otherwise.”

“Headmaster,” Vector said quickly. “Surely you don’t mean to cancel the project completely -”

“Six traumatized students in the hospital wing,” Dumbledore interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet. “And one student is in critical condition at St Mungoes, suffering from extreme blood loss and an above-knee amputation. A student who, might I add, has already seen more than his fair share of violence in his short lifetime, who came to Hogwarts to find healing. We have utterly failed these children.”

The gathered professors grimaced, their eyes falling to the austere wooden staff table.

“Albus, if I may,” Professor McGonagall said weakly. “Surely there can be some sort of compromise reached? The seventh-year students on the Philosopher's Stone project have invested so much time already…many of them are planning on using this research as a basis for their thesis papers. It’s too late for them to build an entirely new research study in time for apprenticeship applications in the spring. If we shut down the project, we’ll be delaying their careers by at least a year, and potentially destroying them completely.”

The Headmaster closed his eyes wearily. “I’m well aware of this complication.”

“As Auror Shacklebolt said, the paperwork was all in order,” Professor Vector said desperately, wringing her hands. “The students were very thorough - we have permits for every obstacle in the course, even the Cerberus -”

“There’s a Cerberus here?” Auror Black gasped wonderously.

“Not for long,” the Headmaster said firmly. “If this project is to continue at all, we must agree upon one thing: No living obstacles. This experiment will no longer include dangerous creatures that can escape the third floor corridor and wreak havoc upon the school.”

“But we would have to rewrite the challenge sequence runes to specify inanimate threats on those levels,” Professor Vector mumbled angrily. She paused and then paled under the Headmaster’s icy gaze. “Of course, it’s not impossible. Yes, yes, I think that would be a fair compromise.”

“See that it is done,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I will allow this project one more chance to succeed. If there are any more hiccups, it will be canceled, and that is my final word on it.”

McGonagall and Vector nodded quickly, each looking faintly ill.

“Now,” the Headmaster said, turning to frown at Quirrell. “Professor, I believe it was you who constructed the wards around the troll? The same wards meant to trap the troll on the third floor corridor, protecting the rest of the school from harm?”

“Yes,” Quirrell squeaked, shifting uncomfortably. “Yes, that was me, of course, but -”

“And then, when the troll escaped, instead of dealing with the troll directly, you decided to return to the Great Hall?”

“I - I didn’t - No one can defeat a troll alone, I needed assistance -” he babbled, his turban swaying dangerously. 

“You are the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the foremost educational institution in the British Isles,” the Headmaster interrupted. “I should think that out of anyone on our staff, you would be best-equipped to disarm a troll - or at the very least, to delay it. You could have corralled it into an empty room and cast a Patronus to call for assistance, could you not?”

“Trolls - trolls are supremely dangerous, you know this Albus, they’re a level s-seven m-magical creature -”

“If you do not have the power to control it, why did you allow it to be selected for the obstacle course?” The Headmaster’s gaze was blue fire, his mouth twisted in rage. “Professor Quirrell, you are either incompetent, negligent, or evil. Which is it?”

The room was silent. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and darken, and a heavy power filled the air, reminiscent of the electric anticipation just before a lightning strike. For a moment, the normally-cheerful Headmaster was suffocating in his sheer presence; they were all reminded, suddenly, of his defeat of Grindlewald, of his magical triumph over one of the greatest threats to wizardkind since the witch burnings.

The moment passed.

“Well…no matter,” Dumbledore said lightly. The heaviness in the air faded and the room breathed a sigh of relief.

“No matter?” Quirrell said stupidly, readjusting his turban.

“You are fired, of course.” the Headmaster nodded. He ignored Quirrell’s sputtering and continued. “You have one hour to gather your things and exit the school. If you are still here once the hour has passed, the wards will forcefully eject you. You may go.”

The other staff members looked shocked, their eyes wide and mouths open. They turned in unison to watch Quirrell stand and walk dejectedly towards the door. For a moment, he turned back, his expression pleading.

“Albus, please…”

“One hour,” the Headmaster said firmly. “As I said, you may go.”

The disgraced professor left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Well now,” the Headmaster sighed, dropping into his seat with a weary expression. “With that unpleasant business behind us, let us continue our discussion. Aurors Shacklebolt and Black, I assume you will want to perform an inquest?”

“We will,” Auror Shacklebolt nodded.

“You will have our full cooperation. I only ask that you refrain from interviewing the affected first years without their guardians present. I do not wish to cause them any further harm, intentional or otherwise.”

“Of course. We’ll leave you to your staff meeting, then,” Auror Shacklebolt agreed. “Expect an owl within the week.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

The Aurors left quietly, closing the heavy wooden door behind them.

“What a mess,” Professor Sprout sighed wearily. “Where will we find a replacement Defense professor on such short notice, Albus? I could speak with Alastor Moody and see if he’s available. We play Bridge together on fourth Fridays, you see…”

“Thank you, Pomona, but we have already found an enthusiastic replacement,” Dumbledore said lightly. “An active Auror, and one of the best the department has ever seen. She won’t be able to start for another two weeks, but believe me, she was very passionate about filling this position.”

“Lily,” Professor Snape breathed.

“Correct.”

“But what about the curse?”

“She will not be a professor in full,” the Headmaster smiled. “Merely an adjunct instructor while we search for a more permanent solution. I do believe that will nicely avoid any issues with said curse, whether real or imagined.”

Severus allowed a small, delighted smile to spread across his face.

“Now,” Dumbledore sighed. “I know it is very late, but I would like to move on to our next item of business. The evacuation earlier this evening was, quite frankly, chaotic. I would like to discuss some revisions to that system that I think would serve us well…”

****

Quirrell stood in Hogsmeade, trunk in hand, his mind racing. He could feel his master stirring; within moments, Voldemort would be awake.

He would not be pleased by this turn of events.

Quirrell…a quiet voice hissed in his mind. What has happened?

“I - I’m sorry master,” the man choked, pulling his trunk into an empty alley and hunching over fearfully. “I’ve f-f-failed you.” He could feel his master rifling through his memories, pausing especially long on the bloodiest one.

I can’t believe you thought releasing the troll would work as an adequate distraction. Tsk tsk, how foolish. Oh, and look…it seems you were among those who found the body of the troll… His master seemed highly amused. Did young Harry do all of this?

The troll’s body had been macerated to a disturbing degree; skin torn, bowels eviscerated, its grayish brains leaking out of its ears and eyes. Quirrell shuddered at the memory, swallowing bile.

What a delightful little monster Harry Potter has become, his master chuckled.

Quirrell suddenly felt faint. He could feel his master pushing to the front of his consciousness, moving him aside and sending him into a deep slumber. Voldemort had been “taking over” more and more frequently as their research on demonology and sorcery progressed; it was wearing on Quirrell’s body, making him weak. 

He needed the Stone if he was to survive this possession.

He was so weakened that he had been considering drinking unicorn blood. A cursed existence was better than none at all…

No need to fret, my faithful servant, his master hissed. Sleep. I have found a solution to your pitiful weakness. We need no unicorn blood or Philosopher’s Stone.

Sleep…

Quirrell’s consciousness fell into darkness.

Voldemort-as-Quirrell flexed his fingers, his jaw tight with anger. “Pathetic fool,” he muttered. Had Quirrell really been considering unicorn blood as a way to survive his possession? It seems the now-jobless professor had assumed that the curse would only affect the host body and not his Lord…but who could know for sure?

This possession, while necessary, was becoming unbearable. It was taxing to take over Quirrell’s body again and again, and yet, if left to his own devices, the man seemed to flounder in incompetence.

It needed to end.

Voldemort had many tasks to complete tonight. But first, he wanted to honor his agreement with Potter and provide him with a safe place to summon demons. It was tempting to just leave and say nothing - the debt Quirrell owed would soon be useless regardless, as Quirrell was not long for the land of the living - and yet, he was curious to see what kind of trouble the young man could get into.

Perhaps the trouble would prove to be fatal. One could only hope.

Besides, it would be absolutely hilarious if a summoning went wrong and Potter released an enraged demon right into a school full of stupid, helpless children. Voldemort chuckled happily at the thought.

He conjured parchment and a quill and wrote a quick message on it.

There is a room located on the seventh floor in the left corridor. Walk past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy three times, thinking clearly of your particular needs. The chamber found within, called the Room of Requirement, contains a pocket dimension and is outside of Hogwarts’ wards; you may practice your dark magics there without risk of exposure.

QQ

There was no risk in sending the boy to the Room of Requirement, not anymore. He’s already removed his diadem horcrux, after all; it sat safely in his trunk.

He nodded slowly and handed the parchment to Quirrell’s owl. “Deliver this to Harry Potter at the next breakfast he attends,” he ordered. “Remain at the school once you’ve finished. I have no need for an owl.”

The owl looked deeply offended but did as it was commanded, grabbing the letter and disappearing into the distance.

Voldemort sighed happily, shrinking his trunk and shoving it into his pocket.

Next stop: Malfoy manor.

It was time for him to reclaim his old diary.

****

James was sick of seeing Harry in a hospital bed. 

He reached out to gently caress his son’s small brown hand, marveling at how tiny it looked against his own; the raven-haired boy seemed even smaller than he normally did, lost as he was in the plush mass of sterile, mint-green sheets.

“Why does this keep happening to you, Harry?” he muttered, his brow furrowed.

Harry was recovering nicely, but there was a catch; the healers had been unable to save his leg. He’d be wearing a magical prosthetic for the rest of his life. Bones could be regrown, but nerves and muscle tissue were much more difficult, especially on a growing body.

His son had lost his leg.

Although all things considered…they’d gotten lucky. Because apparently Harry had also died several times on the operating table.

It was unthinkable.

James couldn’t help but remember his son’s first apparent death in 1981 when Voldemort had attacked their home. Had Harry truly died then, or had the doctors been mistaken? He and Lily hadn’t really discussed the strange miracle in depth - they were just amazed to have Harry back after all those years of thinking he'd perished - but now…

The medi-wizards were adamant: Harry had died and revived himself multiple times before they were able to permanently stabilize his tiny form. 

What did it all mean?

He was grateful, of course, for whatever strange power allowed Harry to cling to life despite all odds. He hoped that whatever it was, Jack had it too. They were twins, right? Wasn’t that how it worked? Maybe Jack would have an advantage against Voldemort. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, and that made him a target. Of course, if Lily and James had their way, he'd never get caught in the cross hairs of war, or at least, never again…but a certain prophecy seemed to hint that their efforts were for naught. 

He shuddered as he thought back to the ominous words they’d heard in Dumbledore’s pensieve:

“The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark the One as his equal, so that none but the One can destroy him… and should the One stay his hand, the Dark Lord will walk through Death, shall gather the trine and ascend on a pale horse, and Hell will follow him…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

Dumbledore believed the prophecy was genuine, but he didn’t think it would be fully understood until the prophesied events had come to pass. He wanted James and Lily to be aware of it - to know that at one time, Jack, Harry, and Neville could have become the Boy Who Lived, not just Jack - but he urged them not to place too much stock in its strange, ephemeral interpretations.

It was hard to follow that particular advice. Prophecies were so serious, especially when they applied to one of his sons.

James sighed and continued to rub Harry’s hand, hoping beyond hope that everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

Hermione was sitting alone in the great hall. For once, her solitude didn’t bother her. She stared at her blueberry muffin, her fork quivering in her hand.

“Hermione?”

She looked up.

Ron stood before her, his eyes shadowed and bleak, his rumpled shirt showing a bit of freckled collarbone. He was normally very put-together - he worked hard to present a well-groomed, competent facade to his fellow Slytherins - but that effort had clearly fallen by the wayside this morning.

“How…how are you?” he croaked finally.

She shrugged. She probably looked just as tired as he did. “I’m alright. Care to sit?”

“Can’t,” he mumbled. “Hannah says Jack isn’t doing well. We were going to go find him. Do you want to come with us?”

“Yeah, of course,” Hermione said quickly, gathering her muffin into a napkin and stuffing it into her pocket. “Should we bring him something? A muffin or some eggs?”

“Hannah said she’s got it covered.”

They wandered outside and made their way towards the lake, ignoring the stares and whispers as they passed by.

“What are they even talking about?” Hermione hissed, annoyed. “The business with the troll was a week ago…”

“People love to gossip,” Ron said wryly. “Here, I think I see everyone…yes, that’s them, beside that tree…”

They wandered towards a shady spot next to the lake. Hannah, Susan, and Neville were already seated on a large blanket, enjoying cups of tea and delicate pastries as they looked at the water. Jack was standing, leaning against the tree with his hands shoved deep in his pockets; despite the beautiful weather and picturesque picnic, he wore a tortured expression.

“Hi everyone,” Ron drawled, throwing himself down onto the blanket.

“Hello,” Neville smiled, scooting over a bit to make room for the two newcomers. “Tea? Scones?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Hermione nodded.

Jack cleared his throat. “Hermione -”

“Jack, if you apologize one more time, I swear to Merlin I’ll hex your hair purple,” Hermione grumbled.

Over the past week, Jack’s previously sunny disposition had taken a turn for the worse. Gone was the easy arrogance of a confident and charismatic celebrity; instead, Jack had become moody and withdrawn, second-guessing every action and frequently lapsing into long periods of morose silence.

Jack cleared his throat and tried again, his eyes weary. “I just wanted to say that I know it’s my fault -”

“It’s not your fault a troll attacked us,” Ron said reasonably. He grabbed a pastry, his eyes darting around quickly, but there were no other Slytherins in sight; safe from scrutiny, he stuffed the entire thing into his mouth with a happy moan and began chewing, cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk.

“Merlin, that’s grotesque,” Susan laughed. “Is this how you eat when you think no one’s watching?”

“‘M hungry,” he said thickly. “An’ ‘m stressed. Le’ me hab dis.”

“You really have to work hard to fit in over there with the other snakes, don’t you?” Hannah smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

Ron swallowed his food like a snake swallows an egg, then grinned cheekily and grabbed another pastry.

“I can’t behold that again,” Susan shuddered, turning away. “Jack, come sit down and have some tea, dammit.”

“I can’t!” Jack cried, tearing at his hair. “How can you - just, sit there and enjoy breakfast as if Harry isn’t - isn’t in St Mungo’s, getting his bloody leg sawed off!”

“We’ve been over this, Jack,” Hannah said patiently. “There’s nothing you can do for him right now. He would want you to eat breakfast and take care of yourself -”

“I CAN’T!” Jack shouted, eyes wild, his chest heaving. He turned abruptly and began to march away, heading towards the forest line with his head bowed.

“That went well,” Ron sighed, wiping flecks of pastry off his robes.

“I’ll go after him,” Neville said quietly. “He just needs some time, I expect. He’s very upset…”

The rest of the group nodded understandingly and watched Neville trail after his adoptive brother. 

It had been almost a week since Halloween. They’d all recovered from their injuries - physical, at least - but Harry’s absence left a sour pallor over their small group. 

Hogwarts seemed different without him; quieter, more dangerous. Bullies that had previously kept their distance seemed emboldened, circling closer and closer - especially to Ron, who was the lone Weasley in the snake’s house - and they tried to stick together whenever they could, walking with one another to and from classes.  They’d all been friendly with one another, but now they were closer than ever. 

Madame Pomfrey called it “trauma bonding”. It was a lot like having regular friends, just with more panic attacks and codependency.

“It’s all going to work out,” Susan said stubbornly, stirring her tea. She’d become the de-facto leader of their ragtag group in Harry’s absence. “Harry’s strong. He’ll be back with us in no time, leg or no leg.”

“I wonder…” Hannah chewed on her lip.

“What?” Hermione asked curiously.

Hannah giggled wildly, covering her mouth with her hand. “This is so inappropriate, but - well, I just wonder if Harry asked after his amputated leg. To see if he could keep it when they were done removing it, I mean.”

Susan laughed loudly. “Oh, I guarantee you that he did.”

****

“Where’s my leg?” Harry said loudly, rattling his IV stand with small, furious hands.

“It’s right there, Mr Potter,” Nurse Wimbell said stiffly, her brow twitching in annoyance. “Right where it should be. As for your missing limb, like I’ve been saying for the past half hour, your prosthetic will be here shortly -”

“Not this leg, my other leg! The one you cut off!” Harry whined. He lifted the IV stand and began to bang it against the floor, punctuating his words with a rattling slam. “Where - is - my - bloody - fucking - LEG?!”

“Watch your language, young man,” the nurse hissed, grabbing at the IV stand and trying to wrestle it away from the young wizard. He bared his teeth in a feral grimace, snarling wordlessly as they struggled. “Merlin, why are you so strong -”

She cast a few sedation charms at him, blanching as they rolled off his skin like water off a duck’s back.

“Just tell me where my leg is! And gerroff me!” Harry yelled, reaching out his remaining foot to kick at the young nurse. She yelped and leapt backwards to escape him, releasing her hold on the medical equipment; her wand fell out of her hand in the confusion and rolled under Harry’s hospital bed. 

The boy continued to growl at her as she scurried away. “I want it! I grew it, it’s mine, I should get to decide what happens to it!” he hollered.

“I’m going to firecall your mother if you don’t calm down, young man,” Nurse Wimbell huffed, crossing her arms.

“I don’t give a fuck! Call the pope! Call the minister!” Harry hissed, eyes narrowed. “I - want - my - LEG!”

“It’s in the fucking cremator where it belongs!” the nurse yelled back, finally reaching the end of her rope. Merlin, she was sick of this child.

Harry gasped, his eyes wide with horror.

“WHAT?!” he screamed. His voice sounded distant, echoing strangely off the walls of the small room. 

The air began to feel heavy and electric as Harry’s magic seized up around them, coiling through the room like an invisible snake. The monitoring devices surrounding his bed began to go haywire and the lights began to flicker ominously.

The nurse swallowed dryly and took a step back. “It’s - it’s what your parents wanted -”

“It wasn’t their leg! IT WAS MINE!” The lights flickered weakly and died; the room was now completely dark, nothing visible but the light from the door and Harry’s eerie red eyes. 

A blustering, hot wind began to rock through the room, flinging papers and empty vials into the air.

The glowing red eyes began to rise.

“MINE!” Harry shrieked, and the force of the wind increased even more, throwing chairs against the wall and flinging the IV stand onto the floor. 

Nurse Wimbell began to scrabble backwards towards the lit doorway, her lips pale and hands shaking. She reached for her wand - shit, it was under the bed, shit -

The lights flickered on, just for a moment - and she could see the boy, could see that Harry was suspended in the air, motionless and furious, his red eyes glowing like hellfire and his hands tensed into claws, the bandaged stump of his left leg waving uselessly in the air.

Nurse Wimbell screamed and fell onto the ground, pushing herself backwards with desperate, jerky motions -

The lights flickered one final time and then exploded; the glowing eyes darted closer, as if Harry was a demon-possessed puppet held aloft on invisible strings -

“Harry! What - what the fuck are you doing?!”

The chaos paused, flying objects halting in midair. Light slowly trickled back into the room as Harry turned to glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black stood in the doorway, holding a collection of Muggle comic books loosely in one hand, his wand held aloft in the other.

“She took my leg,” Harry said petulantly, crossing his arms and floating back onto the ground to balance carefully on his remaining leg.

“She - Nurse Wimbell? No she bloody didn’t,” Sirius sputtered, helping the shell-shocked young nurse to her feet. She quickly fled, muttering something about coming back for her wand later.

“She did!”

“I’m pretty sure the troll took your leg, Harry -”

“I wanted the leftovers!” Harry groused. “I specifically requested them! They’re mine!”

Sirius sighed heavily, waving his wand and setting the room to rights. Papers, tubes, bedsheets, and furniture flew through the air as they settled back where they belonged. Once he finished, he threw the stack of comic books into the nearest visitor’s chair and crossed his arms.

“Look,” he said carefully. “There’s a protocol with these things. I’m pretty sure your parents - no, let me finish! - I’m pretty sure they gave the go-ahead to have your gummed-up leg cremated. It’s probably already happened.”

“No!” Harry moaned, throwing his head back dramatically.

“I’m not certain, though,” Sirius continued reluctantly. “Right…your mum and dad won’t be here for a few hours yet, so…why don’t we go see if we can find it?”

“Really?” Harry gasped, stars in his eyes. “You’ll help me get my leg?”

“I’ll help you investigate,” Sirius corrected. He turned away from Harry and gestured towards his back. “Come on, hop up.”

Harry whooped with delight and surged forward, floating through the air to land on Sirius’ back.

“You’re lighter than you should be,” Sirius reprimanded, wrapping an arm around Harry’s knee and scooting him higher. He waved his wand again before stowing it back in his holster, casting a charm that would affix Harry more securely in a piggyback position. “You need to eat more carbs.” 

“Carbs?” Harry asked curiously, his face muffled by Sirius’ long black hair.

“Yeah, you know. Bread, pasta, et cetera. That’ll fatten you right up.”

“I do like bread,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Where are we going?”

“Crematorium,” Sirius grinned. “I’ve always wanted to go down there.”

“I bet it’s that way,” Harry said excitedly, pointing excitedly and kicking Sirius with his foot. “There’s a sign for the morgue!”

“Thrilling,” Sirius said dryly. “Alright then, let’s check it out. If anyone asks, we’re lost, yeah? I’m not even sure you’re supposed to be leaving your room. Your mum’s going to kill me…”

“I was getting bored anyway,” Harry sniffed. “And no one would give me a straight answer about my own property. I invested a lot of time into growing that leg, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sirius grinned. He turned a corner and began to jog slightly, hurrying past the open door of an employee lounge. Fortunately, it was empty. “What do you plan on doing with it?”

“It’s a secret,” Harry said mulishly, pressing his cheek against Sirius’ and wrapping his small arms more tightly around his godfather’s neck. “I have my reasons. I will not be thwarted!”

“Sure,” Sirius nodded. “But think about this - if you’d asked nicely, or even just been a bit sneaky, you probably could have found your leg yourself, right? Throwing a fit - scaring that nurse - well, you were being a bit of a brat and you got nowhere with it anyway.”

“I see your point,” Harry nodded solemnly. “I hadn’t thought about it that way…I knew I wouldn’t have much luck sneaking around on my own, but perhaps charisma…” His red eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Yikes,” Sirius chuckled. “What have I done? Oh look, I think we’re here!”

He kicked at a swinging set of doors, opening one with a clumsy foot, and staggered inside. A bored-looking wizard sat at a reception desk, picking dully at a plate of food; when he saw them enter, he gasped.

“You can’t be in here!” he sputtered, eyes wide. “This area’s restricted! No patients allowed -”

“Just here double checking a few things, uh, Gerald,” Sirius said smoothly, reading the wizard’s crooked metal nameplate. “Auror business. You understand.” He glanced meaningfully at Harry, who gazed back at him with open admiration.

“Oh…well, of course,” Gerald said nervously. “Auror Black, I didn’t recognize you at first…and that must be…”

“My godson, Harry,” Sirius grinned. “We’re here to see about his leg. The amputated one, mind you. Has it been, um…”

“Processed?”

“Right.”

“That’s confidential patient information, normally…” Gerald said reluctantly.

“Of course,” Sirius nodded. “Legally, I am one of his godfathers, so that’s all in order. Thanks for checking, though. So, the leg?”

“Right,” Gerald squeaked, straightening his robes. “Right. Let me just, um…” He waved a jerky hand towards them, gesturing for them to follow, and led them down the hallway behind the desk. “Just through this hallway is where we do the death rites for cremation - yes, just through this door…”

Harry gasped with delight as they entered into a large, dimly-lit room filled with floating candles, incense, and lumpy, cloth-wrapped forms resting on petal-strewn platforms. “Are those dead bodies?!”

“Yes,” Gerald said solemnly, mistaking Harry’s delight for fear. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of. The dead can’t hurt you. And anyway, we always perform all the traditional rites and draw the right runes. See here?”

He pointed towards a particularly large body. Just like the others, it was wrapped in a dusty-looking black cloth - was it doused in ashes, perhaps? - and circular runes were drawn in chalk on the head, chest, hips, and feet.

Harry’s eyes grew even wider. “Those runes…”

“Arithmantic runes,” Gerald said smugly. “That’s what I do. I’m the Rune Master on call today.”

Harry was confused. These were Arithmantic runes? But no, these were sorcerous runes…and they looked to be carefully constructed to ward away demons, preventing the body from being used in a sorcerous ritual.

“What do these runes do?” Harry asked suspiciously. Was this awkward young wizard secretly a sorcerer, like him?

“These cremation runes are an ancient part of wizarding culture, and so much of the meaning has been lost to time,” Geralt said wisely, rubbing his nose. “Some say they guide the dead safely to the afterlife. Others say they protect the souls of the departed from evil magic.”

“You don’t know what they do?” Harry said scornfully. “But you’re a Rune Master.”

Gerald sputtered, offended. “To study runes is to study the historical significance of symbology in global wizarding culture - and therefore - and - and anyway, history isn’t like math, there’s not always a right or obvious answer -”

“Are any of these leg shaped, then? Maybe looking a bit, you know, chewed up, kind of like an old piece of gum?” Sirius interrupted impatiently, shifting Harry a bit higher on his back.

“Right!” Gerald said quickly, his cheeks pink. “Right. Um, so it would have been over here…oh, look, you’re in luck. It hasn’t been processed yet.”

They approached a smaller platform where a small, elongated lump of something lay wrapped in the same ash-covered cloth as the other bodies. This one had the same set of runes drawn on, but they were all in a line instead of at the correct head-chest-hips-feet points.

“I don’t think those runes will do much,” Harry said skeptically. “Not when they’re not on the right parts of the body.”

Gerald grit his teeth. “I’ve studied cremation and burial rites for years -”

“Right, thank you, Gerald,” Sirius grinned. “Hey, can you put this back on ice? Just for now.”

“I’ll put it in the stasis chamber,” Gerald grumbled. “But only for twenty four hours. After that, it’s going to be processed per the paperwork.”

