Polished Stone – Arc 2

Polished Stone – Arc 2

“Are you ready for this?” Harry gave the barrier at platform 9 3/4 a dubious look.

Draco smirked and brushed nonexistent soot from the sleeve of his tailored jacket. “About as ready as you are.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That helps loads.”

“I don’t know why you insist on asking me redundant questions, Harry.” Draco lifted an eyebrow with a tilt of his head toward the barrier. “We could always wait till summer, you know.”

Harry frowned, then shook his head. “No, you know we can’t.”

“Come on then,” Draco sighed, setting his dragon head walking stick firmly on the tarmac. “We’d best go in before we’re arrested for loitering.”

Harry snorted his amusement as he walked toward the barrier. “Do you even know what a bobbie looks like?”

“I do now, thanks to you,” the blonde replied with a triumphant note that Harry turned to see reflected in the smirk. Harry’s mental image of a typically comical British policeman was infinitely amusing. “I prefer the Monty Python version, too.”

Laughing, the pair went through the barrier onto the Hogwarts Express platform.

They had purposefully arrived a little early in order to avoid the crowds of children and their parents that were expected shortly. After six years, they had no idea of what to expect, short of what they had been told by Hermione and Neville. They had kept abreast of what was happening in wizarding Britain, of course, but the Daily Prophet was hardly a reliable source of information. The best sources could only make infrequent reports over the past two years, without attracting unwanted attention. Lord Black’s travels in Europe were always heavily monitored, and while the goblins could exchange information freely within their own system, they too didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by making too many pointed inquiries outside of their purview.

The return of Voldemort had set Britain on it’s ear, and the outcry for the return of their Savior was loud and long. Harry and Draco hadn’t dared to set foot on British soil until they had a feasible plan of defeating the Dark Lord and his aggressive seizure of power. According to the goblins, the Ministry was heavily infiltrated and largely under Voldemort’s command, with the DMLE and the Unspeakables being the only hold outs. Sirius had done his best to gather information while keeping as low a profile as possible in the Wizengamot, but it was a very hard line to walk since the governing body was largely comprised of newly recruited Death Eaters or their sympathizers. The pressure to join the majority was increasing on the man, and those other few, like Augusta Longbottom, who were determined to remain outwardly neutral.

Pressure was also coming to bear from the near vigilante group, the Order of the Phoenix. It was an organization that Harry’s parents had once belonged to, and again spearheaded by Albus Dumbledore. Sirius had been approached several times, already, to join them and become a spy within the Ministry for them. He refused. He explained to Harry and Draco that the group was pretty much useless. All they seemed to do was gather information, without actually doing much of anything to stop the deaths and disappearances that had increased in number since Voldemort’s return in what would have been their fifth year had they remained at Hogwarts. All they did was sit around and talk about how things had been before the deaths of the Potters, and how it compared to now. Remus Lupin was Black’s source of information within the Order. He had been one of the first that Dumbledore had approached when he called the Order back into service. After some private discussion with Black, Remus had agreed to join, and pretended to be snubbed by his childhood friend because of it.

None of them could understand how Voldemort had gained so much power and influence in such a short time, given that nearly all of his former followers had been rooted out in Harry’s first year. They could only speculate that someone with plenty of money and influence had been missed. They had so far been unsuccessful in finding out who that was. Even the goblins, with a finger on the pulse of the flow of currency in Britain, had no idea who they should be keeping a closer eye on.

The platform was sparsely populated when the pair passed through the portal in the station, and they were relieved. They had only told Hermione and Neville that they had intended to keep their promise of returning to Hogwarts for seventh year. They didn’t need a media circus on their first day back in Britain. They had used a goblin made port key to travel from France to Gringotts in Diagon Alley, then had apparatted directly from Ragnok’s office to King’s Cross Station. Dobby and Holten, Draco’s bonded elf, were expected at Hogwarts shortly before the train’s arrival to set up their suite of rooms. They would be bringing Hedwig and Draco’s familiar, Zal.

The general public in Britain, and Dumbledore specifically, hadn’t been aware that Harry was no longer on British soil until after the second year at Hogwarts had begun. To say that the search for the Boy-Who-Lived was intense was an extreme understatement. They never really stopped searching, even with the obvious distraction of Voldemort’s return. In fact, the public demand for Harry’s return increased ten fold by the time Fudge finally admitted that Voldemort was once again at large, only eight months before. The man could be blindly stubborn. Sirius Black had been extensively questioned, even under truth serum, several times. The latest was the previous September, when Harry again failed to show up at school. Speculation in the Prophet was that Lord Potter was, in fact, dead, having been already killed by Voldemort before the dark wizard began his more public bids for power.

The few who saw the pair of expensively dressed teens cross the platform, didn’t pay them much attention.  Even their closest friends would have been hard pressed to recognize Harry and Draco. The glamours they wore were detailed and perfect. They boarded the train, and some instinct led them to the same compartment they had shared on their very first ride on the Express. It was, after all, the perfect vantage point. From that carriage, they could observe the entire platform, largely unobserved. A couple of obscuring spells would ensure their privacy. Neither relaxed until they were seated and the blinds on the door and aisle windows had been drawn. So far, everything had gone according to plan. Now, all they needed to do was wait for the train to load, and be on it’s way. They knew that Hermione and Neville would find them.

Sitting close together at the window, Harry leaning against Draco, the pair watched as the platform slowly became crowded with children of all ages, and their parents and families who had come to see them off. It looked chaotic. Adults, children, animals, trunks and trolleys, milled and moved without much apparent rhyme or reason. That was belied, however, by the growing chatter of young voices on the train itself as the cars began to fill.

“It’s hard to believe we were once so small,” Draco observed quietly.

Harry only nodded in response, watching a small group of very young looking girls bid a tearful good bye to their parents and board the train.

Feeling Harry’s resolve, Draco lightly bumped the brunette’s shoulder. “We’ll get him, Harry. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” Harry replied absently, his eyes on the filled platform. “I just hope it’s soon enough.”

“Hey,” Draco turned from the window to face his bond mate, his fingers lightly touching Harry’s cheek. “Look at me.”

Harry’s eyes, currently a vivid blue, shifted to the blonde’s currently brown eyes.

“Merlin, it almost feels like cheating,” Draco whispered right before he kissed Harry, languid and deep.

Harry responded instantly, tasting Draco with as much attention to detail as he always did, leaving the Malfoy Lord breathless and eager for more. They parted, breathing heavily.

“You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish, brat,” Harry whispered, resting his forehead against Draco’s, his thoughts successfully diverted.

“Who says I can’t?” insisted Draco with a chuckle. “We could fuck all the way to Hogwarts and no one would be the wiser.”

Harry couldn’t help a breathless laugh. “You’d tempt Merlin, himself. We promised that we’d see them on the train, though.”

Only mildly put off, Draco sighed. Besides, he had achieved his goal of keeping his mate from brooding. “If you insist. I know I’m far more entertaining, however.”

“And greedy,” Harry grinned, shifting back a little to again comfortably lean against Draco. “I don’t think there’s anyone who enjoys cock so much.”

Draco snorted. “If there is, they’re welcome to anyone’s except yours. That one is spoken for.”

“See? Greedy,” Harry replied, his eyes again turned to the platform. He stiffened, causing Draco to look out as well.

Hermione and Neville were together on the platform, along with the Weasleys, the Grangers, and Augusta Longbottom. The pair were swift to note that Ron was keeping a sullen distance from the group, until his mother cajoled him to join them with insistent gestures. The twins were alternately scanning the windows of the train, likely looking for them as unobtrusively as possible. Harry was glad to see that while one had eyes on the train, the other was scanning the crowd around them alertly. They took their duties to Neville seriously.

After they had graduated Hogwarts two years before, the twins had used their savings to open a shop in Diagon Alley. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was a rapidly growing success, and provided a perfect front for yearly visits from Neville and Hermione. Before then, the two had to use goblin made port keys, provided by Harry and Draco, for the annual trip to where they had been living in France. To this day, no one knew exactly where in France the pair had been living, except for Ragnok, Snape, Healer Davidson, and Narcissa Malfoy. The twins also passed along a great deal of the information provided by Harry’s godfather that couldn’t be sent through Gringott’s.

Ron and Ginny were the first to break from the group and board the train. Harry and Draco had been kept abreast of the Weasley family through their friends. Ron had complied with the conditions of the Weregild, and Neville seemed to think that it had been good for the gangly red head. He had gradually become better at school, but Hermione strongly believed it had more to do with Harry not being there, than any life lessons he might be learning. The twins seemed to think that Ron had at least learned humility, during his work at the orphanage. He had come home the first few weeks deeply disturbed, they had said, and eerily quiet. Since then, he had been more helpful at home and less demanding and whiny. While their mother remained cold on the subject of Harry Potter, their father only had good things to say whenever the infrequent subject came up. Seeing Harry again would either prove or disprove Hermione’s theory.

Draco and Harry watched in silence as Neville and Hermione finally said their good byes to the twins, and boarded the train right before the whistle blew. They continued to watch the people on the platform as the noise in the corridor grew with children passing their door in a near constant stream as they looked for seats. When there was a discreet knock on the door, Harry got up to lightly shift a blind to see who it was. Relieved, he opened the door for Neville and Hermione, who slipped in during a break in the traffic of students, then closed it again. The pair helped them stow their trunks in the overhead racks, then indulged in a round of hugs and greetings. The train was already moving by the time the four settled in the seats, Hermione and Neville across from Harry and Draco.

Harry and Draco retained their glamours, much to Hermione’s discomfort. She kept staring at one or the other, unable to reconcile the voices of her friends coming from stranger’s faces. It got to the point where she would trail off in the middle of a sentence, completely forgetting her train of thought whenever she looked into their eyes. Neville found it amusing. Crookshanks, a kneazle gift from Harry and Draco for Hermione’s thirteenth birthday, merely sniffed them both when he was released from his carrier, then curled up on Draco’s lap for a snooze. The blonde was not amused. He was wearing Armani.

The four didn’t lack for things to talk about during the trip to Hogwarts. There was news and gossip to catch Harry and Draco up on, as well as news about home for the pair to relate. They didn’t turn to more serious topics until they were about halfway to the school, after they had eaten a meal that Harry had brought in his satchel and everyone had a bathroom break. Both Harry and Draco cast more spells to ensure they were not overheard before they asked after how things really were in Britain. Their last report, over a week old, had detailed the disappearance of a muggle born fourth year in Hufflepuff and her family. This was confirmed, along with the disappearance of four other muggle born students, and an attack on a small wizarding village in Kent where six had died trying to defend their homes before the Aurors could arrive. Amelia Bones was trying very hard to lobby for more support and funds from the ministry to bolster the Auror ranks, but was meeting severe resistance. The Daily Prophet was being entirely too accurate in it’s reports of panic and chaos in Britain. Things were starting to unravel, and it would only get worse. Much worse. So long as Fudge kept the DMLE stonewalled, little to nothing could be done to reverse the tide.

Harry and Draco shared a long look. They both knew that if it wasn’t for the Fidelius Charm and goblin wards on the homes of their friends, they would have been among the first targets. It was well know how close they had been to Harry during first year. Having discussed it, they decided to share a little of what they had planned with their friends. Harry told them about Horcruxes. He detailed how he had been one, himself, before the goblin healers and Priests had rid him of the soul fragment. He also explained how they tied Voldemort to life, even the unnatural quazi life he had had while possessing Professor Quirrell. Draco joined in with the story of how the goblins had found another Horcrux in the vault of one of the convicted Death Eaters, and destroyed it. This had prompted a search throughout Britain, that spanned six years, for other soul fragments.

They had found and destroyed a total of four Horcruxes, including the one in Harry, before Voldemort had somehow managed to resurrect himself with a body. The goblin Priests suspected that there were at least two more that had to be found. The pair explained to their increasingly wide eyed audience, that since the Horcruxes so far discovered had ties to the founders of Hogwarts, then it stood to reason that the final ones would as well. They planned to search the castle while they were there for at least one, while researching the location of the other. Even though Hermione insisted, they wouldn’t tell her or Neville exactly which item they were looking for. Not yet, at any rate. They considered it their job to find and destroy these anchors Voldemort had, and they refused to put their friends at risk.

Hermione grew more insistent as the light outside the window faded, until Harry finally lost his temper.

“Hermione, give it up,” he said in firm tones. “We’re not going to tell you, and that’s the end on it. We’ve already shared more then we had intended. What part of dangerous are you having trouble understanding?”

“I don’t see how dangerous it could be if you’re going to search in a school, of all places,” the girl continued to insist. “You know you could use my help with the research.”

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, even as his tone remained reasonable. “Don’t make me obliviate you, love. You’re going to make us regret telling you anything if you don’t stop.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she blinked at Draco.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she finally sputtered.

“In a heartbeat,” the blonde assured her. “Knowledge for it’s own sake is dangerous, Hermione. We’re trying to save lives, here. The fewer who know exactly what we’re doing, the more successful we’ll be. We can’t let this drag on any longer than necessary.”

“We know what we’re about, Mione,” Harry said, unrepentant. “If we have to stop and explain every step, we’ll get nowhere. Have some faith. We’ve already found several without actually being in the country. We can do this.”

“But,” Hermione started in a small voice, looking back and forth between her friends, “I just want to help.”

“We know,” Draco assured her. “You can help by providing the buffer we’re going to need, both you and Neville. There will be times when we’re going to be unavailable. With you two acting as alibi’s, we’ll be able to work that much faster.”

Hermione folded her arms with a drawn out sigh, staring out into the growing darkness of the Scottish landscape while she thought. The bonded pair exchanged a look with Neville, who shrugged, unable to predict which way their friend would go.

“Alright,” Hermione finally said, turning back to the pair. “I’ll stop asking questions, if you promise to let me know when you need help. You have to know that I’d do anything to help with this.”

“We know, Mione, and we appreciate it.”

“We promise,” Draco finished for Harry. “We’re not about to let one of our best resources languish if we could possibly use your help.”

“So,” Neville asked into the growing silence, “do you still plan on making a big entrance?”

Both Harry and Draco grinned.

“Of course,” they said as one.

Hermione huffed, reluctantly amused.

The train began to slow, and both Neville and Hermione scrambled to get their robes out of their trunks. They had been distracted by the conversation, and hadn’t realized how close they were to Hogwarts. Harry and Draco looked on with amusement. The seventh year Ravenclaw and Griffindor pulled on their robes over their clothes, and Hermione plucked a protesting Crookshanks from Draco’s lap to put him back in his carrier. Relieved, Draco immediately began casting spells to clean the kneasel’s hair from his trousers. The train stopped and the four sat and waited for the worst of the crush to move down the aisle before the returning students left the compartment.

“Are you sure you won’t come with us now?” Hermione asked while looking out the window.

Both Harry and Draco shook their heads.

“No,” Harry answered. “We have a plan, and we’ll stick to it. Besides, you’ll have great seats for the show.”

Draco raised an amused eyebrow when Hermione looked back at them, and she couldn’t help the small laugh. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was actually looking forward to seeing everyone’s reaction.

“Come on, Mione, time to go,” Neville prompted, standing up.

The two grabbed their trunks and left the compartment while Harry and Draco cancelled most of their spells. They watched through the window as the students got into the thestral drawn carriages, and made sure that everyone was on their way before they even left the compartment. Harry pulled their robes out of his bag, and both drew them on over their clothes after they stepped off the train. Harry adjusted the strap of his bag over top once he was satisfied with the drape of material. As arranged, Dobby waited with two thestrals. Harry could see the creatures ever since his final encounter with Quirrell. Surprisingly enough, Draco was able to see them after he had witnessed the destruction of Harry’s Horcrux. It seemed that witnessing the death of even a soul fragment enabled the youngster to see the animals.

Harry and Draco both mounted, and Dobby returned to the castle to help Holten with their quarters. The pair followed the line of carriages at a distance. They wanted to arrive when everyone was in the Great Hall, and wouldn’t show themselves until after the Sorting. It was actually a nice evening for a ride, and Harry was very glad that it wasn’t raining. They waited in the darkest shadows, just inside the castle gates, while the carriages were emptied. When the last one drew away from the castle entrance, they waited a little longer, until everyone had gone inside and the doors closed. Only then did they ride up to the entrance and dismount. They released the thestrals and waited in silence until Holten popped next to them to tell them that the first years had been escorted into the Great Hall, and to deliver their familiars. Hedwig immediately flew to Harry’s shoulder, greeting him with a soft churring and affectionate nip to his ear. Zal slithered from the elf to Draco’s hand, then wound his way up the blonde’s arm until he could drape himself over his master’s shoulders, hissing the entire way. At three feet long, Zal was still very much a young viper, but he had already learned a good deal of control over his inherent magic thanks to parseltongue. Since Harry knew it, so did Draco. The elf popped away again, and Harry rested a hand on the huge oak door. After a moment, it opened of it’s own accord, and the pair slipped inside.

The emotion was instant and nostalgic, when the door closed behind them. It had been six years since they had crossed that threshold, and the memories were immediate for both of them. They allowed themselves a few moments to let the memories wash over them, and silently discussed how small everything looked now. Even the staircases didn’t seem quite so long and daunting. They could hear the Sorting taking place in the Great Hall, and as one they moved in the direction of the closed doors. There was no need to speak aloud. They had spent hours discussing exactly how this moment would go, at least on their part. They wanted to make a big impression, and planned on providing exactly that.

When there was silence after the last name was called and Sorted into Griffindor, Draco cracked open the doors just enough to watch while Professor Flitwick removed the stool and hat from the front of the Hall, and took his seat at the Head Table. His lips twitching with suppressed amusement, he gave Harry a nod, then wiped all emotion from his face as they dropped their glamours. Each taking a side, they energetically pushed the doors open so they would crash into the stone with a resounding bang. Every head in the Hall turned as one to see the pair framed, side by side, in the doorway. They had caught the moment perfectly, between the Sorting and McGonagall standing to deliver the start of year speech.

After a moment of savoring the shocked silence, the pair walked as one down the central space between the tables, between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed their progress until they reached the space before the dais of the Head Table. As one they stopped, and swept a formal bow to the gobsmacked Professors.

“Your pardon for the interruption, Headmistress,” Harry spoke clearly into the lingering silence of the Hall when the two rose.

“We hoped to make it before the feast began,” Draco continued. “I see we were successful.”

“Having to travel in secret has it’s drawbacks,” Harry concluded with a small smile directed at McGonagall.

The Headmistress visibly gathered herself, then inclined her head to both of them. “Lord Potter, Lord Malfoy. Welcome to Hogwarts. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

“Not a visit, Headmistress,” Harry said, idly looking around them with a languid gaze.

“We intend to attend Hogwarts for our Newt year,” Draco informed the Headmistress.

Gasps and whispers filled the Hall at this announcement.

With a hand over her breast, McGonagall seemed to need another moment to gather herself.

“I see,” she finally said. “Well, in that case, I’m sure that space could be made in the seventh year dormitory in Ravenclaw for the pair of you, by the end of the feast.”

Both Harry and Draco were shaking their heads before she had finished.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” Draco stated with a small smile, “but I’m afraid that won’t do. As a Soul Pair, and Peers, we will require our own quarters.”

“A suite of rooms has already been provided and furnished by Hogwarts,” Harry continued with a matching smile. “There will be no inconvenience to you to provide space for us.”

“Our personal elves are already settling our belongings,” Draco concluded.

“Soul Pair?” McGonagall whispered, starting at the two while the whispers around them grew louder. Even the Professors began to whisper among themselves.

Both Draco and Harry gave the Hall a slow, lazy look, before turning back to the Head Table. McGonagall opened and closed her mouth several times, as though considering and discarding questions, before she seemed to settle on one.

“Quarters, Lord Potter? Of course, as a bonded pair that would be the norm,” she started hesitantly, as though looking for confirmation that the bond had been consummated, even though it really wasn’t any of her business. “I’m afraid that I felt no change in the wards to indicated that such changes were made.”

“I’m not surprised,” Harry answered, giving no indication of his current status with Draco. “Hogwarts has always protected those she considers precious.”

“I’m afraid we fall into that category,” Draco continued, tilting his head slightly. “It’s a little overwhelming, if you must know the truth.”

“Come, Draco,” Harry chuckled to his bond mate, “you know you enjoy your status entirely too much.”

Draco shrugged a shoulder, making Zal hiss and tuck his head under the blonde’s chin. “True, I can’t deny that. Founder’s heirs are so rare, after all.”

This time the Hall broke out in chaos. Questions flew around the room, many shouted at the pair. All were wondering which founders they claimed to be heir to. McGonagall sat abruptly, trying to catch her breath, in no way prepared to stem the tide. Casually drawing his wand, Harry muttered a spell that crackled the air with an echoing crack of thunder. The Hall fell instantly silent.

“That’s better,” he said, letting the wand retreat into his wrist holster. “Now we can hear ourselves think.”

“And our stomachs growl,” Draco said with a slight grimace. “Don’t you think it’s time we ate?”

“Quite,” Harry agreed, and the two turned back to McGonagall expectantly.

After a moment, she rose again, and cleared her throat. “Please take your places amid the seventh year Ravenclaws, my Lords. The feast will begin shortly.”

As one, both Harry and Draco inclined their heads, then turned to walk down the line of tables until they could take seats that had opened up across from a grinning Hermione. Chargers, cups and cutlery appeared before them immediately. Loud whispers had started up again before McGonagall could collect herself enough to give the start of year speech, warning about the Forbidden Forest and banned items and such forth, then start the feast. The Hall remained somewhat subdued as everyone spoke quiet speculations among themselves after the food had appeared. Harry and Draco estimated that they had given the gossip mill enough fodder to last the entire year. They had intended to shock and impress, and if the questions from their year mates was any indication, they had succeeded. The first had come from LIsa Turpin.

“Do you two really have a soul bond?” she asked, wide eyed.

Both Harry and Draco nodded, amused at the expected question.

“Wow,” Mandy spoke up. “Now I’m hoping that I’m a fly animagus.”

“What?” Lisa turned to her with a frown of confussion. “Why?”

“Are you kidding?” the girl answered with a huff. “They’re insanely hot. Just imagine them in bed. Together.”

LIsa’s eyes widened and she quickly looked back to Harry and Draco. The pair were returning her look with a knowing frankness that had her eyes gleaming with speculation in seconds.  With a dreamy smile, she propped her chin in her cupped palm.

“Maybe they’ll just let us watch, anyway?” she hoped aloud.

The others around them laughed, including Harry and Draco, while Hermione blushed and tried not to be amused. She had actually caught them nearly naked and quite involved once, while visiting them the past summer. It was an image that stuck fast in her mind and refused to be shaken loose. When they realized that she stood gaping in their doorway, the pair had not only refused to be embarrassed, they had actually grinned and turned back to each other. To say she hastily retreated was an understatement.

That exchange had actually gone a long way to break the ice, and the seventh years were soon chatting and talking as though they didn’t have six years to catch up on. Harry and Draco neatly evaded probing questions about exactly where they were or what they had been doing, but they did share unspecific yet highly humorous stories about things they had learned or seen. Before the feast ended, Professor Flitwick made his way down the table to personally welcome them both back to Hogwarts, and to let them know that he would have their schedules ready in the morning along with everyone else’s. At the end of the feast, Hermione, Mandy and Michael got up to escort the first years to the common room. Hermione had made Head Girl, and couldn’t be prouder. Harry and Draco were both proud for her, and had sent their congratulations through the twins when they found out. Hermione did take her duties seriously, even though she had sent notes with Mandy in lieu of attending the Prefects meeting on the train.

The pair followed along with the rest of their House, up to the Aerie. Both were eager for a look at the space they had spent so much time in. Even with all that had happened to them their first year, they still had fantastic memories of Hogwarts. They had often questioned themselves, staying away for so long, but both knew it was for the best given the political climate in Great Britain. It was a huge risk being here for this year. News of their return was certain to draw out Voldemort, so they would have to move quickly to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes.

The common room had changed hardly at all, and Harry and Draco enjoyed the unique perspective of watching Flitwick instruct the first years from their new vantage point. It brought their own indoctrination to Hogwarts clearly to mind. Once the first years had been escorted up to their dorms, the pair sat by the fireplace. They reclaimed their favorite seats, and fielded questions from their House mates and Head of House. They again neatly avoided any truly probing questions, while entertaining everyone with their stories. By the time Flitwick called curfew for the upper years, the pair felt accepted into their House once again, and left the Aerie to make their way to their own quarters.

Dobby appeared in the hallway outside of the Ravenclaw entrance the moment they stepped out, and lead the way down the corridor to a portrait of the Grey Lady. Without having to say a word, she smiled at them, and opened to admit them to their own, personal common room. When the portrait closed, the pair allowed themselves to relax, each emitting a soft sigh of relief.

“I think that went well,” Draco finally observed after sprawling on one end of a very comfortable couch in front of the fire.

“Much better than I expected, to be honest,” Harry agreed, joining him.

The two were silent for several minutes, just staring into the dancing flames.

“I think,” Harry started slowly, his green eyes mesmerized by the fire, “that you owe me a fuck.”

Hightly amused grey eyes, rapidly turning to liquid silver, turned to him. Draco quirked a small smile. “You do, do you?”

Slowly, Harry nodded, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “I seem to remember a very leading kiss on a train.”

“Oh?” Draco returned, still not moving. “I seem to remember wanting to fuck my way to Hogwarts.”

Harry hummed his agreement.

“I also remember that it didn’t happen,” Draco observed, a slow smile starting when Harry’s gaze turned to him.

“That’s true,” Harry couldn’t help agreeing, then stood, offering the other teen a hand. “but I think I can fix that on the train ride back to London.”

Draco took the offered hand, and let Harry lever him off the couch and into his arms. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, pulling the blonde snug against his body.

Draco moaned softly when he felt Harry’s erection, hard and hot against this thigh.

“Promise?” he whispered against Harry’s lips.

“Plan to board the train naked,” Harry replied just before he took Draco’s lips in a hard, demanding kiss.

…

 

“Nnnggh…. Merlin.. do that again,” Draco panted, arching into the next, slow thrust that filled him.

“Like this?” Chuckled Harry, sliding his hand down to the small of Draco’s back, to both lift and pull the blonde into his next, lazy push.

Draco groaned harshly, his eyes rolling up as his neck arched. It was perfect. Brilliantly perfect, the way Harry’s cock slid hot and hard against his prostate. ‘Yes.. yes.. like that… MERLIN.”

“I do wish,” Harry panted slightly, increasing his pace a little as his balls tightened, “that you could remember who you’re in bed with.”

“Wanker,” the blonde nearly choked on the combined laugh and groan. He clutched the bottom sheet in both hands, using the calf resting on Harry’s shoulder for leverage as he tried to get more of his bond mate’s thick cock.

With a low groan, Harry suddenly clutched Draco’s hip and drove his cock as deep into the blonde as he could. Again and again, he made sure he was sliding hard against his mate’s prostate as he took his pleasure from that tightly grasping, hot hole. Before Harry expected it, Draco stiffened on a strangled cry, his nearly purple cock jerking against his lower abdomen as he came in pulsing jets over his own, heaving belly. Harry let go then, driving deep once, then twice more before he buried himself to the root and came with an arched shudder.

Breathing hard, Harry hung his head, braced on shaking arms, while he caught his breath. After a few moments, he eased himself out of Draco’s asshole, then lowered his mate’s leg to the bed, before he eased himself down to cover the blonde. The two shared several lingering, lazy kisses, before Harry rolled to the side and let himself finally relax utterly. The silence between them was a comforting and sated one as they enjoyed the contented hum of their bond. Harry never got enough of seeing Draco like this. Boneless with pleasure, sprawled on their bed shamelessly, fingers lightly trailing through the cooling spend on his skin, his usually perfect hair mussed over the pillow.

“Come on,” Harry finally forced himself to stir, then stretch before he climbed out of bed, “we have just enough time for a shower before breakfast.”

“You should have thought of that before you tried to kill me,” Draco’s mental voice was heavy with satiation and self satisfaction, making Harry chuckle as he padded nude into their bathroom.

“If you hurry,” he called out as he turned on the water, “I’ll wash your hair.”

Draco’s eyes opened with interest, fingers still lazily trailing random patterns around his belly button. He did very much enjoy having his mate wash his hair for him.

“While you suck my cock,” came Harry’s next offer.

Draco groaned while he stared at the underside of the canopy, listening to Harry in the shower. His cock gave a half hearted twitch while his fingers stilled. “I don’t think I could come again.”

“Who said anything about letting you come?” Harry’s reply was rich with his amusement, and underscored by steely determination.

Draco sucked in a breath and licked his lips. His already mercury eyes widened a little, and he climbed out of bed to make his way into the bathroom. Harry only grinned when he was joined in the shower. Draco took over the water stream long enough to wet his hair, then sank to his knees.

…

It was like old times, and yet not. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Neville sat opposite each other at the end of the Ravenclaw table, enjoying breakfast. Both Harry and Draco were mellow with contentment while they ate their breakfast, and ignored the little smirks that the other two were giving them. It was old hat, really. They had been at the receiving end of identical smirks over breakfast for years now, even though they hadn’t fully consummated their bond until Harry’s seventeenth birthday the summer before. About the only thing they hadn’t done with each other, up until then, was anal penetration.

The Great Hall was full by the time the mail owls arrived. When a small owl stopped by Draco with a copy of the morning paper, he paid the knut and unrolled the Daily Prophet. Harry watched with lazy good humor. His breakfast finished, he was lingering over a final cup of excellent coffee.

“Well, so much for a special afternoon edition,” Draco sighed and turned the paper so that Harry could read the headline.

Lord Potter and Lord Malfoy Return to Hogwarts!

“That didn’t take long,” Harry commented, then frowned at the picture of the two of them framed in the doorway of the Great Hall. “I don’t remember a camera flash, do you?”

“No,” Draco agreed with a frown of his own. He looked up at the doors, holding up the paper to compare. “The angle is wrong.”

They both got up and walked toward the double doors. Hermione and Neville turned around on the bench to watch them. Facing the doors, Draco frowned from the picture to them, then glanced over his shoulder.

“The Griffindor table,” he warned his bond mate.

Harry turned around just in time to catch a blonde boy lowering a camera with a bit of a perplexed expression. As one, the pair walked toward him. The Griffindor boy perked up, sitting tall in his seat, and an expectant smile appearing on his face.

“Excuse me,” Harry began, “what is your name, please?”

“I’m Collin,” the Griffindor said with a bright and perky smile, nearly vibrating in his chair with excitement. “Collin Creevy.”

“Mr. Creevy, have we ever met?” Draco asked as he allowed a little of his confusion to show.

The sixth year boy shook his head, the smile firmly fixed. “No Mr. Malfoy.”

“Lord Malfoy,” Draco immediately corrected him.

“L….Lord Malfoy, of course,” Collin stammered, “no, we’ve never met.”

“Have we wronged you in some way, Mr. Creevy?” Harry asked next.

The smile faded as shock stole over Collin’s face. “No Mr.. um.. I mean Lord Potter. No. Never. Of course not.”

Draco held out the newspaper, folded to show the photograph of the pair of them. “Did you take this picture, Mr. Creevy?”

The grin was back, even brighter. “Yes, I did. I had to view a pensieve memory and take the picture there. I’ve never done that before. Headmistress McGonagall let me use hers.”

Harry tilted his head, studying the Griffindor for a moment before he spoke. “Did you hear everything we said last night, Mr. Creevy?”

“Every word, Lord Potter,” Collin assured with a smiling nod. “I even made sure to quote you both.”

“Would you mind rolling up your sleeves for us?” Draco asked next, frowning slightly.

“M.. My sleeves?” Collin blinked up at them, his smile again lost in his shock.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Harry affirmed.

“What’s all this about?” an Irish lilt asked from a little farther up the table. The boy was sitting across from Ron Weasley, who was only watching the proceedings with a neutral expression.

“We’ll explain in a moment, Mr… .. Finnigan, isn’t it?” Harry stated with a slight tilt to his head.

Frowning, the other teen merely nodded and watched as Harry turned his attention back to Collin, who was gamely turning up his sleeves.

“No mark,” Draco observed after he cast revealing spells on the boy’s exposed forearms.

There were gasps from the Griffindors around them.

“You can’t really think he’s a Death Eater, do you?” Ginny Weasley asked. Creevy started to look a little panicked.

Harry sighed. “Well, it would explain why he would have taken our picture and announced our presence here to the entire wizarding world after we specifically said that we had traveled here in secret last night.”

“For our safety,” Draco clarified, glancing at the faces turned to them. “Because there’s a Dark Wizard who would very much like to get a hold of us. Remember him?”

“We had expected the news to get out,” Harry observed, looking again to Collin who was now nearly white with shock and shaking, “but we had hoped for a few days grace.”

“I.. I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Collin stammered his apology, even as he started to look a little green. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Harry regarded the earnest yet shaking younger boy for a moment. “Do you have any other pictures of us, Mr. Creevy?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Collin merely nodded, his eyes wide.

“We’d appreciate it greatly if you would be so kind as to bring us those photos when they’re ready,” Draco said, sounding entirely too reasonable, “along with their negatives.”

“In addition to not sending them to anyone else,” Harry continued, “we’d be grateful if you would refrain from taking any more without our express permission, Mr. Creevy.”

Collin was nodding so hard, he was in danger of giving himself severe neck strain. “As soon as they’re ready. No more pictures. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, Mr. Creevy,” Draco said with a small smile on his lips.

“Enjoy your day,” Harry said with the exact same smile.

As one, the pair turned and headed back to the Ravenclaw table, where Professor Flitwick was handing out the student schedules. Behind them, Collin Creevy seemed to deflate as he watched them walk away. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he had the strongest feeling that he had escaped some kind of lethal trap. He believed he would shake the entire day.

Neither Harry nor Draco were overly dismayed at the news in the paper. They had expected it, really. Hogwarts was a hotbed for gossip, and they had no realistic expectation of getting a couple days away from the lime light. They also expected a visit from Minister Fudge at any time during their first week. This was why it was so important that they find the Horcrux that might be hidden at the school, if one existed, as quickly as possible. Seeing at least that step done would bring them that much closer to finishing their mission.

They didn’t really need to be at the school. They could easily sit their Newts and pass any time they wished. Being in the castle merely gave them the opportunity to search and then research the container and location of the final Horcrux. The goblins speculated, and Healer agreed, that Voledmort, aka Tom Riddle, would have wanted to create seven of the soul containers. Seven was one of the numbers heavily imbued with it’s own magical power. A power that it was felt that Voldemort would want to exploit in order to solidly anchor himself to life, and thus, achieve immortality. However, they had no way of knowing if all seven had been created or not. The goblin Priests had created a soul orb that would help determine if they found all of the fragments or not.  They had used the fragment extracted from Harry when he was eleven, using it to key the orb to Riddle’s unique magical and aural signatures. After the destruction of one of the Horcruxes, the orb would glow either red or green. If red, then another fragment remained. When it glowed green, then they were all gone, and only Voldemort himself remained.

They had no idea when that would happen, but after six years, they were looking for the entire ordeal to be over. They had spent their childhood preparing for a single battle, and while they hadn’t suffered unduly, they wanted to get on with their lives. For the time being, however, they had school. Hermione was a little surprised over the boy’s schedule, when they all compared notes.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Mione,” Draco stated, folding his schedule to hand to Harry, who put it in his bag. “You knew we intended to take the maximum number of Newts.”

“Yes, but I thought you would have to take all the classes,” the girl frowned at her own schedule, thinking it very heavy now. “I had thought you would write some at the Ministry at the end of the year, but you’re going to have to write loads of them now.”

Harry smirked. “We’ve already written, and passed, five Newts in France.”

“In what subjects?” Hermione glared at the pair.

“Ward and Ward Building,” Draco provided the list, “Advanced Ward Breaking, and Elemental Magic.”

“Since Ancient Runes and Arithmacy had connections to Warding, we took those as well.” Harry supplied the remaining two subjects.

“And that’s why you’re only taking five subjects here?” she pressed.

The bonded pair both shrugged a shoulder and nodded. Hermione plucked Harry’s schedule right out of his hand, in order to have another look at it.

“Herbology, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, DADA,” she gave Harry a skeptical look. “Just when do you plan on taking the rest?”

Draco smirked. “We’ll be writing Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies during the first break.”

“Then Astronomy and History of Magic during Yule break,” Harry finished. “We’re confident we’ll do well.”

“Fourteen,” Neville gasped. “You’ll have fourteen Newts?”

“Sixteen,” Harry corrected him. “We’ll have two to write next summer.”

Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff, passing Harry’s schedule back to him. “Which two could that possibly leave?”

“Magical Theory and Enchanting Artifacts,” Draco said as they all got up to go to their first classes of the day. He laughed at Hermione’s glare. “Don’t give me that. You’re the one who said you’d wait until after seventh year to study them.”

“Only because I’d have to study out of the country,” the girl complained without much heat. She was actually jealous of her friends, but she was proud of them too. Sixteen Newts was a massive achievement.

Harry and Draco deliberately kept their schedule light, in order to maximize their time in their other task. They had worked extremely hard to prepare for all of their exams. They didn’t anticipate that the courses Hogwarts offered would present them with any problems, with the possible exception of Potions. It was possible that Snape would increase the difficulty level just to make certain they were challenged, in spite of knowing their real reason for being in the castle.

In order to settle themselves back into the routine of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco confined themselves to homework assignments and research during the first week. All of their free periods were spent in the library, trying to track down what or where the final item of their search could be. They didn’t really have much to go on. About all they did know, was that it was created around the time that Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, would have graduated Hogwarts. They had already found and destroyed one item that the madman had created while he was still in school. Ironically enough, it was found in Malfoy manor. Narcissa had taken it upon herself to clean out all of the dark artifacts that Lucius had collected over the years, and have them examined, appraised or destroyed by the goblins. One such item turned out to be a journal that Riddle had turned into a Horcrux. It was how they had learned Voldemort’s true name, as well. Along with that name came quite a bit of background information on the man, his family and their history. By right of blood, it turned out that Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. He was able to trace his family line back through his mother, the Gaunts. They had learned quite a bit about the man, all things considered. None of that, however, was pointing them toward their goal. Draco felt certain, however, that there was some sort of connection between old Voldie’s past and the creation of that particular Horcrux. They would just need to keep digging.