“We appreciate that,” Sirius nodded. “I’ll be back before then with the right orders for indefinite stasis. Once you’re seventeen, you can do whatever you want with it,” he said as an aside to Harry.

Gerald looked disturbed. “That’s -”

Sirius cast a clumsy tempus into the air, shifting Harry slightly to the side and widening his eyes dramatically. “Merlin, look at the time. I’ve got to be getting this one back to his room. Thanks for everything, Gerald, we’ll put in a good word.”

“With who?” Gerald asked suspiciously.

“Goodbye now,” Sirius said cheerfully, marching quickly out of the quiet, arcane morgue and back into the more sterilized hallways of the long-term patient ward. 

“Those runes were very interesting,” Harry mused, resting his chin on Sirius’ shoulder. “It’s a shame Gerald doesn’t know shit about shit. I wanted to learn more about the cremation rites.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Sirius smirked. “Arithmancy is taught at Hogwarts starting in your third year. There’s plenty of books on the subject in the library. I can’t remember, can you read yet?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “...No?”

Sirius sighed. “I bet you can. I bet you can write, too, and you just don’t want to do essays.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry sniffed.

“Hey, no judgment here. If I could have gotten away with that my first year, I certainly would have. And you have the perfect excuse…”

Chapter Text

October 31st, 1991 (Halloween; two hours post-Troll)

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were enjoying an intimate Samhain dinner together when they felt him cross through the wards.

Lucius blanched suddenly, his eyes going wide as he stared at his wife in horror. The cozy candle-lit table was suddenly frightening, the room too large and empty around them. He cleared his throat. “Is - is that -”

“Yes,” Narcissa whispered, standing gracefully and smoothing her black velvet gown with shaking hands. “It’s - well, we’d best receive him directly.”

Lucius stood as well and offered her his arm, leading her out of the family dining room. They moved quickly through the dark, labyrinthian hallways of the manor; a thick, anticipatory silence filled each room, a muffled quiet that bellied the late autumn thunderstorm raging outside.

By the time they’d reached the entry hall, he was already inside. 

A strangely small man stood before them, a turban perched stiffly on his head; but when lightning lit up the tall windows behind him, his shadow seemed too long, its shoulders too broad and chin too sharp.

“My lord,” the Malfoys said in unison, dropping gracefully to their knees and bowing their heads.

Voldemort-as-Quirrell smiled softly. “My loyal servants…it seems that you haven’t forgotten me after all.”

“We would know your power anywhere, my lord,” Lucius said smoothly. “No matter what face you chose to wear.”

“Yes,” Voldemort mused, drawing his wand from its holster and turning it lovingly in his hands. The Malfoys blanched as they recognized it. “Yes, I imagine you would.”

A few moments of silence passed while Voldemort smirked, watching the Malfoys squirm uncomfortably under his sharp gaze.

Lucius broke first. “My lord, we would be honored to offer you a seat at our Samhain table -”

“I wonder where you have been all these years, Lucius,” Voldemort interrupted, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Surely you did not believe me dead? I, the Dark Lord Voldemort, who has gone further down the path of immortality than any other wizard…”

Lucius paled even further. “My - my lord, if I had heard…heard even a whisper…”

“Silence,” Voldemort said lazily, rolling his eyes. “You kneel before me, a free man of sound body and magic, and dare to imply that you’ve done everything in your power to serve me?”

A clap of thunder sounded and bright light suddenly flooded the room, illuminating Voldemort-as-Quirrell as he loomed threateningly over the kneeling, cowering Malfoys.

Voldemort finally sighed in a very put-upon way and brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Fortunately, there is a way for you to regain my favor. Succeed, and all shall be forgiven. Fail me…well, best not discuss such things on such a hallowed evening, hm?”

“My lord, I shall succeed at whatever you command, you have my word,” Lucius rasped desperately, lowering his head even further.

“I’m glad to hear it. Your first task is this: I require a vial of Harry Potter’s blood, taken against his will. You have one week to acquire it.”

Lucius looked confused. “You need…Harry Potter? Not - not Jack Potter, my lord? Is he not -”

“Silence,” Voldemort drawled, and Lucius practically swallowed his own tongue in an effort to stop speaking. “I am a benevolent lord, so I will offer some additional guidance. It’s likely that young Harry will be spending time in St Mungo’s over the next few days. It would not be unbearably difficult to draw blood there, I imagine, if it has not already happened. And remember - it must be taken forcefully.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius nodded. 

“You may go now.”

Lucius stood quickly, glancing apologetically at his wife’s pale face. “I - yes, I will begin immediately.” He exited the room with a quiet swish of expensive robes.

Coward, Narcissa thought, resisting the urge to curl her lip. She felt a dull sense of furious disappointment weighing heavy in her chest. Of course her husband would flee the second he was allowed to, leaving her alone with the most powerful Dark Lord since Grindelwald! No, more powerful than Grindelwald, more dangerous and more cunning…

“Narcissa, darling, it’s been too long,” Voldemort grinned. “I know you are not among my marked servants, but I have a task for you as well, if you’re willing.”

Narcissa stood gracefully, her face carefully blank. If she was going to die, she would not die kneeling. “Of course, my lord. Please allow me to offer you some refreshments first. Such things are best discussed over wine, especially on Samhain.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Quite so.”

He followed her through the dark, candlelit manor and into a plush receiving room. Narcissa snapped imperiously and a house elf appeared at her elbow.

“Our finest fey wine,” she said quietly. “And an assortment of hors d'oeuvres for our guest.”

The house elf nodded quickly and disappeared. A moment later, a roaring fire exploded in the grand fireplace, a sampling of small morsels appeared on a low table, and a bottle of wine with two goblets floated into the room. 

Narcissa gestured towards the chair closest to the fire. “Please make yourself comfortable, my lord.”

Voldemort sat, enjoying the heat of the hearth on his stolen skin, and gracefully accepted a goblet of wine from Lady Malfoy.

“My lord, how may I serve you?” Narcissa said finally, sitting daintily in the opposite chair.

Voldemort took a sip of wine, his expression pensive. “An excellent question. Tell me, Narcissa, what do you truly desire above all other things?”

Narcissa, unshakeable, merely smiled. “To serve my lord, of course.”

Voldemort laughed. “I am not your lord, not truly. Or at least, not yet. Answer me honestly.”

For a moment, Narcissa looked uncomfortable. “If my lord insists…beyond service, my greatest wish is for my son’s well being. His safety, his health, and his future.”

“Admirable,” Voldemort nodded. “But surely there is something you want for yourself as well? The daughters of House Black were once known for their cunning and ambition, if I recall correctly.”

Narcissa took an elegant sip of wine, her eyes carefully averted.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m asking you this,” Voldemort smirked. “Don’t fret, darling - I have no plans to use your deepest desires against you, if that’s what you fear. Lucius’ failings are not your own, nor your son’s.”

“My lord is truly benevolent,” Narcissa said quietly.

“You don’t believe me,” Voldemort chuckled. “Well, perhaps I should tell you how all this -” he waved a casual hand towards himself - “came to be. Perhaps that might foster some trust between us.”

“My lord does not owe me -”

“I insist,” Voldemort interrupted smoothly. “Well, where to begin? I was famously disincorporated many years ago at the Potter Cottage - the less said about that night the better, I’m sure - and since I cannot die, my spirit wandered the deepest forests of Europe for a time, feeding off the ancient magics found within.”

Narcissa looked a bit pale, but she nodded politely.

Voldemort smiled faintly and continued. “Well, eventually Quirrell found me and thus began my quest for a new body. I’m sharing the one I currently have, obviously, and its original owner is quite incompetent. His feeble form is struggling to survive his possession, and he has become…erratic in his search for relief. Have you heard of the Philosopher’s Stone project?”

“Yes, my lord,” Narcissa said, surprised. “Surely not…”

“Quite,” Voldemort drawled, clearly amused. “I believe he thought the stone’s enervating properties would help sustain his weakening flesh. At any rate, he made an attempt to steal the stone…and he released a troll into the Hogwarts dungeons as a distraction.”

Narcissa’s eyes went wide. “He - he what?!” she hissed, momentarily forgetting her manners. “The dungeons - that’s where the Slytherin dormitories are! Do you know - was Draco -”

“No one was hurt, save for Harry Potter and a few Gryffindors,” Voldemort said dismissively. “Your child is unharmed.”

“Thank Merlin,” Narcissa muttered, her knuckles white around the stem of her goblet.

“Quirrell’s next plan was to consume unicorn blood,” Voldemort continued casually.

Now, Narcissa truly looked shocked. “My lord…they say that those who drink unicorn blood live a cursed existence. They say they are driven mad by it.”

“Quite,” Voldemort nodded. “And who knows? It might have driven me mad right along with him. Imagine, an insane Lord Voldemort.” He chuckled gleefully at the thought.

Narcissa looked politely sick.

“So,” Voldemort grinned, raising his goblet. “You see my problem. My host body is unreliable and weakening, and I need a corporeal form. Those who aid me in my efforts will be greatly rewarded, as you can imagine.”

“Even…even Quirrell?” Narcissa ventured.

“His reward is a quick, painless death, in spite of his foolish mistakes,” Voldemort said darkly. 

“My lord is too merciful,” Narcissa muttered, looking slightly peeved.

Voldemort leaned forward, his smile almost manic against the flickering light of the fire. “So now that my cards are all on the table, Narcissa, tell me: What is it that you truly desire? What can Lord Voldemort do for you, to ensure your enthusiastic cooperation with my cause?”

“My first thoughts, of course, are still for my son,” she said quietly. “His protection.”

“He will be safe from me, I promise,” Voldemort said, amused. “He may take my mark if he wishes, but I will not force it. And beyond that, he will be immune from punishment, unlike my other servants. And of course, once my goals are realized he will have a place of honor in our new world order.”

Narcissa looked pleased.

“But again I ask: What about yourself, my dear? What does the second Daughter Black desire…for herself?” Voldemort whispered.

A few moments of silence passed. The woman frowned as she thought, swirling her wine distractedly. “Well…may I be candid, my lord?”

“Please.”

“The current Lord Black is a blood traitor,” Narcissa whispered, her eyes bright. “A stain on the family name. He squanders our wealth, our properties - denies our legacy - I have always thought, but never, never have I dared to say…if I were head of the Black family instead, well…”

“I see,” Voldemort nodded. “You wish to be Lady Black, mistress of House Black in full…yes, there is much potential there. I admit, I have always thought that the skills of the Black daughters were wasted, stifled by restrictive marriages to cowardly buffoons. No offense of course, my dear.”

“I have heard nothing offensive, my lord,” Narcissa said lightly. “And nothing untrue.”

Voldemort laughed outright, tipping his goblet towards her in a salute.

“As for my leadership of the Black family…there is also precedence, my lord,” Narcissa said carefully. “There was a time when the Black family was a matriarchy, many centuries ago.”

“Then it’s decided,” Voldemort smiled. “Help me regain my body, and I will make all your dreams come true. Your own ambitions, your ambitions for Draco - you will have it all.”

Narcissa nodded regally, her expression triumphant. “My lord - what must I do?”

“I left an item in your husband’s possession, many years ago. Do you remember it?”

“A diary,” Narcissa said.

“Retrieve it for me.”

Narcissa rose from her chair with a respectful bow and swept from the room. Her face was impassive, but her mind was racing. Was it all too good to be true? Could she trust the Dark Lord’s words - trust that he would return to full power, that he would never die - and throw in her lot with him, once and for all?

She had never spoken with him directly before. Her sister, Bellatrix, had been deeply involved with the Death Eaters, but Narcissa had been too young to join - and after that, too preoccupied with a newborn son - and before she knew it, the Dark Lord had vanished. She’d always wondered how different her life would have been had she been given a chance to impress the charismatic and powerful Dark Lord. 

She had more to offer the world than her performance as a meek, posh, pureblood wife. She was a powerful witch, a daughter of the Black line; she was grateful to Lucius for navigating their family through the Dark Lord’s disappearance, but she wanted more…more than a life overshadowed by a short-sighted, cowardly fool, no matter how fond she was of him.

She swept through the library and beyond the secret portrait entrance to the Malfoy treasury, dismantling the complex wards with a flick of her wand. There, in the darkest corner, on the tallest pedestal, lay a battered diary.

Her hands shook slightly as she picked it up. She allowed herself a moment to breathe, to collect herself, then exited the room as quickly as she’d entered it.

She was confident that she could serve the Dark Lord well.

Was she brave enough to take this chance? For herself, for Draco?

She found the Dark Lord exactly where she’d left him, sitting pensively before the roaring fire. Carefully, reverently, she deposited the diary into his outstretched hands.

“Excellent,” he muttered, splaying his fingers possessively across the cover.

“How else may I serve my lord?” Narcissa asked quietly, returning to her seat.

Voldemort tucked the diary into his coat and smiled. “I have a few questions about your family history, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“The Black family is somewhat infamous for its association with sorcerers, is it not? Or at least, they were in the eighteenth century.”

Narcissa blinked, surprised. “Well…yes, we have ancient ties to the sorcerous world. There is one sorcerer in particular - Methuselah - who has been considered a friend of the family for many centuries.”

“Centuries?” Voldemort asked, surprised. “Do sorcerers have particularly long lifespans? I was under the impression they were glorified muggles.”

Narcissa tipped her head elegantly. “I am unsure if Methuselah was an inherited title or an immortal man’s name. Sorcerers are notoriously reclusive. They rarely venture out of their own circles and jealously hoard their knowledge…and I believe they prefer that wizardkind underestimates them. The less we respect them, the less reason the wizarding world has to pursue their secrets. I will say, however, that Methuselah was remarkably unchanged over the few times I met him. If he was aging, he did it rather slowly.”

Voldemort was enchanted, his eyes alight with the promise of hidden knowledge. “You met this man yourself?”

“Yes, my lord. Each generation of Black children met him at least once, to keep the connection alive. My sister Bellatrix was a special favorite of his. My lord -” she seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing - “my lord, have you heard of what Bellatrix did with the dead Potter child?”

“I have not.”

“Well, the Potter child - Harry, that is - perished on the night of your…visit to Godric’s Hollow. Bellatrix was convinced that his body could be used by a skilled sorcerer to revive you. A demonic trade: The body of an innocent child for the body of a powerful man. So she and her husband stole the Potter child’s corpse from the St Mungo's morgue and brought it to Methuselah.”

“How fascinating,” Voldemort muttered, rubbing his chin. “I will have to reward her for her loyal efforts. Dear Bella never ceases to surprise me. Methuselah was unsuccessful, obviously?”

“Quite,” Narcissa nodded. “But he apparently convinced my sister to leave the corpse behind. And now…”

“And now the Potter child is clearly alive again, in some fashion at least,” Voldemort grinned. “How absolutely fascinating. Well, well, well, just when I think I’ve learned all there is to know about Mother Magic…we will have to pay this Methuselah a visit once I’m corporeal again.”

****

The night shift receptionist at St Mungo’s was clearly stunned to see Lord Malfoy at such a late hour - and on Samhain, no less. “Uh..h-how may I help you, sir? I mean -”

“Direct me to Healer Selwin’s office,” Lucius sneered, barely sparing her a glance.

“Right,” the young woman said quickly. “Room 314, that’s on the third floor, of course - I’m not sure if he’s in right now, what with it being so late and a holiday and all -”

Lucius swept away without another word, his cane tapping imperiously on the marble floor. Soon he approached a large, oaken door with a copper plate: “314: Frederick Selwin, Senior Healer, Spell Damage Ward”.

He knocked once, then let himself in.

The office was larger than most and looked lived-in, with a large desk, plush chairs, and several tightly-packed bookcases. A middle-aged man with dark hair and weary bags under his eyes looked up from behind the desk, his brow furrowed. “Janice, I told you I - wait, Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

Lucius slammed the door shut and drew his wand, casting as many privacy spells as he could manage. He turned towards Healer Selwin with a wild expression. “May we speak candidly, Selwin?” he hissed through gritted teeth, gesturing meaningfully towards his marked arm.

The healer looked stunned. He blinked for a moment, confused, and then cast a few more privacy charms. “Now we can. What’s going on, Malfoy?”

Lucius looked ill. “He’s back.”

The silence was deafening.

“What?” Selwin croaked. “You can’t possibly mean -”

“You know exactly who I mean,” Lucius snapped. “The Dark Lord has returned. He’s at Malfoy Manor as we speak.”

“Where’s Narcissa?” 

“She’s there as well,” Lucius said uncomfortably.

Selwin raised an eyebrow. “Well…I can’t imagine he’s too impressed with the likes of us, but if anyone can keep him entertained, it’s Narcissa. Merlin’s beard…I really thought he was dead and gone.”

Lucius collapsed into a visitor’s chair with a groan, rubbing his forehead. “As did I. Regardless, he’s given me a task. I cannot fail him.”

“No, that would not be wise,” Selwin muttered.

“I must get a vial of Harry Potter’s blood. And it absolutely must be drawn unwillingly,” Lucius spat, his knuckles white around the head of his cane.

Healer Selwin snorted. “That won’t be difficult. Every single drop of blood we’ve drawn from that tiny wretch has been unwilling.”

“Truly?” Lucius said hopefully, sitting forward in his chair.

“I swear it on my mother’s life,” Selwin grimaced. “It would be easier to draw blood from a nesting dragon. Our sedation spells don’t work as well as they should so we have to resort to a combination of restraints and coercion. I’m not even in the Bludgeoning Damage department and I’ve been called in several times to assist. We’ve only managed to get a few ounces so far -”

“That’s perfect,” Lucius said desperately. “I need all of it, Selwyn. Our lord demands it.”

“You’re sure he asked for Harry’s blood? I would have thought he’d be more interested in the Boy Who Lived - Jack Potter, I mean,” Selwin frowned.

Lucius sneered. “Unlike you, I know better than to question the Dark Lord’s orders.”

“Right, right, of course. I’ll be back presently.” Healer Selwin stood, then paused, tapping his finger against his desk with an absent expression. “You’ll tell him how I helped you? That my aid was essential to your task?”

“Of course,” Lucius lied smoothly.

“If you don’t, you’d better hope no Malfoy ever needs healing at St Mungo’s ever again,” Selwin warned. “My wand might slip -”

“Fine,” Lucius scowled. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Now get me the blood, damn you.”

Chapter Text

“Right,” Remus said, glancing around the now-bare hospital room. “Is that everything? We haven’t left anything behind? Nothing under the bed or behind the chairs…”

“I think we’ve done it,” James answered cheerfully, running a loving hand over Harry’s long, braided hair. Harry, of course, was plastered to his father’s side, eyes half closed as he soaked up the attention. “Ready to go, kiddo?”

“More than,” Harry grumbled. “I hate it here.”

“And your prosthetic is attached properly? It’s not bothering you, I mean? We still have time to get the charms adjusted,” James said nervously. 

He’d been told that his son’s carved whalebone prosthetic was perfectly calibrated, but even so, he couldn’t help but worry. Over the last two weeks he and Remus had read all about prosthesis chafing, residual perspiration, and amputation-site pain, and he knew that there were a million things that could go wrong - although admittedly, Harry’s prosthesis was a state-of-the-art magical object, designed to be worn round-the-clock and adjusted every two weeks for growth and weight changes.

“Perfectly comfortable,” Harry grinned, wiggling his ivory-white artificial toes. “What kind of bone is this again?”

“Beluga whale, I believe. One of the magical breeds.” 

“Wonderful,” Harry sighed happily. “I love bones.”

“Of course you do,” James said dryly.

“Do you think it suffered? The whale, I mean. When its bones were getting stolen.”

“I refuse to answer that.”

“Harry, are there any nurses or doctors you want to say goodbye to before we leave?” Remus asked kindly, gathering up their various bags and satchels. He led the two Potters out the door before they could start properly bickering and began to shepherd them towards the staff lounge.

“Nurse Wimbell,” Harry grinned.

“Nice try,” James muttered. “Harry, if you agree to go straight home without torturing Nurse Wimbell, I’ll make you a treacle tart for dessert tonight.”

Harry smiled winningly. “You’ve got a deal, James.”

“Right,” Remus chuckled. “Well, we’ve been given permission to use the staff floo just this once, to avoid the press -”

“The press?” Harry interrupted, confused. “I thought Jack was the famous Potter. Why would any reporters be here?”

“He’s the most famous, but us lesser Potters still get bothered every once in a while,” James grinned, tugging gently on Harry’s braid.

“Well, look who’s got a big head? Maybe they’re here for me,” Remus said cheekily. “I don’t know if you realized this, but I happen to be the author of two widely regarded papers on werewolf suffrage.”

“What’s ‘suffrage’?” Harry asked curiously.

“Let’s get through the floo and then we’ll talk about it over lunch,” Remus smiled. “Would you like to go first, Harry?”

“You go, then Harry, then me,” James said quickly. “That way he’s never alone in the house. For, er, safety reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry smirked.

“Right, see you in a moment,” Remus said, tossing a handful of floo powder and stepping into the fire.

Harry followed quickly, shouting out “Potter Manor!” and throwing himself into the hearth. He tumbled out the other side, sprawling haphazardly on the floor of the warm Potter kitchen and cursing loudly.

“That never gets any fucking easier,” he grumbled, ignoring Remus’ outstretched hand and instead floating gently to his feet.

“I’d tell you to mind your language, but that never really works with James either so I won’t bother,” Remus sighed. “You’re not supposed to be floating or flying or whatever it is you just did, remember? At least not until you’ve gotten used to using your new leg.”

“It’s rather wonderful, isn’t it?” Harry said happily, wiggling his bare foot and listening to the faint chattering of bone against bone. “I might never wear shoes again. I really do want another one.”

“You told your mother you’d leave your other leg alone,” Remus said calmly. “She’d be rather peeved if you broke your promise.”

“Whatever,” Harry scowled.

A moment later, the flames in the hearth turned green as James fell through, tumbling gracelessly to the floor.

“Fucking floo travel,” James muttered, clambering to his feet. “Uh, I mean, darn floo travel -”

“Mind your language, James,” Harry said sweetly.

James threw Harry a dryly amused look then walked over and planted a loud, wet kiss on his son’s forehead. “Right! Lunch!” he said decisively, ignoring Harry’s squeal of faux indignation. “How’s peanut soup sound?”

Remus gasped. “Merlin, yes please. I’ll make us some tea.” He bustled over to the kettle and tapped his wand against it, humming excitedly.

“Peanut soup?” Harry said skeptically.

“It’s a Ghanaian dish. One of my mum’s old family recipes,” James said cheerfully. “It’s got savory roasted peanuts, garlic, tomatoes, omo tuo - those are rice balls, they’re the best part - and a bit of chicken. Well, sometimes. Sometimes I just toss in whatever meat I have handy, but chicken tastes best.”

“If you don’t like it, I’ll eat your share,” Remus said hopefully.

“We’ll see,” Harry muttered, watching his father gather the ingredients from the cupboard.

Twenty minutes later they were gathered around the cozy kitchen table, enjoying bowls of bright orange soup with tightly-packed rice balls dropped right in the middle.

“This is amazing,” Harry moaned, stuffing an overloaded spoonful into his mouth.

“Can’t agree more,” Remus nodded. “Well done as always, Chef James.”

“Thanks,” James said, preening slightly.

“I wish we learned how to cook at Hogwarts,” Harry complained. “It seems a lot more useful than something stupid like potions.”

James looked delighted. “You really think so? Have you told your Uncle Sev that?”

“Not yet, but I plan to,” Harry sniffed.

“Try not to faint from happiness, Prongs,” Remus snorted. “Anyway, Harry, you wanted to learn about werewolf suffrage, is that right?”

Harry nodded eagerly, his cheeks too full of soup and rice to properly speak.

“So the word ‘suffrage’ is defined as the right to vote in political elections,” Remus explained. “The phrase ‘werewolf suffrage’ refers to a werewolf’s right to vote.”

“Werewolves can’t vote?” Harry said, surprised.

“Not currently,” James scowled. “Ridiculous, right? And not only that, if you’re discovered to be a werewolf, you go onto a registry. That registry is public knowledge and it leads to all kinds of discrimination.”

“Like what?”

“Well, anything dealing with wizards, really,” Remus sighed. “Werewolves have trouble finding jobs, housing, apprenticeships…they aren’t allowed to go to Hogwarts or attend any wizarding preparatory schools, so unless their parents can afford a private tutor, it’s unlikely that a werewolf would be qualified for anything that pays decently anyway. Obviously, the lucky werewolves are those who are bitten later in life, when they’ve already received their wands and magical training.”

“Did you not go to Hogwarts then, Remus?” Harry asked, confused. “I remember you saying you were bitten as a child.”

“Oh, I went,” Remus said dryly. “My parents hid my affliction well enough that only Headmaster Dumbledore knew about it for a long time. I was able to keep it mostly quiet all through my scholarly career…I didn’t ‘come out of the moon closet’, so to speak, until after Sirius and I got married and I finished my defense mastery.”

“So you’re on the registry now?” Harry said, clearly appalled at the thought.

Remus smiled fondly at his godson’s indignation. “Yes, but it was by choice. I could have continued hiding, of course…but well, I felt that I had a responsibility to go public with my curse. Sirius has plenty of money so I’ll never have to worry about finding a job or renting an apartment, and I’ve already received my wand and wizarding education. The stakes are much lower for me than they are for others. I wanted to set a good example, to show everyone that werewolves are just like normal wizards - when the moon isn’t full, that is.”

“But werewolves are different, in reality, on any day of the month,” Harry said pointedly. “They’re stronger, they heal faster, they run faster, they recover from magical exhaustion more quickly, they have a higher resistance to dark curses, they eat more red meat -”

“Well, yes, but their souls are just as human as the next wizard,” James frowned. “And that’s what’s important.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m saying that it’s better to be a werewolf, isn’t it?” Harry said casually, shoveling another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Normal humans are weak and brittle. I’d much rather be a werewolf, all things considered.”

“Of course that’s your take on it,” James muttered, looking skyward as if searching for peace.