The unspoken prediction that Minister Fudge would show up at Hogwarts came true that Thursday after dinner. Harry and Draco had been spending the evening in the Aerie, when they were summoned to the Headmistress’s office. Truthfully, it was Harry who was summoned, but he rarely if never went anywhere without Draco. This time was not going to prove to be the exception, either.

When they reached the correct staircase, the gargoyle who guarded the entrance leapt aside the moment they appeared in the corridor. The phoenix staircase was already revolving, so the pair stepped on and rode it up until they were forced to climb the remaining few stairs to the already opened door. Harry held Draco back a moment, the voices in the office carrying clearly into the stairwell.

“I don’t care what you think, Headmistress. It’s time that boy did his duty to his country,” the male voice was advancing and retreating, as though the speaker were pacing.

“Since you have no interest in advice, Minster,” McGonagall’s cool voice could be clearly heard, “perhaps I could interest you in a warning?”

“Warning? What warning?” there was a nervous tremble to the man’s voice that made Draco smirk.

“If you push him again,” McGonagall was saying in hard tones, “then Harry Potter will leave Britain. Likely for good this time.”

“Nonsense. Britain is his country. He has roots here.” the Minister insisted stubbornly.

“He has nothing here!” McGonagall all but shouted. “Thanks to He Who Must Not Be Named and you, I have to wonder if he’ll ever feel at home here.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow, and exchanged a look with Draco. McGonagall seemed determined to protect them. Or at least run interference on their behalf. It was a surprising turn of events. They had assumed that she would be firmly in Dumbledore’s camp. That didn’t seem to be the case.

“But.. but the Potters have always lived in Britain,” Fudge sputtered.

Draco snorted and Harry bit back a laugh, shaking his head. “This idiot needs to be rescued.”

“But he’s just getting entertaining,” Draco complained with a slight pout.

“I doubt he’ll ever be finished with being stupid,” Harry observed with amusement as he lead the way into the office. “I think I can guarantee that you’ll be entertained, love.”

Their entrance to the office gave the Headmistress a chance to collect herself. She had looked like she was carefully choosing the type of slap down that would make Harry proud. He was almost sorry to have interrupted her.

“Lord Potter,” McGonagall said as she rose from her chair behind the desk that Fudge had been pacing in front of. “Lord Malfoy. Thank you for coming so promptly. May I present the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.”

The pair stopped just behind the chairs that had been grouped in front of the desk, while the Minister made straight for Harry, holding out his hands and smiling his politician’s best smile.

“Lord Potter,” Fudge gushed like a fan girl and snatched up Harry’s hand to pump enthusiastically, “such a pleasure to meet you at last, face to face as it were. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Harry extracted his hand from the Minister’s sweaty grip as soon as it was feasible to do so, and not so subtly wiped it against his school robe. He adopted a fake smile of his own as he gave a nod toward Draco on his right.

“My Bonded, Lord Draco Malfoy,” he introduced simply, making a point of not excluding his mate from the proceedings.

Almost reluctantly, Fudge’s eyes shifted from the prominently displayed and faded scar on Harry’s forehead, to Draco. He offered up another of his patented smiles as he nodded. “Lord Malfoy. So it’s true then? You have a soul bond?”

“We’re bonded in every way, Minister,” Draco confirmed with a voice smooth as silk.

Harry had learned that when Draco used that particular tone, there was sure to be some scathing comment to follow. It was always delivered with regal aplomb, never failed to be amusing, and was devastating in effect. The brunette was looking forward to the results.

Fudge looked more than a little disgruntled. “Well, well I see. That is… well, of course you’ll want to confirm that with the Book of Souls. I’ll see to it personally and escort you into the Department of Secrets myself.”

Draco tilted his head, regarding the Minister with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

Fudge sputtered, looking back and forth between Harry and Draco as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “Well, you’ll want it confirmed of course.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “It’s been a daily fact of life for over six years, Minister. I don’t see a reason to confirm something we’ve known as fact for nearly half our lives.”

“But.. but the people…” Fudge began, only to have Harry smoothly cut him off.

“The people have no business in our bedroom, Minster.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “The tea I ordered has arrived. Perhaps we could all take a seat, and the Minister could get to the topic he traveled all the way here to see you about.”

Both Harry and Draco neatly side stepped the Minister, and took the two chairs that were apparently placed purposefully together. They were angled to partially face the third chair, which Fudge reluctantly sat himself in. Placing his green bowler hat on the desk, he briskly prepared his tea and waited while Draco much more languidly prepared a cup for first Harry, then himself. McGonagall’s eyebrows twitched as she watched the Minister fidget, which only seemed to make Draco move more slowly, though gracefully, through the motions. Only when he was satisfied and sitting comfortably in his chair, did the blonde give the Minister an expectant look. Harry knew it was the signal the man needed to begin his spiel, but apparently he was too thick to notice it. Draco managed two sips of tea before Fudge cleared his throat.

“Lord Potter,” Fudge began confidently, “I’ve come to offer you a place in the Auror Academy the day of your graduation. I believe that with an accelerated course, you could be ready to join the ranks of the Aurors within three months. I imagine you’ll need to do a few token months among the ranks, but it would be no problem to promote you within the department fairly quickly.”

“That’s an interesting offer,” Harry began slowly, regarding the Minister with a neutral expression. “It might have been better to address the graduating class as a whole, however. It would have saved you time, Minister.”

Fudge frowned in confusion. “The graduating class? I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, informing us individually this way gives a nice, personal touch, but I’m sure you’re a busy man. You should have waited until tomorrow and informed the entire class together. At least, that’s the way I might have done it.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, Lord Potter,” Fudge said, shaking his head. “I’m extending this invitation to only you.”

“Only me?” Harry raised both eyebrows. “Not Draco, or the rest of our year?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Fudge set down his cup with a rather abrupt clink into it’s saucer, “because you’re needed as an Auror. It’s your duty to see to this Dark Lord and put a stop to all that nonsense. We’ll see you trained up as quickly as we can do so, and then you’ll see to it.”

“My duty,” Harry repeated softly, gently returning his own cup to it’s saucer, and passing them to Draco. He loosely folded his hands to regard the Minister over his fingers. “My duty. It’s my duty to see an end to Voldemort. It’s my duty to put an end to his rein of terror. Is that what you’re telling me, Minister?”

Fudge had flinched sharply at the casual way Harry used Voldemort’s name, but gamely answered him. “I’ve been told all about the prophecy in the Department of Secrets. I know that you’re the one who’ll see an end to all this rubbish. It’s time you did something about He Who Must Not Be Named, and the sooner you can do it, the better. The people are expecting it of you.”

Harry crossed his legs, and shared a long look with Draco. “Dumbledore has been telling stories.”

“The old coot is next on my list,” Draco replied, his outward expression as neutral as Harry’s. “Why are you indulging this prat?”

“We might learn something,” Harry turned back to Fudge, his conversation with Draco concluded in mere heartbeats. “Tell me, Minister. What else have you done to prepare the country for what’s coming?”

“Prepare? What’s coming?” Fudge looked back and forth between the two teens. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve had six years to fill the Auror ranks and the DMLE. Six years to teach the people how to protect themselves in case of attack,” Harry stated baldly, holding Fudge’s gaze with a determined stare. “Six years to prepare Britain for Voldemort’s return. Six years to keep the Ministry free of the influence of his sympathizers. Exactly what measures have you put in place to prepare Britain?”

Fudge frowned, and his cup and saucer rattled a little when his hand shook. “None. He Who Must Not Be Named was dead. Everyone believed it. How were we to know he’d come back?”

“Dumbledore told you six years ago that he’d come back,” Harry said. “You ignored him. In fact, you ignored him, and all the evidence of Voldemort’s activities, until eight months ago, didn’t you Minister?”

Fudge nearly squirmed in his chair after another violent flinch at Voldemort’s name, and shot a look to McGonagall. She sipped her tea, and merely watched in relaxed silence. If Fudge wanted help from her, he was going to be gravely disappointed.

“Instead of using these six years to prepare the Ministry, and Britain,” Harry continued smoothly, “you’ve been accepting bribes, padding the incomes of your friends, trading business and sexual favors for perks and positions, and generally living the life of a corrupt politician to the hilt. Now that the worst has happened and can no longer be denied, you need to act. You must appear to be doing something in order to appease the people and retain your privileged position, and so you’ve come here. To me.”

“What an amusing shade of purple,” Draco observed while eying the Minister. “Well done, love.”

“Thank you, my heart,” Harry replied, never taking his eyes off of Fudge, “I did it for you, you know. I knew you’d be amused.”

“Now see here, boy,” Fudge finally exploded, “I won’t be spoken to that way. How dare you accuse me of such things. I aught to have you arrested on the spot and tossed into Askaban. I won’t sit here and be insulted by the likes of you.”

“By all means, Minister, stand if you must,” Harry replied just as evenly as he spoke before the outburst. “But we all know the truth. You’ve allowed Voldemort to quietly take over the Ministry, and all he needed were a few galleons and a couple of prostitutes. You’ve sold Britain to a Dark Wizard, and now you expect one man to fix all of your problems for you. Tell me, Minster. Exactly why would I want to work for you or the corrupt body you currently stand for?”

Fudge’s expression darkened in fury, and he dropped his cup and saucer in favor of drawing his wand. He made a move to stand, but found himself with another wand squarely touching the tip of his nose.

“Move, and we’ll see just how filthy you are on the inside, Minister,” Draco softly intoned with lethal promise.

Even McGonagall, from her vantage point on the other side of her desk, hadn’t seen the blonde move. Harry still sat as he had been, seeming unconcerned by the stand off in front of him as he continued to stare at Fudge. With exaggerated care, a pale Minister slowly re-sheathed his wand. The tip of Draco’s wand never moved or wavered. Fudge swallowed hard.

Harry finally spoke after the silence in the office seemed to stretch a little too long. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Minister. As soon as my mate allows you to move, you will floo back to London, then pretend that we are still out of the country, and out of your reach. Trust me, Minister, I am very much out of your reach, no matter where I happen to be. So long as you behave, the Daily Prophet will never learn the details, and I have many details, of how you have conducted yourself over the past six years. Do we understand each other?”

Fudge swallowed hard again, unable to do much more than try and focus on the wand so firmly planted on the tip of his nose. “Yes, Lord Potter.”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Minister,” steel entered Harry’s voice, and Fudge was forced to focus on him in shock. “I will never work for you. Ever. If you try and come after me or those I care about, in any way; in word, print or act, I will make you pay for it. You will pay for it for years, Minister, and you will suffer every second of those years. Am I in any way unclear?”

“N… no Lord Potter,” Fudge gulped breathlessly. The front of his trousers darkened with moisture and an acrid scent filled the air.

Draco sat back, his wand disappearing so smoothly that even McGonagall couldn’t tell where he kept it. The instant he could move, Fudge stood and snatched his bowler from the desk, then hurried to the fireplace. He messily tossed in some floo powder and was whisked away in green flames.

Harry accepted his refilled cup from Draco, and turned a mild look to the snort McGonagall couldn’t hold in an instant longer.

“I’m going to have to have that chair replaced,” she said with contained laughter.

“Good show,” Draco said immediately, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “House elves should not be subjected to trying to clean that.”

“If you don’t mind, Headmistress,” Harry said, taking another sip of the tea to savor before he continued, “I’ll send Dobby to you to find out where you got this particular blend of tea. It’s quite good.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Lord Potter,” McGonagall replied. “Would it be inconvenient to ask which Founder Lines the pair of you claim? I’ve been dying to know.”

Harry looked up at the portraits of all the silently watching former Headmasters and Headmistress’s of Hogwarts, all of whom looked amused and proud, before he finally settled his gaze on the Sorting Hat. From his shelf, the Hat spoke up.

“All four Founders, Headmistress. We live in exciting times.”

McGonagall turned in her chair to stare up at the Hat, gobsmacked. Harry and Draco chose that moment to rise from their chairs, placing their used cups with their saucers on the desk.

“Good night, Headmistress,” Harry said, amused.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Draco finished with a smile.

Neither minded leaving the office without a reply. The pair made their way to their own rooms, the hour late enough to preclude their return to the Aerie. The instant the portrait closed, Draco grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him into their bedroom.

“Strip,” he ordered succinctly, even as he was tossing his own clothes on the floor.

Amused, Harry was no less quick to get out of his clothes, and soon found himself rolled onto the bed. Draco kissed him with fevered intensity, rubbing his naked skin over as much of his mate as he could manage.

“Merlin, I need you to fuck me right now,” the blonde gusted breathlessly the instant he could speak. “I can’t believe how hot that was, watching you take charge of that imbecile.”

Harry’s hands roamed freely over Draco’s hot skin, never tired of feeling the play of steely muscle sheathed in silk. He enjoyed the weight of Draco pushing him into the soft mattress. He trailed open mouthed kisses and sucking bites to Draco’s neck and shoulders, moaning when his mate’s cock rubbed against his. Harry gripped Draco’s ass, kneading the firm flesh even as he pulled the blonde into more determined frottage, the burn of dry friction on their hard cocks just as exciting as the taste of his mate.

“You liked watching me tear him down?” Harry whispered against Draco’s throat. “You liked the way I talked to him?”

“Yes,” the blonde moaned, undulating and flexing in Harry’s grip. “I’ve been hard since ‘Tell me, Minister’.”

“Prepare yourself, Draco,” Harry’s tone again took on that steely note, before he bit down on the top of Draco’s shoulder hard enough to make the blonde shudder, without breaking the skin.

Wandlessly, Draco muttered the spells that would loosen his anus, then the lubrication spell that filled his palm with the slick substance. He used two fingers to make sure his hole was well lubricated and relaxed, his eyes closed as he worked himself open.

“I love watching you finger fuck yourself,” Harry hummed, running his palms over Draco’s nipples when the blonde propped his upper body up on one hand. He pinched the hard nubs gently, then more firmly. He plucked at them, making Draco gasp and flinch before pressing his chest into the next grip. “Slick me.”

Immediately, Draco’s hand left his ass, and he gripped Harry’s cock firmly, stroking the lubricant over his skin with a firm grip. The brunette pushed small thrusts into the tight tunnel, before he slid his hands down to grip Draco by the hips.

“Come on, then,” he grunted, pulling his mate into position over his cock. “Ride me, if you want a good fuck.”

“Yes, yes, in me…” Draco whispered, rising enough to guide Harry to his prepared hole, then sinking down on the thick shaft with a moan.

Unable to keep still, he rose then dropped again, taking Harry in with determined movements. With a groan, Draco sat back a bit, bracing his hands on Harry’s knees to really work himself on the hard cock stretching his asshole. The angle was perfect, making the head of Harry’s cock firmly slide over his prostate again and again. His own cock leaked precome over Harry’s lower belly, and jut straight up in his excitement. Now that he had the angle right, Draco’s movements became firm and decisive, riding Harry with single minded purpose. His buttocks met the tops of Harry’s thighs with little slaps, and every time his prostate was tagged, Draco groaned breathless pleasure.

Harry loved how unrestrained and vocal Draco was, every time they made love. Hearing his mate’s pleasure increased his own, and before long he tightly gripped Draco’s hips as he began to thrust up into the tight heat that enveloped his straining cock. Draco cried out at the increased pressure against his prostate, and writhed as he was guided into another and another. He rode Harry’s thick impalement with abandon, taking as much as giving pleasure without reserve. Through their bond, Harry knew the instant Draco lost control of his reactions, and orgasm was imminent. He increased his pace, pounding relentlessly into his mate to tip him over the edge. Draco tossed his head back, stiffened on a long cry, and his cock leaped to slap obscenely against his own belly before erupting in a long jet of come. It pulsed three more times, splattering Harry’s heaving belly with warm spend before the brunette abruptly flipped them over. Harry drove into Draco’s tightened anus with determined strokes before he plunged in as deep as he could go and came hard.

They lay like that for a long time, gently kissing and basking in the warm hum of their sated bond. Every time they came together like this was like the first time, and Harry could never see a day when he would tire of it. No matter if they called it making love or fucking, they craved each other in a visceral way that neither could, or would, deny. How they managed to wait until Harry’s seventeenth birthday was a mystery he’d never be able to solve, but he couldn’t deny how fun it was preparing for the day.

Eventually Harry pulled free of Draco’s body, his soft cock oversensitive to even that stimulation. Draco hummed contentedly and curled into his mate, while Harry cleaned them both with a couple of wandless spells.

“I love you, my dragon,” Harry whispered against blonde hair, holding Draco tight.

“I love you, my serpent,” Draco whispered back, curling tighter against him.

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and mingled breaths.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Surely you must see the need, Minister. It’s imperative that he be brought into our influence as soon as possible.”

“No. Get someone else.” Fudge sat back in his chair and shook his head while looking out the window. He wanted to get as far away from the guest in his office as possible. “I won’t be going back up there.”

Dumbledore sighed and sat back as well, and gave the Minister a very disappointed look which the other man did his best to ignore. “Were you at least able to find out what kind of training he’s had, Minister?”

Fudge got up out of his chair and paced to the illusionary window. “I think it’s time you left, Mr. Dumbledore. I let you talk me into going up there, but he refused my offer. That’s all I learned, and all I want to learn.”

“But he must be prepared…”

“I don’t even know why I let you in my office,” Fudge interrupted as though Dumbledore hadn’t spoken. “You should have been in Azkaban a long time ago. Bleeding hearts on the Wizengamot decided you were too old to spend time in prison. Community service, they said. I don’t know why I let you talk me into going to Hogwarts. You need to leave my office now, Mr. Dumbledore. I’m afraid I’m no longer in a position to do any more favors for you.”

“Minister, surely…”

“Good day to you, Mr. Dumbledore,” Fudge said, never once turning from the illusion of a London city park his window displayed.

With a drawn out sigh, Albus Dumbledore got up from the chair on the other side of the Minister’s desk. Fudge listened to the rustle of cloth as the elderly man moved, then the soft click of his door closing. He let his shoulders slump and hung his head with a relieved breath. Denying the man was always difficult for some reason, but he was immensely relieved that was over. He never wanted to see Harry Potter again, and would do his utmost best to ensure he would never have to.

“That was very well handled, Minister.”

Fudge whirled around, his heart jack-hammering in his throat and eyes wide. A figure, robed and hooded in black, stood partially shrouded in the far corner of his office.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded, then cleared his throat because his voice had been just a little to high and squeaky for his liking.

“I’ve been here the entire time, Minister,” the unidentified man said. His voice was always a little muffled, and the accent impossible to place. It could have been European or even American, for all Fudge knew. “I’ve brought you a donation.”

In an attempt at bravado, Fudge lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Thank you, but the Ministry no longer requires donations. I’m going to have to refuse.”

Fudge couldn’t see the man’s face, he had never been able to, but he got the distinct impression that his guest was smiling.

“It’s far too late for that, Minister,” the man said, holding out a gloved hand that held a large, bulging Gringott’s sack. “We both know that it’s far too late. Lord Sommersby will be absent from the Wizengamot this week. It would be the most opportune time to introduce the Patriot’s Act. Do let the Chief Mugwump know.”

“The P.. P.. Patriot’s Act?” Fudge stammered as he felt his knees weaken a little. He fumbled his way toward the edge of his deck, which he gripped with white knuckles. “Isn’t it too early for that?”

“On the contrary,” the man said, flicking his fingers toward his side of the desk. The sack disappeared from his hand, and reappeared with a jingling thump on the desk. “It’s the perfect time.”