“Well…I don’t know if everyone else sees it that way,” Remus said awkwardly. “And really, it’s a terrible burden -”

“Is it a burden because of the curse itself, or because of society’s response to it?” Harry interrupted.

“I swear to Merlin, sometimes you sound like you’re eleven, and other times you sound forty,” James sighed.

Harry chuckled mysteriously and took another massive bite of soup.

Remus seemed to smile despite himself. “I’ll admit that a lot of the hardship that comes with being a werewolf is inflicted by wizardkind, especially now that the Wolfsbane Potion has been developed.”

“It makes the transformation much less painful and allows the werewolf to keep their own mind,” James explained to Harry.

“It’s also very expensive,” Remus grimaced. “James and I started a foundation a few years ago that provides the potion to anyone who needs it, no questions asked, free of charge.”

“We call it the Moony Project,” James grinned.

“Yes, unfortunately that is actually the name.” 

“The Moony Project recently branched out into the political sphere as well,” James said proudly. “Now that you kiddos are in school, Remus and I have been working full time petitioning the Wizengamot for expanded werewolf rights. Starting, of course, with werewolf suffrage.”

“Sounds like you’ll be quite busy,” Harry nodded. “Well, I’ll just stay out of your hair for the next few weeks, then -”

“Nice try,” James grinned. “We’ll still have plenty of time to catch you up with your coursework and ferry you around to your physical therapy appointments. Remember our deal?”

“If I cooperate, I can go back to Hogwarts after Yule break ends,” Harry grumbled.

“That’s right,” James said gleefully. “And I’m looking for full cooperation, mind you. Right, Remus?”

“That’s right,” Remus agreed, hiding a smile behind his teacup. “We’ll be working on essay writing, wizarding history, and transfiguration, among other things -”

“And you’ll have to do your P.T. stretches twice a day, just like the healers said,” James added.

“Right,” Remus nodded. “Also that.”

“This is the fucking worst,” Harry moaned, slumping low in his chair.

“Chin up, kiddo,” James said consolingly. “It’s not all bad news. In a few weeks, your brothers will be home for Yule and then you’ll all get to open presents! I bet you’ll be getting a good haul this year, especially if you’re a good student for Professors Prongs and Moony, eh?”

“Yule?” Harry asked curiously. “Presents?”

James froze, looking stricken, while Remus cleared his throat. “Well -”

At that moment, the hearth flushed green and Sirius stepped gracefully over the threshold, resplendent in red Auror robes and holding a brightly-wrapped present in his hands. He tossed the present onto the table and marched forward, grabbing a giggling Harry up into his arms and spinning around in a circle. “Prongslet!” Sirius roared happily, squeezing Harry tight. “You made it home in one piece! Well, mostly. How’s the new leg treating you?”

“It’s great,” Harry grinned. “Did you know it’s made of real whalebone? From an actual, living creature?”

“That’s wonderful news, just splendid,” Sirius nodded, gently setting his godson back down onto his chair. “D’you think it’s haunted by a whale ghost, then?”

Harry gasped, delighted by the very possibility. “Maybe! How do you check for that sort of thing?”

“Muggles use something called a Luigi board to diagnose hauntings. I can nick one from your mum - oh fuck me, is that peanut soup?! Get out of the way, Moony, I’m starving -”

“No! Get your own bowl, you mongrel!”

“There’s more in the pot, Padfoot, there’s a good lad,” James laughed.

“Excellent,” Sirius grinned, practically running towards the hob. “Harry, that present on the table is for you. Just a little welcome home gift from your favorite uncle.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “A present? For me?” He reached out a small, brown hand and pulled the colorful package towards him, stars in his eyes. James and Remus glanced at one another unhappily, wordlessly promising that they’d bring up the whole Yule business another time.

“Go on, open it up,” Sirius urged, leaning against the counter while he tucked into a hot bowl of soup. 

Harry tore eagerly at the paper, revealing a dark box with bright lettering across the front. “‘Peruvian darkness powder’? What’s that?”

James blanched with horror.

“You’ve never heard of this stuff? Oh, it’s great. You just throw it up in the air and it makes everything go pitch black,” Sirius said thickly, his mouth full of rice. “Nurse Wimbell said you could see in the dark, so I thought you might be able to see through this stuff, too.”

“No,” James whispered, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, no…”

Sirius’ handsome face was bright with glee. “Anyway, I’ll be staying here with dear Moonykins until you go back to Hogwarts, so we’ll have plenty of time to experiment with it. Maybe we can prank your old pops a few times, eh? I’m sure we can think of something…”

“Wicked,” Harry grinned, his red eyes flashing.

“My revenge will be swift and merciless,” James hissed, leaning just out of Harry’s view and glaring at Sirius. “You’d better watch your back, you doggy dipshit -”

“Come at me, coward,” Sirius whispered back, fighting a delighted smile.

“Wonderful,” Remus sighed. “This will go well, I’m sure.”

****

“Going somewhere, blood traitor?”

Ron cursed quietly under his breath, drawing his wand as surreptitiously as he could while turning around. Three older Slytherins stood at the other end of the empty corridor, smirking, their wands already drawn and pointed his way. It was the usual crowd of bullies - Adrian Pucey, Derrick Fawley and Jimmie Larch.

Not again, Ron thought hopelessly.

“I asked you a question, muggle-lover,” Pucey sneered.

“This is going to shock you, but I’m actually going to class,” Ron said sarcastically. 

“Not anymore, you’re not. The only place you’re headed is the hospital wing.” And without another word, the three students bore down upon him quickly, casting lightning-fast hexes with precise movements.

Ron dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a bright orange flash of light, and threw a Bat-Bogey hex down the hallway. It splashed uselessly against a quickly-summoned shield, but he continued casting it anyway. He ducked again, avoiding another hex, and glanced backwards - they’d almost reached the corner of the corridor, if he could dart around it he would have a slight advantage -

A Jelly-legs Jinx slammed into him and he collapsed limply onto the floor.

“Expelliarmus!” Pucey crowed triumphantly, summoning Ron’s wand.

Ron gulped nervously, his heart racing in anticipation of pain.

The three older boys walked forward, looming over Ron’s prone form with malicious grins. “Not so brave now that the evil Potter twin is gone, are you?” Pucey said softly, throwing Ron’s wand down the corridor behind him.

“Harry - Harry’s going to come back and then you’ll be sorry,” Ron stuttered.

Laughter rang through the air. “You think we’re afraid of a firstie?” Fawley said incredulously.

“A firstie with only one leg now, from what I hear,” Pucey added. “A cripple -”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Ron hissed, suddenly incensed. “Or I’ll shut your mouth for - ah!” He yelped suddenly as a stinging hex hit his face, bloodying his nose.

“Let’s have a few more of those, shall we?” Pucey said nastily, raising his wand.

A barrage of stinging hexes rained down onto Ron, slapping his face, shoulders, and thighs. He screamed and writhed, dragging himself pathetically down the corridor with his limp jelly legs, the blood from his nose mixing with snot and tears.

“That should do it,” Pucey said finally. “Ah, but I almost forgot -” He waved his wand lazily, transforming Ron’s school robes into a rough, woolen sackcloth. 

“You know, that might actually be an improvement on those rags he was wearing,” Larch giggled. “You’ve done him a favor, Adrian.”

“Eugh, let’s get out of here before the stench of poverty becomes overwhelming,” Pucey shuddered, and the three laughing boys rounded the corner and scurried away.

Ron whimpered painfully, feeling the welts and bruises on his face with a shaking hand, and began the slow, agonizing crawl towards his wand.

****

“Good morning, kiddo!” James chirped, watching Harry stumble blearily into the warm kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

“Wonderfully,” Harry sighed. “Corvo came home last night and we had a nice long cuddle together.”

“That’s great,” James said happily, stirring a pot of porridge on the hob. He blinked, frowned, then turned to look at Harry again. “Wait…Corvo? Your pet raven?”

Harry rolled his eyes and fell heavily into a chair. “He’s a crow, James. Honestly.”

“Right,” James muttered, turning back to his cooking. 

“Their beaks are completely different. See how Corvo’s beak is evenly tapered, and there’s no tuft of hair above his bill?”

James turned again. “Say what now - sweet Merlin!”

The crow had somehow appeared in the room and was perched menacingly on the back of Harry’s chair. He had somehow gotten bigger, looming over the table like an ancient raptor of destruction; his eyes were beady, faintly-glowing with a hellish red light, and shadows seemed to stick to his wings like wisps of smoke.

He extended his wings and let out a warbling, throaty purring noise. It sounded like a thousand death rattles gasping across a battlefield, or a giant taking its final breath.

“Crows also purr, and their ‘caw’s go down in intonation at the end, unlike a raven,” Harry continued helpfully.

“How - how -” James sputtered, waving a porridge-coated spatula towards the red-eyed pair.

“How did he get here? He flew from Hogwarts, of course,” Harry chuckled, petting Corvo’s glistening feathers with a loving hand. “He’s convinced that if he’s not around I’ll get attacked by a troll again. So overprotective.”

The spatula drooped, and James suddenly looked thoughtful. “Overprotective, you say?”

“Extremely. It’s a recent development and it’s very annoying. But also cute, I suppose.”

“You said he likes peanuts?”

“...Yes?”

James disappeared into the pantry and reappeared with a bowl of roasted, shelled peanuts. “Well, I for one think it’s high time Corvo was invited to eat breakfast with us. If he’s going to be keeping you safe from trolls he’ll need to keep his energy up.” He gingerly set the bowl down onto the table right in front of the massive bird, giving Corvo a nervous smile before backing away.

Corvo stared back, love blooming in his strange red eyes.

****

“Ron! What on earth -” Hermione gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

“Don’t make a scene,” Ron grumbled, ducking his head as a few students turned curiously towards them. They were seated at the Hufflepuff table, waiting for Hannah and Susan to join them for dinner.

“But you have two black eyes!”

“It looks better than it did, I promise,” Ron said darkly. “The twins gave me some bruise cream…I’m almost out though, so I’ll probably have to learn how to brew it myself -”

“You should tell a teacher, Ron,” Hermione hissed, leaning forward.

“No way,” Ron said sharply. “If I get the professors involved, things will get even worse for me. It’s just stinging hexes right now. I don’t want to escalate things.”

“Well, I’ll start walking you to your classes, then,” Hermione said stubbornly. “Surely they wouldn’t bully you where there’s witnesses, right?”

Ron looked horrified. “Absolutely not, Hermione. We’ve got to stick to our plan -”

“It’s a stupid plan,” she grumbled.

“I mean it, though. We can’t be seen together outside of the dining hall or the library. It just isn’t safe. They’d love to curse the both of us at once - really, they might even do worse to you than to me. Fucking blood supremacists.”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, seeming to bend to his will…but if Ron had been less weary, he might have noticed the spark of rebellion in her eyes.

At that moment, Susan and Hannah dropped onto the bench next to them and began to fill their plates with food.

“Professor Potter is, hands down, the coolest witch I’ve ever met in my life,” Susan said happily, turning towards Ron. “She’s been - what the hell happened to your face!?”

“Nothing,” Ron grumbled sourly. “Ignore it. You were saying?”

“Was it Pucey and his goons again?” Hannah said sadly. “I wish you were in Hufflepuff. We could tell one of the Big Siblings about it and they’d all be toast.”

“Forget the Big Siblings,” Susan scowled. “Harry’s going to turn them inside-out when he gets back, you mark my words.”

“No!” Ron said angrily, slamming his hands down on the table. His friends looked up at him, surprised. “Sorry, but no,” he repeated more quietly. “I need - I need to be able to solve my own problems. I just…ugh. I’m not hungry.” He jumped to his feet, grabbed his bag, and marched out of the Great Hall without another word.

“Well, that’s just great,” Susan said dryly. “Anyone else having an emotional breakdown for lunch? How’s Jack doing?”

“Not well,” Hannah grimaced. “He still blames himself for…you know…”

“Why is everything falling apart?” Hermione said sadly.

“It’ll get better,” Hannah said soothingly, wrapping her arm around the Gryffindor’s shoulders. “You’ll see.”

****

Harry, James, Sirius, and Remus sat around the cozy kitchen table together, enjoying a late dinner of chicken and rice.

“Say Harry, are you losing your touch? You’ve been home a full week and you haven’t even pranked your old man yet,” Sirius said conversationally, jabbing his fork towards James and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Haven’t I?” Harry said innocently, shoveling chicken into his mouth.

James froze, then turned towards Sirius with wide eyes. “What? What did he do?”

“I genuinely don’t know,” Sirius said, delighted. “I really honestly don’t. How terrifying.”

Harry shrugged, smiling mysteriously.

James slowly turned towards Remus and graced him with a deadened expression.

“Oh, no you don’t. I’m staying well out of it,” Remus said hastily, grabbing his plate with quick hands and fleeing the room.

****

Ron was just outside the doors of the Great Hall when he was stopped by a pair of familiar voices. “Oi! Ronnikins! Slow down!”

He scowled and turned, averting his gaze slightly as the twins caught up with him.

“What happened to your face this time?” George said angrily, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s uglier than usual,” Fred added.

“Nothing,” Ron grumbled. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Right,” Fred said dryly. 

“I mean it,” Ron scowled. “But, you know…if you wanted to give me another lesson in dueling…”

“Say no more, baby brother,” George said seriously. “We’ll pick you up outside your common room an hour before curfew, alright?”

“Alright,” Ron nodded, relieved. “Anyway, I’ve got to go to the library. I’ll catch you later.”

The twins watched him wander off, his shoulders slumped in a dejected pose and feet dragging.

Fred turned towards George. “D’you think we should give him…”

George shook his head. “Nah. Not yet. He’d get it nicked off him by an upper year within the hour. I think we’re just going to have to get better at watching it when he’s between classes.”

“Exhausting,” Fred sighed. “The things we do for family…”

****

“Right, there’s the bell,” Lily said cheerfully. “For homework, I want you all to think of a few creative applications of the Knockback Jinx. We’ll have a group discussion on Wednesday, so make sure you bring your thinking caps. Class dismissed!”

The first year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws looked excited as they gathered their things. “Your mum is so cool, Jack,” Seamus said admiringly. “Coolest teacher we have, hands down. No real homework, plus we spend most of class dueling? Am I dreaming?!”

Jack smiled weakly. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

“Jack, Neville, would you stay behind please?” Lily called. “Just for a moment.”

“Sure, Aunt - uh, I mean, Auror - I mean, Professor Potter,” Neville stuttered.

Lily hid a smile behind her hand, feigning a cough. 

The two boys approached the front of the room as the other students cleared out, each one looking vaguely nervous.

“Relax, you’re not in trouble,” Lily chuckled. “Lighten up a bit. I just wanted to let you know that Harry’s been asking about you two. Apparently he’s been getting a bit bored cooped up at home. If you’d like, we can chat with him through your father’s old hand mirror after dinner.”

“That’s great!” Neville gasped, while Jack grimaced.

Lily frowned. “Neville, why don’t you run along to your next class and let your professor know that Jack will be a bit late? We’ll just be a moment.”

“Sure,” Neville nodded, glancing towards his friend with an understanding smile. “See you later, Jack!”

“Right,” Jack croaked, watching Neville hurry from the room.

“Let’s have a chat, hm?” Lily said quietly, brushing a red lock from Jack’s forehead. She conjured a pair of plushy armchairs next to her desk and gestured towards them. “I don’t have another class until three. Want to sit?”

Jack sighed heavily, throwing himself into the nearest chair. “I don’t want to have a chat, mum -”

“Oh?” Lily said, arching an eyebrow as she sat opposite to him. “I must be imagining things, then. For a moment there, it looked like you weren’t excited to talk to your brother tonight.”

Jack chewed on his lip and averted his gaze, his fingers worrying at the hem of his sleeve. “No, of course I’m excited. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Jack,” Lily said quietly. “No one blames you for what happened with the troll, least of all Harry. It’s not your fault.”

Jack blinked furiously. Why were his eyes so wet? “It feels like it’s my fault, though,” he mumbled thickly. “I feel like - I don’t know, like he should be mad at me - like you should be mad at me -”

“Oh, darling,” Lily sighed, enlarging his armchair with a flick of her wand and moving to sit next to him. She wrapped her arms around her son and held him close, petting his hair softly. “I wish you wouldn’t torture yourself like this.” 

“I’m sorry,” he choked, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Enough apologies, love,” Lily murmured. “I promise you that your brother doesn’t blame you at all for what happened. If you would just talk to him, you would see that.”

“What - what has he said about me?” Jack sniffed, burrowing more deeply into his mother’s arms.

“Well, he spends a lot of time wondering how you’re doing in Potions since he’s not there to help gather ingredients. That, and whether or not you’ve ‘acquired the package’,” Lily said dryly. “He also refuses to explain what that means. Don’t worry, I won’t ask…as long as it isn’t dangerous.”

“It isn’t,” Jack promised, thinking of the small amount of troll blood that he’d collected with Susan. “And, uh, you can tell him that Susan has it.”

“Thank Merlin for small miracles,” Lily sighed. “Why don’t you tell him yourself? I know talking through the mirror isn’t the same as speaking face-to-face, but I think it would be good for you to see him.”

“I just - I feel like I should have been able to protect him,” Jack said quietly, closing his eyes. “I want to be able to keep him safe. I don’t want him to get hurt, not ever again. I only…I only just got him back.”

“I know, darling,” Lily murmured, smoothing down his hair with a gentle hand. “But it isn’t your job to protect him. No, listen to me - you and Harry, you’re still children. The adults in your life were supposed to protect you both, and we failed. When you’re grown, you can worry about protecting Harry, alright? For now, we just want you to work hard at your studies, make friends, and enjoy your childhood. Your father and I want that more than anything in the world, for both of you.”

“Alright,” Jack sniffed. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, what did you say your next class was?”

“History of Magic,” Jack grumbled.

“Oof,” Lily winced. “Well, just this once, how about you skip it? We can have some tea in my quarters, maybe play a bit of Super Mario Land before my next class? I managed to get the Game Boy working last night and the underwater level is giving me a lot of trouble.”

Jack wiped his face with a shaking hand and smiled. “That sounds great, mum. Don’t worry, I’ll help you beat it!”

Chapter Text

The Malfoy ritual room was surprisingly humble - at least, if one didn’t know the function of such a place. A proper ritual room was free of enchantments or precious metals, as either one could interfere with delicate magic; and for that reason, the circular room was carved from roughly hewn stone and lit by nothing but crude torchlight.

Voldemort eyed the five torches set equidistant along the curving wall, noting that they would each fall on the point of a pentagram if one were drawn onto the floor. His recent research into sorcery told him that this torch placement was important; the Malfoy ritual room could also serve as an adequate demonic summoning space, if needed. 

He wondered if Narcissa was aware.

“Everything is in place, my lord,” she said quietly, gesturing towards a massive stone cauldron in the middle of the room. They both wore plain white ritual robes, and her sleeves waved faintly in the still air. “If you wouldn’t mind standing in the circle I’ve drawn - yes, over there - perfect. We will begin with the first step: Creating the homunculus.”

Voldemort nodded, his expression blank, and glanced towards the pile of horcruxes sharing his circle. 

He needed to absorb these horcruxes to bolster his soul’s size, to improve its constitution enough for demonic possession; as such, he’d gathered Ravenclaw’s diadem, his own diary, the Gaunt ring, and Hufflepuff’s cup. Slytherin’s locket had the best protection out of all his horcruxes so he hadn’t bothered retrieving it from the seaside cave. It would serve as a final safeguard against death, should he ever need it.

He had new plans for immortality, plans that required a healthier soul…but Lord Voldemort didn’t take chances. Not anymore.

“Please sit down in a cross-legged position, my lord,” Narcissa murmured. 

He lowered himself to the floor, grimacing at the cold stone.

“Perfect,” Narcissa nodded. She knelt before him, setting a bowl of ash and clay on the ground, and raised her wand to her hand. She traced a line along her palm, opening the skin; a thick rivulet of blood sprung forth, dribbling down her wrist and into the bowl.

“Spira in homunculus, iterum anima,” she muttered quietly, her voice taking on a singsong quality as she chanted. “Spira in homunculus, iterum anima. Spira in homunculus, iterum anima…”

She began to knead her blood into the clay, turning it in her hands like dough. It quickly changed color, from ashen gray to a deep brick red; once the color was uniform, she began to shape it into the approximation of a human form. It was crude, but recognizable - she formed a rough head, spindly arms, knobby legs, and a thick torso, then set it gently back into the bowl.

She continued chanting. “Spira in homunculus, iterum anima,” she whispered, standing and trailing her blood towards Voldemort’s circle. 

For a moment, they locked eyes. 

“Spira in homunculus, iterum anima.”

She let blood gather in her hand and flung it forward, the droplets scattering across Quirrell’s body and the gathered horcruxes.

Pain. Pain unlike any pain Voldemort had felt in his life erupted around him, filling him, consuming him - he screamed wordlessly, thrashing, and felt himself being pulled from Quirrell/diary/diadem/ring/cup, mindlessly fighting the pull and holding tight to the flesh/paper/metal, shrieking -

“Spira in homunculus, iterum anima! SPIRA IN HOMUNCULUS, ITERUM ANIMA!”

Clay and blood swallowed him whole. His very essence ached as he bled into the roughly-shaped golem, filling its feeble limbs and twitching senselessly. He felt his edges dissolving. His vision quintupled - there were five Narcissas leaning over him, five bowls cradling his wretched form - and he saw five Quirrells begin to stir, opening their eyes and coughing.

“Where - where am I?” the Quirrells gasped.

The world snapped into place as Voldemort’s soul pieces fully merged, and five Quirrells became one again.

“Stupefy,” Narcissa snarled, pointing her wand at the weakened professor. She then moved to the stone cauldron and lit a fire underneath it, working quickly. “Just a few more moments, my lord,” she muttered. “It will all be over soon.”

Voldemort didn’t have a mouth, so he couldn’t speak, but he was greatly appeased by the urgency he saw in her every movement.

The potion began to sizzle and spark, thick clouds of smoke filling the room; he was lifted up, and finally, finally, he was dropped gently into the boiling potion.

It was a fresh new agony. He was being pressed from all sides, burning alive - he could see the stone interior of the cauldron clearly, could almost count every rough-hewn rivet -

Suddenly, an old, yellow thigh bone broke the surface of the liquid, sinking down next to him.

Voldemort felt his pain recede as the potion began to eat at the bone instead, disintegrating it quickly.

Half a moment later, Quirrell’s severed head descended through the bubbling liquid, his eyes half-closed with the limp, lazy expression of a swift death. Voldemort’s pain lessened even further as the head began to dissolve, its nose and ears disintegrating into nothing, its cheekbones pushing out from receding skin and frothing away like powdered chalk.

Finally, blessedly, a ribbon of fresh red blood pooled through the liquid before him.

His vision went white.

A lightning-bolt of sensation rocked through his soul, explosive and unforgiving -

And he suddenly found himself kneeling in an empty stone cauldron, gasping, heaving for breath.

He closed his eyes, fighting to collect himself. 

What bliss, to have a form again. To have fingers, toes, ears - his own face, his own lungs and heart and stomach…

He stood slowly, relishing the feeling of strong, lean legs, and stretched his muscled arms up above his head.

“Ah,” he sighed happily, turning to look towards Narcissa.

She stared back at him - no, up at him, for he was much taller now - her eyes wide and disbelieving.

“My lord,” she muttered, falling to her knees in a graceful bow and holding out his wand in a trembling hand, hilt first. “My lord, it worked perfectly.”

Voldemort smiled slowly, taking his wand in hand and turning it in his long, pale fingers. “Has it? We shall see…”

He conjured a tall mirror and stepped out of the cauldron, examining himself before it.

He couldn’t resist a crow of triumph at what he saw.

Narcissa was an excellent potioneer and an even better ritualist; had someone less skilled performed these rites, he may have been marred by the dark magics within. But instead, his new human skin was flawless. His dominant features were profoundly Riddle - noble brow, high cheekbones, broad shoulders, tall stature and trim waist - but the inclusion of Narcissa’s blood had also lent something distinctly Black. His dark hair was thicker, curlier; his lips were sinfully plush, and his gray irises were now a perfect match for both Narcissa and Bellatrix.

He had somehow become even more handsome than he’d been before.

He laughed, delighted, and summoned a simple robe for himself. “Narcissa, darling, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Narcissa rose to her feet. “My lord, I live to serve.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Your loyalty will be greatly rewarded.”

****

Neville had the distinct feeling that things were slowly going wrong. Life continued to turn, even without Harry present, but it was turning the wrong way.

Jack was wallowing in guilt and despair. He was constantly distracted during class and his grades were starting to drop. Even Aunt Lily had noticed.

Hermione, on the other hand, was getting better grades than ever…but she was so withdrawn. She shared meals with Ron at the Hufflepuff table, but otherwise she disappeared into the library whenever they weren’t in class. At curfew she’d go straight to her room, refusing to linger in the common room any longer than she needed to.

Ron was…well. Ron was being mercilessly bullied, and it was starting to wear him thin.

Hannah and Susan seemed to be doing alright - Hannah was perpetually cheerful, and Susan was as determined as always to solve everyone’s problems for them - but even they seemed to be shadowed by an unnameable anxiety. Neville often sat with them at dinner, sharing concerned glances as they watched their friends slowly fall to pieces.

Madame Pomfrey had said that recovery from trauma wasn’t linear - that sometimes, you got a bit worse before you got better. Perhaps they were all still dealing with the heavy emotions of the troll attack.

Neville certainly was.

During the day, he could keep it together. He dragged Jack to classes and meals, checked in on Hermione and Ron, and tried to make small talk with Susan and Hannah.

But his nights were filled with terrible, feverish dreams; nightmares where Harry was dying, where a massive troll ate him whole or a cartoonishly-villainous Bellatrix Lestrange crucio’d Harry into insanity. Neville would scream and struggle, fighting to save his friend, but Harry would always end up in the same state: Blank and unmoving, lying on a hospital bed next to Alice and Frank Longbottom.

It was certainly not restful. 