Fudge licked his lips and swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the sack. “What if I refuse?”

“You already know the price of refusal, Minister,” the stranger said, fading even as Fudge watched. “Do not disappoint us.”

Cornelius Fudge didn’t move for a solid five minutes after the man had disappeared from sight, before he felt safe enough to move. With furtive motions, he worked his way around the back of his desk toward the sack, and opened the top drawer. Using his wand, he nudged the sack until it dropped into the drawer, then he hastily closed it. Sweat ran down his forehead, and he used the sleeve of his robe to wipe it away. After another moment of making sure his heart wasn’t really trying to claw it’s way out of his chest, he cast locking charms on the drawer, then retrieved his bowler. Certainly it was late enough in the afternoon that his departure wouldn’t seem too unseemly.

After another, furtive glance around his office, Fudge fled.

….

The room went silent after the last member sat at the large dining table. There were only twelve of them, but Dumbledore felt it was enough to do the work they had ahead of them, if they planned things right. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to do much planning when he couldn’t determine what his key player was likely to do.

“Miss Marchbanks,” he began the meeting without preamble, “what can you tell us about Heathfield?”

The woman shook her head, looking at her hands folded tightly together on the table top. “It’s gone. Thirteen residents were killed, and another eight are in St. Mungos. Thirteen women and children are missing. The village has been burned to the ground. Not a house stands.”

Everyone began murmuring amoung themselves, while Dumbledore paled. “Thirteen, you said?”

The woman could only nod her confirmation. She well knew the significance of that number.

The month before, seven had gone missing in a similar raid on a small wizard village. All young women and children. Their bodies had been found by a muggle hiker near a small nexus circle in Wales. All had bled to death. They had apparently been used in some sort of sacrificial ritual. The muggle had been obliviated, of course. If only to relieve the extreme stress and shock he had been in, after encountering the grizzly scene. Three local Constables had also needed to be obliviated, because the Ministry only found out about the find after it had been reported to the muggle police. The autumn equinox was fast approaching, and while seven was one of the more powerful numbers in magic, thirteen would also provide a great deal of power during ritual. If those missing were all virgins, the potential power released during a Dark Ritual would be staggering.

This was very bad.

“We don’t have enough numbers to watch all of the circles,” Diggory said, his hands shaking slightly. “How are we going to stop him?”

“We’ll have to make some insightful guesses, Amos,” Dumbledore said, his voice rough with grief. “We’ll select circles that have the highest potential to provide the power Voldemort may be looking for. I suspect he’s attempting to increase his magic.”

“We can’t allow that to happen,” Lupin insisted with a soft voice. “He’ll be unstoppable if he grows more powerful.”

“I agree,” Albus nodded. “Maria, perhaps you could see that copy of the map that is in the Department of Mysteries? It would be helpful to know which are the more powerful circles in ranking.”

Maria Walters, a muggle born witch, worked in the janitorial department of the Ministry. She was assigned to the DOM, and was often there very late at night, when most of the staff were gone. While house elves did most of the menial tasks, positions had been created over the last five years that offered employment for more wizards and witches. Not so coincidentally, those positions were always filled by muggle born or half blood applicants. Never pure blood. It was a very sad fact of a growing, alarming trend, but one that Dumbledore took advantage of in order to place his own people in positions where they may learn something useful for the Order.

“Of course, Professor. I’ll look tonight.”

“Good girl,” Albus gifted her with a small smile and a faint twinkle in his eyes.

“This will be the most powerful ritual he’s attempted,” Lupin spoke up again, his worry clear. “Stonehenge would seem the most logical choice, no matter how public it is.”

“Do you really think he’d chose Stonehenge, Remus?” Amos Diggory asked nervously. “There are muggles there all the time. They always gather there on the equinox.”

Remus pursed his lips in thought, studying the grain of the tabletop rather than look into the eyes of the others seated around the table. “He could have any muggles that show up either stunned or killed. You know there are ways to avoid being seen, Amos. Stonehenge offers the best potential for a large return of power during a sacrificial ritual. He has taken a lot of innocents. He has to be planning something very big to go to all that trouble.”

The others were fearfully silent. Each one was too afraid to admit that they believed that Lupin was right.

Molly Weasley got up to bustle around her kitchen. The group remained silent while she prepared tea, then finally placed two pots on the table. She was a firm believer that anything could be fixed with a good pot of tea at hand. Arthur was half way through his cup before he cleared his throat.

“Was the Minister successful, Albus? You said he went to see Lord Potter at Hogwarts.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Arthur,” Dumbledore admitted with a soft sigh as he placed his cup carefully on the table. “The Minister refused to discuss anything about his meeting with Lord Potter, and absolutely refused to go back and see the boy again.”

“He must know something,” Molly insisted with a frown. “Why did the Potter boy come back to England if he wasn’t going to do his duty?”

“Hush, Molly,” Arthur admonished.

“Don’t you hush me, Arthur,” the woman glared at her husband. “We’ve been living here in fear and dying while that boy was off living the good life Merlin knows where, safe as you please. We have a right to know if he plans on doing what he’s supposed to.”

Arthur sighed heavily and shook his head. He knew his wife wouldn’t be swayed. It was the same argument he’d been having with her for years.

“Molly,” Dumbledore interceded gently, “I’m sure that Lord Potter is well aware of his duty, and will do as he must. We have to have faith.”

“I don’t have any kind of faith in that boy,” Molly said with hard eyes. “If he does manage to get rid of He Who Must Not Be Named, he should be next. He’s just as bad as that monster, in my opinion, and is probably already as dark as he is. Just you wait and see, Professor.”

“I sincerely hope you’re wrong, Molly,” Albus sighed heavily, “for all of our sakes.”

….

Minister Fudge is Dead

Names Amelia Bones His Successor

The Daily Prophet’s headline was a surprise to everyone in the Great Hall that Thursday morning. Harry and Draco carefully read the accompanying article. It seemed the Prophet office received an owl from the Minister late the night before, detailing his desire to resign and his wish that Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE, be elected Minister in his place. In his letter, which was printed in it’s entirety, Fudge explained how he was unable to cope with the knowledge of He Who Must Not Be Named’s return, and the subsequent rein of terror that had gripped the United Kingdom. He found himself ill equipped to deal with the problem, and feared for his life. It was his belief that Director Bones would be the best choice to lead the nation in the coming war.

It seemed the Minister’s fear was well placed, as the article went on to describe that Fudge had sent copies of a resignation letter to the Ministry. His Undersecretary, Percy Weasley, became concerned after reading the notice and went to Fudge’s home very early that morning. He was the one who found him, the victim of an apparent suicide. The DMLE was investigating, and a special session of the Wizengamot had been called.

“How horrible,” Hermione said softly after they had all read the paper. “Do you think Madam Bones will be elected?”

“I certainly hope so,” Draco said, buttering his toast. “She’s the very best choice right now, and she’ll make sure the DMLE is brought up to speed as quickly as possible.”

Harry nodded his agreement. “Dobby.”

The elf appeared with a near silent pop next to Harry, bouncing on his toes. “Yes, Master Harry, Sir? Yous calls for your Dobby?”

Unable to help himself, Harry smiled down at the elf. “Yes, Dobby. Please bring me the stationary box from my trunk.”

“Yes, Sirs, right away.” Dobby smiled and popped away. He was back inside of a minute, and placed a stationary box on the table next to Harry’s plate. “Does Master Harry needs anything else from his Dobby?”

Laughing softly at the elf’s obvious enjoyment of anything fetch related, Harry shook his head. “No Dobby, that’s all for now. When I’m done, you can take the box back to my trunk. Thank you.”

“Okays Master Harry, Sir,” Dobby replied with a grin before he popped away.

“You have the weirdest elf on the planet, Potter,” Draco snorted before he bit into marmalade slathered toast.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed with a grin while he opened the box and moved his empty plate out of the way, “but you had him first.”

The blonde snorted. “Why do you think we gave him to you?”

Harry chuckled, and Draco finished his breakfast while Harry wrote a letter on some of the finest stationary Hermione had ever seen. It was even embossed with the Potter family crest. Harry was just signing his name when Draco cast a tempus.

“We have ten minutes before class, love,” he reminded his mate.

“No problem,” Harry replied, melting wax over the folded parchment. He blew gently to cool it a bit, then pressed his seal into place. “Dobby.”

The elf appeared while Harry was repacking the box. Harry passed it to him, then the sealed letter. “After you take the box back, deliver this to the Editor of the Daily Prophet. Make sure to give it only to him, Dobby.”

Solemnly, Dobby nodded. “Yes, Master Harry. Dobby gives it only to the Editor.”

The group got up and went as quickly as they could to their first class. Even though they were climbing the stairs quickly, Hermione found breath enough to ask her friend the question burning in her brain.

“What was that letter, Harry?”

“If the Daily Prophet prints it,” Draco answered for his mate, “Harry will ensure that Madam Bones is elected.”

….

An open letter to the people of Great Britain,

This morning’s news of the sudden death of Minister Fudge came as a shock to everyone, myself included. I grieve with the country. I write this only minutes after reading the article printed in the Daily Prophet. We never expected that these uncertain times would grow even less certain. We can’t, however, let this shock drive us into deeper fear and despair. Walking that path will only lead us to chaos and defeat.

During his time as Minister, Cornelius Fudge made some mistakes, it is true, but he made a very wise and sound decision as his last action as Minister. He named Amelia Bones as his potential successor. If anyone can lead us out of the darkness of approaching war, I firmly believe that this lady has what it takes to succeed. She has the knowledge, courage and fortitude that Britain needs more than anything else right now. I urge everyone who is reading this to vote Madam Bones as your next Minister for Magic. She is honestly the one whom I believe that is needed right now.

I know that there are those of you out there who have no interest in my opinion. You’ll ask yourself why you should heed my advice, when I haven’t even been in the country for the past six years. My answer to you would be that you should do as your conscience dictates. Take a few minutes now to think carefully over the situation that Britain currently faces. Ask yourself honestly: who is the type of person you need to lead right now? Who would be the best possible choice to ensure that lives are saved in the weeks and months ahead? Who will work the hardest to protect individuals and communities alike? Think very carefully, I urge you, then vote. Make your voice heard. Do not abstain out of fear or uncertainty. Do not trust that others will vote in the Minister we need. Make your own choice, and vote your choice.

Madam Bones is my choice for Minister for Magic, and she has my full support. I intend to do all that I can to rid Great Britain of Lord Voldemort. I know that Madam Bones is equally committed to that task.

Lord Harry James Potter

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter

The Daily Prophet printed a special afternoon edition, specifically to publish Harry’s letter. It appeared on the front page without a headline, immediately followed by a statement from Madam Bones that she would seriously consider the position of Minister if she were nominated. The rest of the thin paper repeated the morning’s report of the death of Minister Fudge. It also included an article about Amelia Bones, detailing her service as an Auror then as Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Copies were passed around the Great Hall over dinner, and most of the of age seventh year Ravenclaws had already told Harry that they intended to vote for Madam Bones.

…..

Molly Weasley slowly lowered the paper, then looked at her husband.

“He’s a good man, Molls,” Arthur said with a soft smile. “He did the right thing.”

Molly’s eyes hardened and she sniffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who killed the Minister, just to make sure his choice was elected Minister.”

“Molly!” Arthur gasped. He’d never been more shocked by his wife during the entire course of their marriage. “You can’t possibly mean that!”

“I most certainly can,” the matronly woman sniffed, poking a finger at the paper. “Just look what he did to our son.”

“Ron was in the wrong, and you well know it,” Arthur frowned, growing angry. They had been around and around this issue many times over the past six years. “If anything, Lord Potter was merciful and the entire thing has been good for him.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Molly insisted, getting up to check on the dinner she had on the stove. “That boy was dark then, and he’s even worse now. I just know it.”

Arthur got up from his seat and turned to face his wife. He had had enough. He had been forced to listen to his wife’s disparaging opinion every time the name of Harry Potter came up, and his temper was finally at the point where he couldn’t stand it any more.

“That will be enough, wife.” he said in the softest voice Molly had ever heard from him.

Shocked, she looked up from the pot she had been stirring. She had never heard that particular tone from her husband in all the years she had known him. Looking at him, she could finally tell that Arthur was completely enraged. Her eyes widened a little.

“Arthur?”

“As Patriarch of the Weasley Family, I hereby order you, wife, to never again speak a word against Lord Harry Potter. You will never again undermine or malign him in word, thought or deed. No magic, potion or intent is to be directed toward him with the intent to do him harm or mischief. Never again will you voice or write your opinion of him unless it’s positive and supportive. YOU WILL OBEY ME, WIFE,” Arthur shouted the last with the full volume of his rage, “or you will be cast from this family, homeless and nameless. So mote it be.”

The Burrow shook and groaned under the magical weight of Arthur Weasley’s command. Molly stood frozen in shock as her husband stalked angrily out of the house, slamming the back door behind him. The crack of apparation released her, and she stumbled to the counter, gasping for breath.

“What have I done?” she whispered, unable to focus on the cutting board practically under her nose. “What have I done?”

….

Harry and Draco both sat up, abruptly awake at two fifty two in the morning, on Monday, September 22. As one, they scrambled out of bed and threw on clothing, their elves appearing at their sides to help them dress as quickly as possible. They both wore tightly tailored battle robes of basilisk hide and dragon hide boots. They each wore two wand holsters, and concealed weapons. Four minutes after waking, they joined hands and apparated right out of their apartments at Hogwarts. Their elves popped out right after them, similarly dressed.

The wards of the school didn’t even flicker.

The pair landed without a sound on the grassy lawn behind the internationally famous monument. They immediately disillusioned themselves, and took stock of the situation. They were opposite of the lane way leading up to the circle of giant standing stones, outside of the antiapparation wards that had been erected, and had a clear view of the inner circle of stones. Dozens of figures milled in the center of the circle. A sudden flare of light signaled the lighting of a bonfire, which back lit several sentries slowly pacing just inside the outermost circle of stones.

“Where is that pasty faced git?” Draco asked, half knelt in the grass and squinting fixedly at the stones.

Harry was silent for a few moments. “There,” he finally replied. “Approaching the altar stone.”

“And there are the sacrifices,” Draco observed with a grim tone. “And there’s the snake. Are you sure we can’t take it tonight?”

“Sorry love, not yet. She has to be last. Let’s ruin some plans,” Harry grinned, and they both started to move.

As swiftly and silently as they knew how, the pair moved forward into the antiapparation ward until they reached three partially buried boulders outside of the outer ring of standing stones. It took Harry only a few minutes to find the rune stones that Remus had hidden there earlier in the week. One he deactivated and dropped into his pocket and he gave the second one a tap with his wand to activate it, before it joined the first rune. Immediately, the antiapparation field fell, while Draco cast a red sparking flare into the night sky. Pandemonium broke out.

Some of the robed figures in the circle began to shout and run toward the edge of the circle in every direction, while Harry and Draco separated. Others were firing spells frantically amid the sounds of dozens of pops, hitting each other more often than not, and screams began to join the shouting. Harry and Draco made good use of the chaos to silently select targets and the coppery tang of blood filled the night air.

“NOOooooooo,” Voldemort screamed even as he cast a useless spell that hit one of his own followers, blowing the man apart.

“Time to go, love,” Harry sent after visually confirming that the last sacrifice was gone.

“Always when I’m having fun,” Draco sighed, but quickly dispatched his latest target and apparated.

Cracks of apparation filled the night air and Harry watched the arrival of the first of the Aurors before he followed his mate.

Harry arrived on the front lawn of Hogwarts to the screams and crying of a dozen women and children, who were being tended to by Hogwarts house elves. He moved to join Draco who was talking with Holten and Dobby.

“Did we get them all?” he asked his mate, even as he tried to count for himself.

“Every last one,” Draco said with a triumphant smile, “and no injuries. I was just congratulating these two on a job well done.”

Harry took a moment to cast scurgify on himself and Draco, then he sank to a knee next to the blushing elves. He rested a hand on each elf’s shoulder looking them straight in the eye. “I couldn’t be prouder of both of you. You saved thirteen lives tonight, and I’m going to make certain that everyone knows exactly why these women and children are still alive.”

“Thank you, Master Harry,” Dobby squeaked, clearly uncomfortable yet nearly bursting with the praise as he hopped in place.

Holden was unabashedly wiping his eyes, overwhelmed by his own Master’s praise, and could only nod hard enough to make his ears flap.

Harry got up as lights began to glow from the castle windows. The victims they had rescued were much quieter now, huddled close to each other, enjoying warmed blankets and hot chocolate that the elves had been plying them with. Harry and Draco approached the group, making sure that the more wary looking among them saw their approach.

“I’m Lord Harry Potter, and this is Lord Draco Malfoy,” he began in soothing tones, “You’re all safe now. No one here will hurt you.”

Behind the pair, the main doors of Hogwarts opened, spilling warm, inviting light out onto the lawn.

“You’re at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Draco continued. “We will see to your injuries, make sure you get fresh clothes, a hot meal, and a safe place to sleep. In the morning, we’ll begin the process of finding your families or relatives.”

“The wonderful little beings that rescued you are called house elves,” Harry said as Headmistress McGonagall and several Professors came out of the school. “Their greatest joy is making us happy through service, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask them.”

“This is Holden,” Draco said and his elf popped to his side instantly. “If any of you are injured, please follow him. He’ll take you to the infirmary where our Mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, will attend you.”

“Dobby here,” Harry continued as his own elf popped into view beside him, “will lead the rest of you into the Great Hall for a hot meal.”

At hearing her name, Madam Pomfrey broke from the group of teachers to hurry forward. Within minutes, she had the elves helping her escort the few children and young women who bore minor injures, and one clearly traumatized child, inside. This seemed to galvanize the rest of the teachers, who began to move forward and help the rest of the children.

“Lord Potter,” McGonagall stopped at Harry’s side, watching as her staff took charge of the newest arrivals at the school. “Are these who I think they are?”

Turning to her, Harry lifted a brow at the sight of his Headmistress swathed in her dressing gown. “They are, Headmistress. We’ve just returned from taking them right out from under Voldemort’s nose. He’s quite put out.”

Harry grinned unabashedly at the woman’s look of disbelief, and waited patiently for her to close her mouth.

“Well then,” she said after a moment, her accent thick, “I’d best see to some rooms for the bairns. I’ll need to floo Madam Bones, as well.”

“You may need to wait a bit for that, Headmistress,” Harry laid a hand on McGonagall’s arm when she would have turned away. “The Aurors were just arriving as I left. I imagine she’ll be busy for a bit longer.”

“Very well then,” McGonagall nodded, then turned to follow her staff and their charges inside. She turned back at the steps to the school. “Lord Potter, and Lord Malfoy.”

Both turned to find her smiling back at them. “Well done, lads. Well done, indeed.”

They watched her go inside, then Harry and Draco both turned back to the few elves that remained on the lawn.

“Pervis,” Harry addressed the head elf of Hogwarts, “please extend our gratitude and pride to all the elves who helped rescue those children tonight. They performed beautifully. The Founders would be proud of each and every one of you.”

As one, the four elves bowed deeply.

“It is an honor to serve Hogwarts,” Pervis said with a very red face when he straightened, unable to look Harry in the eye while he twisted the material of his uniform shirt. “We be always glad to help the Heirs. It bes our job to help the children.”

“So it is,” Draco chuckled. “Off you go then. I imagine the Headmistress is waiting for those rooms.”

Pervis gave them both a quick grin, then all the elves popped away. Harry and Draco stood for a moment, at the edge of the spill of light from the still open doors, looking out into the night. Harry snaked an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled the other young man close to his side.

“So it begins,” he whispered.

Draco hummed his agreement. He let the silence grow comfortable again before he replied. “That wanker is really ugly.”

Harry burst out laughing, and lead his soul mate inside.

…

“Your attention please,” Headmistress McGonagall stood at the head table, regarding the students gathered for breakfast. Her gaze rested an extra moment on the Ravenclaw table, before she continued. “Classes for today have been cancelled.”

She was forced to wait for the resulting cheers to die down a little before she could continue. She waited with a smile, having fully expected the glad reaction of the students.  Even though she hadn’t slept since quarter past three, and was bone tired, the current mood in the Great Hall exactly matched her own.

“The reason for this unexpected holiday is something you will find out either later today or tomorrow,” she continued once she was able to restore silence. “In the meantime, I expect you to use the day to catch up on your studies and assignments. Your Prefects have been instructed to set up study areas in your common rooms and the library, where I expect all of you to spend the majority of your day. Your Heads of House will be supervising you, so I expect there won’t be any shenanigans. ”

She paused again to absorb the chorus of disappointment that swept the Hall, firmly holding in her laughter. She knew they’d soon be changing their tune.

“Provided everyone obeys and behaves themselves, I’ve arranged for a special treat for you later this afternoon,” McGonagall went on. She had their attention, and her eyes nearly twinkled as she surveyed the students. “Lead by our own Lords Potter and Malfoy, who will play the positions of seeker, the Puddlemere United Quidditch Team will join us for an exhibition game on our own pitch.”

The Hall erupted into cheers three times as loud as hearing that classes had been cancelled for the day. It was several minutes before the Hall quieted enough for McGonagall to complete the speech she had prepared.

“I realize that you’re all excited, but be warned that this treat will be cancelled for any misbehavior. I’m putting you, the students of this school, on your honor to behave yourselves today, and conduct yourselves with merit. The loss of points for your House today, will have dire consequences. If we do make it out to the pitch at four o’clock, you’ll have Lords Potter and Malfoy to thank for inviting the Puddlemere Team to join us. Now, do enjoy your breakfast, and return to your common rooms at the same time classes usually begin.”

McGonagall sat down with a smile, and watched the animated students while she ate her own breakfast. When she noticed the Ravenclaw pair looking her way, she gave them both a smile and a slight nod. She really did have to hand it to those two. She didn’t know how they were able to arrange it so quickly, but it was their idea to invite the Team to the school as an incentive for good behavior from the rest of the student body. She honestly didn’t think they would be able to manage it, but it took only a single floo call from her office, just after dawn, to complete the arrangements. The Team manager was not best pleased to be awoken so early, but he was nothing but helpful once he realized who it was that was in the floo.

Madam Bones wanted to keep the rescue of the thirteen young women and children secret until she had completed her investigation. The victims were currently sleeping under Auror guard in rooms on the fifth floor, on the same corridor as her office. They would be moved during the game to a more secure location. Only then would Bones release a statement to the press concerning the events of that early morning. After speaking briefly with Harry and Draco, she agreed, reluctantly, to leave their names out of the news. She would say only that the victims had been rescued by the house elves of concerned citizens. Since the elves that took part in the rescue wore only the standard tea towel uniforms, and not their usual Hogwarts uniforms, no one would be able to say who the elves had belonged to.

The reason that classes had been cancelled for the day was because there was no way to guarantee that students wouldn’t stumble across an Auror or one of the rooms housing those rescued, if they conducted their day as normal. It was better to keep the student body confined to their respective areas of the castle, and prevent any undue wandering.

Bones had only been in the castle for less than half an hour, once she had finally been located. She was there only long enough to confirm the condition of the thirteen, get a brief statement from Potter and Malfoy, agree to the plan for the day, and then she had to return to London to finish dealing with the mess at Stonehenge. McGonagall was very much looking forward to a mid-morning nap to catch up on the sleep she had missed. She expected that she would need the energy once Bones returned with all of her questions lined up and ready. In point of fact, she had a few questions of her own for Lords Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

…

Harry and Draco invited Hermione and Neville to their suite for the morning study period, with the approval of Professors Flitwick and Vector. Unfortunately for the Griffindor and their fellow Ravenclaw, the pair had different plans. Once they were fairly sure the corridors were clear of other students, Harry and Draco disillusioned themselves and made their way to the astronomy tower. This seemed the perfect opportunity to put some of their research to good use.

Once they arrived, they cancelled the charms and waited in comfortable silence. The late September chill was just starting to get to them when a shimmering presence drifted through the wall leading back to the staircase. The Grey Lady coalesced completely, though she kept to the shadows as her form was indistinct in the sunlight.

“The elves said you wanted to see me?” she asked the pair with a small smile. “I remember you both, from your first year.”

“We’re glad, cousin,” Draco said as he and Harry moved into the shadows with her, so they could converse more easily. “We really need your help.”

“I won’t help you with your homework,” the ghost chided with a smile and shaking finger to match her mischievous look.

Both Harry and Draco laughed. They hadn’t expected the humour from the ancient ghost.

“No, nothing like that,” Draco said. They had decided between them that the blonde would do most of the talking. “It’s something that only you can help us with. May I call you Helena?”

“Only if I can call you Draco, cousin,” she replied with a dip if her head.

Draco grew serious and cast a quick glance at Harry before he focused on the ghost of Ravenclaw tower.

“We know that Tom Riddle took your mother’s diadem and made it into a dark object. We know he hid it somewhere in the school. We’d like your help to find it, Helena, so we can cleanse it.”

The Grey Lady’s expression had changed swiftly from teasing and light, to wary and dark, as Draco spoke.

“He defiled it.”

“We know, cousin,” Draco said softly and earnestly. “He did the same with Helga’s cup, and Salazar’s necklace. We can cleanse it, though. Restore it.”

She gave them both a shrewd look, considering Draco’s words. “He made more of those abominations?”

“Yes. We think he made seven all told,” Draco glanced again at Harry, before he continued. “One was Harry.”

Helena’s eyes widened and she drifted closer to Harry. “He dared? That was the stain I felt on your magic?”

Harry gave only a single nod, maintaining eye contact until she turned back to Draco.

“Harry’s was cleansed when he was eleven. The goblins did it,” the blonde explained. “Just as they cleansed the other artifacts. They’ll do the same for your mother’s diadem.”

“And then what?” the ghost asked haughtily, as she drifted back toward the wall.

“And then we kill him,” Draco stated simply. “Once all the horcruxes are gone, he’ll be mortal.”

Helena tilted her head, looking down at the stone floor of the turret. “How many are left, cousin?”

“Two, possibly three,” the blonde answered, then sighed. “We agree that he didn’t know about Harry, so it’s possible he made one more when he regained a body two years ago. We’ve already cleansed three artifacts, not counting Harry, so that would leave three. The diadem, his snake, and one more.”

Helena raised her head, looking Draco in the eye. “He will die?”

“He will die,” Draco replied seriously. “You have our word.”

She was silent for so long, that Draco again exchanged a look with Harry. His mate slightly shook his head. “Give her a moment, love.”

“Look for the come and go room,” Helena Ravenclaw finally stated as she began to fade, and drift backward through the wall. “If you have to ask, you’ll never know. If you know, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Draco nearly whispered just before she disappeared completely.

The blonde hung his head a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to a frowning Harry.

“That was singularly unhelpful,” he groaned a sigh.

“No,” Harry said thoughtfully as he closed his eyes, “no I think it was helpful. I remember something about a come and go room.”

Draco waited, able to feel the amount of concentration Harry was putting into searching his memory. Suddenly, the green eyes opened.

“Dobby.”

The elf popped next to them a mere heartbeat later. “Master Harry calls for his Dobby?”

“Dobby, back in first year, not long after Narcissa gave you to me, you told me something about a come and go room,” Harry said to the elf as he hunkered down in front of the creature. “Do you remember?”

“Yes, Master Harry,” Dobby nodded his head. “We was making your trunk ready, and I said that I could find nice furnitures in the come and go room. The Hogwarts elves showed it to Dobby.”

“That’s brilliant,” Harry grinned, giving Draco a long look of triumph before he turned back to Dobby. “Will you take us there? We need to find another item like the diary.”

Dobby flinched and moaned a little. “Does Master Harry needs Dobby to find it?”

Harry sighed, sobered by the elf’s reaction. “Yes. I’m sorry Dobby, but we do.”

“It bes okay, Master Harry,” Dobby said, patting Harry’s hand. “We bes finding them, then you can be free.”

“We’ll all be free,” Draco said from above them, looking out at the September morning.

….

Finding the diadem turned out to be rather anti-climatic. The pair returned to their suite of rooms and used the fireplace to floo call Sirius Black. The castle had proven to be very accommodating to their desires and needs, and the unauthorized floo connection didn’t register in the school wards to enough of a degree to gain the notice of the Headmistress.

“I have a present for Ragnok, Padfoot,” Harry said without preamble when Sirius answered the floo.

The older man grinned and reached through the flames. “I’ll make sure he gets it, pup.”

Harry pulled a shrunk, black pouch out of his pocket, holding it tightly for a moment as he glared at his godfather’s visage in the flames. “Do not open this Sirius. Not even for a peek. I’ve spell sealed it, but you have to swear you won’t try to open it.”

“I solemnly swear not to even be tempted to peek, pup,” Sirius vowed, then accepted the pouch when Harry handed it through the floo. “Any luck with the next one?”

“A few leads,” Draco answered, “but nothing definite yet.”

“Can you get us more information on the Gaunt family?” Harry asked.

“I’ll see what I have in the library here,” Sirius said, then looked behind him. “I’ll get Remus to check, too. He wants to know if the stones worked for you?”

“Like a charm,” Harry grinned. “The ward stone woke us up as soon as they put up the antiapparation wards. The other took them down again. We got them all.”

Sirius grinned. “Perfect. No injuries?”

“Nothing major,” Draco replied. “Don’t worry. They never knew we were there.”

“Wish I could have seen the look on his face,” Sirius said wistfully.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Whatever for? He’s an ugly wanker.”

….

“Are you sure they’ve all been rescued?” Dumbledore asked.

“Positive,” Arthur Weasley answered with a nod. “I don’t know where they are now, but I’ve been told that they were all rescued.”

“That’s a relief,” Amos said with a smile and sigh.

“The DMLE has called in all personnel and they’ve been very busy since early this morning. The Department of Mysteries is also very busy. I wasn’t able to find out anything more, Albus.” Arthur concluded his report.

“That’s quite alright, my boy, quite alright,” Dumbledore was quick to assure him. “It’s enough to know they’re all safe.”

“Why are we meeting here instead of your house, Arthur?” Amos Diggory asked.

“I only have a few minutes left of my lunch hour,” Arthur answered with a slight smile, “and Molly is a bit busy with some project at the house. I should get back to the Ministry.”

It was a quick, hit and run type meeting. Only the four members had shown up. Amos Diggory, Albus Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, and Remus Lupin. At Arthur’s announcement, the meeting broke up and Remus excused himself to go back downstairs into the main room of the Leaky Cauldron.

He watched Arthur leave the pub, then settled in with a cup of tea to wait for Sirius, who was at the bank. If they had to, they could fake an argument if the others were still around when Black returned. Otherwise, they had planned a trip to Little Haggleton.

….

Every student and most of the staff turned out to the pitch for the Quidditch match. The Puddlemere United team brought their entire first string and their reserve team as well, to fill out two teams for play. Harry and Draco did indeed suit up to play opposing seekers, a challenge they were looking forward to. An afternoon nap had gone a long way to restoring their energy levels. Their bonded status would make vying for the snitch a remarkable spectacle, since each would instantly know when the other found the elusive ball. Former recent students Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory took the keeper positions for each team.

Both Harry and Draco had played for the junior league in Europe, though Draco preferred the chaser position. Both had been heavily scouted the previous season, which contributed to the United team manager’s easy acceptance of the invitation to come to the school. The Potter name did carry weight in Great Britain, but the manager had his eye on coaxing the pair to sign on after they graduated. There would no doubt be lots of grumbling from the rest of the International Quidditch League once news of the exhibition game got out, since Puddlemere tended to cherry pick the very best from Hogwarts before any other team had a chance at them.

The bonded pair made certain the spectators attention was firmly gripped by the game. Both played aggressively and all out, spending as much time running interference for their respective teams as they did looking for the snitch. This inspired the Puddlemere teams to up their own performance, and provided an extremely exciting game. The entire game was heavily punctuated by the wild cheers of the students who were riveted. By the time the game ended over two hours later, when Draco caught the snitch after a daredevil chase with his mate, the castle guests and their Auror escorts were long gone. Not a single soul who didn’t know of their presence in the castle noticed them leave.

….

Heathfield Missing Rescued!

Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and the Minister for Magic candidate, Madam Amelia Bones, issued a statement this morning concerning the fate of the thirteen young women and children who were reported missing after the Death Eater raid in Healthfield a little over a week ago. She first stated that all thirteen are alive and suffered only minor injuries during their captivity by He Who Must Not Be Named. It has been confirmed that all thirteen victims are virgins, and are squibs or muggle born magicals. Based on the deaths of seven young people last month, it was believed that these victims were taken so they could be sacrificed in a Dark Ritual designed to add even more magical power to the Dark Wizard known as He Who Must Not Be Named.

In the early morning hours of Monday September 22, just such a ritual had begun in the ancient power circle of Stonehenge. Through the course of her investigation, Madam Bones determined that an unknown witch or wizard, who had planned a solstice celebration of their own at the circle, noticed the activity. Fearing for their own life if they tried to interfere, they quickly assembled their own house elves and those of their fellows to rescue the thirteen victims right out of the circle before the ritual could begin in earnest.

The elves had been instructed to take the victims to the heavily fortified wards of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and tell the Headmistress only where the youngsters had come from, and the events surrounding their rescue. These concerned citizens didn’t want to be identified, and understandably so. Headmistress McGonagall then contacted the DMLE, who promptly responded to Stonehenge to apprehend as many of the Death Eaters as possible. It has been reported that nine of He Who Must Not Be Named’s followers died during the resulting battle, while many escaped, including He himself. Three were taken prisoner, and are currently being questioned by the DMLE.

The names of the Death Eaters killed or captured will be released after the notification of their next of kin.

Madam Bones wished us at the Daily Prophet to stress how grateful she is to the concerned citizens who took steps to save thirteen young lives. She especially commends the very brave actions of the house elves who took part in the rescue, at risk to their own lives and safety. No one knows who the house elves belong to, but we at the Prophet salute you.

Tuesday morning’s paper outlined the story exactly as agreed upon, and did so perfectly. The Hall was buzzing with speculation as the students began to realize that those who had been rescued had been in the school secretly. The Headmistress waited until nearly the end of breakfast to confirm that the victims had indeed been in the castle the day before, and classes had been cancelled in order to maintain that secrecy. It had been for the safety of the rescued children, she stressed, and she thanked the students for doing their part by behaving so well.

Between this and the game, the students had plenty for the grist mill of conversation topics. Classes resumed as usual, though it was over a week before things really returned to normal. It was also a week of grace for Harry and Draco. They knew that Bones still wanted to interview them, but they didn’t want it to take place at the school. Through a series of owls, they arranged to meet the Director at Gringotts. Due to their status as Peers, the pair could be excused from the school to conduct business at the bank. McGonagall was a little put out to have her own questions so neatly side stepped, but she really had no room to complain. While the pair had been off school grounds without permission, they had saved lives and their status afforded them not only some leeway, but privacy as well. Her curiosity would have to wait.

She did allow them to use her office to floo to the bank, however. They were dressed to impress, in formal family robes displaying their crests.

….

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview, gentlemen,” Bones stated as she settled at the desk in the small office the goblins had provided for the interview. She spread out a scroll with a dictoquill, and set a recording orb in place before she regarded the two across from her. She couldn’t help the small smile that moved her lips. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Madam Bones,” Harry replied with a grin. “I hope you’re not getting too much competition for the Minister’s seat?”

“Surprisingly, there’s only one other candidate at present. Scrimigeour always had lofty ideas.” Bones sniffed, then smiled when Draco laughed.

“I hope you don’t mind if we hurry this along a little, Madam Bones,” the blonde offered, “but we do have some banking business to conduct before we return to the school.”

“Of course,” she said, reaching to give the orb a tap with her wand. She looked up at Harry in surprise when he reached to cover the orb with his hand. “Is something wrong, Lord Potter?”

“We’d really like to keep this interview off the official record, Madam Bones,” the brunette said, sitting back again. “We were going to request that you seal the information we’re about to give you, if you record any of it. It pertains to the morning of the solstice, but really isn’t all that relevant given the official story. It’s really for your own information.”

“This is true, but eventually…” she trailed off when both Harry and Draco began to shake their heads. “You honestly don’t want there to be an official record of your participation in the rescue?”

“No, we don’t,” Draco answered for them both. “We acted as we were trained to, Madam Bones, and I’m afraid that is something the rest of wizarding Britain may find difficult to digest.”

Amelia Bones sat back in her chair and regarded the pair shrewdly for several moments. Apparently having made up her mind, she packed away the scroll, quill and wand. “I think it might behoove me to begin as we mean to continue, gentlemen. If I’m elected Minister, I most assuredly want to remain on your good side, and I’d like to establish a solid working relationship with the two of you.”

Draco smiled. “Sound thinking, Minister.”

“Here, here,” echoed Harry with a smile of his own.

“So then, first question,” Bones began. “What alerted you to the gathering at Stonehenge?”

“We were informed of the possibility of a sacrificial ritual using one of the major circles in Britain,” Harry began. “After some discussion between us, Draco and I crafted a set of rune stones that we had planted at three of the more prominent circles. We had no idea which would be used, but for the sacrifice of so many it would need to be a large ritual space with the ability to handle a great deal of magical power.”

“One of the stones was keyed to alert us when antiapparation wards were erected,” Draco continued. “We felt this was the best warning system, since it’s common knowledge that the Death Eaters do nothing before ensuing that their victims have no chance of escape. The second rune was planted inside the expected area of the field, and would gain it’s own power from the magic used to erect the ward. It would then be a simple matter to deactivate the ward from inside, once the stone was activated.”

“Ingenious,” Bones commented.

“We were wakened by the alarm stone, ” Harry continued the story, “dressed, and apparated to Stonehenge. Our elves had their own instructions. They were to gather the Hogwarts elves we had selected, who had the magical ability necessary to pop from Stonehenge to Hogwarts in a single leap, with a passenger. It was their job to arrive with those elves and wait outside of the wards until we gave them the signal to pop into the stone circle and take one of the sacrificial victims back to the school.”

“We disillusioned ourselves when we arrived,” Draco said, “and waited. They lit a bonfire, which actually gave us a better view of what was happening. As soon as Voldemort appeared with the lambs, Harry and I worked our way up to where the rune stones were hidden. Harry brought down the ward while I signaled the elves to move in with a flare spell. After that was wet work to give the elves a chance to escape with their charges.”

“Excuse me,” Bones interrupted at this point, “wet work?”