Anyway, Neville had never been more exhausted in his life. But Jack was relying on him, whether or not he was aware of it, so Neville had to be strong. There was no time for naps or tears, not anymore.

But maybe…maybe there was time for letters.

Neville dipped his quill in ink, his tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration, and began to write.

Dear Harry…

****

Harry was spread out on the sitting room floor, mid-stretch, when Neville’s owl Petal dropped a letter onto his head.

“A letter?!” Harry gasped, delighted. “For me? And it’s from Neville?! I might perish from happiness, and then come back and perish again just for the fun of it.”

Remus rolled his eyes from behind his newspaper, settling more deeply into the plushy armchair beneath him. “Your father will cry if he hears you making that joke again,” he warned.

Harry shrugged. “He’s not here right now, is he? Anyway, can I read my letter?”

“Finish your stretches first, please. You’re almost done anyway.”

“Fine…”

Three minutes later, Harry was sprawled out on the couch, letter in hand.

Dear Harry,

How are you? I hope you’re doing well. We all miss you, of course. We hope you come back soon Take all the time you need to heal. Healing is important. Don’t worry about us.

I’d love to hear about what you’re doing every day. Are you having fun hanging out at Potter Manor? I know you didn’t live there for very long this summer, so I bet it’s nice to get to spend time at home. There’s a lot of fun stuff to do. Jack and I really like to swim in the pond, although it’s probably too cold for that. Maybe you could play on the Nintendo instead? Or go find some interesting plants in the forest? Those were two of my favorite things to do this summer when we weren’t swimming.

Classes with Aunt Lily Professor Potter are quite wonderful. She’s such a good teacher! Plus it’s really fun. Everyone hopes she stays on permanently.

As for me, I’m doing very well. I’ve had a few nightmares recently but I’ll be okay. James always said that eating sugar before bed gives him strange dreams so maybe I’ll start skipping dessert.

Anyway, I think the others haven’t written to you yet because they’re worried your parents will find out that you can read and write. But if you’d like, I’ll tell them that you want letters. I probably shouldn’t have written to you, but I got impatient I was worried I just wanted to hear about your day.

Can’t wait to hear back!

Love, Best Wishes,

Neville Longbottom

Harry cooed happily, running a possessive finger down the parchment.

“Good news, then?” Remus asked, amused.

“The best,” Harry hissed, his eyes bright with rabid joy. “He wants to hear about my day!”

“Right,” Remus chuckled. “Well go on, then, write him a response and send it out with Corvo.”

*****

Screams erupted in the great hall as a massive black bird crashed heavily onto the Hufflepuff table. Its wingspan was incredible, disrupting goblets and plates with a single flap and sending them crashing to the ground. Shadows clung to its feathers as it shook them out; it peered around threateningly, staring at the frightened children with beady red eyes.

It preened, then began to hop down the table, smashing pancakes and porridge beneath its mighty claws.

“Er, hi Corvo,” Neville said weakly, watching as the frightening bird approached.

Corvo stared directly into Neville’s eyes. For one tense moment, the young wizard felt strangely naked; he was trapped, vulnerable beneath the crow’s red stare…

But then Corvo reached into his plumage with his sharp beak and pulled out a thickly padded letter, dropping it into Neville’s waiting hands.

“Uh, t-thanks,” Neville stuttered. “Er, here you go…” He reached out a shaking hand and offered up a large slice of bacon.

Corvo darted out quickly, snapping up the entire thing into his terrifying beak, and exploded up from the table in a mass of wispy shadows and dark feathers. He circled the Great Hall six times - every eye in the room was locked on his terrible form - and then flew off through an open window, disappearing from view.

“What the fuck was that?!” Ron whispered, horrified.

Neville cleared his throat. “That’s - that’s, uh, Harry’s bird. Corvo.”

“Of course it is,” Hermione shivered.

****

Dearest Neville,

I am absolutely delighted that you’ve chosen to write me a letter. I’m afraid the kneazel’s out of the bag as far as my literacy is concerned…I’ve been set to writing essays, reading books, et cetera, all throughout the past few weeks, and my caretakers are now well aware of my previous attempts to fool them. It’s absolute torture, I tell you. And not even the fun kind.

I’ve enclosed a few gifts for you in the form of drawn runes. Six of them, to be exact, each one on its own sheet of paper…if you hang them up next to your pillow, they should provide some protection from nightmares. They emit a low mental hum, similar to a white noise for the mind…my guardian gave me something similar when I was younger, so as you can imagine, I’m quite familiar with the form of the runes. I haven’t misdrawn them, I promise.

Per your request, I have outlined my daily routine:

• I wake up around eight in the morning and James cooks breakfast for me. It’s wonderful. His is a rare gift and I’m glad he’s not wasting it by cooking for other people. Only I can truly appreciate him.

• Afterwards, Remus bothers me until I complete my Physical Therapy stretches.

• Once I’m finished stretching, Remus then forces me to attend to my lessons; the less said about this, the better…

• Eventually we have lunch. Sometimes James will let me help prepare it - I’m trying to learn how to cook, you see - but if I tamper with the ingredients too much, he banishes me from the kitchen.

• Up next: More school, more stretching. It’s dreadfully boring.

• Sirius comes home from work and the two of us have a War Council.

• Finally, I’m allowed some time for leisure. Usually I’ll read, or enact our War Council agenda on James, but sometimes I’m able to disappear into the woods…my caretakers are forced to spend hours looking for me in the darkness, and it’s the highlight of my time here, as I’m sure you can imagine.

• Eventually, one way or another, I succumb to slumber.

I have so much more to tell you about, darling. I saw a Potter house elf for the very first time yesterday, dressed in nothing but leaves and smelling of a feral sort of magic. It was absolutely fascinating…James has quite strictly informed me that I’m not allowed to speak with the elves or bother them at all, as the Potters have a more traditional, humane, and mutually beneficial arrangement than other wizarding households…

The letter continued in that manner for several more pages.

****

Dear Harry,

Those runes you sent work really well! I’ve been sleeping much better lately, thank you. I’m not sure where you found red ink like that but it’s quite lovely. It looks like your eyes

Thanks for telling me about your daily schedule. I was quite curious about what you were getting up to. It sounds like you do a lot of stretching. Is that for your new leg? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a fake leg. Auror Moody (he’s one of Aunt Lily’s friends) has a fake leg, but it doesn’t sound like it’s as fancy as yours. I’ve never heard of something being made of whalebone before. You must have a very special leg.

By the way, Susan has “the package”. She’s saving it for when you come back. She’s afraid if she sends it by mail it’ll get nabbed. I told her I would tell you that.

I’m sorry to hear that you have to do essays now. I liked writing that Potions essay with you. Maybe when you come back we can start doing them together again?

Yours, Codrially Cordially,

Neville Longbottom

 

****

Dearest Neville,

I would be delighted to continue our tradition of writing essays together! Your ideas are simply the best. I demand you share them with only me, and no one else…except for Jack, on occasion, if you must.

I wanted to ask about the Venomous Tentacula we planted in the eastern courtyard back in early October. Has it grown much? It might be large enough to grasp an arm or a leg and may need to consume flesh at this stage in its development - you should test this theory, of course, and I recommend using a boy named Seamus Finnegan from Gryffindor…I’ve found him to be terribly boorish but perhaps he’s just what our burgeoning plant needs.

If you need ideas on how to lure him into the eastern courtyard, just say the word…I had several plans drawn up to do just that (before the troll incident, of course) and I’d be happy to share them with you…

I was thrilled to hear that you’ll be coming home for the holidays soon. James and Remus have explained “Christmas” and “Yule” and “gift-giving” so I’m now planning for my eventual triumph, of course. I will be the most festive Potter and will give the most desired gifts …you should ritually prepare yourself for the jealousy of your peers, dear Neville, because your gift will be exquisite. In fact, I have enclosed a series of meditative chants one can perform that guard against the corrosive jealousy of lesser beings. Do humor me and perform these during the next full moon, darling…in secret, if you don’t mind, I don’t want James finding out…

****

Dear Harry,

I’ve been checking on our Venomous Tentacula and it’s very healthy! I have bad news though. Professor Sprout found it and she moved it into Greenhouse Five. She still lets me see it though. Also, I don’t think the Venomous Tentacula actually needs to eat anyone. I think it prefers water and compost. But I’ll check with Professor Sprout.

Seamus is not so bad once you give him a chance. I think he regrets not becoming your friend. Would you ever think about changing your mind about him?

I did the chants but I don’t think I did them right because I couldn’t read most of the words and I fell asleep in the middle. But I did feel very well rested afterwards so I think it worked! Thank you for sending them.

This is my last letter before we come home. We should be at Potter Manor tomorrow evening. I’m excited to see you and learn about the stretches you’re doing. Maybe we can do them together?

Love, Regardfully, Regards,

Neville Longbottom

 

 

Chapter Text

Hermione was a very clever witch. She genuinely liked reading and learning, of course, and she made excellent marks; but while many thought of her as only smart, she was also clever. She was clever enough to realize the value of knowledge and hard work, the benefits of reading ahead before class and practicing memorization exercises to keep her mind sharp; and she was also clever enough to fully understand her position in society as a muggleborn - an outsider, an unwanted second-class citizen. A mudblood.

She knew that she shouldn’t attempt to rescue Ron from his bullies. She was a very gifted student, but she was still a first year; she was no match for the upperclassmen that haunted Ron’s schedule, and as cruel as they were to Ron, they would be even more cruel to her if she got in their way.

But Hermione also knew that some things were more important than cleverness. More important than even books and house points and exams - things like friendship, kindness, and bravery. She wanted very badly to be the kind of person that embodied those things.

And so, in spite of her better judgment, she began secretly following Ron between classes.

Ron was not an easy person to track. He took circuitous routes through the sprawling dungeons, never repeating the same path twice in the same week, and he seemed to know more secret passageways than any other first year. It was hard work, and she often lagged far, far behind.

But eventually, her hard work paid off.

She was lurking just around the corner when she heard sneering words and a leglock curse. She grit her teeth and ran forward, her wand held resolutely in her slightly-trembling hand.

Ron had fallen to the ground, his things laying scattered several paces behind him. Three older Slytherins loomed over him, their faces alight with malicious glee. 

They raised their wands.

Hermione didn’t even pause to think. She threw out her arm, casting a spell that she’d practiced incessantly ever since the troll incident: “Protego!”

A shimmering shield burst out of her wand, hovering in the air just in front of Ron.

He turned towards her, his eyes wide with both surprise and horror. “‘Mione?...”

She ran forward and stood in front of him, her small form trembling with righteous rage. “How dare you hurt him?!” she spat. “Cowards, the lot of you, picking on a first year -”

“Who’s this?” one of the older boys said, clearly amused by her heroic intervention.

“Another firstie,” his friend said dismissively. “Just some Gryffindor mudbood -”

“DON’T - DON’T CALL HER THAT!” Ron yelled. He struggled fruitlessly against the leglock curse.

“Better a mudblood than a schoolyard bully,” Hermione said. “At least I have nothing to be ashamed of, unlike you three.”

This seemed to amuse the older Slytherins even more. “Nothing to be ashamed of?” one of them sneered. “Nothing except your filthy lineage, you mean. Disgusting little creature -”

Ron screamed with rage and lunged towards his wand.

The other Slytherins chose that moment to start casting a variety of nasty jinxes at Hermione’s Protogo; she began to sweat with effort as she held the spell, arm shaking with strain.

The ringleader laughed. “Not looking so confident now, are you mudblood -”

Suddenly, just as Hermione’s shielding spell was about to fail, a wave of powerful magic surged forth, plucking the hexes right out of the air and squashing them into nothingness.

“What. Is. This.”

A familiar, acidic voice floated towards. The five students turned as one, each feeling a tingle of true dread.

Severus Snape glided towards them in a swish of dark robes, his face a mask of unadulterated rage. Lily Potter trailed behind him, tucking her wand away - but interestingly enough, she didn’t seem angry. Instead, she wore a faint expression of amused sorrow, her eyes darting between Ron and Hermione.

The older Slytherins hastily put their wands away while their ringleader hurried to explain. “Weasley attacked us, sir, right in the middle of the hallway -”

“That’s not true!” Hermione exploded. “Ron was just minding his own business!”

Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Is this true, Mr Weasley?”

Ron averted his eyes. “No…no, I attacked them first. They were just defending themselves…but - but Hermione didn’t do anything wrong, sir…”

A beat of silence.

“What?” Hermione said, her voice small. “No, no that’s not what happened - tell them, Ron -”

“Detention, Mr Weasley,” Professor Snape said smoothly. He waved his wand and dispelled the leglock curse. “My office. Now. You may wait for me at the end of the corridor. I will be along shortly.”

The three older Slytherins snickered as they watched Ron scramble to his feet and rush away, his face and ears bright red…but their laughter faded under Snape’s acidic glare.

“You seem to be under the impression that you have not sorely tested my patience today,” he said to them, his voice dangerously quiet. “Unfortunately for you, I heard what you were saying to Ms Granger. Perhaps, in your hilarity, you have forgotten that I am Head of Slytherin, and that I have banned a certain word from your vocabulary while you walk these hallowed halls…Perhaps, you three behave like dunderheaded fools because you do not desire to remain at Hogwarts, and instead wish to return to your families in shame and disgrace.”

“We didn’t mean anything by it, sir, we were just -”

“What could you possibly say to excuse your actions? You must think me a fool to even try,” Snape hissed. “Thirty points from Slytherin. Each. And woe betide you if I catch you within twenty yards of either Mr Weasley or Ms Granger ever again. I’ll have you mucking out cauldrons with your own toothbrushes, mark my words.”

The three older boys muttered angrily, but averted their gazes and nodded.

“Begone.”

Within moments, Hermione was alone in the corridor with the two professors. She gathered her courage - goodness, Professor Snape still looked so angry - and she began to speak. “Professor Snape, they lied to you!”

“I am well aware,” Snape drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hermione sputtered. “But - but - but you gave Ron detention!”

A warm hand gripped her shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough,” Professor Potter said lightly. “Sev, I’ll escort Ms Granger back to Gryffindor tower. See you later?”

“Of course,” Snape nodded. “Ms Granger, I leave you in capable hands.” He left in a dramatic swish of robes, hurrying down the corridor.

“Come on then,” Professor Potter sighed. “Let’s get you up to the tower, hm?”

“I wasn’t -” Hermione blinked, fighting back tears. “It’s Saturday. I don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon in the common room. I want to go to the library.”

“Alright, then. There are a few books I’ve been meaning to pick up anyway…”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Hermione chewed on her lips, her mind racing, while the professor seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened, Hermione,” Professor Potter said finally. “I know you were just looking out for your friend. You didn’t deserve to be called names for it, and he doesn’t deserve getting picked on in the first place.”

“I just don’t understand,” Hermione said. “If everyone knows that Ron didn’t do anything wrong, why’s he being punished?”

Professor Potter sighed heavily. “He confessed. There’s not much else that Sev - uh, Professor Snape, can do. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Hermione sniffed. “There are clear rules against bullying and if he would just tell someone…” Hermione turned, surprised, as she caught the professor attempting to hide a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry,” Professor Potter coughed. “It’s just that…well, you remind me so much of myself at your age.”

To say that Hermione was flattered was an understatement. “Really?” she said eagerly. “How so?”

“Well, for one, we’re both Gryffindors. And both muggleborn, of course.”

“You’re muggleborn?” Hermione gasped. Professor Potter was an enigma - beautiful, dangerous, smart, powerful…her aura was undeniable and she wielded advanced magic with the ease of a master. It was widely agreed that she was the best Defense professor the school had seen in many years. If she was muggleborn - well, perhaps Hermione too could someday turn heads and command respect.

“Yep,” the Professor said, smiling wistfully. “And my best friend was a Slytherin, just like yours. Can you guess who it was?”

“Was it…Professor Snape?”

“Right again. He was bullied quite a bit too, you know. And he didn’t like it very much when I tried to help him.”

“Whyever not?” Hermione said, flabbergasted.

“Some people just like to solve their own problems,” the Professor said sagely, tucking a long red lock behind her ear. “Slytherins have their own ideas about justice, you know? They scheme and plot and play their own games. And when they start losing - well, their Gryffindor friends have trouble staying out of it. I always did, at least. And then, of course, Sev would get mad at me, and then we would be fighting…” She sighed, lost in her memories.

“I just don’t understand why he would be upset,” Hermione mumbled.

“Well, mostly he was worried, I think. He was afraid that I’d get caught up in his mess - and then I would get hurt and it would be his fault, blah blah blah. He wasn’t emotionally mature enough to say it in that many words, but I eventually figured it out.”

“That sounds like Ron, too,” Hermione said. “Well, I don’t care if he gets mad at me. I’m not going to stand aside and do nothing.”

Professor Potter laughed. “That’s the spirit. Do what you think is right, Hermione. That’s all anyone can do…and for what it’s worth, I think it’s quite admirable that you stepped in today to protect your friend.”

“Thanks, Professor. I’ll remember that.”

“You know,” Potter said suddenly. “We’re right next to my office…what do you say to a spot of tea before we hit the library? Don’t think I didn’t notice that excellent Protego. I’d love to hear more about it.”

“You saw that?” Hermione squeaked, her cheeks pink.

“Of course I did! That’s a fourth year spell, you know! And you held off three attackers at once. Twenty points to Gryffindor for sheer awesomeness…”

Hermione gazed worshipfully up at the professor, stars in her eyes.

****

Ron Weasley felt like a whipped dog. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed. He waited where he was told to, and when heard Professor Snape approaching, he barely even managed to look up.

Snape sighed dramatically and gestured down the hall. “Let us go to my office, Ronald.”

“You know I don’t like that name,” Ron muttered, but he was slightly more hopeful as they moved through the dungeons. Once they reached the office, Snape opened the door and ushered him inside.

“Tea?” he asked, throwing a handful of powder into the fire.

“Uh, sure. Sir. I mean, thank you sir.”

“Tea and sandwiches for two, if you please,” Snape ordered, speaking into the flames. He turned towards Ron and nodded at a small coffee table and two plush armchairs. “Sit, please.”

“Uh, sure,” Ron stuttered, lowering himself gingerly into one of the armchairs. The office was tastefully arcane, more modernly appointed than he’d expected. There were strangely-shaped potions bottles and creepy things floating in bubbling fluids, just like one would think to find in a Potion Master’s study, but Ron could also see a few muggle devices - including…

“Is that a Gaming Boy, sir?” he asked excitedly, pointing towards a small colorful gadget on the large desk.

“Game Boy,” Snape corrected, rolling his eyes. “Blame Professor Potter. She seems to be having trouble with ‘the water level’...as if I could possibly…but of course, I will try…”

“I bet Jack can get her sorted,” Ron said wistfully. “He’s really good. He lets me play on his Game Boy whenever I come over. I’ve always wanted one…”

“I’ll pass your recommendation along,” Snape nodded. He sat in the armchair opposite to Ron and waved his wand, summoning a chess set. “Fancy a game while we wait for tea?”

“Sure!” Ron said excitedly, resisting the urge to bounce up and down in his seat.

Three games, four cups of tea, and several sandwiches later, Ron finally screwed up the courage to ask about his detention.

“Why, Mr Weasley, you’re currently serving it now,” Snape said, his eyebrow raised. “Is it not to your liking? Perhaps you’d prefer to debowel flobberworms or scrub cauldrons…”

“No, no, this is great, I’ve definitely learned my lesson,” Ron said quickly. “It’s just that…checkmate, by the way…I just thought it would be, well, more horrible?”

Snape’s eye twitched slightly as he examined the board. He sighed heavily, waving his wand and resetting the pieces. “Again. As for your detention, I think both of us know that you’ve done nothing wrong, hm?”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah…well, you know how it is.”

“I do,” Snape nodded. “Believe it or not, I’ve been in your exact position. Am I correct in thinking that you hoped to appease your bullies by covering for them?”

“Something like that,” Ron muttered. “I thought if I got a detention or points taken away or something, they’d lay off for a bit. Or at least, it wouldn’t get worse…but if I got them in trouble, well, they’d just make me regret it, wouldn’t they?”

“What will you do next?” Snape asked, moving a chess piece forward.

“I’m not sure. Right now I’m just trying to focus on school. Susan - Susan Bones, that is - she says that powerful people always get good grades, so I figure I need to start there. But it’s hard because I bloody hate studying…” He blushed faintly as he remembered who he was talking to.

“An admirable ambition,” Snape said lightly. “And thus began your acquaintance with Ms Granger?”

“At first, yeah, but now we’re real, actual friends,” Ron said happily. “Checkmate. She’s great. Even though she - well, she’s interfering - it’s hard to explain to her why she shouldn’t. It’s like I’m speaking a different language.”

Snape glared briefly at his chess pieces as he reset the board yet again. “Well, she is a Gryffindor, is she not? They value different things. Boldness. Honesty. Quick action.”

“Yeah, no subtlety at all,” Ron grinned, sharing a commiserating look with his professor.

“I had a Gryffindor friend when I was in school, you know,” Snape said casually, moving his bishop in a maneuver that he knew would lead him to victory, Merlin damn it. “I’m sure you can guess who it was.”

“Aunt - I mean, Professor Potter?”

“Correct. She was much like Ms Granger - inserting herself into every conflict, whether invited or not.”

“What did you do? Check.”

“Eurgh…well, being teenagers, we fought a lot about it. Quite frankly, it almost destroyed our friendship. But eventually, I learned a very important lesson.”

“What lesson, sir?” Ron asked curiously.

“That you can’t always push people away when they’re trying to help you. If you push too hard…well, they might not want to come back.”

****

“Jack, my boy, thank you for joining me for tea,” Headmaster Dumbledore said happily. “Come in, do come in…”

Jack trudged morosely into the office, throwing himself into one of the brightly-patterned chaises in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “Hi, sir,” he mumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled fondly, pouring a steaming cup of tea and setting it in front of Jack. “Cream and sugar?”

“Yes please.”

“I’ve been given a variety of finger sandwiches as well. Do help yourself if you’re hungry.”

Jack smiled weakly and picked up a sandwich. He nibbled minutely at the crust, then set it on his plate.

Dumbledore sighed. “My boy, I can’t help but notice that you’ve been a bit down lately. Your mother mentioned…well, we’re all worried, you see.”

Jack hummed noncommittally, staring into his teacup.

 “If this is about the events of Halloween -”

“Of course it is!” Jack cried, then he stiffened. “Sorry, professor,” he muttered.

“No, please continue,” Dumbledore nodded. “It was a terrible night and you saw terrible things. You are, understandably, quite upset about that.”

“It’s not just that,” Jack said miserably. “I just…well, we only barely got Harry back, and now he’s gone again, and it’s all my fault! If I hadn’t been - if I’d been nicer to Hermione, she wouldn’t have gotten so upset, and then we all would have been at the feast -”

“And when did you release the troll into the dungeons?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

Jack stopped, confused. “What? I didn’t do that…”

“Oh? Did you order the troll to attack your friends? To attack Harry? Or even ask Harry to come to your defense?”

“No…I mean, of course not…”

“Well then, Jack, I hardly see how any of this is your fault,” Dumbledore said quietly. “If anything, I am the one to blame. I allowed the Troll into the school and, ultimately, I am responsible for the welfare of my students.”

“No way, sir,” Jack said, aghast. “You didn’t - you couldn’t have known -”

Dumbledore looked at him pointedly.

“Alright, I get it,” Jack grumbled. He peered grumpily at his sandwich for a moment, then snatched it up for a massive bite.

“There’s a good lad,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Take it from me, Jack: the world will heap plenty of responsibility on your shoulders as time goes on. There’s no need to add any unearned burdens, not when you don’t need to.”

“Yeah,” Jack mused. “I ‘spose you’re talking about all the Boy-Who-Lived crap? Uh, I mean, stuff?”

“In part,” Dumbledore smiled.

At that, Jack looked even more uncomfortable. “I’ve heard…well, people are saying…” He trailed off nervously.

Dumbledore smiled but said nothing, waiting patiently for Jack to collect his thoughts.

Eventually, he continued. “Some of the other Gryffindors were saying that…that if You-Know-Who ever comes back, I’ll be the one who has to stop him. Since I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. Do you think…is that true? Will I have to fight him?”

“Many people believe that Voldemort has perished,” Dumbledore said.

“But not you,” Jack insisted. “Not my mum and dad.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, rubbing his beard pensively. “No one can know the future, Jack…even those with True Sight are arguably catalysts, not prophets…but what I do know is this: If Voldemort returns, the burden of his defeat will not rest on the shoulders of a child. Not so long as I am Headmaster of Hogwarts.” He chuckled for a moment. “And, I imagine, your parents would have some strong opinions about that as well.”

Jack looked faintly relieved, then frowned. “But what about when I’m grown? Shouldn’t I be preparing? I wasn’t - the troll - I couldn’t even…and if I couldn’t defeat a troll, how would I even think about fighting V-Voldemort?”

“How would you prepare for such a thing, Jack?” Dumbledore asked curiously, his eyes twinkling over half-moon glasses.

“I don’t know. Fighting, or dueling or something,” Jack muttered. “Or like…shooting a lot of guns.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Violence is often the easiest path to see. The easiest to choose, when you’re afraid…and at times, the only choice available to us. But it is not a choice you need to make right now, Jack. You are young, and many paths lay before you - many ways in which you can learn to protect those you love.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are many kinds of protection, after all. Your mother is an Auror, and she is, as you say, good at dueling; but your father also guards your family’s well-being by minding your home. And then there are those who protect through legislation - again, your father’s work with the Moony Project is an excellent example of this - and still others who choose to learn warding or healing.”

“Healing,” Jack said slowly. “That doesn’t…that’s not really protection, that’s more the stuff that comes after. When you didn’t properly protect someone.”

“Is it?” Dumbledore asked. “Or is it protection against that final enemy, Death?”

Jack frowned and took another large bite of his sandwich, his mind racing.

****

“Thank you for joining me for tea, my dears,” Professor Sprout said cheerfully, settling down into one of the garden’s moss-covered chairs. There were two more chairs ringing the small table and a delectable tea service arranged on top of it.

“Thank you for inviting us, Professor,” Hannah said cheerfully, hopping up into a chair. “Oh, look, Susan! Cucumber sandwiches! They don’t have these in the great hall…”

“Don’t mind if I do…”

The professor waited until both girls had sandwiches and tea arranged before continuing. “Now that we’re settled, I wanted to check in and see how you both were faring.”

“We’re great!” Hannah chirped.

“Our other friends…not so much,” Susan added. “I think they’re still struggling with the troll thing.”

“Terrible business, that,” Sprout grimaced. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that they’re having a hard time. Is there anything you can think of that can be done for them?”

They all sat for a moment.

“Well…the holidays are coming up,” Susan said slowly. “Hannah, maybe we could try to arrange some kind of get-together at the Potter house? Then we could all see Harry!”

Professor Sprout looked at Hannah. “What do you think, Hannah? Would this improve your friends’ spirits?”

Hannah nodded. “Sure, why not? It would be fun. Plus it would give everyone a chance to see Harry. If he’s well, that is.”

“I have it on good authority that he’s almost completely recovered,” the professor said happily. “Well, children, I think that’s a wonderful idea. Shall we compose a letter for Professor Potter together? I have some parchment tucked away somewhere…”

****

First years weren’t technically allowed in Greenhouse Five, but Neville was the exception. Professor Sprout said that he could stay inside for one hour, as long as he checked in with her before and after. She also gave him a muggle thermos filled with green tea and insisted he drink the entire thing. “It is teatime, after all,” she’d said, before bustling off to meet with Hannah and Susan.

She had invited him, of course, but for some reason he was feeling a bit antisocial. He wanted to steal a moment of quiet, a bit of time to lose himself in the scents and sights of the greenhouse. To smell the freshly-turned earth and the blooming flowers; to watch sunlight filter through dappled leaves, casting bright patterns across the ferns and roses.

He sighed happily, taking a deep drink from the thermos. He’d never had green tea before. It was fragrant and sweetened with honey, and it reminded him of a garden.

He loved it.

He scooted further into the shadowed corner of the greenhouse, closer to the young Venomous Tentacula that he and Harry had cultivated, and watched it sneak delicate vines towards his outstretched fingers.

“You’re growing very nicely,” he said quietly, stroking one of its bright green thorns. The plant shivered with happiness, inching even closer, and curled a newly-sprouted vine around his finger. “Did you like the coffee grounds I added to your soil?”

The plant didn’t answer, of course, but Neville was sure that it perked up a bit.

“I’ll have to get more from Aunt Lily, then,” he said. “We’ve got to make sure you grow big and strong for Harry. He would like that.”

If plants could purr, this one certainly would. It curled further up Neville’s hand, brushing the inside of his wrist lovingly.

“I’m going to see him tomorrow, you know,” Neville continued. “I’ll tell him all about you. Did you know he wanted me to feed Seamus to you? Can you believe it?”

The Venomous Tentacula twitched in an intrigued way.

“Of course you wouldn’t mind,” Neville chuckled. “But I don’t think Seamus would be very happy about it. Or anyone else, really.” He sighed and stroked one of the leaves with a gentle finger, watching it curl and uncurl under his attention. 

“Do you think Harry’s a bad person?” he asked quietly. “Some of the things he likes are bad things…I think he really wouldn’t mind hurting Seamus, like, I don’t think that’s a joke…but it just doesn't bother me like it probably should...”

For a moment he was lost in his thoughts, his gaze locked on the vines and thorns draped gently across his wrist. A bird chirped nearby, and the Venomous Tentacula seemed to shift slightly, as if searching for the bird.

“He’s just…when he’s talking to me, it’s like I’m so important, you know? The most important person in the world,” Neville muttered, his eyes bright. “There’s never been anyone who looks at me like that…well, I know Aunt Lily and Uncle James love me of course, and Jack too, and all our Aunts and Uncles and…and my Grandmother, sometimes, she would look a bit like that, like I was almost special…but with Harry…it’s like we’re the only people in the room. And he always listens to me. Always.”

A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, filling his lungs with fragrance and peace. Neville bit his lip, moving even closer to his beloved plant and allowing it to curl around his ankle.

“His eyes are so red, you wouldn’t believe it,” he continued. “The color of fresh cherries. And his hair…he’s really pretty, you know. Prettier than any girl, even. And when he looks at me, I just forget everything I was thinking about, and I start thinking about, like, what if I kissed him? What would happen?” Neville looked vaguely mortified for a moment. “You can’t tell anyone I said that, okay?”

The Venomous Tentacula rustled loyally in response.

****

“Are we doing a formal tea service today, then?” Remus said delightedly, watching James place a tray on the small kitchen table. 

“Yeah,” James grinned. “I thought, why not, right? The other boys will be coming home from school tomorrow so this will be one of our last chances to spend some one on one time with Harry. May as well do it up, as they say.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Remus said, sitting down in one of the chairs.

“Speaking of which…wasn’t he with you in the library?”

Remus paused. “No…he said he was going to come downstairs and look for you.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him since lunch…”

They looked towards the back door, finally noticing the note taped halfway down. James rushed over, grabbing it up and reading it with dread.

“Please no…let’s see, ‘like a shadow,’ ‘undefeated,’ blah blah…oh god damn it, he’s run off into the woods again!”

“Again?” Remus groaned, dropping his head down onto the table. “Why…why does he love doing that so much? Hasn’t he gotten tired of it?”

“I just wanted to have tea,” James complained, throwing the note over his shoulder and summoning his coat. Remus made a noise of great resignation and stood, following him out the back door. “I just wanted to have a spot of tea with my extremely troubled son and talk about Yule traditions. Is that so hard?”

“It shouldn’t be, no.”

“And yet! And yet. Here we are, once again, chasing a feral little monster through the woods until nightfall…this is Padfoot’s fault somehow, I swear it…”

Chapter Text

Lord Arteus Nott was a man of quiet routine. He took his breakfast in the conservatory at seven in the morning sharp and he always had a bowl of fruit, a piece of toast, and two cups of tea. While he ate, he would peruse the Daily Prophet’s financial section; after his meal, he would retire to his office, where he would review his investment portfolios and legal initiatives. After lunch, his schedule was dictated by that review - he might find himself in the halls of the Ministry, arguing with other Wizengamot members over legislation, or he might instead visit Gringotts to discuss investment opportunities.

It was hard work. He never had a day of rest, not once in the thirty years he’d held his title: Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Nott. 

But he never complained or faltered; every galleon he secured, every tax law he sponsored, every trade agreement he signed helped to secure young Theodore’s future. 

He would do anything for his son.

Beyond that, his ambitions had faded away. He lived for Theodore, but his hope for the wizarding world had faded along with the death of his closest friend, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Lord Nott was the last of the “old guard”; the Death Eaters that had attended Hogwarts with his lord. He often thought fondly of their time together, of the long hours spent debating the state of wizarding Britain. They’d been filled with the righteous fire of youth, relishing in their eventual takeover - they’d planned to create a new world order and mold society in their image, bringing it back to greatness, finally putting the muggles in their place…

He sighed. 

The dream was dead. 

There had never been anyone quite like Tom Marvolo Riddle, and never would be again; wizarding Britain had rejected their savior, and so they would fall. 

He felt a faint twinge in his faded Dark Mark, as he so often did when he thought of Tom…

But then, miraculously…the mark continued to burn.

Lord Nott dropped his toast, his mouth falling open in awe. He ripped back the sleeve of his expensive robes - and there, his mark lay stark against his pale skin, as dark as the day he’d received it.

His breathing faltered. His lord was calling him to Malfoy Manor - was he dreaming? Could this really be happening? 

Stumbling to his feet, he kicked his chair aside and rushed from the room, breakfast only half-eaten. 

Within moments, he was hurtling out of the floo in the Malfoy Manor receiving room. Lord Lucius Malfoy stood before him, his face pale and eyes tight.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Malfoy drawled. “I told our lord -”

“Where is he?!” Nott interrupted, his eyes crazed.

Malfoy pointed nervously towards the grand sitting room. Without another word, Nott threw himself through the doors and ran inside.

There, on the largest, most ornate wing-back chair, sat Lord Voldemort. His legs were crossed at the knee, his eyes bright with satisfaction; he wore black silk robes, the color so dark it seemed to cast shadows where there ought not be any. He appeared to be in his early thirties, and he was more beautiful even than he’d been in his youth - his dark hair curlier, his lips soft and seductive - but his power was just as terrifying as it had always been. Just as intoxicating.

Lord Voldemort’s presence was a force of nature. He was like a dark angel, a promise made flesh. Nott was so captivated that he almost didn’t notice Lady Malfoy poised elegantly behind him, her delicate hand resting gently on the back of his lord’s chair.

Nott dropped to his knees. “My - my lord,” he croaked, his head falling. “You live…”

“Yes,” Lord Voldemort said dryly. “In fact, I never actually died. Good of you to finally notice , Arteus.”

Nott felt a deep, nauseating shame creep into his heart. He gasped past a flood of sudden tears and pressed his face into the carpet. “My lord,” he sobbed. “My lord, I deserve death…please, my lord, take my life, please… ”

“ Crucio. ”

Nott writhed and screamed under the curse, but his heart sang. This was what he needed - what he deserved, for abandoning his friend and their vision, abandoning his lord -

Without warning, the pain stopped. Nott remained pressed into the carpet, gasping, his face covered in tears and spit.

“Rise,” Voldemort said, his tone bored.

Lord Nott’s weary joints ached but he obeyed, pulling himself up and standing.

“I must admit, I was… disappointed that you were not the one to find me. I thought to myself: Surely, in my hour of greatest need, my oldest friend would stop at nothing to seek me out…after everything I had done for him, after years of friendship and service, surely he would be the one to prove his loyalty beyond a shadow of a doubt…”

Nott shivered, dropping his eyes to the carpet as his lord fell into thoughtful silence, cringing as self-loathing coursed through his veins. This was a worse torture than the Cruciatus had been. He craved death, the absolution of swift punishment -

“What do you think, Lady Black?” Voldemort said finally, turning towards Narcissa.

Lady Black? Nott thought, momentarily distracted. Why had Narcissa reverted to her maiden name?

Narcissa considered him, her eyes bright and intelligent. Her finger tapped thoughtfully on their lord’s chair, and she moved out from behind it with a swish of elegant robes.

“Lord Nott is known as a cunning man and he’s one of the more active members of the Wizengamot,” she said finally. “And of course, House Nott has always commanded respect in the wizarding community, both in Britain and abroad. My lord, I believe that your cause would be better served by letting him live. Let him work his way back into your good graces, if it pleases you.”

Lord Voldemort turned back to Nott, his eyebrow raised in question.

“I do not deserve a second chance,” Lord Nott rasped, swaying slightly on weary legs. “I deserve death - but if my lord chooses to be merciful, I will serve his vision with utter faithfulness.”

Voldemort smiled. “You have a son, yes? Little Theodore Nott, heir to the illustrious Ancient and Most Noble House of Nott.”

“I do,” Nott said quietly, closing his eyes. Had he doomed his son as well? His failure knew no limits.

“Wonderful,” Voldemort whispered. His gray irises glowed like molten silver. “I look forward to his ascension into our hallowed ranks…when the time is right, of course.”

Nott bowed his head. “He would be honored to serve you, my lord,” he said honestly. “He has grown up on tales of your greatness…there would be no greater ambition for him…”

“Of course,” Voldemort said smoothly.

“My lord,” Nott whispered. “Please, I beg of you…tell me how I might serve you…serve the cause …”

“I do, in fact, have a task in mind. One that you would be particularly well-suited for.”

“Anything, my lord,” Nott said desperately. “I will not rest until the task is complete.”

Lord Voldemort nodded slowly, then gestured towards Narcissa, turning away from them to stare into the fire.

“Our lord desires one of the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries,” she said imperiously. “It will, of course, have his name on it. You will retrieve it.”

“A prophecy,” Nott said, his mind racing. Rookwood was in Azkaban, but he still had a few contacts left in the department that owed him favors. “Lady Mal - Lady Black, they say that a prophecy orb can only be removed from the shelf by the subjects of said prophecy. If another tries to hold the orb, they will feel a burning sensation in their soul that can escalate very quickly, driving a person mad -”

“That cannot be true,” Lady Black interrupted.

“I’ve seen it myself, my lady. There is a man convalescing in St Mungoes for that very reason.”

“So how, then, are the orbs placed on their shelves? How are they studied, if no one can touch them? I find it hard to believe that the Unspeakables have no secret methods of handling those items without the prophecy subjects present.”

Lord Nott blinked. “Perhaps…perhaps you are correct, Lady Black. I will investigate this.”

“See that you do,” she sniffed. “You may go.”

Lord Nott stumbled from the room, a wild hope lighting up his heart for the first time in many years.

****

“How’s it going in here, kiddo?” Sirius asked, sidling into Harry’s room. He surveyed the mess of wrapping paper, rulers, parcel glue, and tape strewn across the floor with raised eyebrows. Harry was in the middle of it all, lost in a sea of colorful paper, while Corvo watched from his perch on the bedpost.

“I am excellent at wrapping presents,” Harry hissed, his eyes wild with glee. “Look at this one! The corners are perfect! The folds are forty-five degree angles exactly. I measured.”

“And you wrapped all of mine too?” Sirius asked hopefully. Harry really did have a knack for it and Sirius was excited to have one less thing to worry about before Yule.

“They’re over there,” Harry nodded, pointing. “The pile with the red and green striped paper. I shall place them under the Yule tree with mine, as is traditional.” He paused for a moment, watching Sirius with an appraising gaze. “Was your mission successful?”

Sirius coughed, fighting laughter. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “I mean, mission accomplished. Two bespoke journals, as promised, in exchange for you wrapping all my stuff.” He pulled a parcel out from his Auror robes and handed it over to Harry.

“Perfect,” Harry said happily, unwrapping the parcel and examining the expensive-looking black leather binding. “And they both have that charm on them, yes? The infinite paper whatsit?”

“Yep,” Sirius said. “ Infinum Charta. Tricky spell, that. Lucky for you, I’m a pro.”

“Wands are still stupid,” Harry grumbled half-heartedly. “Our deal has concluded. Begone. I don’t want you to see what I got you. It must be a surprise.” He pulled out a ruler and began to measure one of the journals, eyeing the leftover stacks of wrapping paper with an appraising look.

“Right,” Sirius chortled. “Don’t get too carried away, now. The others should be home from Hogwarts soon and you won’t want to miss them.” He sauntered out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

Harry looked over at Corvo. “That’s one thing taken care of, then,” he said quietly. “We’ll get a demon to add the rest of the charms I need. For that, I’ll need at least one drop of Neville’s blood. Can you help me?”

Corvo cawed confidently, the sound echoing strangely in the small room.

“Excellent. We’ll have to do it in a way that doesn’t make James or Lily suspicious. You’ve only just gotten table privileges, and we don’t want them revoked.”

****

Platform 9 ¾ was crowded, as usual, but Lily found her children easily enough. “Jack! Neville!” she called, waving her hands in the air.

“Mum!” Jack crowed. He pushed through the crowd of people, dragging his trunk behind him. Neville followed with a shy smile. “Where’s dad and Harry?”

“We’re going to see them at home,” Lily said. “We thought the crowd might be a bit much for Harry right now.”

“Of course,” Neville nodded. Jack, however, looked a bit pale.

“He’s not ill or anything,” Lily said quickly. “He’s just…easily excited, as you know. And we’re trying to keep him from over-exerting his new leg while he’s adjusting to it.”

“Right,” Jack said, relieved. “Right, that makes sense.”

“Professor Potter!” 

A small hand tugged nervously at Lily’s coat sleeve. She turned and saw Hermione staring up at her, eyes bright and voluminous fun-buns moving faintly in the winter wind.

“Hi, Hermione!” Lily said, smiling fondly. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for allowing us to come visit Harry later this break,” Hermione said quickly. She was slightly out of breath from running across the platform with her trunk. “We’re all so excited to see him.”

“Of course, we’re thrilled to have you all over! Are your parents around, by the way? I’d love to meet them.”

“They’re on the other side of the barrier,” Hermione said, chewing on her lip. “They can’t get through, you know…”

“Right, how could I forget? That’s where my parents used to wait too. Can we walk you to them?”

“That would be great!” Hermione said, clearly excited to spend time with her favorite professor.

“Right, first let me cast a few featherlight charms on these trunks…it’ll wear off in about an hour, Hermione, so you won’t need to worry about a counterspell…”

A few moments later they were walking through the barrier into the station proper. Hermione practically dragged Lily over to the Grangers, chattering excitedly as she introduced them.

“Mum, dad, this is Professor Potter,” Hermione said.

“Call me Lily, please,” Lily smiled, shaking their hands.

“I’m Monica and this is Phillip. We’ve heard so much about you, Lily. It’s nice to know there’s someone sensible watching over Hermione while she’s at school…”

The adults made small talk, laughing and joking about the strange things one encounters in the wizarding world. Hermione seemed fascinated, but Jack’s shoulders slowly began to slump.

“Mo-o-om,” he whined. “Are you done talking?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Kids these days…”

Monica Granger bit back a laugh. “We won’t keep you. I’m sure Hermione is eager to get going as well. We’re headed to the Natural History Museum after this, actually.”

“Really?” Neville said, finally interested in the conversation. Jack, however, threw his head back with a weary moan, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Neville,” she said, amused at Jack’s boredom. “You and I can go sometime. It’s nice to see that someone appreciates the natural sciences.”

“Speaking of which, you’re both welcome to join Hermione when she comes to visit,” Lily said, pulling a bit of parchment from her pocket and scribbling on it with a biro. “I’m sure James would love to meet you, and you could meet a few of our friends as well. Here’s our phone number. Let’s connect and we can work out the details.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Phillip Granger said, clearly relieved to be dealing with a witch that understood things like telephones. “We’ll be in touch. Let’s go, then, Hermione.”

“Bye, Professor Potter!” Hermione called. “Bye Neville! Bye Jack!”

“Bye!” Jack crowed, hopping from foot to foot. He turned back towards his mother with a pained expression. “Mum, let’s go! Let’s go let’s go!”

“I would like to go too,” Neville said stoically. 

“Right, you wee monsters, grab my arms and I’ll apparate us.”

A few moments later they were dashing up the steps towards Potter Manor, shouting excitedly, their trunks forgotten in the front yard.

“Harry!” Jack yelled, thundering upstairs. Neville was hot on his heels. “Harry! Harry! Harry!”

“Be gentle with Harry!” Lily yelled, levitating their trunks inside. “Don’t pick him up, or shake him, or - oh, why do I bother…”

They found Harry sitting on the floor of his room, whispering in Corvo’s ear and giggling. Jack ignored the terrifying bird and threw himself at his brother, wrapping his arms around his neck, while Neville lingered nervously in the doorway.

“Harry!” he yelled. “I missed you so much!”

“You did?” Harry said, pleasantly surprised. “How wonderful! I didn’t realize…”

“I have so much to tell you about,” Jack continued, pulling Harry to his feet. “Mum’s been teaching Defense, did you know that? And she’s taking us to Diagon to get presents tomorrow! Have you thought about what you’re going to get everyone?”

“I’ve already sourced my presents, Jack,” Harry said seriously. “I even got one for you. It’s an excellent gift.”

“Really?!” Jack squealed, delighted. “That’s wicked! Alright, you can just come with us and get ice cream, then. I’m sure mum wouldn’t mind. Let’s go find dad and say hi! And then I wanna hear all about your new leg!” He raced out the door and thundered back down the stairs.

Neville carefully inspected the grain of the doorframe, his finger trailing across the wood. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“Hello, Neville darling,” Harry grinned. He walked slowly towards the other boy, moving until their faces were inches apart. 

Neville’s eyes grew wide, darting down to look at Harry’s lips, then away to stare resolutely over his shoulder.

“Did you miss me too?” Harry whispered, wrapping a possessive hand around Neville’s wrist.

“Of - of course,” Neville stuttered, his cheeks feeling hot. “I said so in - in my letters. Of course I missed you. Did…did you miss me?”

“Constantly,” Harry purred. “Every moment of every day.”

“Oh…well, great,” Neville said, a small smile blooming across his face.

“Harry! Neville!” Jack called from downstairs. “I found dad! He’s outside with Uncle Moony warding the forest! Wanna go watch?”

Neville swallowed nervously. “We should…”

“Yes, let us observe,” Harry said pensively. “They wouldn’t let me watch earlier, but maybe now that you’re here…”

They wandered downstairs together and walked out the back door, Harry’s hand still clamped around Neville’s wrist.

“There you are, Harry,” Lily said, moving to hug him. “I missed you, love - what the - let go of Neville, dear, what have I told you about grabbing Neville - ”

“The woods are now warded against entry,” James panted. Remus followed closely behind him, his cardigan in a state of disarray. The pair were covered in twigs, leaves, and streaks of dirt.

Lily frowned. “Warded against entry…so no one can go into the woods anymore?”

“Not without one of these!” James said triumphantly, raising a handful of shining amulets and shaking them. “Well, adults can still get in. But not children! Not without an amulet!”

“And we made a map,” Remus added, looking faintly demented.

“Yes! A map!” James agreed. He shoved the amulets into Remus’ hands and pulled a weathered piece of parchment from his pocket. He shook it out, grinning maniacally, and pointed his wand at the surface. “I solemnly swear - I mean - I swear that - just show me the fucking woods.”

“ That’s the passphrase?” Lily said faintly, while Jack snickered quietly behind her.

“There’s no passphrase,” Remus said shortly. “It just works. You can just say anything.”

“Right,” James agreed. “We’ll think of something later. Anyway , you see these little dots on the courtyard? That’s us. Those are your names. And if you do go into the f - the dang woods, the little dots will be over here , see?!” He jabbed his wand at the large, blank portion of the map. “And we’ll know exactly where you are. So there’s no point in trying to hide in there!”

“Right,” Harry grinned, looking pleased. “Well done James, Remus. You’ve truly defeated me.”

The two Marauders peered suspiciously at Harry.

“Really?” Remus said finally. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Harry said, his smile peaceful. “You win.”

“This is horrible,” James muttered. “This doesn’t feel like winning. This feels like losing. Why does this feel like losing?”

“Right, You two need a nap, a shower, and a whisky, and not necessarily in that order,” Lily said, crossing her arms. “We’ll order in tonight, I think. How does pizza sound, boys?”

“Pizza!” Jack screamed, grabbing Neville’s shoulders and shaking them. “Yes, pizza!”

“I was going to cook something healthy…” James said weakly.

“Nap. Shower. Whisky,” Lily repeated. She pointed towards the house. “Go on, now. I’ll watch the boys. Try to scrounge up whatever sanity you have left, hm? Maybe if you haven’t completely lost your marbles we can all watch a movie when Sirius and Sev get here later tonight.”

James and Remus trundled back towards Potter manor, looking slightly deflated.

“Now,” Lily said, turning towards the three children. “Who here thinks they can beat me at Mario Kart?”

Chapter Text

Dusk was falling when Lord Nott returned to Malfoy Manor, a small gilded box held carefully in his hands. He’d had to call in almost every favor he was owed within the Department but it was worth it.

He had succeeded.

He rushed through the ornate receiving room - Lord Malfoy was still there, haunting the corner of the room with a tumbler of whiskey, half-drunk and morose - and hurtled through the doors of the grand sitting room, panting with excitement.

“My lord -” he said, then stopped. The room was empty.

He returned to the receiving room. “Where is our lord?” he asked Malfoy.

“In my - in the study,” Malfoy frowned, his words slightly slurred.

Nott raced through the manor. When he reached the door of the study, he paused to catch his breath, smoothing his hair down with one hand…then knocked on the door.

It opened soundlessly and he went inside.

The study was magnificently appointed, with high ceilings and tightly-packed bookcases. Lord Voldemort stood ominously near the fireplace, staring into the flames with a rapt expression; behind him, Lady Black sat at the enormous wooden desk, scribbling notes in the margins of some ancient tome.

“My lord, I was successful,” Nott breathed, dropping into a low bow.

“Excellent work,” Voldemort said, turning slowly. “It is in the box, I presume?”

“Yes, my lord. I have special gloves - with these gloves, the prophecy can be handled and activated -”

“Get on with it,” Narcissa ordered, rising to her feet. “Our lord has waited long enough.”

Nott nodded quickly and placed the gilded box on the desk. He reached into his pocket and retrieved two strange, silvery gloves, pulling them onto his hands. Carefully, he opened the box, revealing a crystal ball resting on red velvet. Its interior was a cloudy milk-white that seemed to glow faintly, like a light in the fog.

“Activate it,” Voldemort whispered, drawing close.

Nott gulped nervously, then pressed one gloved finger against the orb, rubbing it in a clockwise motion. 

The orb grew slightly brighter, and a warbling voice filled the air.

“ The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark the One as his equal, so that none but the One can destroy him… and should the One stay his hand, the Dark Lord will walk through Death, shall gather the trine and ascend on a pale horse, and Hell will follow him…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies… ”

The following silence was thick with anticipation.

“Fascinating,” Voldemort muttered. “I had only ever heard the beginning…and what is the trine? Could it be…and perhaps, this indicates a need for cooperation, to bring him to my side…”

He reached out a hand towards the orb, eager to hold it…

And then drew back, surprised.

His fingertips were bright red, as if he’d grabbed the handle of a heated pot.

Lord Nott felt his stomach drop. “My - my lord, this is the right prophecy, I swear upon my life! It had your name it…there were none other that were labeled as such -” 

“It’s not me,” Voldemort whispered, and Nott instantly fell silent. He watched a myriad of emotions cross his lord’s face, each one passing so quickly that it could not be identified. “It was never me…”

He turned towards the fire.

Lady Black and Lord Nott looked at one another nervously. What did this mean?

And incredibly, Lord Voldemort began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle and quickly escalated to a breathless, screaming glee - a joy that almost approached madness, that brushed against fury, echoing through the large room with hair-raising intensity.