Harry smirked, rubbing a finger over his chin. “We drew knives and began to slit the throats of as many Death Eaters as we could sneak up on.”

“Oh,” Amelia blinked, sitting back again in her chair with a little huff. “I see.”

“As soon as the last elf left with their charge,” Draco continued, “we left. The entire thing took maybe fifteen minutes from the time we left Hogwarts, until we returned.”

“You killed nine Death Eaters in fifteen minutes?” Amelia asked, still a little stunned.

Harry shrugged, crossing his legs as he settled more comfortably in the chair, his fingers laced over his stomach. “Maybe a little less than ten minutes. We had to wait at first until we could see the victims were there.”

“This is how you were trained?” she asked, incredulously.

Draco nodded. “Of course. We were trained by goblins, and any other battle tutors our guardian could find for us. We’ve had a very thorough education, Minister.”

Bones narrowed her eyes, tapping a nail on the desk top. “I don’t suppose either of you would be interested in a career with the Aurors after you graduate?”

Harry snorted his amusement, while Draco’s smile turned nearly feral.

“The previous Minister asked us the same thing,” Harry said. “We declined his offer.”

“Of course you did,” she sighed, although both young men could tell that she really wanted to roll her eyes. “Would you be interested in teaching our department how to create the rune stones you used? They would be very helpful if something like this happens again.”

The pair exchanged a long look, then turned back to the Director.

“We can give you the three sets we’ve already created,” Harry said, “and instruct you on their use. We’d like to keep the secret of their creation for a little while longer. Voldemort is still a threat, and we’ll use whatever means necessary to keep him from realizing his long term plans.”

“We’re very interested in working with the DMLE on this, Madam Bones,” Draco continued, “but Voldemort’s reach in the Ministry has already been established. It’s a matter of trust, you see.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, I do see. I understand. Very well. I’ll do my best to minimize your exposure in the Ministry while working with you myself.  The only other individuals that will learn about our working relationship will be those you approve, and whom I trust implicitly. Does that meet with your approval?”

“That’s an excellent start, Minister,” Harry said with a smile as he and Draco both rose from their chairs. He extended his hand across the desk to the Director. “We look forward to working with you, Madam Bones.”

“And I with you, gentlemen,” Bones replied as she shook both their hands.

Harry and Draco left the Director in the small office, and made their way to Ragnok’s office deeper in the bank. They had a ritual to attend, and a diadem to cleanse.

Friday June 26 1992 – Platform 9 3/4

The students streamed off the Express, talkative and eager to not only reunite with their families, but to begin the summer holidays. It was bittersweet for Harry and Draco, who knew they wouldn’t be seeing their friends again until much later in the summer. Having spent the ride home saying as much of a good bye as they could stand, the three Ravenclaws and lone lion didn’t spend too much time lingering over further farewells, and quickly split up to join their respective families. Hermione quickly spotted her parents, and with a wave to the boys she ran off to join them with hugs. Neville had spotted his grandmother at about the same time, and after a small smile to the remaining boys, ambled over to join her.

Already looking over the heads of milling children, Harry absently waved to Hermione and Neville, and his green eyes lit up when he finally saw Healer Davidson walking toward them. Hedwig bobbed and chirred from Harry’s shoulder, giving the Healer her own greetings when the man was close enough to catch Draco in a close hug when the boy flung himself at him. Smiling, Davidson drew Harry into the embrace as well, ruffling the unruly mop of black hair.

“Have a good trip, boys?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered with a firm nod. He didn’t dwell on the upset the four friends had been forced to endure. He knew he’d see them again soon enough.

“Ready to go?” the Healer asked next, subtly guiding the boys toward the apparation area of the platform.

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered, patting his ever present and bottomless bag. “I have both of our trunks right here. Dobby shrunk them for us.”

“Good. Take a hand, boys, and hold on tight,” he instructed, just as he spotted a pair of reporters hurrying toward them from the area of the barrier. He was happy to avoid them by unpredictably using the apparation point instead. “Let’s go.”

He gave the earnest reporters a smile, and apparated away before the one with the camera could bring it up and snap a photo.

The first thing Harry noted, other than the roll of his stomach after being apparated, was Hedwig’s strident objection to the entire process. She was scolding Davidson soundly, and Harry did his best to sooth the owl with strokes and calming feelings. Apparently she much preferred to travel under her own power. Draco was doing his best to help even as he tried to contain his giggles. He found the owl’s ire amusing, for some reason.

Harry took a moment to look around them, but didn’t recognize the room they were in. There was a table of dark, polished wood flanked by six comfortable looking chairs, and a fireplace in the room. The door opened, and Chieftain Ragnok and Healer Goldleaf walked in, followed by Narcissa, who were greeted by Davidson. A brief peek through the door before it closed told Harry that they were in Gringotts. He didn’t know it was possible to apparate into the bank. Perhaps Healer had special permission? He watched quietly, off to one side, while Draco greeted his mother and the others talked, while patting a much calmer Hedwig. Harry knew why there were there, and while he agreed to the procedure in theory, he was still nervous about it. He wanted it done, but dreaded what would happen to him. Just a little.

More than a little, as it turned out. When the adults turned to him, it was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to tell them he had changed his mind. He didn’t want to do the ritual. He actually had to stop himself from taking a step back when Healer Davidson approached him, and Hedwig chirred softly in his ear in support.

“What’s the matter Harry?” Davidson asked, crouching down in front of the eleven year old. “You all of a sudden look like you’ve seen a banshee.”

Harry swallowed and did his best to compose his features, but gave it up. If he couldn’t be honest in front of this man, then when could he? Nervous fingers stroked Hedwig’s warm chest feathers compulsively.

“Will it hurt?” he whispered finally, earnestly searching the Healer’s face.

Davidson smiled softly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “No Harry, it won’t hurt. Healer Goldleaf explained the complete ritual to me, and I promise that you won’t feel a thing.”

“I’ll be asleep?” the astute boy asked after a moment’s thought.

“That’s right,” Davidson agreed. “The Healer will put you in a deep, healing sleep, and the Priests will conduct the ritual. It’ll all be over before you wake.”

Harry thought about it, pretending to examine Hedwig’s pattern of markings. “Voldemort won’t be able to hurt anyone, will he?”

That was a new question, and Davidson quickly reviewed the ritual as it had been explained to him, in his mind, before  he answered. “No, he won’t Harry. The Priests believe the Horcrux is dormant, and contained by whatever spell your mother had used to protect you when you were an infant. It won’t be able to hurt anyone while they extract it and then contain it.”

Harry chewed his lip, frowning a little while he considered the answer. “It’s attached to my magical core though, Will. Won’t that hurt my core?”

“No, Harry,” Healer’s answer made Harry look up finally, and make eye contact with the man as he continued. “The ritual will make it let go, then they can extract it.”

Harry studied Davidson’s eyes intently, then breathed a soft sigh, letting the tension drain out of him so completely that the Healer could feel the difference under his fingers. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Davidson said, patting Harry softly before he got up to face the goblins. “We’re ready, Healer Goldleaf.”

During the spring break, they had decided as a group that Harry would undergo the ritual the day he returned from school, to give the boy the maximum amount of time to heal during the summer. Draco would also need that time, as it was expected that his magical core would surge to match his soul mate’s once they removed the binding twenty four hours after the Horcrux was removed. Draco would need to relearn a good deal of control in order to manage the increase in magic he was bound to experience. After a soft kiss to the owl’s head, Harry gave Hedwig over to Davidson’s care, along with his bag, and Draco spent another moment with his mother, before both boys followed Goldleaf from the room.

The rest of the adults followed. The group made their way down, deep into Gringotts. Past the level where the carts were boarded for visits to the vaults. Past the level where Ragnok’s office was. They met with a group of green robed and hooded goblins, who lead them along a torch lit corridor, who’s walls glittered with veins of some mineral that reflected the light like tiny stars in a field of endless black. At the end of the hall were two massive doors of stone, which silently swung open of their own accord. The group paused here, and Ragnok addressed the humans.

“This is as far as you are permitted to go Lady Malfoy, and Healer Davidson,” he said, indicating a nearly invisible door to his right that slowly swung open. “You may wait there. There is a window where you can observe the ritual. Please remember your oaths.”

For a moment, it looked as though Narcissa was going to say something, her gaze riveted on her son, but in the end she simply gave him a barely perceptible nod and turned to enter the waiting room. The door closed again behind Healer Davidson, as soon as he entered the room, and it’s outline disappeared. It seemed they wouldn’t be permitted to leave even if they had wanted to. Hedwig flew to the owl stand that was in the nearer corner of the room, indulging in a long drink of the water that waited there. Narcissa, meanwhile, had moved to the large window that overlooked a large, circular room that was a half story below them. She completely ignored the grouping of comfortable furniture and the small dinette with it’s simple meal of sandwiches and pitchers of drink. Davidson wasted no time in joining her, and the pair watched as a line of forest green robed goblins filed into the room.

There were more than had met them in the hallway, and they arranged themselves in an evenly spaced circle along the wall. When the last goblin Priest had taken their place, Harry and Draco were lead into the room by Healer Goldleaf and another Priest robed in yellow. Draco was lead into the only space remaining along the wall by Goldleaf, who stood beside him, while Harry was lead to the center of the room. Davidson and Narcissa watched as an eight foot, circular section of floor under Harry’s and the Priest’s feet rose about a foot. Runes began to glow all around the room, along the top of the wall where it met the ceiling a half story above Davidson’s head, and around the raised section of floor that Harry stood on.

Harry closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. A gentle breeze was stirring his hair, and gradually strengthened until it was rippling his shirt and trousers as well. Davidson and Narcissa couldn’t hear a thing from the room through the glass, but they could watch in perfect detail as Harry leaned back into the wind that was briskly blowing at his back. The yellow robed Priest didn’t appear to be affected by the wind at all, but Harry continued to lean back until his feet left the floor, and every rune in the room was glowing brilliantly. Directly under Harry, a four foot circular section rose from the mini dais, until it supported the boy completely. It’s sides too, glowed brilliantly with carved runes.

After a few moments, a glass orb rose from the stone just above Harry’s head, and all the robed goblins in the room raised their arms. The glowing light of the runes gradually changed from a brilliant white, to an intense blue, and the glass orb began to glow golden, like a tiny sun. Abruptly Harry arched and Hedwig screeched, flapping her wings.The boy’s back bowed up and away from the stone, his mouth open on a silent scream as his scar seemed to rip itself open and ooze a thick, viscus black mist. Goldleaf could be seen physically holding a struggling Draco back against the wall. The mist collected itself into a tar like ball that hovered over Harry’s head, and Davidson grimaced at the emanations of evil he could feel from it through the glass. Narcissa raised a hand to cover her nose and mouth, as though she could smell the foul stench of the thing that undulated in the air over the boy’s head. Harry dropped back to the stone, laying pliant as the goblins leaned forward. The runes glowed even more brilliantly, the orb pulsing on the stone.

A piece of the black mass detached itself and flew into the orb. The golden glow immediately deepened to amber, and the runes around the room changed colour to a deep, blood red. Those on the dais pulsed, as though to a heartbeat. Faintly, then with growing horror, Davidson realized he could hear a faint, agonized screaming. He scanned the room, but couldn’t discern the source. Draco huddled against the wall, eyes wide and his hands over his ears as he watched. Looking back to the black mass over Harry’s head, Davidson watched as it shrank in on itself until is was a third of it’s original size. Suddenly, the air seemed to rend itself open just above the pulsing orb on the dais, and the black mass was sucked into it like a flailing, unspooled ribbon. The rend closed with an audible clap, and the runes went dark. The goblin Priests lowered their arms, and the orb sank back into the stone it came from. The raised platform also began to lower itself back into the floor, as the Priests and Goldleaf moved forward to care for Harry.

Raising a hand that shook a little, Davidson wiped sweat from his forehead. He glanced to his left to see Narcissa still standing with her hand over her nose and mouth, her pale blue eyes widely fixed on the boy below. She was shaking like a leaf.

…

Saturday October 4 1997 – Outside Newcastle near Hadrian’s Wall

 

“Thank you for coming, Minerva. It’s been too long since your last visit.”

The Hogwart’s Headmistress scoffed lightly while she fetched a tea pot and cups from a cupboard to place on the sideboard. “I’m sure you remember how busy the first month of term is, Albus.”

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore answered almost absently from the kitchen table, where he was looking out the window toward the nearly buried stone wall across the field.

The silence stretched between them almost companionably as McGonagall prepared tea, then carried it to the table. She arranged everything to her satisfaction before taking a seat across from the former Headmaster.

“I’ll play mother, shall I?” she didn’t wait for Dumbledore’s nod before she began to pour for them both. While she didn’t distrust Dumbledore, McGonagall would not allow herself to be so foolish as to drink or eat anything the older man had prepared.

The two prepared their cups as they liked them, then relaxed in the late morning light, sipping the tea.

“So, it’s true that Harry has come back to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore finally asked.

Minerva sighed. She knew this was the sole reason the older man had invited her for tea. “Lord Potter and Lord Malfoy have decided to attend their Newt year at Hogwarts, yes.”

“How I wish I was still there,” Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head a little.

“You know very well they wouldn’t have come if you were, Albus,” Minerva couldn’t help but point out from over the rim of her cup.

Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes faintly twinkling once again. Something McGonagall hadn’t seen in some time. “Tell me what he’s like, Minerva?”

Sitting up straight in her chair, her cup met it’s saucer with a firm clink. “No. Do not start this again, Albus. I won’t stand for it.”

Albus sighed and sat back again. “Surely he couldn’t be angry with me still, Minerva?”

“I honestly don’t know, as I haven’t asked,” the Headmistress answered primly as she lifted her cup again. “But surely you can see why he could be, Albus. You tried to take away the only family he had managed to find.”

“It was for the greater good,” Albus insisted. “He needed to be here in England, not half way around the world learning Merlin knew what. His destiny is here. It always has been.”

Minerva sighed and shook her head. “Honesly, Albus, if you don’t stop I’ll leave. I swear it.”

“Alright, but surely you can see my point?”

“No, I don’t,” McGonagall replied, looking the man sternly in the eyes, “and you’ve never tried to see mine. That boy needed a proper, loving home. Your greater good would have seen him raised as a thing, rather than a person. I wouldn’t stand for it then, and I won’t stand for it now.”

Dumbledore frowned. “What do you mean, Minerva? I only had Harry’s best interests at heart.”

“No, Albus, I don’t believe you ever did,” McGonagall gently placed her cup and saucer on the table top before she continued. “You’ve always tried to do the right thing for wizarding Britain, but you never tried to do the right thing for Harry Potter, the boy. You gave an innocent baby to people who hated him for merely breathing. You never gave him the information or the tools he needed to meet this all important destiny you see for him. You never considered his needs or his feelings, Albus, and that was simply unforgivable. He was a child, Albus. A child, and you abused him as surely as those sorry excuse for muggles did. Your obsession for the boy led to your dismissal from the Wizengamot, the Confederation of Wizards, and then finally from Hogwarts. And yet still, after all that, you still don’t see what you had done wrong.”

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time, just looking at the current Headmistress of the school he had been a part of for so many years. Finally he sighed, seeming to slump in his chair enough to appear to have shrunk in size.

“Perhaps you’re right, Minerva,” he admitted softly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the first report in the Prophet of his return. A lot of thinking.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow, taking up her cup again for a sip. This was certainly new, and perhaps deserved a hearing. “Oh?”

Rheumy eyes looked out the window again, as Dumbledore spoke. It suddenly struck McGonagall how aged the man now looked. “I’ve been thinking back over everything that had happened during Harry’s first year, and the things that happened after. So many things I would have done differently, Minerva. So many.”

The silence began to stretch a little before McGonagall prompted Dumbledore to continue. “Like?”

The older man seemed to pull himself back from the distance of memories and he sighed again. “I never should have tried to get Healer Davidson to bring the boy back to England. I see that now. You’re right when you say he needed love. It’s all about love, after all, Minerva. He has to know what it is, what it means for him, if he is going to prevail. I was a foolish old man to try and deny him that.”

McGonagall poured herself some more tea as she watched Dumbledore shake his head a little before continuing.

“I wish I had known that he and Draco were soul mates during their first year,” Dumbledore admitted sadly. “I confess I had less than kind thoughts about the Malfoy boy at the time. Even when he was so gravely ill, I worried over his influence over Harry. It was my greatest fear that Harry would turn dark, as Tom did.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t,” McGonagall observed quietly, “considering the first ten years of his life with those muggles.”

Dumbledore attempted to wave the point away with a weak gesture, but he nodded. “Your point is well taken, Minerva. There’s no need to rub my nose in it.”

McGonagall allowed herself a light snort. “Apparently there was, since it’s taken you another six years to see it.”

Albus shared a slight smile with the woman before he looked toward his cupboards. “I think there are some biscuits about here somewhere. The elves bring me some from time to time.”

“I’ll have a look,” McGonagall said as she set her cup down, and got up from the table. She did enjoy the oatmeal biscuits the elves baked, and hoped they had brought some to the former Headmaster.

“I wonder if I could prevail upon you for a small favour, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked while McGonagall searched the cupboards.

“What’s that Albus?” the woman asked just as she found the dish in the cold cupboard. She turned back to the table with the biscuits in hand and a curious expression, to find Dumbledore with a letter in hand.

She placed the plate on the table, then took the letter. “What’s this?”

“I’ve written an apology to Harry,” Dumbledore said softly, turning to again look out the window. “I hoped that you could give it to him for me. I know it won’t make up for things I had done, but I have a small hope that he might forgive me, one day.”

McGonagall regarded the man and sighed deeply. Albus Dumbledore had been a figure in her life for a good many years, both as a teacher, a mentor then an employer and peer. She once thought there was nothing about the man she didn’t know, only to discover that there might have been nothing she knew at all about him. His obsession with Harry Potter confused and frightened her, then simply ended up making her angry, to the point where she found it difficult to speak with him for any great length of time. Until today. For the first time, she honestly felt that she had cracked through the hard shell of denial the older man had worn for so long. Now, he just looked like a very old man, tired beyond even his great years, contemplating the mistakes of his past.

Turning away from the table, she looked again at the letter she held. It was addressed to Lord Harry J. Potter. At least he managed to finally address the boy correctly. Turning it over, she sighed again to see the wax seal.

“Honestly, Albus,” she said, working her thumbnail under the wax, “you know quite well you’re not permitted to send the lad sealed lett……..”

“No, wait…” Albus nearly levitated from his chair, but it was too late. McGonagall had disappeared. Slowly, Dumbledore lowered the arm he had automatically stretched out in an attempt to snatch the letter back from the Headmistress. “Oh, dear.”

Minerva McGonagall appeared in a small room, measuring about twelve feet by twelve. Immediately in front of her and tucked into the corner of stone walls, was a four posted canopy bed, just like the ones at Hogwarts, hung with heavy red curtains. At the foot of the bed was a tall, narrow wardrobe. She stood on a wide rug that only slightly relieved the chill from the stone floor. Turning slightly, she saw the bedside table with a lamp. Above it, nearly at the ceiling, was a very tiny barred window. Turning again, Minerva found a small desk with a lamp and chair against the next wall, with a bookshelf above it. Beside that was an open door through which she could see a small toilet with commode, sink and shower stall. The fourth wall wasn’t stone at all, but bars. The space beyond the bars was unrelieved stone floor and walls, except for the staircase she could barely make out to the far right of the room. The wall of bars itself was relieved only by the shape of a hinged doorway, and the space where, presumably, trays of food could be passed through. The bars seemed to be very firmly planted into the stone of both the floor and ceiling.