After almost a minute, he fell silent, shoulders still shaking with mirth.

“My lord?” Lady Black asked nervously.

“Apologies, Narcissa,” Voldemort chortled. “I seem to have forgotten myself. Ah, but this is such a delightful surprise. I am truly pleased.”

“I am glad, my lord,” Nott said, breathless with relief. “Shall I take this to your quarters?”

“I think not,” Voldemort said, turning towards Nott with a smirk. “In fact, I would like you to return this orb to its rightful shelf.”

Nott was confused, but he was no fool; he would not second-guess Lord Voldemort. “Of course,” he said, bowing low. “My lord. Shall I return to your side after?”

“No need,” Voldemort said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m sure young Theo is missing you. He is coming home for Yule, is he not?”

Nott blanched. He had completely forgotten that the Hogwarts Express had arrived earlier that afternoon - his son must still be waiting at the station, all these hours later.

“Of course, my lord,” he said quickly, bowing again. “I live to serve.”

“Yes,” Voldemort smirked. “You do.”

****

When Sirius arrived at Potter Manor, the other Marauders were freshly showered, dressed in soft lounge wear, and looking much less unhinged. They’d helped Jack, Neville, and Harry build a pillow fort in front of the TV while Lily unpacked her trunk; now that construction was complete, they were enjoying a discreet bottle of whiskey while the boys watched an old home video from Harry and Jack’s first birthday party. 

It was a bittersweet tradition, but one that they observed every Yule. This video was the only one that featured both Harry and Neville’s parents; Alice, Frank, and baby Neville had been invited to attend the event, all those years ago. Lily and Sev had only just managed to get the clunky video camera to work in the presence of magic, and for a long time, this recording had been their only connection to both their presumed-dead son and the loving parents that the Longbottoms used to be.

“Oi, I’m here!” Sirius yelled from the kitchen floo. “Where is everyone?”

“In here, Uncle Padfoot!” Jack hollered.

Sirius loped into the room, pulling off his outer robes and throwing them onto a nearby armchair. “Welcome home, kiddos,” he grinned, ruffling Neville’s hair. The three boys grinned quickly, but couldn’t be distracted.

“See there, Harry? That’s Neville’s mum, Aunt Alice!” Jack said excitedly, pointing towards the TV. 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, leaning forward. “You look a lot like your mum, Neville.”

“Thanks,” Neville said shyly.

Sirius watched the screen for a few moments, smiling softly. “Here comes my favorite part,” he said.

“Yeah! Look - it’s you! Baby Harry! And you wouldn’t stop grabbing Neville’s hair. Not much has changed there, actually,” Jack said, looking pointedly at how Harry’s hand cinched tightly around Neville’s wrist.

“Goodness, Harry,” Alice Longbottom said, her soft voice sounding slightly tinny through the television speakers. “Frank, love, can you do something about that? I’ve tried to get him to stop at least three times now -”

“Ol’ Nev doesn’t seem to mind, does he?” Frank chuckled, his voice somewhat louder than the others as he was the one holding the camera. It was true; Neville was happily stacking blocks, unbothered as Harry’s small fist waggled his head about.

“But he hasn’t got much hair to begin with,” Alice pleaded. “What if he yanks it out? Come on, now, my hands are covered in batter…”

“Well, alright then,” Frank sighed. “Come on, Harry, unclench your fingers, there’s a good lad -”

Jack and Neville laughed loudly at the indignant look on Baby Harry’s face. “This goes on for a bit longer,” Jack giggled, wiping his eyes. “Uncle Padfoot is right, this is the best part.”

Sirius chuckled fondly and wandered towards the Marauders lounging on the couch.

“Hello, love,” Remus said. “Pizza should be here soon.”

“Hell yes, pizza!” Sirius said, falling into the seat next to his husband. “You two look cozy. Are we having a pajama party tonight?”

“You could say that,” James chuckled. “Lily’s orders. Apparently we were getting a bit…wound up. We’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Ah, music to my ears,” Sirius said, chuckling softly. He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned close. “Let me guess. Harry fucked off into the woods again?”

“Of course he fucked off into the woods again,” James hissed, his eyes gleaming with a maniacal light. “But for the last time! We made amulets and a map.”

“Another map? Neat.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it anymore, remember?” Remus scolded.

“Right,” James sighed. “Anyway. Whisky?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Later that night, when the leftover pizza had been put away and the children had been ushered off to bed, Severus Snape finally arrived.

He stepped gracefully out of the floo, casting a disparaging glance over the gathered Marauders. “Good evening, idiots.”

“Hi, Sevvie,” James grinned. “Lily! He’s here!”

“Sev!” Lily said, rushing into the room and gathering her friend into a hug. “You made it! What took you so long? Can I get you a glass of wine?” She led him towards the kitchen table and pushed him into the seat next to Remus.

“I would love some wine, thank you. And apologies for the late arrival. One of my students needed me. You remember Theodore Nott?”

“Of course,” Lily nodded, “Slytherin first year, right? Quiet, makes good grades?”

“The very same,” Severus said grimly. “Well, his father never showed up to the train station. I sat with him for a few hours as he was adamant that his father was expecting him for Yule. Eventually, when it became clear that Lord Nott would never arrive, I attempted to escort him home directly…but Nott Manor was empty.”

“That’s terrible,” James said. “Did you wait with him?”

“Of course. For all we knew, Lord Nott would be gone indefinitely. Fortunately, that was not the case. He arrived home about twenty minutes ago. It seems that he had been called…elsewhere.”

“Nott has always seemed like the type of bloke to dote on his son a bit,” Sirius mused. “I wouldn’t expect him to just forget that his kid was coming home for the holidays.”

“Indeed,” Severus said quietly.

“I wonder…” Lily said slowly. “Do you think…surely it couldn’t be…”

“Couldn’t be what?” Remus asked.

“Well, who could possibly be more important to Lord Nott than Theodore? Who would he be more afraid of disappointing?”

“The Dark Lord,” Severus said quietly. “Yes, I was wondering just the same, Lily.”

The five of them sat for a moment in anxious silence.

“Have you heard anything from your, uh, sources?” James asked, looking nervously at Severus.

“No,” Severus grimaced. “Those avenues of inquiry have been closed to me for quite some time. And seeing as I never actually took the Mark…my spying days are long behind me, unfortunately.”

“No, it’s a good thing,” Lily said fiercely. “I don’t like the thought of you hanging out with all of those despicable murderers, gambling your health away for measly scraps of intel.”

Severus looked gratefully towards her, a small smile on his face. “I will admit, my life is much less stressful without all of the intrigue. And I have more time for potion-crafting, of course.”

“Oh, speaking of which,” James said quickly, his head whipping towards Severus. “D’you know what Harry said the other day? He said that cooking was more useful than potions! What do you think about that, eh?!”

“I think your head is filled with rocks,” Severus sniffed. “It’s amazing that you manage to even dress yourself. Admirable, really.”

James laughed. “I thought you might say something like that.”

****

The family shopping trip got off to a rocky start. Right when they arrived at Diagon Alley, Neville tripped over Corvo - the massive bird had appeared out of nowhere - and to his dismay, he fell and skinned his hands. Harry wiped away the blood with a handkerchief before Lily healed it and Corvo seemed very apologetic, so it was alright in the end. 

“Where did that bloody beast even come from?” Lily grumbled, watching Corvo hop towards Harry and jump around him with something that looked suspiciously like triumph.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, Aunt Lily,” Neville said earnestly. “Perhaps he just missed Harry.”

“Yeah, he’s rather protective of Harry these days,” James said. “He’s alright, that bird. Just got to give him a few peanuts, you know.”

They managed to get their shopping done with minimal interruptions. Occasionally, a passerby would recognize Jack and freeze in their tracks, but for the most part the wizarding world was used to seeing the Boy-Who-Lived out and about with his family. 

They were heading to the last store - Quality Quidditch Supplies - when Neville tugged nervously on James’ sleeve.

“Uncle James,” he said quietly. “Can…can you help me with something?”

“Sure, kiddo, what’s up?” James asked, pulling away from the group so that they could have a bit of privacy.

“It’s…well, it’s about Harry.” 

“Okay,” James said slowly. “Has he done something bad again?”

“No!” Neville squawked. He looked around desperately, hoping against hope that no one had heard his outburst. “No,” he repeated in a whisper. “I need to get him a present and I don’t know where to buy it.”

“Oh! Oh…” James looked puzzled. “Are you looking for suggestions? He seems to have a weird obsession with painting supplies, even though he never seems to paint anything…I should probably look into that, actually -”

“I know what I want to get him,” Neville said hastily. “It’s just…I don’t know which store sells it…and I, uh, I don’t think I’m supposed to go off alone…” He could feel his cheeks turning red. “Actually, never mind -”

“Nah, I get it,” James said, grabbing Neville’s shoulder with a firm hand. He turned towards the others and raised his voice. “Hey, you lot, Neville and I are going to go check out the Herbalists’ shop up the road. We’ll meet you here in a few, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Lily called.

“You sure?” Sirius asked. “I mean, this is the Quidditch shop…”

James looked at Neville, who shook his head. “We’re sure! See you later.”

“I’ll go with them,” Harry said. “Who needs a broom to fly? Idiots, that’s who.”

“I think not,” Severus said, grabbing Harry’s shoulder and steering him towards the shop door. “Surely there is not a Potter on this earth who does not enjoy Quidditch…”

James pulled Neville away while Harry was distracted, walking him into the nearest alley. “Alright,” he said finally. “What kind of thing are you trying to buy?”

Neville looked desperately embarrassed. “Can we just, uh, walk around until I see it? Maybe?”

“Sure thing, buddy,” James said encouragingly. “Let’s get started then. Shall we head this way?” He pointed away from the Quidditch shop.

“Yes please.”

They began wandering back the way they came. Neville peered into each shop window with a single-minded determination, while James did his best to swallow his burning curiosity.

“There!” Neville whispered loudly, tapping on a pane of glass and blushing. “I found it.”

“You did?” James asked curiously. He glanced at the shop sign: Birdie’s Bijouterie . “This is a jewelry store, right?”

He looked at a red-cheeked Neville, then towards the small pillow he was pointing at.

“Oh,” James said blankly.

On the pillow lay a simple rose-gold bracelet with a small, tear-drop ruby charm.

James’ mind was racing. “ Oh …I see ,” he repeated. 

He was not equipped for this conversation.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Neville said despairingly. “I’m stupid too. Forget it, I’ll just get him a paintbrush -”

“Now, hang on a moment,” James interrupted, hating the way shame seemed to creep up Neville’s shoulders. “I didn’t say that. I think Harry would love this and it’s a great idea.”

“Really?” Neville looked vaguely hopeful.

“Really. I just wonder if you have the funds for it.”

“I’ve been saving my allowance, actually,” Neville said, his eyes wide. “I saw it in a mail-order catalog back in August and I’ve been thinking about it but I didn’t know which shop it was in exactly…”

“Well, you’re a very thoughtful young man,” James said kindly, ruffling Neville’s hair. “Let’s go buy it. If you’re a bit short I can throw you a few galleons.”

“Thanks, Uncle James,” Neville said, clearly relieved.

A few moments later they were exiting the shop, a parchment-wrapped parcel stuffed deep in Neville’s pockets. The jewelry hadn’t been as expensive as James had feared and Neville had easily covered it with his pocket money. His cheeks were pink but he looked pleased; James internally patted himself on the back and considered the moment to be a parenting win. 

“Thanks for helping me,” Neville said earnestly. “I didn’t know who else to ask.”

James’ heart melted and he wrapped an arm around Neville’s shoulders, pulling him close. “You can always talk to me about anything,” he said, his voice only a little bit wet. “No matter what. Love you, Nev.”

“I love you too, Uncle James.”

Chapter Text

Voldemort stood before a dark window, dressed in simple white ceremonial robes. His brow furrowed as he considered his plans, turning them over in his mind. Was it wise to attempt to summon a demon? This was a door that, once opened, could not be closed - quite literally, in some ways.

He was filled with doubt, but ironically, he was also feeling quite confident in his assured success. He had spent the better part of a month researching sorcerous practices with Narcissa, scouring ancient texts and learning everything they could; he had always been a good student, and whatever he turned his mind to he mastered.

Demon summoning would be no different.

No, he was not worried that his summoning would falter. Instead, he worried that when he opened a door to the demonic plane, something unexpected would come through…something that he would not be able to control.

There was a reason demonology was considered so foul. It was the darkest of the dark arts. Even he - Voldemort, Lord of the Dark, the only wizard to ever create multiple horcruxes - yes, even he hesitated to wade through these waters. 

Demons were a true, lawless evil. Many were weak but some were impossibly powerful and destructive, and the act of summoning itself was a blight on one’s magic. 

It was said to sicken one’s magical core, damaging it irreparably. 

If one summoned demons too often, or even just participated in them, wanded magic would become more difficult and certain charms would become impossible to perform. It was like a cancer of the aura, an illness that would spread unchecked unless the caster practiced strict mental discipline…and of course, abstained from summoning too often. 

Not many wizards saw the point of demonology, and so there were many unknowns. It was hard to say how it would ultimately affect him. There just wasn’t enough information available.

Voldemort did not mind mangling his soul. His magic , however…that gave him pause.

Of course, sorcerers themselves rarely worried about this. They were nothing but muggles - no magical core to speak of - and so they could call upon demons as often as they pleased and still retain their health and sanity. Assuming, of course, that they did not botch the summoning circle and find themselves dragged down to hell.

The risks were many.

And yet, the rewards were…undeniable.

If Voldemort could absorb a powerful enough demon, he would receive an immediate and permanent boost to his already-substantial powers. He would cease aging, and his body would be much harder to damage. And best of all, the demonic presence would form a feedback loop with his own magic, anchoring his soul to his flesh with unbreakable tethers. An Avada Kedavra would feel like a tickling hex.

Between his possession and the locket horcrux, he would truly be immortal; never again would he need to worry about dis-incorporation or death.

But did the benefits outweigh the unknown costs?

A quiet knock sounded on the door, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called.

Narcissa glided into the room. “The ritual room is ready, my lord,” she said quietly.

“Was Lucius successful?”

“He was, my lord. There is a muggle man tied up in the center of the circle. I have drawn it exactly as you directed.”

“I will be the judge of that,” Voldemort muttered, walking past her and exiting the room in a flurry of white fabric.

The ritual room was as he remembered: Five torches, simple rough-hewn stone and walls, and cool cave-like air. 

But instead of a cauldron, there was a disheveled, naked muggle hog-tied in the center of the room. An ashwater summoning circle was drawn around the wretch, its points connecting in an ornate encircled pentagram. Another smaller circle was drawn near the door; this is where Voldemort would sit, and it would allow him protection from the demonic entity.

He examined Narcissa’s work.

It was, of course, perfect. He had forgotten what it was like to have competent servants instead of the buffoonish sons of his original inner circle.

“Excellently drawn, Narcissa,” he said quietly, blessing her with a rare smile. “You continue to impress me.”

“I live to serve,” Narcissa said, bowing deeply, and then she exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

It was time.

Voldemort ignored the pathetic whimpers of the gagged muggle and sat within his circle, careful to avoid smudging the lines of the painted ash. Once seated, he took a moment to collect himself.

He breathed in. He breathed out.

He reached for his magic, his fabled wandless ability that none could compare to, and he sharpened it into a blade. 

He began to chant.

“ Minorem daemonem voco te huic circulo 

Eerie, Paimon proles, te voco 

In tua sapientia et virtute benedic me 

Munus hoc tibi offero puri sanguinis, veneficus 

Minorem daemonem voco ad hunc circulum… ”

He extended his sharpened magic and sliced open the muggle’s throat.

Pain.

Pain exploded through his magical core, shredding his focus, lighting his nerves on fire. He was senseless, screaming, raw - but he fought for control over his limbs and somehow, miraculously, didn’t extend them beyond his drawn circle.

A column of fire had erupted around the muggle, but Voldemort was too distracted by his own agony to care.

He panted and gagged - his blood was ice, his muscles were flames, his mind was a raw wasteland of agony …

Eventually the pain lessened to a more tolerable level and he managed to look up.

A small girl with wide, innocent eyes looked back. She was lounging across the muggle’s burnt corpse, her delicate white dress waving faintly in an unseen wind. The column of fire continued to rage around her, but her posture was relaxed.

“ THAT LOOKED ROUGH, ” she said, her voice echoing strangely around the room. “ IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME? YOU MUST BE A WIZARD.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Voldemort gasped, grabbing desperately at his chest. His heart hurt, why did his heart hurt…

“ IT GETS EASIER THE MORE YOU DO IT,” the demon said casually. “THAT’S WHAT THEY SAY, AT LEAST. PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. BUT TOO MUCH PRACTICE WILL TURN YOUR MAGIC INSIDE OUT AND THEN YOU WON’T FEEL ANYTHING AT ALL. YOU DON’T WANT THAT, DO YOU? ”

“What - what does that mean?” Voldemort croaked.

The demon smiled mysteriously.

“ I AM CALLED EERIE, ” she said instead. “A SCION OF KING PAIMON. YOU’RE AN AMBITIOUS FELLOW. NOT MANY WOULD CHOOSE A SCION FOR THEIR FIRST SUMMONING. ”

“I command you to tell me what you meant. How does one ‘turn their magic inside out’? What effect does it have?”

Eerie laughed. The sound was quite horrible. “ HILARIOUS. YOU CAN’T COMMAND ME TO DO SHIT, WIZARD. THIS SACRIFICE? THIS IS BARELY WORTH A VISIT. YOU HAVE NO BARTERING POWER HERE. ”

“I’ve provided you with a human life…”

“ YES, A NORMAL, HELPLESS MUGGLE. HOW ABSOLUTELY ORIGINAL. YOU’VE GIVEN NOTHING UP. THIS CREATURE WAS NOTHING SPECIAL. I GET MUGGLES ALL THE TIME FROM KING PAIMON’S CULTS.”

Voldemort’s mind was racing. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“I admit I am a novice,” he said finally. “It is… difficult… to find sorcerous resources. Especially for a wizard.”

“SORCERERS DO LOVE TO HOARD THEIR KNOWLEDGE, ” Eerie agreed.

“How can I learn more?” Voldemort asked, his eyes bright with hunger. “I need to know more about bindings. I seek…a partnership.”

“CUTE,” Eerie laughed. “WELL, I SUPPOSE YOU DID GIVE ME A SNACK…ALRIGHT, I’LL GIVE YOU SOME GUIDANCE. ON THE HOUSE, OF COURSE.” She leaned forward, resting her head on her hands while blackened bones shifted beneath her. “ SORCERERS ARE SECRETIVE, YES? THEY KEEP THE VERY BEST SECRETS IN THEIR BOOK OF SHADOWS. ”

“Book of Shadows,” Voldemort repeated thoughtfully.

“IT’S LIKE A COOKBOOK FILLED WITH ALL THEIR FAVORITE CIRCLES AND SUMMONINGS. IF I WANTED TO LEARN FAST, THAT’S WHERE I’D START…THE ALTERNATIVE IS BECOMING A SORCERER’S APPRENTICE, OF COURSE. OR YOU COULD COBBLE TOGETHER HALF-TRUTHS FROM THE VARIOUS BEGINNERS TOMES YOU’VE NO DOUBT GOTTEN YOUR HANDS ON. ”

Voldemort grimaced. “I’m lucky this is even going as well as it has, aren’t I?” he said, almost to himself.

“LET’S JUST SAY WHOEVER DREW THIS CIRCLE DID A REALLY, REALLY GOOD JOB OF IT. IT’S AIRTIGHT. IF I COULD GET OUT, I’D SWALLOW YOU WHOLE. ”

For the first time in a very long time, Voldemort felt a thrill of true fear crawl up his spine.

“Right,” he said archly, his face an impassive mask of arrogance. “How would I get my hands on a Book of Shadows?”

“ WELL, I’M SURE I DON’T CARE,” Eerie said casually. “ ANYWAY, THIS HAS BEEN FUN. I’LL BE GOING NOW. CAN I KEEP THE MUGGLE? ”

Technically they hadn’t bartered and the demon hadn’t been very cooperative, but Voldemort didn’t particularly care if the muggle lived or died. He supposed that was partially why the “sacrifice” was so middling.

“Keep it,” he shrugged.

“TA,” the demon said, grinning, and she disappeared in an explosion of sparks and fire.

The room was quiet and dark. Voldemort felt a deep, slick feeling seeping through his veins, a corrosive illness that was sinking deep into his soul. Dark magic hung heavy in the air - the most evil, vile magic he’d ever witnessed - and it filled his lungs with a suffocating, cloying damp.

“Bugger,” he muttered, and he passed out.

****

Corvo slunk silently into Harry’s bedroom, slipping from shadow to shadow like a wraith. He crooned quietly and woke his master from his slumber.

“Corvo,” Harry whispered, rubbing his eyes. “Did you get it?”

Corvo dropped his stolen items on the bedspread, looking smug.

“The amulets, perfect,” Harry grinned, throwing one of them around his neck. “And the map of the woods, too. Nice work, Corvo. Ready to get to work?”

Corvo nodded, his red eyes bright.

Ten minutes later they were deep in the woods. The darkness clung to the trees, heavy and menacing; the light of the waxing moon couldn’t quite penetrate the canopy of the forest.

Fortunately, Harry had no trouble seeing in the dark.

He dipped his paintbrush in his pot of ashwater and began to trace a simple rune onto a large flat rock while Corvo watched on, chirping approvingly every so often. Once finished, he held his wrist over a small bowl and pressed his magic against it, breaking the skin with ease. Blood pooled down his arm, filling the bowl to the brim; he passed his thumb over the incision, healing it instantly.

“That’s about a pint, right?” he said, feeling dizzy.

Corvo croaked in a mildly concerned way.

Harry chuckled and carried the blood to the center of the rune, placing it gently down on the rock, then sat cross-legged at its apex. He began to chant quietly, his red eyes bright with excitement.

“ Minorem daemonem voco te ad hunc circulum 

Seelie, Paimonis proles, te voco 

Benedic mihi in tua sapientia et virtute 

Donum tibi offero hoc puri sanguinis, magus 

Daemonem minorem, ad hunc circulum voco… ”

A spark popped in the air above the circle, bright and fleeting - 

And then the entire circle burst into flame, a column of blistering fire that rose a dozen feet into the air. Harry laughed, delighted, as the heat sucked the moisture from his skin, his teeth, his lips; the shadowed forest around them seemed even darker in comparison, and bright sunspots danced in his vision.

After a few moments, the fire grew diminished. A faintly humanoid face rested in the center of the flames. It had sharp teeth and rotten skin, like an apple left out in the sun for weeks; its eyes were milky and opaque, its lips strangely pulpy.

“I AM SEELIE,” the demon said, staring at Harry with curiosity. “WHO CALLS ME TO THE MORTAL PLANE?”

“Me,” Harry grinned. “I’d like to bargain, Seelie.”

“THIS BLOOD IS DELICIOUS,” Seelie admitted. “THE BLOOD OF A DEATHWALKER IS VERY TEMPTING. YES, I WOULD DO MUCH TO KEEP IT. WHAT IS YOUR PRICE?”

“I have these two diaries, you see,” Harry said, pulling his enchanted notebooks out of his pockets and laying them in the grass. “I was hoping you could apply a few charms to them.”

“CHARMS ARE FOR WIZARDS,” the demon scoffed. “I HAVE NO USE FOR SUCH STUPIDITY.”

“Quite right,” Harry nodded. “Well, let me just tell you what I want, and you can decide if it needs a charm or not. When Neville writes in this one -” he pointed to the first journal - “I want to be able to see it in this one. And vice versa. And I don’t want anyone else to be able to read it but me and Neville. Oh, and if you could make them hard to notice, that would be much appreciated. A Notice-Me-Not spell, or whatever.”

The demon seemed to consider his words. “THAT IS ALL? YOU WISH FOR ME TO CRAFT DARK OBJECTS FOR YOU?”

Harry was mildly surprised. “Would they be considered dark? I don’t have any malintentions. At least, not specifically with these journals.”

“ANYTHING A DEMON CREATES IS DARK BY WIZARDING STANDARDS. THE DARKEST, IN FACT.”

“All the more reason to make them somewhat unremarkable, then,” Harry smirked. “But that’s not all. I know what my blood’s worth. I’ll need more than the dark objects…I also need information.”

The demon looked hungrily down at the bowl of blood. "WHAT INFORMATION?"

Harry leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I want to steal Methusela’s Book of Shadows. What would I need to barter?”

Silence.

Eventually, Seelie found his voice again. “YOU WISH TO STEAL A BOOK OF SHADOWS FROM ONE OF THE OLDEST SORCERERS IN YOUR LAND? ARE YOU MAD?”

“He’s dead, if that changes things,” Harry said casually.

The demon blinked. “WHO KILLED HIM?”

“Me.”

“AH…WELL, YOU WOULD NEED A MIGHTY GIFT TO BARGAIN WITH, REGARDLESS. IT IS NOT EASY TO FORCE ONE’S WAY INTO A SORCERER’S HOME UNINVITED, EVEN IF THE SORCERER IS DEAD. AND OF COURSE, YOU WOULD NEED TO CALL UPON A WORTHY DEMON.”

Harry nodded pensively, rubbing his chin. “I was thinking of Xezu.”

“LORD XEZU WOULD CERTAINLY BE CAPABLE OF SUCH A FEAT, BUT HE IS HARD TO TEMPT AND EVEN HARDER TO CONTROL. YOU WOULD NEED MUCH, MUCH MORE OF THIS BLOOD.”

“What about the blood of a troll?”

“ IT WOULD NOT BE ENOUGH.”

“Even if I’m the one that killed it?”

“ EVEN SO. ”

Harry thought for a moment. “What about…what about one of my legs?”

The flames grew hotter, more excited. “ WHAT A TREAT THAT WOULD BE. THE FLESH OF A DEATHWALKER, FREELY GIVEN, PERMANENTLY KEPT. WHAT A DELICIOUS TREASURE. HE WOULD CERTAINLY BE TEMPTED.”