An anger the likes of which she had never know began to burn in her chest, souring the tea in her stomach at just about the same place behind her navel she had felt that very familiar tug. Vaguely, she looked down at the letter she still clutched in her left hand, and the opened seal. A portkey. Dumbledore had given her a portkey laden letter to deliver to Harry Potter. Almost numb with fury, she opened the letter to a blank page. She crushed the parchment in her fist, and whirled around to face the tiny window. Gathering herself, and doing her best to tamp down the fury, she concentrated, but nothing happened. She tried again, and again failed to transfigure into her animagus cat form. She pulled out her wand.

“Lumos,” she intoned, but nothing happened again. Her wand tip didn’t light. “Suppression wards.”

McGonagall nearly growled as she put her wand away again. Her magic would be useless as long as she was within the magic suppression wards. How had Albus managed to do this? Build this little prison. How long ago had he done it? Where was it located? It couldn’t be very far from Dumbledore’s home. Was it intended for both lads, or Harry alone? She could only assume it was Lord Potter alone that Albus wished to confine, as the portkey would activate by whomever broke the wax seal. There was absolutely no guarantee that another person would be transported with the target. She couldn’t think past that point. Dumbledore wanted to imprison Harry Potter. Keep the lad a prisoner. For what purpose? Why in Merlin’s name would he want to do such a thing? The old man had surely gone past the pale this time. The rage in her just seem to build and feed on itself until it consumed her completely. Just as suddenly, McGonagall went calm again, and was able to think while filled with the cold certainty that Albus Dumbledore was insane.

When she heard a distant door open, the Hogwart’s Headmistress was able to calmly turn and face the bars as she listened to the sounds of footsteps troding down the stone steps. She still held the balled letter in a white fisted grip, but her demeanor was otherwise calm and collected when Dumbledore finally came into view.

“Minerva, my dear, I truly wish you hadn’t had done that,” Albus was saying as he fished a large, iron key from his robe pocket and fit it into the door. “There’s just too much to put into a simple letter. I do need to see the boy and explain things.”

Minerva said nothing as she watched the former Headmaster turn the key and pull the door open on silent, well oiled hinges. She suddenly found it incongruous that Harry Potter’s would be jailor enjoyed wearing bright yellow robes with stars and moons twinkling all over it. Perhaps the man’s choice of clothing was actually a reflection of his sanity, because surely his taste had grown worse over the years, instead of better. She decided that she would need to give that some thought. Later. Much later. Most good thinking was best done in her office. Briskly, she walked out of the tiny prison and past Dumbledore, her head held high and her shoulders stiff with indignation. Dumbledore followed, babbling his explanations and excuses.

“There are things he needs to know, Minerva,” the man was saying, as though he hadn’t said these exact words hundreds of times before. “There are things he needs to learn that only I can teach him. If we’re to have any hope at all of defeating Voldemort, Harry must be made to see reason. Surely you understand this, my dear?”

McGonagall marched up the stairs and through the door Dumbledore had left open, finding herself in a small and dark hallway. Following it, she soon found herself back in the kitchen. She stopped next to the table, looking at the plate of biscuits and her still softly steaming cup of tea. Dumbledore entered the room behind her, still talking.

“So of course he needs to be here for a time, but it’s only a precaution until he understands that I mean him no harm, Minerva. I’d never hurt the boy, I promise you.”

Slowly, McGonagall turned to face her once mentor. This man was once the greatest wizard in Britain. Perhaps all of Europe. He had defeated Grindewald, and lead the nation out of the darkness of the second world war. There had been more than one who favorably compared him to the legendary Merlin.

“Albus Dumbledore,” McGonagall said softly during a break in the man’s attempts at explanation. “Never contact me again. Never write. Never floo call. Never owl. Never pass note or word to another to deliver into my hand or my ear. Not for any reason, whatsoever.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and again attempted to explain. “Now, now, my dear. I am terribly sorry that you were..”

Minerva raised a hand, effectively cutting off the flow of words, and stared into the man’s eyes. “Never, Albus. Never. I mean it. Lord Potter will be told about this, and I will warn him to be watchful of his mail, no matter where it comes from. I will also contact Madam Bones and recommend that your home be searched for any other portkeys. Good bye, Albus.”

Turning on her heel, she opened the kitchen door and walked out. Unable to cross the threshold himself, Dumbledore could do nothing more but watch while the Headmistress walked away from the house, to a point outside of the wards, then apparate away with a loud crack.

…

Sunday October 5 1997 4:18 AM

Severus Snape tied the belt of his dressing gown closed as he left his bedroom. His fireplace chimed again, something it hadn’t done in years. Especially in the middle of the night. Not since the days he spent spying. He normally kept it closed, except for the rare times he wanted to bypass the stairs and floo directly to the Headmistress’s office or the infirmary. Such times were few, however, since he preferred the exercise to be gained by climbing the many stairs of the castle. Besides, there was nothing quite like the startled disquiet or even outright fear to be found in the young faces he passed in the corridors. He had found over the years that those who were most afraid of his attention, had something to hide.

At this time of the morning, however, having to get out of bed to answer his floo put the Potion’s Master into a very difficult frame of mind. Difficult for the one trying to call him, that is. Only long learned restraint kept his wand tap on the mantle light enough to avoid breaking his wand, and a few seconds later Snape found himself scowling down at the face in the flames. Snape refused to kneel on the hearth.

“What could you possibly want at this hour of a Sunday morning, wolf?” Snapes silky smooth delivery of the question only hid his ire from those who didn’t know him at all.

“Severus, I need you to come to Grimmauld Place right away,” Lupin said in a near growl of anxiety. “It’s Sirius. He’s been cursed, and I can’t find a counter to it.”

Frowning, Snape crossed his arms. “What has the mutt gotten into this time, Lupin?”

“Severus this is serious,” the werewolf insisted, “I think he’s dying.”

Frowning darkly, Snape paused, studying the face in the flames for a moment before he gave a brisk nod. “I’ll be there shortly.”

There was only the look of intense relief on the werewolf’s face before the flames went out.

Sunday October 5 1997 10:32 AM

 

“Lord Malfoy, Lord Potter, thank you for joining me this morning,” Headmistress McGonagall greeted the two seventh years as they entered her office. “Please have a seat. We’re just waiting for one more.”

Both young men took a seat, though it was Draco who spoke for them both. “Thank you Headmistress. We’re very curious as to what this is about. Getting a note from you at breakfast isn’t exactly every day fare.”

“No, I don’t imagine it is,” she agreed with a smile.

The floo flared, and out stepped Madam Bones. Both young men stood as she strode purposefully toward the group.

“Good, we’re all here,” Bones said with an air of purpose, taking a seat. “Have you had a chance to fill them in yet, Minerva?”

“Not yet, Minister,” McGonagall said as Harry and Draco took their seats again. Apparently this was to be an informal meeting. She turned to the pair with a serious expression. “I don’t have a very nice tale to tell, lads, so I’ll ask you to bear with me until I’m finished, should you have any questions.”

Both Harry and Draco nodded their agreement, now incredibly intrigued.

“Once every couple of months I go and have tea with Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva began, watching both of her students become identically blank faced as she mentioned the former Headmaster’s name. “It’s become something of a ritual since he began his house arrest three years ago. He gets few visitors, and is only permitted to leave the house under Auror guard once a week to get his supplies and make pre-approved visits. Yesterday I went to Newcastle to have tea, at his request. We often speak of the school and students on these visits, but I knew from the off that he would want to speak about you, Lord Potter. I admit that I was curious.

Your name comes up at every visit, and for him to begin this one by asking after you was no surprise. However, this time he seemed very different. Like a fool, I believed him when he said he was beginning to regret his behavior and even admitted to making mistakes with his treatment of you. He asked me to deliver a letter of apology to you, but it was sealed. That is one stipulation of his arrest. The contents of any letter written to you must be left unsealed so it can be read before being passed on to you. I, of course, broke the seal.”

McGonagall paused here to take a deep breath, looking toward Minister Bones who gave her a short nod before she continued.

“It was a portkey. I was transported to the basement of the house, where Albus had set up a very comfortable, if small, prison. There was a bed, a full toilet with shower, even a desk and a tiny window. There were bars and magic suppression wards. If I had to guess, I would say he had it prepared years ago. It was, of course, for you Lord Potter. This is the letter he gave me to deliver to you. I assure you, it’s now harmless.”

She passed a well crumpled sheet of parchment across the desk to Harry, who gingerly picked it up. It was indeed addressed to him in Dumbledore’s writing, which he recognized from the one piece of correspondence that Ragnok had held for him. The broken wax seal hung from one edge, and the rest of the parchment was blank, on both sides. With a slow blink, he passed it to Draco and looked expectantly back to the Headmistress.

“He released me as soon as he conceivably could, and the instant I was back upstairs I told him to never contact me again. I also told him that you would be informed, as well as Minister Bones.”

Minister Bones then took up the tale. “As soon as Minerva informed me of what had happened, I took a team of Aurors to Newcastle. We searched the entire house, and found another four portkeys, all keyed to the prison area in the basement. You’ll be glad to know that my team took great pleasure in dismantling it as noisily as they could. We also found correspondence and papers connected with the Order of the Phonenix, which is still active. How he is funding it is anyone’s guess. I happen to know that he has no monetary resources of his own. As for the prison itself, it was built five years ago, Lord Potter. At about the time he petitioned the Confederation of Wizards for your guardianship. He volunteered that information to avoid questioning under Veritaserum.”

Harry sighed, and exchanged a long look with Draco before he looked back to his Headmistress.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that for my sake, Headmistress,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I never would have thought he’d try something like that. I thought he had given up after his petition had failed.”

“So did I, Lord Potter,” McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose just under the nose-piece of her glasses. “I’m afraid he’s quite insane, lad. His obsession with you knows no reason or bounds. I can’t trust him any more, and I hope you don’t either. He’s grown steadily worse since he lost his position as Supreme Mugwump. I had hoped it was something he would be able to work through, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“No, his steady loss of magic would have ensured that he probably wouldn’t get much better,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a shame really. I’ve read all about him, of course. He was once a great man.”

The silence in the room was overpowering, and Harry looked up to find both women staring at him.

“I beg your pardon?” Minister Bones finally ventured. “Would you please clarify that for me, Lord Potter?”

Harry frowned. “Which part?”

“The part about him losing his magic, lad,” McGonagall said, nearly whispering in her shock.

“You didn’t know?” Harry was incredulous. How could they not know?

At the shake of head of both older women, he again exchanged a long look with Draco. They didn’t communicate, but they really didn’t need to. Draco’s shrug of indifference assured Harry that it wouldn’t matter if he shared the story after all this time.

“In first year,” he began to explain, “Healer Davidson discovered that Professor Dumbledore was placing compulsion charms on me. My magic was burning them off, but I didn’t really have much to spare at the time, and he was pretty angry about it.”

“He said that he would have rather cursed the Professor for what he was doing,” Draco interjected, “since the effort of burning off the charms would have weakened Harry enough that any infection could have killed him.”

“Instead, he neutralized the charms, then used the excuse of reading my mail to visit the Headmaster, here in the office. He said that he got Dumbledore to vow on his magic to never interfere in my life again. Dumbledore tried a few indirect ways of meddling with me, but… ”

“But,” Draco took up the narrative when Harry paused, “Magic knows the hearts of all men. I imagine his magic was already in decline before the more direct petition at the Confederation.”

Harry nodded his agreement with that assessment. “He must have realized what was happening to him, and tried one last ditch effort to gain control of me.”

“Great Merlin’s Ghost,” Minerva whispered, sitting back in her chair.

“I had no idea,” Bones said, staring at the desk top. “None of us even thought to examine him.”

 

….

 

“I’m disappointed, Barty,” Voldemort said quietly, deceptively mild. The room was very dim, but the pale, snake like features were still visible in the firelight. “First you lost my Solstice sacrifices, then you lost my well planned raid on that muggle village, bringing back only a single, worthless female, and now this.”

“Forgive me, my Lord,” Barty Crouch Jr. made himself as small as he possibly could at the Dark Lord’s feet. It didn’t matter what had happened or what excuse he could offer, and Barty knew it.

The Cruciatus Curse was insidiously painful. It worked it’s way into the body until it felt as though every cell was jangling with pain. Prolonged exposure, of several minutes at a time, was guaranteed to drive the victim insane. The physical damage wasn’t significant and could eventually be healed, but the mind eventually broke and simply hid itself from all stimulus. Lady and Lord, Alice and Frank Longbottom were a pair of just such victims, and had yet to regain cognitive use of their faculties. Repeated exposures of seconds at a time was a much more effective form of torture. The body suffered horribly while the mind was fully aware. The feeling of helplessness, of knowing there was no way to avoid your fate, contributed greatly to the victim’s suffering. In Barty Crouch Jr’s case, this was exasperated by the knowledge that even if he tried to defend his lack of progress on the task he was given, he still wouldn’t escape his punishment. Lord Voldemort did not suffer failure.

“Crucio,” Voldemort’s face twisted into a stiff parody of a smile as he applied the curse for the third time. He wasn’t quite as put out as when he was denied his Solstice sacrifice in a bid to gain more magical power, but he was still pissed at the lack of progress.

He released Crouch, already bored with the man’s screaming and quite tired of listening to the metal hand clank repeatedly on the stone floor. “How difficult is it to find one old man, Barty?”

Shaken, Crouch Jr struggled to sit up. He knew better than to lift his gaze from the floor. Panting, he studied the cracked and dirty nails of the Dark Lord’s bare feet. “His home must be under Fidelius, my Master.”

“Of course it is, fool,” Voldemort hissed, lifting his wand. Crouch’s flinch made him smile, and he lowered it again. “Last chance, Barty. Find out who the secret keeper is, and bring them to me.”

“Yes, yes my Master,” the man grovelled, still shaking and twitching, “I’ll find them. I will.”

“Go now, and don’t come back without my prize, Barty,” the warning tone Voldemort used was enough to get his message across, and Barty scrambled to his feet to awkwardly bow his way out of the room.

Voldemort turned his attention to the fire instead of watching his subordinate leave, and his outstretched hand soon came into contact with cool scales. Nagini slithered closer to her wizard’s ornate chair, lifting her upper body to push the man’s hand with her head. Her sibilant hissing filled the otherwise quiet room.

“Soon, my treasure,” Voldemort replied in snake speak. “I’ll get rid of the old man, and then the boy will be mine.”

“You should have taken my advice months ago, Tom,” the deep voice came from shadows on the other side of the room, and a robed figure stepped into partial view.

Voldemort hissed at the use of his muggle born name. “You should have given better advice.”

“I gave you perfectly good advice, which you chose to ignore,” the hooded figure took another step into the light. “If you had retrieved your people from Azkaban when I told you to, things would be easier for you now.”

“All in good time,” Voldemort’s red eyes stared hard at the intruder.

“The time has already passed,” the accent-less voice growled. “You’ll never get your people out of there with the new security they’ve added to the prison. Not even your supporters on the Wizengamot could prevent that. All you have are patsies and cannon fodder.”

“Then I’ll use the Wizengamot members to fill out my armies,” Voldemort snarled in a fit of temper, rising from his chair and disturbing Nagini’s comfortable sprawl across his lap. “They will not dare to refuse me.”

The figure laughed. “No, they won’t refuse you, Tom. They’ll do as they’re bid, and die at your command. They’re politicians, not soldiers.”

Voldemort raised his wand.

“Curse me, Tom,” the hooded figure’s voice had grown cold, “and you’ll never see another knut to support your cause.”

Voldemort snarled in rage and threw a reductor curse at the wall. The resulting explosion of rocks and dust was in no way satisfactory.

“Get out,” the Dark Lord hissed.

“As you command, my Lord,” the figure mocked with a half bow, then stepped back into the shadows.

Voldemort didn’t bother to look for him. He knew he was already gone. He needed an outlet for his anger, however. Torturing Crouch barely even scratched the surface of his rage.

“Winky!”

A filthy, shaking house elf popped into the room a few paces away, then shied violently away from Nagini, who moved to investigate the elf. Her voice was squeaky and tiny. “Master is calling Winky?”

“Bring the muggle woman to my chambers,” the Dark Lord growled without looking at the elf. His bare feet slapped quietly on the polished stone floor as he made his way to the door. “Come, Nagini.”

“Yes, Master,” the elf bowed low and blinked away in relief.

….

A knock at their portrait made both Harry and Draco raise their brows and exchange a look. Whenever they had a visitor, the Lady Helena would announce who it was. No such message was forthcoming this time, however. Both young men drew two wands, and abandoned their homework on the low table in front of the couch. While Draco positioned himself behind the portrait, Harry answered it by giving the Lady a nod to open the doorway. The portrait opened, and Harry looked out, a curse ready on his lips just in case. He didn’t need it, however.

“Professor Snape,” Harry said, lowering his wand and stepping back to allow the Potions Master entrance.

Draco slid into view as the man entered, and closed the portrait behind him, sheathing both wands. “It’s late, Professor. What brings you at this hour?”

“Sit, boys, and order tea,” Snape said roughly as he moved toward the chair in front of the fire. “This may take a while.”

Although they only heard it rarely, both teens knew that tone of voice, and that it brought bad news. Harry closed their books and tidied up the study area a little, while Draco ordered tea from the house elves at the fireplace. The young Lord Potter used the wait to study the Potions Master. Snape looked washed out and tired, staring into space while completely lost in thought. That alone was out of character for the man. On a hunch, Harry excused himself and quickly went into their bedroom, returning in moments with a vial that he handed to Snape.

“Pepper up, Professor,” was his explanation when the man looked up at him. “Your own brew.”

Snape accepted the vial with a sardonic smile, downing the contents immediately and passing the empty vial back to Potter who dropped it into a pocket. Meanwhile, Draco had received the tea service, and set it up on the coffee table.

“Have you eaten yet?” the blonde asked his godfather while they each doctored their tea according to taste.

The Potions Master shook his head, making his tea extra sweet. “Later, dragon. It can wait.”

Harry had a very bad feeling, and rubbed his eyes before he sighed. “What happened, Severus?”

“I’ve confined your dogfather to bed, Harry,” Snape sat back with his tea and a sigh of his own. “He’ll be there at least a fortnight while he recovers.”

“Recovers from what?” Tea forgotten, Harry watched Snape with an eagle’s intensity.

“The fool went to Little Haggleton,” Snape said, watching both Draco and Harry for their reactions.

He wasn’t disappointed. Harry groaned and dropped his head back onto the back of the couch, while Draco lowered and shook his head.

“What did he do?” Harry asked. “You might as well tell us everything.”

“He took the wolf with him, which is what likely saved his life,” Snape began the tale as he heard it from the former Mauraders. “They went to the old Gaunt house. It seems that Sirius discovered that Riddle’s mother was a Gaunt, and Little Haggleton was the family’s traditional seat.”

“That’s why it kept coming up in our research,” Draco observed quietly. “No mention was made of the Gaunts, though. I thought they were a minor House, now extinct.”