“Perfect,” Harry muttered. “Now I just need to figure out how to get the damn thing out of St Mungo's…”

“ THE TROLL BLOOD COULD HELP WITH THAT, I IMAGINE,” Seelie said casually. “ WIZARDS HAVE LONG FORGOTTEN HOW TO WARD THEIR HOMES AGAINST DEMONS. THE BLOOD OF A TROLL WOULD SUFFICE AS AN OFFERING. IN FACT, I WOULD BE HONORED TO BE CALLED TO THAT SERVICE…”

“You would just eat the leg once you had it in your grasp, wouldn’t you?” Harry asked, amused. “Consequences be damned.”

“ PERHAPS. PERHAPS NOT.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Harry said. “Thank you for your wisdom, Seelie. The journals?”

“ OF COURSE. DO YOU HAVE A SAMPLING FROM THE OTHER HUMAN?”

“I do,” Harry said, tossing a blood-spotted cloth into the fire.

“ THE BARGAIN IS STRUCK. SO MOTE IT BE.”

Dark, heavy magic stretched out from the circle, wrapping around the leather diaries and pulling them into the flames. A shockwave of power rocked the small clearing, shaking leaves and scattering the small creatures that had gathered near the firelight; Harry could feel the rattle of evil magic in his bones, from his toes to his toothy grin.

The blood in the bowl began to boil and froth, dissolving away at an incredible speed…

And then the flames died down, spat sparks, and died.

Two journals fell heavily onto the ground. They were a uniform blood-red, from the leather bindings to the pages; a heavy aura of malice hung about them, thick and cloying in Harry’s lungs.

“Gorgeous,” he crooned, gathering them up and cradling them in his arms. “I’ll use the green wrapping paper, I think…”

****

Neville woke with a gasp. He’d been having the most wonderful dream about Harry and picnics and rubies, when an intense pain startled him awake. 

It was a sharp ripping sensation deep in his magical core, almost as if something had taken a small bite out of it. The rest of it seized and fought, raging against the intrusion, glowing even more brightly against the pinprick of dark. 

He groaned and rubbed his chest, his breathing ragged. It hurt so much - should he wake up Aunt Lily and Uncle James? What would he even say? Sorry, my magic hurts, can you take a look? I think I might be dying…

The pain intensified. He gagged, falling off his bed, sweat pouring from his brow, opening his mouth to scream…

And it bled away until it was nothing but a memory.

He whimpered, hand splayed across his heart, the echoes of agony still floating through his muscles.

After almost an hour, he dragged himself back onto his bed.

It was probably nothing, he thought hopefully, and he drifted off to sleep.

****

“It’s Yule! Wake up, it’s Yule!” A series of slamming noises followed this statement.

Harry heard the shouting and banging coming from down the hall. He groaned, turning over and shoving his head underneath his pillow, hoping beyond hope that Jack would skip his room.

It was not to be.

“Wake up, Harry!” Jack hollered, pounding on Harry’s door with both fists. “It’s Yule! We’ve got to open presents!”

Harry’s eyes flew open. “Fuck, I forgot,” he whispered. He instantly felt energy seeping into his small form. 

Finally, he was going to give out his presents!

“I’ll be down shortly!” he yelled, throwing himself out of the bed.

“Don’t bother dressing, we all just wear pajamas,” Jack advised, his voice muffled by the door. “Can I come in?” He didn’t wait for an answer, throwing the door open and dashing inside.

“Yeah, this is perfect,” he said quickly, looking at Harry’s sweatpants and loose shirt. “Just get your slippers - there you go - alright let’s go! Let’s go!”

“This is quite exciting,” Harry said, running down the stairs as quickly as he could. “Is every Yule like this?”

“Yeah!” Jack grinned. “C’mon, let’s get Neville up…”

Ten minutes later, the three children were seated in front of the Yule tree, each one itching with energy. Neville couldn’t seem to stop blushing, his eyes darting towards Harry every few seconds, while Harry egged Jack on to new heights of rambunctiousness.

“James and Lily sure are taking a long time, aren’t they?” he asked wickedly. 

“Yeah! They are!” Jack cried, jumping up and down where he sat. “MUM! DAD!”

“And what about Severus? And Remus and Sirius -”

“UNCLE PADFOOT UNCLE MOONY UNCLE SEV -”

“Merlin, child, it’s seven in the morning,” Severus grumbled, wandering into the room with a mug of coffee in hand, his long black dressing gown trailing dramatically behind him. “Do calm yourself.”

“But - but stockings, and presents ,” Jack wheezed.

“Gosh, what if you’ve gotten chocolate, and it’s melting because this is all taking so long?” Harry asked innocently.

Jack’s mouth gaped open like a fish.

“Evil child,” Severus muttered, fighting a grin. “Neville, you seem appropriately quiet. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Jack froze. “Can…can you do that?”

“I suppose we shall find out,” Severus said, sipping his coffee.

“What’s all this ruckus, then?” James asked, bounding into the room with his glasses askew. Sirius followed, equally energetic, while Lily and Remus were much more subdued. “Are we ready for gifts?”

“It’s too early for this level of energy,” Lily complained, collapsing next to Severus.

“I’ll grab the coffee pot,” Remus grimaced. “Severus, did you…”

“In the kitchen,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I made enough to share. I’m not an animal.”

“Thank Merlin.”

Eventually, when the adults all had coffee, the children were allowed to tear into their presents. Harry’s were wrapped with the shiniest paper, so most of his were opened first. 

“A training snitch! Wow, thanks Harry!” Jack said, clearly delighted. He glanced shyly at their father. “You used to carry one of these around, right dad?”

“Every so often,” James said evasively. “For practice, you know.”

“Don’t lie. You carried that thing everywhere ,” Lily muttered fondly, rolling her eyes.

“Wow,” Jack repeated. He leaned over and grabbed Harry into a rib-cracking hug. “This is the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll definitely make it onto the Gryffindor team now!”

“You’re quite welcome,” Harry said smugly, his cheek squashed tight against his twin’s. 

“What’s this?” Lily said curiously, opening her own gift. A roll of parchment fell into her hands.

“The very best present you’ll get today,” Harry said with complete confidence.

“Right,” Lily said dryly, unrolling the parchment. She began to read. “I, Harry James Potter, defeater of Messers Prongs and Moony and undisputed winner of the prank war…et cetera, et cetera…” She gasped suddenly, then started to laugh. “Wow, Harry, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“What is it?” Remus asked curiously. 

“It’s a sworn promise to turn in every essay I assign without complaint and to not act up in class,” Lily giggled. She turned towards Severus as he lifted his own roll of parchment. “Is that…”

“The very same,” Severus said, clearly fighting laughter. “Thank you, Harry. I don’t believe you’ve ever turned in an essay before now, so I must admit that I’m quite curious to finally read one.”

“You’re both very welcome,” Harry said seriously. “You’ll notice, however, that all bets are off next year. This written contract expires at the end of the next term.”

“Of course,” Lily said, nodding solemnly. “We’ll revisit it then, I suppose.”

They heard a loud, ungainly snorting from across the room.

“Something to add, Sirius?” Lily said.

Sirius was clearly distracted, and he looked both vaguely guilty and incredibly amused. He stuffed a box behind his back and coughed. “No, nothing to add. Carry on.”

“What did you get?” James asked curiously, eyeing the shiny wrapping paper lying on the floor. “Is that from Harry?”

Sirius - who had opened his present to find the newly-minted map of the woods, all of James and Remus’ carefully constructed amulets, and a bottle of commercial-grade deer repellent - sighed and shook his head. “It’s a secret. For my own eyes only.” He turned towards Harry with an admiring grin. “Nice work, you wee menace.”

“Now I really wanna know,” James whined.

“Focus on your own presents,” Sirius scolded. “Go on, then, what did Harry get you?”

James removed the wrapping paper and revealed a small thin box. Inside lay a shining bit of metal, long and thin like a miniature flute.

A slow, malicious smile spread across his face.

“What is it?” Sirius asked. 

“It’s a dog whistle,” James said gleefully, raising it to his lips.

Sirius blanched. “Don’t you fucking dare - argh! It’s fucking LOUD! YOU ARSE -” 

“Boys!” Lily said loudly. “Can we behave ourselves until all of the presents are open?”

“Right,” James said quickly, stuffing the whistle deep into his pockets. He graced Harry with a bright smile. “Great present, Harry, thanks ever so. I think this is just the edge I needed…”

“You’re quite welcome,” Harry grinned. “Here, Neville, this one is for you .” He pushed a green-wrapped present towards the furiously-blushing blond.

“Alright,” Neville said shyly, his cheeks going pink at the attention. The adults were all watching with bated breath…

…But then as soon as the paper was torn off they looked away and began to talk quietly amongst themselves, completely distracted. Even Jack was looking elsewhere as he began to open another present. 

“Wicked!” Jack yelled, holding up a box of Peruvian Darkness Powder. “Thanks, Uncle Padfoot!” 

James’ head fell into his hands, while Sirius swallowed laughter.

Harry, however, looked triumphant.

“Huh,” Neville said curiously, watching them. He turned back towards the object in his hand. It was a beautiful crimson diary, its leather bindings and pages a uniform shade of red, and it looked very expensive. It felt strangely alive in his hands, tugging lightly on his magical core.

“It’s got a Notice-Me-Not charm, or something like it,” Harry whispered, leaning close. He ran a slow finger down the spine. “That’s why everyone looked away. No one else will ever see it. Even if we talk about it, they won’t remember anything…it’s our secret.”

“Really?” Neville gasped.

“And it gets better,” Harry hissed. “I have one too. When I write in it, the writing shows up in your book…and vice versa. We can communicate with one another from anywhere in the world, instantly . And no one else will know about it.”

Neville felt his heart racing. He ran his hand over the cover of the journal, his chest tight. “This is…wow, Harry. This is amazing. I didn’t…I don’t think anyone’s ever wanted to talk to me like this.”

“Well, I do,” Harry said, his expression smug. “And you’re all mine. I’m going to tell you about my day, every day, and you’ll tell me all about yours. It’s going to be splendid.”

Neville felt a fluttering in his stomach, like a thousand butterflies had launched all at once. “I got you something too,” he said breathlessly, reaching under the tree. “Are - are the others still not looking?”

“Not so long as you have the journal out,” Harry assured him.

“Here…” Neville passed a small, rumpled package into Harry’s hand. “This is from me. I hope…uh, I hope you like it.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. He tore the paper off to reveal a small velvet box.

“A lovely object,” he said brightly. “Thank you, Neville.”

“No, you have to open it up…look, see the hinges?”

Harry cracked the box open with gentle fingers and saw the bracelet. 

He froze.

“This is…for me?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Neville croaked, his throat dry. “Do - do you like it?”

“Neville…it’s lovely ,” Harry said, his eyes glowing. He lifted the jewelry up out of the box and examined it carefully. “I’ve never had anything so fine…Is this a real ruby?”

“Yeah…I thought - well, I thought it matched your eyes…”

Harry extended his left wrist wordlessly, holding out the bracelet with his right.

“I - uh - alright,” Neville stuttered, setting the journal down in his lap and lifting the bracelet up. He opened it and wrapped the chain around Harry’s delicate wrist, re-clasping it gently.

“I can’t believe you got me this,” Harry muttered, pulling his wrist close to examine the bracelet again, and then he smiled.

It was not Harry’s usual smile - there was no guile, or wickedness, or glee. It was an open smile, shy and almost innocent…

And it filled Neville’s heart with an intoxicating, howling hunger.

Chapter Text

Potter Manor was in an uproar. Their original social plan – inviting a few first years over to visit for an afternoon – had spiraled completely out of control. 

As always, it was Sirius’ fault.

“You’ve got this big bloody manor and you never even use it!” he’d whined. “I haven’t even seen the east wing in years! Come on, let’s make an event out of it, yeah? A week-long party!”

It was easy to convince Lily. It was much, much harder to convince James. He ran the household and therefore knew just how much work would be involved in hosting over twenty-six extra people for an entire week. But when Sirius offered to open up the Black coffers to pay for catering, James had reluctantly agreed to their plan.

And so all the parents and the children and their siblings were all invited to spend the last few days of the holiday at Potter Manor. Severus and Lily had also extended invitations to their coworkers, so Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick would be making an appearance as well.

Before they knew it, the event was upon them. Harry was woken up in the early hours of the morning by a loud knock on his door.

“Strategy meeting in five minutes,” James called. “See you at the breakfast table.”

“Roger that,” Harry called back. He’d learned all kinds of interesting terms during his strategy meetings with Sirius and never missed a chance to use them.

Five minutes later, he was seated around the table with James, Sirius, Neville, Jack, and Severus. A bracing pot of tea was set in the middle of the table along with a hand-drawn diagram of the manor, several scribbled lists, and a collection of pencils.

Harry wiggled with excitement. 

“Where’s Lily and Remus?” Severus said grumpily. “You said attendance was mandatory. Otherwise, I would not have woken up at five in the morning to have tea with a gaggle of nincompoops.” He glanced at the children. “Neville excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” Jack muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Remus is tired,” Sirius said evasively. “He’ll join us later.”

“Lily too,” James said. “We can start without them.”

“Oh, I see. They just didn’t want to get up at this unholy hour,” Severus said, arching an eyebrow. He drew himself to his feet, his black dressing gown fluttering dramatically around him. “I shall also retire, then. I will see you after the sun comes up –”

“No!” James whined, throwing out his hands and blocking Severus’ path. “Sev, we need you! Come on, you know you’re the smartest one here. I don’t think you realize how grave the situation is.”

“I clearly don’t,” Severus said. “I believe the required rooms are all ready, the meals are planned and purchased, the events arranged, the wine cellar dusted – what else is there? We’re hosting a few families, not the Queen.”

“You’re forgetting one important thing, Lieutenant Snape,” Sirius said, his words filled with dramatic gravitas. The children giggled as they clutched their teacups. “The guests will be arriving today at noon. Which means the Weasley family will be here. Which means…”

Severus froze. “The twins.”

“And Charlie, Bill, and Ginny,” James said, his eyes wide and pleading. “Also, Ron was sorted into Slytherin, so who knows what kind of pranks he can come up with now that he’s evil?! We need you – you’re our evil Slytherin!”

“I don’t belong to you,” Severus grumbled, but he sat back down. “I'm a free-range evildoer...but fine. I see your point. If I’m going to do this, I will be called General Snape. None of this lieutenant business.”

“Hang on,” Sirius said. “I was going to be the general. You lot can be lieutenants.”

“If I’m the one making the plans, I should be the general,” Severus said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot.

But Harry wanted to be in charge. He was a natural born leader, he was sure of it.

“Uncle Sev, Uncle Padfoot,” Harry said, his eyes wide and innocent. “Do you think I could be the general this time? This is my very first family holiday and I’m awfully excited about it. I was always so lonely at this time of year, you know…before…”

Severus and Sirius froze in a tableau of mingled amusement and horror.

“Of course you can be the general, Harry,” James said, his lip wobbling slightly and his eyes misty. “We don’t mind, right everyone?”

“Not at all,” Neville agreed. Jack nodded eagerly.

“Incredible,” Severus sighed. “Yes, alright…General Harry.”

“General Harry,” Sirius echoed, his lips twitching.

“Excellent,” Harry said happily. “Everyone else can be lieutenants, then. Except for Neville. He can be the General’s Consort.”

“What’s that?” Neville asked.

“Absolutely not,” James said quickly, while Severus looked at Harry with a disbelieving expression and Sirius fought through a sudden and mysterious cough.

“Fine. He can be the Royal Concub–”

“NO!” James interrupted. “Merlin, no, where do you even hear these things?! He can be, er…maybe a captain? That’s a rank above lieutenants, right?”

“Sounds right,” Sirius said.

“I want to be a captain too,” Jack whined.

“Jack, you can be my Special Operator,” Harry said. “I’ll call you Agent Jack.”

“Wicked!” Jack crowed.

“Alright,” James said, looking a bit confused. “We have General Harry, Captain Neville, Agent Jack, and Lieutenants Padfoot, Prongs, and Severus –”

“Hang on,” Jack interrupted. “I want a code name too. Call me Agent Destructo.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Harry said.

James slowly lowered his head to the table and sighed.

****

Eventually, Lieutenant Prongs served a light snack to General Darkness Incarnate, Agent Explosion, Brigadier General Slytherin, Brigadier General Padfoot-Gryffindor, and Captain Neville.

“We’re going to have a big breakfast, so don’t stuff yourselves,” he cautioned.

“Thanks, Lieutenant Prongs,” Sirius said. “Alright, so here’s the latest version of our treaty agreement – safe zones are bedrooms, the kitchen, and the Quidditch pitch. Anything else we’re missing?”

“The wine cellar,” Severus said.

“Yes – the wine cellar,” Sirius repeated, scribbling frantically. “And?”

“I think that’s it.”

“What about the loo?” Neville asked nervously. He was already very much regretting becoming involved in the looming prank war.

“No way,” Jack scoffed. “All the best pranks happen there.”

Harry finally noticed the sweat beading across Neville’s forehead. “Are you nervous, Neville?” he asked. “Well, don’t be. I’ll be keeping a special eye on you. If anyone pranks you…” He chuckled darkly, his eyes glowing a faint bloody red. “Well, let’s just say they’ll quickly regret it.”

The rest of the table peered at him closely.

“That should be in the treaty,” Sirius said. “In the FYI section. Is there an FYI section?”

“There is now,” James mumbled, scribbling quickly. “And on that note, I feel like I need to clarify that no one is allowed to maim or seriously hurt one another. If it’s going to make someone bleed or cry, you probably shouldn’t do it.’”

They all looked at Harry again.

“What?” he said innocently. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t cry.”

James made a mental note to further discuss the do’s and don'ts of ethical pranking with Harry. Perhaps he’d rope Lily into it as well. She was the scarier parent, after all.

At that moment, Lily sauntered into the kitchen as if she’d been summoned. “Good morning, rascals. Is that breakfast I smell? Weren’t we going to wait for the Grangers to get here?”

“It was just a small snack,” Sirius said quickly, knowing full well that he was the one who’d bullied James into cooking a little something for them to munch on. “We’re all still hungry for the real thing. Right boys?”

“Right,” the children chimed obediently.

“Well, I’m off then,” Lily said. “I told the Grangers I’d be at their place around seven. You lot have about thirty minutes until we get back. Go get dressed, yeah? Don’t need them thinking wizards wear pajamas all day. Robes are bad enough…”

Chapter Text

“How was your Yule, Narcissa?” Voldemort asked, sipping on his goblet of mead. “I hope it was pleasantly relaxing.”

Narcissa smiled. She’d been working closely with the Dark Lord for months now. She knew he didn’t actually care how she’d spent her holiday, but she appreciated the gesture regardless. She could tell that he always made a point to treat her with respect – not quite like an equal, but certainly not like an underling – and it was a far cry from how he treated other Death Eaters.

Perhaps this is how he’d behaved around Nott, back when the older man had been in Voldemort’s good graces. 

It was humbling. Flattering.

She was his most trusted servant.

She would not waste this chance.

“I passed the day with Draco,” she said, settling down into the armchair across from her lord. “Lucius left us alone for the most part, retiring to his rooms, which was quite welcome. It was everything I’d hoped it would be. Thank you for asking, my lord. Did you…”

“I don’t celebrate Yule,” Voldemort chuckled. “But I’m glad to hear you enjoyed your time with your son. Now…to business?”

“Of course,” Narcissa said smoothly. “Your new identity as a Black is ready, my lord. Your alias will be Icarus Black, bastard son of my aunt Elizabeth Black and an unknown wizard. You secretly suspect that your father was Lord Voldemort, but you of course have no proof and are not keen to search for it. You grew up in England but never attended Hogwarts – you were home schooled, in what you suspect was an effort to conceal your parentage – and once you came of age, you struck out on your own, traveling the world in disguise. Now that your mother has passed away, you’ve decided to emerge from the shadows and publicly rejoin the Black family.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said. “Icarus Black. That’s a fine name. Was there ever such a child?”

“Yes, my lord,” Narcissa said. “My aunt Elizabeth Black did have a bastard  that she hid from the world. In truth, his father was a muggle, and he himself was a squib. He spent his entire life in their manor. No friends, no lovers…he would have been thirty two this year.”

“Would have been?”

“Yes,” Narcissa said, sipping on her mead. “Such a pity. The strange illness that claimed my aunt’s life also took his, you see. At least their passing was painless.”

“As painless as an avada kedavra, I imagine,” Voldemort said dryly.

“Quite.”

“Delightful,” Voldemort murmured. “Did Icarus Black have a middle name?”

“No, my lord.”

“Marvolo, then,” he decided. “Icarus Marvolo Black. We’ll need some link to his supposed parentage that can be ‘exposed’ at a later date.”

“It shall be done, my lord.”

“Now, as for rejoining the Black family, I imagine you have a plan for that as well? It can’t be easy to get a bastard reinstated into the main line.”

“In normal circumstances, my lord, you would be correct.”

“Tell me, then.”

“The current Lord Black is a bleeding heart,” she said, sneering faintly. “With that in mind, it would be best to meet with him directly and plead our case, presenting you as a poor disinherited cousin in need of family and myself as a recently divorced woman. Tradition is meaningless to him so I have no doubt he will reinstate you on the spot, bastard or no. This will, of course, put a bastard as next in line for the title Lord Black, which will only further please him.”

Voldemort chuckled darkly. “Perfect. And your son? Will we be bringing him with us to this meeting? You know my thoughts on this matter, Narcissa, but I will not force you either way.”

Narcissa stared into her goblet, swirling her mead with a tight expression. For a moment they sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and the sound of the winter wind beyond the large bay windows.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I will follow your advice, my lord, and leave him in the care of Lord Black from time to time, publicly declaring my dedication and trust to House Black. It will take us weeks to break into Methusela’s castle, if not months. I would not want him alone with his father for that long. Lucius is…unhappy with our divorce.”

Voldemort smirked. “A wise choice. Desperate men should not be underestimated. Draco will be safe with the softhearted fools in Dumbledore’s faction. And when the time comes, he can take his rightful place as Heir Black.”

“As you say, my lord.”

“Arrange a meeting with Lord Black at his earliest convenience,” Voldemort ordered. “I am anxious to begin. The trap is baited; now we must set our plans in motion…”

****

The Granger’s cottage was quite charming. The exterior was quaint and rustic, with a low, hand-packed brick wall and a small vegetable garden. The interior, however, had been fully modernized. It was the perfect blend of sleek technology and the comfortable atmosphere one finds in a cottage. And clean, but not too clean; Lily could see small stacks of bookmarked books here and there, an unwashed coffee cup in the sink, and the odd house slipper peeking out from under the sofa. 

“Your home is lovely, Monica,” she said, accepting a cup of tea.

Monica Granger blushed. “Oh, thank you! I’m sure it’s nothing like what you’ve seen in the wizarding world. You live in an actual manor, you said?”

“Yes,” Lily said. “And don’t get me wrong, I love Potter Manor. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen a microwave, you know? Bloody useful things.”

“Really?” Monica said, surprised. “You don’t have a microwave? But then, how do you heat leftovers? Or, wait, you probably use your wand, silly me…”

“Not silly at all. The children can’t use magic, so a microwave would definitely come in handy at times…Maybe it’s worth figuring out how to get one installed…”

At that moment, Hermione barrelled into the kitchen. “Professor Potter!” she squealed. “I didn’t know you were already here! Oh, and I’m not yet done packing – I hope I’m bringing the right books!”

“The right books?” Lily asked, looking highly amused.

Hermione yanked on her fun buns with frantic hands, throwing them off-kilter. “I’ve heard that Remus Lupin will be there! He’s only the foremost authority on werewolf suffrage, he’s a legend among Creature's Rights advocates – oh, and Headmaster Dumbledore – not to mention two Lords of Most Ancient and Noble Houses – I need to make sure I’m prepared –”

“Hermione,” Lily laughed. “You’re stressing out over nothing. Trust me, these are just normal people you’re meeting. You’ll be fine. After all, I’m the lady of one of those Most Ancient and Noble Houses, and I’m hardly intimidating, right? We get along great!”

Hermione looked both skeptical and highly flattered.

“You’re a lady?” Monica asked nervously. “Oh, my, I didn’t realize –”

“Oh please, it’s a completely meaningless title,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even bother with it. There’s no central monarch assigning these things – the old wixen families have just arbitrarily decided who gets one and who doesn’t! It’s all tosh.”

“Really?” Phillip said, poking his head into the kitchen. “Do magical lords and ladies have fiefdoms? Collect taxes?”

“No! See what I mean? It’s pointless grandstanding.”

That, of course, launched a flurry of questions from both Hermione and Phillip that continued for some time. Eventually, Monica cleared her throat.

“Are you both packed?” she asked sternly, crossing her arms.

Sheepish silence answered her.

“Finish packing,” Monica sighed. “I want you both out here in ten minutes!”

“Roger that!” Phillip said. “Hermione, do you have a bit of room in your bag? I’ve got an almanac I wanted to bring.”

Twenty minutes later, Lily was apparating them one by one into the snowy gardens surrounding Potter Manor, charming their bags to float behind them. She led them along the winding pathway, passing sleepy frost-heavy willow trees and frozen ponds, before stopping them at the edge of a large field blanketed in white.

“Here’s the big picture moment,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“So ready!” Hermione squeaked.

Lily grinned and waved her wand. The wards opened up to welcome the group, dispelling the illusion of an empty field and revealing a sprawling manor. 

It was an enormous, intimidating structure with tall dark windows and black bricks; the white snow was a stark contrast against the gothic splendor, highlighting the dark spires and curving stain-glass vestibule. It was still early in the morning, early enough to see the distant blink of fairy lights as they floated around the frozen gardens near the manor, and the view was breathtaking.

“This – this is a bloody castle!” Richard gasped.

“I know, right?” Lily said, looking a bit wistful. “This is how I first saw the Manor. I wanted to recreate the moment for people who would actually appreciate it. Most wizards and witches are just too comfortable with magic to see how…well, magical it all is.”

“Oh my,” Monica said, pointing a shaking hand towards the distant woods. “What is that?!”

Lily turned and saw a withered horse-like creature with enormous bat wings trot happily into the treeline, disappearing from view.

“Ah. We have a small herd of Thestrals that live in the woods,” Lily said sheepishly. “Most people can’t see them, so it’s not something we usually have to explain. They look hideous, but they’re harmless, I promise. Friendly, even!”

“It wasn’t the cutest fellow I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure,” Monica said faintly. 

“I didn’t see anything,” Phillip said.

“Really?” Hermione said. “It was like a big horse – a lizard bat horse, or, or, like a creepy pegasus!”

Lily’s eyebrows rose. Hermione could see the thestrals?

“They‘re shy creatures,” she said finally. “Keep an eye on the forest at dawn and dusk and you might get another glimpse! Anyway, shall we go on? I’m sure my heating charms are wearing off by now.”

A few minutes later they were stepping into the firelit entrance hall. Lily spelled the snow and cold off their clothes and led them further into the manor.

“We mostly stick to the west wing of the manor, specifically the family quarters,” Lily said. “That’s why things are so dark and empty in this part of the house. Your suite will be close to ours, so if you need anything, we’ll just be a shout away.”

They made their way into the enormous yet cozy kitchen. The three Grangers seemed to relax at this more lived-in space; there was a large fire burning merrily in the hearth, a half-eaten plate of cookies on the counter, and the various detritus that a trio of young boys leave in their wake strewn across the floor. 

A handsome man with warm brown skin, wild black hair, and large round glasses sat at the large table nursing a steaming cup of tea. He stood as they entered, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Welcome to Potter Manor,” he said happily, shaking their hands. “I’m James. Lily brought you in the scenic way, eh? She likes doing that.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Potter,” Phillip said.

“Just James is fine, really. Can I get you any tea? Coffee?”

“Let them get settled, dear,” Lily chuckled.

“Right,” James said quickly. “Right, sorry, of course. You lot get settled in and I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re done.”

By the time the Grangers were done unpacking, the rest of the household had finished dressing. The previously-quiet kitchen was now filled to the brim with excited shouts and floating cutlery.

“There they are!” James crowed. He was standing in front of the hob, wearing an apron splattered with pancake batter and brandishing a spatula. “Welcome, Grangers!”

“HERMIONE!” Jack screamed, running forward and grabbing her into a hug. His auburn curls looked a bit wild and his clothes were mussed, as if he’d dressed at top speed. “You’re the first one here! Hermione’s on our team, alright? We call dibs!”

Hermione blushed, surprised and pleased. She’d never really gotten on well with Jack...but there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and perhaps getting deeply traumatized by a twelve-foot rampaging mountain troll was one of them.

Monica and Phillip were immediately charmed by Jack. Hermione had never been the most popular child, and it warmed their hearts to see her with friends.

“Hi, Hermione,” Neville said, inching nervously towards the newcomers. “Mr Hermione, Mrs Hermione, welcome to Potter Manor. Uh, I mean Granger!”

“You can call us Monica and Phillip,” Monica said, smiling at the nervous boy. “And you are?”

“He’s Neville,” Jack interrupted. He then pointed towards himself. “I’m Jack. Those are our uncles Sirius and Remus -” He pointed towards the two men haunting the stove, fixated on the slowly-growing stack of pancakes - “Our Uncle Sev is still upstairs getting dressed. And that’s my dad James. I have a twin, you know – his name is Harry and he should be here soon. Oi, there he is!”

“Good morning, Monica and Phillip,” Harry said, melting out of the shadows behind the group, his red eyes glowing with delight. 

“Goodness!” Monica yelped, jumping back in surprise. “You – you startled me, young man!”

“He’s just like that, mum,” Hermione said quickly, and then pulled the creepy child into a tight hug. “Harry, I missed you so much! I’m so glad you’re on the mend. Is that your new leg? Of course it is, I don’t know why I asked – Neville said it’s made of magical whalebone, is that true?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Harry said happily, dragging her towards the kitchen table. They sat together, heads close, whispering excitedly.

“Pancakes are ready!” James said. “Everybody grab a seat!”

Breakfast was wonderfully chaotic. The magic was slightly overwhelming for the Grangers at first – really, levitating pancakes? – but they got used to it. Before much longer, Lily sauntered back into the room with Severus and another round of introductions were made. Soon he and Phillip were lost in a discussion on dental practices among wixen.

“I grew up in the muggle world, and I’m constantly surprised by the lack of dental hygiene in my students,” Severus lamented. “There are potions that regrow teeth, yes – but why let it get that bad?”

“Hang on,” Philip said. “Tell me about these potions.”

Monica, however, found herself drawn into the children’s conversation.

“It’s a prank war?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah!” Jack said, bouncing in his chair. “But don’t worry, it’s a civilized war. We’ve got a contract and everything! I’ve got it right here – see, here’s the list of non-combatants.”

“Aunt Lily and Uncle Remus are on that list,” Neville said, sounding quite jealous. “I don’t know how they managed that.”

“You’re welcome to join our ranks if you’d like, Monica,” Lily said. “Merlin knows what kind of trouble this group will be getting up to.”

Monica glanced at Hermione. All of the children were now huddled around her, whispering furiously as they caught her up with their schemes.

“That all sounds lovely,” she said, feeling warm.

Chapter Text

“Leave me alone!” Draco screamed, storming into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He threw himself onto the large, pillowy bed, shaking with rage and agitation.

Why was everything going so wrong? Why was his life falling apart?

Christmas had been perfect, as usual. He’d received all of the presents he rightly deserved – including a new broomstick – and his mother had spent the entire afternoon with him, walking through the frosted gardens and watching him play in the snow. She’d seemed alight with a quiet joy that Draco had never seen before, and she’d smothered him with attention.

His father, however, had looked pale and withdrawn. He’d retired early.

And now Draco knew why.

He heard his bedroom door open. After a moment, the surface of the bed dipped as his mother sat beside him.

“Draco,” Narcissa said gently. “This is not how an heir to House Malfoy should behave.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sobbing into his pillow. “Why – why is this happening? Don’t you love daddy anymore?”

Narcissa sighed heavily. After a moment, she reached out to rub gentle circles onto Draco’s back.

“Draco,” she started. “Marriages like ours are not about love. I loved him, yes, for a time…but sometimes, adults do things to hurt one another, things that are…” she sighed again. “I do not wish to burden you with our troubles. Suffice to say that your father has finally crossed a line that cannot be ignored.”

In reality, Narcissa had never loved her husband. She had been commanded to marry him; she had then been commanded to ignore his indiscretions, the mistresses and dark-lord-following and poor political decisions. She’d been the perfect wife for so long...but now she had an opportunity to chase her dreams, and she would take it. The most recently-discovered mistress hadn’t bothered her any more than the last dozen. Not truly.

But Draco didn’t need to know that. 

Her heart ached at the deception…but she would be strong for her son. Whether or not he knew why.

“Why do you have to get a divorce?” Draco whispered. “Can’t you just forgive him?”

A tense moment passed.

“I should not have to,” she said finally. Years of stifled rage warred within her chest, but her face was impassive. “Some things should not have to be borne. I deserve...we both deserve faithfulness.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes rimmed with red.

“Is - is it my fault?” he choked. “Is it – was it –”

“You have done nothing wrong,” she interrupted gently, wiping a tear from his pale cheek. “You are perfect in every way, Draco. You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Every moment of sorrow that your father has served me…every second of it was worth it, because I have you.”

****

The other families arrived closer to lunch, flooing into the larger receiving hall. This included the Abbotts, the Bones, the Thomases, and the Finnegans. The Weasleys arrived last, and the other children had already been sorted into their respective prank teams.

Well…sorted into Harry’s team, anyway. He didn’t like sharing. He’d collected his core group of friends, of course, and then couldn’t resist nabbing all the other children as well – Hannah’s younger brother, Dean’s older sister, and Seamus’ little siblings. He had quite the collection.

Everything was going according to plan.

Harry was reclining on a winged armchair that Sirius had spelled black, ringed by his supporters – well, his supporters and Seamus Finnegan, but he’d deal with that later – and when the first three Weasleys stumbled out of the fireplace he thought they looked appropriately cowed by his dark majesty.

“Goodness,” Molly sputtered. “Hello, young man. You must be Harry.”

“Are you with us, or against us?” Harry asked coldly.

Arthur’s cough sounded suspiciously mirthful. “We’re sitting this one out, I think. Er, what was the term you all were using? Non-combatants?”

“I have to study,” Percy said quickly. “So…”

Harry waved them away impatiently, already eyeing the lanky redheads that were stumbling out of the other fireplaces. 

“There he is,” he hissed, spotting Ron’s bedraggled form. He gestured meaningfully to Jack and Susan. “Agents! Get him!”

Agent Explosion and Agent Fear rushed forward, grabbing Ron by his arms and dragging him away from his brothers. The redhead looked flustered but incredibly flattered, especially when he was manhandled into a place of honor just to the left of Harry’s chair. Neville, of course, was on Harry’s right, looking both thrilled and extremely nervous about it.

“Now we have both of the Slytherins,” Harry chuckled, his eyes glowing like hellish coals in the near-darkness of the receiving hall.

“What’s all this, then?” another one of the redheads asked. This one was tall – well, they were all tall, but this one was especially tall – and he had long hair like Harry.

“Who’re you?” Harry asked.

“Bill. Who’re you?”

“That’s General Darkness Incarnate,” Hannah sniffed, and Harry wiggled with delight in his chair.

“Right,” Bill grinned. “I see you’ve stolen our Slytherin.”

“He was always mine,” Harry drawled. “I claimed him long ago.”

“Him and everyone else, it looks like,” Fred said. He approached Harry’s chair, closely followed by his remaining siblings. “Is everyone on your team? That leaves us with, what – Bill, Charlie, and Ginny?”

“I defect,” Ginny said.

“Accepted,” Harry said, completely charmed by her treachery.

Ginny whooped, skipping towards Harry’s group and choosing a properly menacing spot to stand in. She then graced her older brothers with a sneer, crossing her arms to mimic Susan and Jack’s threatening poses.

“Right,” George said dryly. “How about we make this a little more fun, eh? Up the stakes a bit.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, then glanced around the hall. He really wanted Severus here for any negotiations, but all of the adults were milling about chatting, drinking wine, and generally being boring.

He turned towards his agents. “Get our grownups, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Jack nodded. He immediately began yelling at the top of his lungs. “UNCLE SEV UNCLE PADFOOT DAD –”

“Merlin, stop,” James begged, looking faintly mortified as he rushed over, quickly followed by Severus and Sirius. “We’re here! What do you need?”

“The Weasley twins would like to parlay,” Harry said.

“Right,” Fred began. “Your team looks quite a bit bigger than ours, yeah?”

“So it is,” Sirius said, looking over the enormous group of children that were huddled around Harry’s chair. “Yeah, we’ll have to split you lot up.”

“No need,” George said quickly. “See, the thing is, we’ve always wanted to make a bit of trouble with the Marauders. It’s been an ambition of ours for quite some time.”

James and Sirius puffed out their chests, ignoring Severus’ neck-breaking eye roll. “Makes sense,” James said importantly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Us,” Fred started, gesturing towards himself, George, and the two Marauders.

“...Versus all of them,” George finished, grinning wickedly.

“That’s it, I’m officially out,” Severus said, and he swept away. “Lily, where’s that list, I need to add my name to it –”

“The establishment versus Harry’s lot?” Sirius said, his eyes bright. “Count me in.”

“What do you think about that, Harry?” James asked.

Harry peered at the remaining Weasleys. “Does this mean I also get Bill? And you, whoever you are?”

“Charlie.”

“Yes, you.”

They nodded.

“Excellent,” Harry hissed, a wicked sort of glee unfurling in his expression.

Chapter Text

The Prank War wasn’t unfolding quite like anyone had expected. Their first meeting was fraught with tension, but after that, the actual pranking seemed to devolve into general merriment.

Harry spent most of his time dictating costume changes to his various agents, warriors, and captains – all of whom were delighted to comply – while Bill and Charlie occupied themselves with swiping wine from the cellar. Occasionally, they would help the younger children with a bit of tricky magic.

Charlie waved his wand in a complicated pattern, transfiguring a ratty old cloak into a blood-red cape and draping it over Neville’s shoulders per Harry’s direction.

“Don’t tell anyone we were doing magic,” he cautioned, knowing perfectly well it wasn’t allowed over the holidays.

“Or that we have this,” Bill grinned, shaking a half-empty bottle of Cabernet.

“Is it good? Can I have some?” Ron asked curiously.

“Not until you’re at least fifteen,” Charlie said sternly.

James, Sirius, and the twins seemed to be primarily interested in product testing. Their pranks were methodical and scientific, and each of them carried around a bit of parchments for notes.

“The canary potions were a huge success,” George said excitedly, watching the table of neon-yellow haired children giggle and point at one another over their lunch.

“Did you spike their pumpkin juice with it?” James asked.

“Yeah. Not terribly sneaky, I know…oh wait, they’re still drinking it. I think they like having yellow hair.”

“Harry’s didn’t change,” Fred frowned.

“He must have inherited the Potter hair magic,” James said sheepishly. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“This is a neat bit of potion work,” Sirius said. “You developed this yourselves?”

The twins puffed out their chests.

“Sure did,” Fred said proudly. “Tested it on ourselves and everything.”

The Marauders were quite impressed. “You two could put Zonko’s out of business, you know,” Sirius said. 

“He’s right,” James agreed. “Have you thought about taking a few business classes to go with all this inventing you’re doing?”

“I don’t think Hogwarts offers those,” George said.

“You’d have to take a mail-in muggle course, but trust me, it’s definitely worth it. Lily made me do it when I took up the Potter lordship and it’s changed the way I handle money, let me tell you.”

“Okay,” Fred said slowly, not quite convinced.

“I’ll make you a deal,” James grinned. “If you can wrap up an entry-level business course by the end of your seventh year, I’ll become an investor in whatever business you start.”

“Me too,” Sirius said quickly. “I want to get in on this. We'll pay your course fees too, obviously.”

“What if we finish it early?” Fred asked. “We’re only in our third year.”

“Then we’ll be investing early, won’t we?”

The twins grinned at one another happily. “You’ve got a deal,” they said in unison. 

“James,” a grumpy voice said. 

James looked around, then down. “Oh, hello Harry,” he said. “I didn’t know you could see us. Didn’t you put up a Notice-Me-Not, Pads?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said.

“Never mind that,” Harry whined. “Your stupid prank is broken. Everyone has yellow hair but me! Even Jack! It’s not fair.”

“It's a work in progress,” George said quickly. "Don't take it personally."

“Yeah,” Fred said. “You must be, um, too powerful for it to work.”

“That sounds about right,” Harry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, well, once again I’m triumphant without even trying. You four must be so embarrassed –”

“Harry,” James interrupted. “Why is your prosthetic backwards?”

They all looked down.

Sure enough, Harry’s whalebone leg had been turned completely around.

“It was for a thing,” Harry said dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it later.”

“Don’t –” James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll have to go get it adjusted again, you know that, right? Come on, get your cloak.”

“I’ll take him,” Sirius said. “Remus needed to pop by St Mungo’s this week anyway. Something about the latest Wolfsbane shipment for Project Moony.”

“Are you sure?” James asked.

“Definitely,” Sirius grinned, ruffling Harry’s braid. “It’ll be fun! Right, Harry?”

“Right,” Harry agreed. He was always down for an adventure.

And maybe he could sneak away and check on his leg in the morgue…

****

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sirius muttered. “This cannot be happening.”

“It’s happening,” Remus said firmly, ushering Harry up the steps of Grimmauld Place. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Who will be here?” Harry asked.

“No one,” Sirius grumbled.

“Some of Sirius’ family,” Remus said, throwing Sirius a chiding look. “We got an owl while you were in with the healers. They’re just dropping by to chat. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry grinned. “Can I –”

“No,” Sirius said firmly. “You will be upstairs in the library, young man. I don’t want you meeting these – these people.”

“And the library is safer?” Remus muttered skeptically.

“It’s got wards and stuff around the sketchy parts,” Sirius said. “No way a firstie could get through them. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, at least I’ll have something to do,” Harry said, very suspiciously in Remus’ opinion.

“I don’t know about this,” he began.

“Merlin, they’re going to be here any moment,” Sirius interrupted, looking at his pocket watch. “I’ll take Harry upstairs. You just sit there and look pretty, hm? I’ll bring some wine back down with me.” 

Remus smiled as he watched his husband scurry out of the room, shooing Harry along in front of him. A few seconds later, the fireplace flared green and a small, bratty-looking blonde boy stumbled through.

“Who’re you?” he said nastily, eyeing the scars that littered Remus’ face.

The floo flared again, and Narcissa Malfoy – no, Black – stepped through.

“Mr. Black-Lupin,” she said politely, offering her hand. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Remus blinked. She was using his married name? It was a gesture of respect towards his relationship that was as unexpected as it was welcome.

He took the offered hand and bent over it, kissing it politely. “Please, call me Remus. We’re happy to have you, Lady Black,” he said. He watched her face carefully, wondering if she would shy away at the touch of a known werewolf, but her polite mask didn’t slip. 

“Then you must call me Narcissa,” she said.

“Narcissa, then,” he repeated with a smile. “And this must be young Draco.”

“I’m not that young,” muttered the eleven-year-old.

“Manners, Draco,” Narcissa sighed.

“You said there was another person joining you?” Remus asked. “When –”

The fire turned green once again, and a breathtakingly gorgeous man stepped neatly out of the hearth.

He was tall. Tall and broad, especially around the shoulders. His skin was pale, smooth as marble and perfectly flawless; his gray eyes smoldered with intensity, framed by noble cheekbones so sharp they could cut stone. Sensuous black curls fell heavily around his neck and angled jaw, and his plush lips were curled in a nervous smile.

“Lord Black, I presume?” said the stunning creature. His voice was as silken as honey and as deep as the sea.

“Erm,” Remus squeaked, feeling painfully homosexual. “No, I’m – uh –”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius said, rushing into the room with a few wine glasses hovering behind him. “I’ve brought – hgnh!” His jaw locked as he stared at the newcomer. His legs apparently stopped working as well, as he barrelled straight into Remus’ back, almost knocking him over.

“Apologies,” the strange man said. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I was told that you knew I was coming.”

“We did! We do, er, I mean…welcome to, uh, here,” Sirius choked. He turned desperately towards Remus. “Wine?”

“Please,” Remus muttered, grabbing a floating glass and quaffing the entire thing.

Narcissa’s eyes burned with amusement. “Gentlemen,” she said. “May I introduce you to our long lost cousin, Icarus Marvolo Black?” 

“Cousin,” Sirius muttered regretfully. “Right, of course, um…please sit down. I’m Sirius, this is Remus. Have some wine, won’t you?”

“Is Kreacher around?” Narcissa asked as she sat. “I was hoping he could occupy Draco in the kitchens while we speak.”

“I’m not a baby, mother,” Draco whined. “I can occupy myself.”

“Kreacher died ages ago,” Sirius said. “And thank Merlin for that. We’ve gone back to the old ways – none of the elves have human names, can’t call on them, you know. Live and let live.”

“A humane arrangement, to be sure,” Narcissa said politely. 

“One of our nephews is in the library,” Remus said. “Draco, would you like to join him?”

“Whatever,” Draco mumbled. “Fine.”

“I can show you where it is –”

“No! I can go by myself!” Draco hollered. “I said I’m not a baby!”

Narcissa rubbed her face wearily. “Draco, darling –”

“It’s alright,” Remus said quickly. “Up the stairs, then. It’ll be the fourth door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

Draco stomped angrily out of the luxurious sitting room, ignoring his mother’s half-hearted admonishing. Soon he was out of sight.

“He’ll be alright on his own,” Sirius assured her. “I know you probably remember…well, anyway, we renovated this place ages ago. All the really dangerous stuff is either in storage or locked up tight in Gringotts.”

Narcissa nodded, glancing around the bright, polished room. “You’ve made quite a few changes as Lord Black, it seems. I almost don’t recognize the place. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, looking surprised.

Narcissa smoothed her skirts down with faintly trembling hands. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked to meet,” she said finally.

“It has been a long time, Cissy,” Sirius drawled. “If I remember correctly, last time we spoke you had some strong words to say about my choice in partners.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said. “I would like to apologize for that. I was…young. Spouting the beliefs of our family. I’ve since…well, I’ve seen the error of my ways.”

“You have?!” Sirius choked.

“Is that so hard to believe?” she said quietly. “The world is changing, cousin. I’d like to think I can change with it.”

Sirius made a high, skeptical noise. 

“And speaking of change,” Narcissa continued. “Lucius and I are getting a divorce.”

Sirius looked faint. “Fucking what?”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Narcissa,” Remus said, elbowing Sirius sharply. “If there’s anything we can do –”

“Hang on,” Sirius interrupted. “You – you’re getting a divorce?!” He pointed a shaking finger at his cousin. “You, Narcissa Malfoy, poster child for all things pureblood and self-righteous, always ready with something shitty and mean to say –”

“Of course I'm getting a divorce! I was married off when I was seventeen years old!” Narcissa hissed. She swallowed a few times, jaw tight, visibly calming herself before continuing in a hushed voice. “I was only seventeen, Sirius. I placed my trust in our family, in tradition…I did what I was told to do and I believed it would bring me happiness. But in the end, I was sold like a cow to the highest bidder, treated like a glorified brood mare to a bloodline I couldn’t care less about…and I find myself weary of my situation. So yes, I’m getting a divorce.” 

Sirius was speechless.

“Well, good for you,” Remus said suddenly, looking a bit misty-eyed. “I think your pursuit of personal freedom is rather admirable, Narcissa. If there’s anything we can do…”

“Well,” she said uncomfortably. “There is, actually, one thing. I have reverted back to my maiden name in practice, but I am not as of yet officially a member of House Black again. There is a law, you see – divorced witches cannot retake their family name or any previous inheritances unless allowed to do so by the head of the family.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Right. That law.”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” she said, drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders. “I understand that we haven’t always seen eye to eye, Sirius, but –”

“Merlin, stop,” Sirius begged. “Of course you can rejoin the family. You shouldn’t even have to ask. It’s your family too, no matter what sexist laws are in place.”

“I didn’t even know about that one,” Remus said. “That’s completely barbaric.”

“Hear, hear,” Icarus agreed, smiling warmly.

“Well…thank you, Sirius,” Narcissa said, her hands still trembling as she clasped them in her lap. “I am forever in your debt.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sirius said. 

“Since you’re in a welcoming mood…” Icarus said sheepishly. 

“You too?!” Sirius laughed. “What, did you get blasted off the tapestry when you were a kid?”

“I was never on it, actually,” Icarus said. “I’m a bastard Black.”

“Same here,” Sirius joked, while Remus rolled his eyes. “Well, that explains why I’ve never heard of you.”

“He has proof to his claim, you know.” Narcissa began. “Icarus’ mother was Elizabeth Black. His father is currently unknown, but we have his birth certificate –”

“Don’t bother,” Sirius interrupted. “I don’t care. If you say he’s a Black, I believe you. He certainly has the looks for it. We’ll get it all sorted out with our lawyers after the holidays, eh?”

“Really?” Icarus said slowly. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Sirius grinned. “Welcome to the family! I think this calls for something a little stronger than wine, eh? Let’s have a toast!”

****

It took Harry all of thirty seconds to barrel through the wards in the library and find the Necromancy section.

“Fascinating,” he muttered, trailing a small finger along the spine of a particularly ancient-looking tome. After a moment, he pulled it off the shelf and settled down to read.

Necromancy was neat. Harry’s eyes got wider and wider as he turned each page. Inferi? Flesh golems? Soul magic? Why weren’t they learning any of this at Hogwarts?! He read as quickly as he could, desperate to get through as much of the book as possible before he was discovered.

After twenty minutes or so, he heard the faint sound of sniffling in the library.

He paused.

Should he investigate? Or should he keep reading?

The sniffling continued.

Harry sighed. He could never resist a good mystery.

He closed the book with a snap and carried it with him. Hopefully he’d find a way to sneak it back to Potter Manor.

Harry quickly found the source of the noise. Draco Malfoy sat pitifully next to a large bay window, crying quietly into a throw pillow.

“Aww,” Harry cooed, drawing closer. “You’re so sad! I love that for you.”

Draco froze.

“It’s you,” he whispered, face pale. “They said their nephew was – was – I thought it would be Jack or Neville –”

“Yes, it’s me,” Harry agreed. He settled into the chair next to Draco, choosing to ignore the way the other boy immediately cringed away. “Why are you crying? Are you lonely? I adore lonely people, you know.”

“I’m not crying,” Draco sniffled.

“Maybe it’s because you’re weak,” Harry mused. “Yes, that’s probably it. Those look like tears of weakness.”

Draco was speechless, torn between fear and indignation.

“Don’t worry, Draco Malfoy,” Harry continued. “Whether you’re lonely, or scared, or weak…there’s always something you can offer to General Darkness Incarnate.”

“Who?” Draco said. 

“Me,” Harry smirked. His voice echoed strangely in the heavy silence, atonal and uncharacteristically deep. For a moment, the shadows in the library seemed to stretch further than they should, darkening the room and casting Harry’s glowing red eyes into sharp relief. 

“Right,” Draco said weakly. “Um, sorry. I don’t, uh. Well. I didn’t realize you’d changed your name.”

“I have many names,” Harry said dismissively. "So, what do you say?"

Draco felt a shiver of fear travel up his spine.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “What do you want?”

Harry smiled. His expression was pleasant, but there was a greedy glint in his eye; the devil offering a deal to a hapless traveler.

“I want you to be my friend,” he said quietly, extending his hand. “I take good care of my friends. How about it?”

Draco stared at the hand, incredulous.

Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.