“They are,” Snape confirmed. “They were once a Noble House, directly descendant from Salizar Slytherin. The family fell into disfavour, however, and lost their considerable fortune over a mere two generations. Severe inbreeding quickly produced little more than squibs, up until the birth of Merope Gaunt. Using a love potion, she got herself with child by a local muggle high born by the name of Riddle, then died shortly after child birth in a muggle orphanage. Other than her father, whom Riddle later killed, and her uncle who went to Azkaban for the murder of Riddle’s muggle father, she was the last of her House.”

“Let me guess,” Harry interjected, “Tom killed his father, and framed his great uncle for it.”

Snape only nodded. “That is the belief, yes. Ragnok was able to access the Gaunt family grimoire. It’s difficult for him, as you would expect, but he was able to confirm the circumstances of Riddle’s birth.”

“And Sirius?” Draco prodded gently, stirring his tea.

“Black went to Little Haggleton on a hunch, and in the Gaunt family shack he found what he was looking for,” Snape stated baldly, watching his steaming tea resting in his lap between cupping hands. “Unfortunately, it was well protected. He was hit with a wasting curse. Lupin got him out and back to Grimauld Place, but the object remains where Black had found it.”

“That idiot!” Harry groaned. “Is he going to be okay?”

Snape grimaced. “I had to call Goldleaf, Harry. He brought Bill with him, along with Ragnok. It took them four hours to break the curse.”

“All three of them?” Draco whispered, aghast.

Snape only nodded, and finally tasted his tea. He made a face at the abundance of sugar, but drank again anyway. He made his final pronouncement in his quietest voice yet. “He lost three fingers. They couldn’t be saved.”

All three remained quiet for several minutes. It must have been a very powerful curse, if it took a premiere Curse Breaker, a Runic Healer, and the Goblin Chieftain and head Priest, four hours to break it. Harry felt an icy cold chill go down his spine at the thought. Sirius could easily have died. They had a rocky start, but Black had become extremely important to Harry over the years. He may have had to live abroad, but that didn’t stop the two from getting to know each other very well. Sirius Black had become family to the orphan, and an integral part of his life. Losing him would be a severe blow.

“Better three fingers than his life,” the brunette finally said quietly, staring into his empty cup. “Just wait until I see him. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Not too large of one, I trust,” Snape drawled. “I doubt Black would know what to do with it. Not if he didn’t have intelligence enough to realize he should have contacted you the instant he found it, instead of trying to retrieve it.”

“Typical Griffindor,” Draco snorted, putting his cup back on the table. “Rushing in without thought. I’m terribly grateful I never had to cure you of that, Harry.”

 

……

Athor’s Notes: Thus begins Arc 2 of the Polished Stone saga.

 

 

Polished Stone Arc 1 part 2

Hogwarts: The Sorting Feast

and Other Beginnings

Hargid lead his charges from the boats and up many stairs like an over-sized duck leading a gaggle of chicks. At an entrance to the castle, they were met by an older, rather severe looking witch wearing a pointed hat and long, dark robes, and carrying a wax sealed scroll.

“The first years, Professor McGonagall,” the big man announced with perfect solemnity.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” the Professor replied. “I will take them from here.”

She allowed the groundskeeper to pass her before leading the gawking children through a short, stone corridor and into an anteroom, where she waited for them to gather. There was no need for her to tell them to hurry or be orderly, as each child appeared intimidated enough to remain quiet and wide eyed. They moved quickly in a huddled group. Harry found himself nearly sandwiched between Draco and the bushy haired girl who had stopped briefly at their compartment on the train. McGonagall’s gaze swept the group when they came to a stop. Spotting Hedwig all too readily, she addressed the boy who’s shoulder the bird perched upon.

“That owl will need to go to the owlery, child,” she said in no nonsense tones.

Harry shook his head, stroking Hedwig’s chest feathers in reassurance when the owl barked quietly in protest. “I’m sorry, Professor, but Hedwig is my familiar. According to Hogwarts: A History, a student is allowed a familiar.”

“A familiar, yes,” the woman agreed, “but mail owls belong in the owlery.”

“Hedwig isn’t just a mail owl, Professor,” Harry insisted with a frown. “She’s my familiar. We’ve fully bonded.”

MacGonagall scrutinized the pair, then appeared to relent. “Very well.”

Harry could tell that she didn’t fully believe him, and likely intended to keep an eye on him.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall, addressing them all. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. The former boy had ridden in the boat with them and had introduced himself during the ride. Harry checked to make sure his fringe covered his scar, while Draco swept a hand over his perfectly slicked hair.

“I will return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the room through another doorway, behind which Harry could hear the idle chatter of many children before the door closed again, leaving the group in torch lit silence. After a few moments, the nervous children began to speculate on what they would face. No one knew what the Sorting Ceremony consisted of. Even Hogwarts: A History left that topic nearly entirely alone. It was a mystery. Harry could hear Ron somewhere behind him, loudly stating that his twin brothers had mentioned having to fight a troll. This made the boy, Neville, go pasty white even as he tried to square his shoulders bravely. Harry and Draco, who could only shrug, exchanged a glance. After the surprise of Pettigrew, a troll didn’t seem like much of a stretch. The girl beside them looked as though she were furiously reviewing facts in her head, her lips moving with her thoughts, as though she were about to face an exam.

“You’d probably do well in Ravenclaw, too,” Harry said quietly to her, amused.

The girl’s eyes popped open to stare at him curiously. “What?”

Before Harry could answer, the group of children shifted sharply, a few of them letting out a surprised scream or squeak of alarm. Through the wall came a parade of specters. Ghosts, glowing silvery white, floated through the room then the door the Professor had taken in a steady line. A few paused briefly to greet a first year, or nod congenially on their way by. Mostly, they talked amongst themselves.

“I had read there were ghosts here,” the girl was saying in a near whisper, “but I didn’t believe it. Real ghosts.”

“My father told me about them,” Draco said. “He said the Bloody Baron is the only one Peeves respects enough to obey.”

“Peeves?” asked Harry before he remembered the mention of a resident poltergeist in Hogwarts: A History. “Oh, him.”

“Who?” the girl asked. “I’m Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.”

“Harry and Draco,” Harry replied, indicating the blonde. “Peeves is a poltergeist.”

“Oh,” the girl looked pensive for a moment, chewing her lower lip. “You really think I’ll get Ravenclaw?”

Harry only had time enough to give a half shrug before a sharp voice quieted the group.

“Move along, now,” Professor McGonagall had returned. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

The first years followed the witch through the door and into a huge hall. Harry stared as he walked. There were four long tables, each holding children ranging in age from twelve to seventeen, and a Head Table at the front of the hall where the teachers sat. Overhead, the ceiling appeared to be open to the night sky, stars twinkling above a few, scudding clouds.

“The ceiling is enchanted,” Hermione was whispering in awe as she stared upward. “I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

“Definitely Ravenclaw,” Draco muttered in quiet amusement. Hermione looked toward him as though she had heard.

Looking around himself, Harry noticed that Ron had managed to supplant Neville directly behind them. The other boy was gamely tagging along, however, trying to keep pace with the group. He also noticed that the now hushed students were watching them closely.

“There’s my godfather,” Draco whispered in strangled excitement, nodding toward a teacher toward one end of the Head Table.

The dark eyed man had long, greasy looking hair and wore severe black from head to toe. Harry noted the man sitting next to the Potions Master was wearing a familiar turban. Green eyes swept the rest of the head table, lingering a moment on the central figure of a very aged man sporting a long, white beard. The Headmaster, Harry presumed. Hagrid sat at the other end of the table, and gave Harry a wink. McGonagall stopped the group before the Head Table where a tall stool sat, bearing a tattered, old hat. She had them line up orderly. Harry was about to ask Ron where his troll was, when a seam near the brim of the hat opened up. With the pinched wrinkles in the peak and that slit moving like a mouth, the hat now looked like a slightly distorted face. The boy actually jerked in surprise when the hat began to sing.

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,

 But don’t judge on what you see,

I’ll eat myself if you can find

 A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowler’s black,

 Your top hats sleek and tall,

 For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,

 And I can cap them all.

 There’s nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can’t see,

 So try me on me on and I will tell you,

 Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Griffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

 Their daring, nerve and chivalry

 Set Griffindors apart;

 You might belong on Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you’ve a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin,

Where you’ll meet your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means,

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don’t be afraid!

And don’t get in a flap!

You’re in safe hands (though I have none)

For a Thinking Cap.”

“Brilliant,” Harry whispered during the resulting applause, noticing Draco and Hermione nodding on either side of him in agreement. For all that he had seen so far in the wizarding world, and Harry had occasion to witness quite a bit in the Alley, magic still amazed and surprised him.

McGonagall broke the seal of, and partially unrolled, a large scroll and was speaking into the now silent Hall. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Hannah Abbot.”

While the girl went up to the stool, Draco tugged Harry’s sleeve to draw him closer and whisper in his ear, since Ron was on Draco’s other side. “Are you sure about Ravenclaw?”

Harry nodded, giving Draco a pleading look. “I swear,” he whispered into Draco’s ear, “I’ll explain everything later. Will you try?”

Draco was frowning a little. “The mu..ggle born is bound to be there, and Father…”

Harry whispered back when Draco tailed off in the burst of fresh applause in the hall. “Isn’t here. It’s your life, Draco. When he’s gone, you’ll need to make the decisions for your family.”

Draco looked pensive, but finally nodded. Relieved, Harry allowed himself to glance over Draco’s shoulder toward Ron, who was glowering at them. Harry quickly turned his attention back to the sorting.

“Mandy Brocklehurst,” McGonagall called out. “Pay attention, please.”

The Professor was giving Harry and Draco a significant look while Mandy sat on the stool, the hat on her head.

“Ravenclaw!” the hat called out.

“She was on my boat,” Hermione said quietly during the applause. “She seemed nice.”

Harry clapped along with everyone else when the hat sorted a student. The entire process seemed to take forever, yet no time at all before Hermione’s name was called. Looking both terrified and determined, she took up the hat and sat on the stool, the hat perched on her wild mane. This time the pause was significant before the hat finally called out a House.

“Ravenclaw!”

Hermione’s smile was instant and brilliant. Almost triumphant, she got up and placed the hat back on the stool. She gave a clapping Harry a wide smile as she passed him on her way to the Ravenclaw table. Harry gave Draco a quick smile. It seemed the hat could be influenced. Harry looked up and down the line of remaining first years, trying to determine by how many were left how long it would likely be before Draco would be called.

Each House table cheered and clapped the hardest for the student sorted into their House. It certainly served to boost the courage and confidence of each child that had so recently been nervous and afraid. The first years were quickly sorted, some having the hat sat on their heads for the barest second before a House name was called. Neville Longbottom got himself sorted to Griffindor, taking only a trifle longer than the average. The only significant pause had been with Hermione, so far.

“Draco Malfoy,” MacGonagall called out.

Draco gave Harry an inscrutable look, then took a deep breath before he nearly marched to the stool. He sat down, and placed the hat on his head. The silence in the Hall stretched. Harry waited, watching Draco’s closed eyes, barely able to breathe. He really wanted Draco in the same House as him, though if asked, he’d be unable to say why. It was important. Like, never going back to the Dursleys important. It took nearly double the amount of time of Hermione’s sorting before the hat finally called out a name.

“Ravenclaw!”

Harry beamed, clapping wildly. Draco looked stunned, then began to smile. Just a little. He removed the hat and started for the Ravenclaw table, giving Harry a smug little smirk on his way by. As he passed Ron, Harry could hear the red head hiss at the blonde.

“Still a slimy Slytherin, Malfoy.”

Draco paused, frowning a the boy. He looked about to reply, when he simply turned his nose up and continued his trek to the cheering Ravenclaws. When Ron turned back to Harry, it was to find the brunette glaring at him, Hedwig mantled on his shoulder and hissing at him. This appeared to puzzle the red head, if his expression was anything to go by, but Harry turned his attention firmly back to the sorting of a girl named Moon, swallowing his anger. He refused to respond to any prodding on Ron’s part. Wondering how Draco’s godfather felt about the hat’s choice, Harry looked up to the Head Table. The Potions Master appeared thoughtful, though still sported a raised brow of surprise as his dark eyes followed the blonde.

Harry watched the sorting of the Patel twins, each to a different house much to his surprise. Professor MacGonagall seemed to stutter, pause briefly as she stared at the parchment, then she cleared her throat.

“Harry Potter,” she called out while quickly searching the much diminished line of first years.

Harry stepped toward the stool, noticing the woman’s surprise from the corner of his eye, then her more intent look at his features. He tried to ignore her as he picked up the hat, and climbed up on the stool. He arranged his book bag comfortably at his side, and waited for Hedwig to settle on his shoulder, gathering himself. Harry did his best to ignore the rampant whispering in the Hall as he placed the hat on his head. It practically covered his eyes. The brim was so wide, it forced Hedwig to virtually crouch on his shoulder. She didn’t appear to mind, however, and explored the fabric with a curious beak.

“Now then, what have we here?” a voice said in his head.

Harry hadn’t expected that. He had been silently repeating ‘Ravenclaw’ to himself, thinking that was what he needed to do to influence the hat’s choice, but he was surprised into a blank in his thoughts.

“That Malfoy boy tried the same thing,” the voice said with a tone of amusement. “That makes three of you who are determined to make your own place in the school.”

“Is that so bad?” Harry thought back at the voice.

“Perhaps not, perhaps so. Time will tell,” the hat replied, shifting on Harry’s head. He could feel the hat trying to forage a little deeper into his mind, so he thought of nothing but chocolate frogs leaping all over each other. The hat’s laughter in his head was instant.

“Clever. It’s rare to find a budding Occlumens in one so young. But we have a task to complete, young Mr. Potter,” the hat insisted. “Best let me have a look.”

Very reluctantly, Harry allowed himself to relax and let down his guard a little. At least, he tried to not consciously block the hat from doing what it needed to do. It was difficult, though. He had spent so long guarding himself in every way, that even relaxing his thoughts seemed impossible. Every waking moment was a study in misdirection and misinformation in an effort to keep his secrets.

“Of the three of you,” the hat mused, “you seem the best suited for Slytherin, Mr. Potter. You could go far, there. Ambition and plans burn in your mind. There’s loyalty too, to your new friend and your familiar. Fierce protection, too. That would make you well suited to Hufflepuff on it’s own. The bravery, however, is the cornerstone of your make up. Griffindor would be proud to call you one of it’s own. A keen mind and hunger to learn make you a perfect choice for Ravenclaw. But, where to put you?”

“Ravenclaw,” Harry immediately answered in his thoughts. “I want to be with Draco.”

“Are you sure? Slytherin really would help you on the road to greatness.”

“I don’t want greatness. I want my own life, without the manipulations of others.”

“Indeed,” the hat answered thoughtfully. “It’s all here, you know, in your mind. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secrets, young lion. They’re safe with me. A thousand years later and I still keep the greatest of Hogwarts secrets. Yes, any or all of the Houses would suit you. But, until you find your true self, it had better be…”

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat called aloud.

Harry’s emotions jumped from alarm to intense relief. He took off the hat and hopped down from the stool, green eyes already looking for Draco. Containing his smile, and trying to ignore the even more intense cheering and applause coming from the Ravenclaw table, he replaced the hat and headed toward the blonde. Passing a frowning and flushed Ron, he spared him only a glance when the red head hissed ‘traitor’ at him. Harry sat down across from Hermione, and on Draco’s right, who thumped him happily on the back hard enough to jostle Hedwig into flapping her wings to maintain her balance. David called from a little farther up the table, giving the brunette a thumbs up gesture.

They watched the rest of the sorting, Harry relieved again when Ron got himself sorted into Griffindor. The new Ravenclaw didn’t dare look toward the Headmaster until the man himself stood from the Head Table after Blaize Zambini had been sorted to Slytherin, and McGonagall was taking the hat and stool out of the hall.

“Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words,” the elderly man said clearly and loudly, his beard bobbing along his chest, “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

Upon the final word, the tables were flooded by the appearance of food. The Headmaster sat down, and the children all began to fill their plates, chattering in a constant babble of sound to fill the Great Hall.

“Is he a bit mad?” Harry asked Draco while still looking toward the Headmaster. He couldn’t help noticing that Professor Dumbledore was looking right back at him.

Draco shrugged a bit while spooning potatoes onto his plate. “Maybe,” he answered, not very interested. “Father says he’s a brilliant moron, and so far I find myself agreeing.”

Hermione gasped, then huffed, giving the boys a girlish glare.

The two shared a grin, before Harry turned to look over the selections on the table. He filled his plate with modest portions of his favorites, careful to include healthier vegetables as well. His Healer, Davidson, had warned him that Hogwarts fare tended to be rich, so admonished his patient to eat balanced meals. Even after a month of practice at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry still found it hard to believe that he could, and should, eat three meals a day, at the very least. The elves were constantly trying to foist snacks upon him in an attempt to fatten him up. Before he began to eat, however, Harry took a nutrient potion from his book bag, drank it as quickly as he could, then dropped the re-corked vial back into his bag.

He tucked into his meal then, actually hungry, looking down the long table at all the other Ravenclaws. He was pointedly not looking at Hermione, who was giving him curious looks. A sudden stab of pain in his scar nearly made him drop his fork, and he found himself half turned in his seat to look directly at Professor Quirrel. The man had his back to him, talking earnestly with Draco’s godfather. Harry turned back around, appetite lost, and resisted the urge to rub his forehead, but it was difficult.

That was twice now. Twice that his scar had this strange pain and Quirrel was there, turned away from him. What did it mean? What was happening? He had never felt anything like it. He couldn’t think around the burning, stabbing spike that was slowly burrowing it’s way into his forehead. It was getting worse by the minute. Hedwig churred next to his ear, nibbling his skin and hair. He could feel her concern, but couldn’t even open his eyes to comfort her. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes. He slapped a hand over his forehead when the pain spiked even more, bringing tears to his eyes. He had to get away from it. He needed to leave. He tried to get up, when hands suddenly gripped his left arm. Just like that, the pain was gone.

“Harry? Are you alright?” Draco was saying in quiet tones. “Harry?”

Panting in relief at the absence of pain, Harry remained still for another moment while he collected himself. Surreptitiously, he wiped the moisture from his eyes with his right hand, keeping his head down until he felt able to face the others at the table. He could nearly feel Draco’s concern as clearly as Hedwig’s.

“I’m okay,” he finally answered, just as quietly. “I’m fine. It was just a sudden headache.”

He opened his eyes to find Draco frowning at him. Summoning a smile, he lightly patted one of Draco’s hands. He also sent reassurance and calm to Hedwig.

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” he said quietly, for the blonde’s ears alone.

“You’re racking up loads to tell me later,” Draco complained, but relaxed a little, apparently accepting the answer for the time being. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Harry nodded, feeling a lot better. He looked over his shoulder to find Quirrel facing the Hall again. Draco followed his gaze, then turned a puzzled frown to his friend. A look of resignation crossed his somewhat pointed features. Harry could also feel Hedwig’s concern growing to irritation.

“Later?” the blonde asked quietly.

Harry could only offer an apologetic smile and shrug the shoulder Hedwig wasn’t currently worrying with her talons. The owl finally barked quite loudly directly into his ear to get Harry’s attention.

“Ow, Hedwig. I’m sorry, okay?” He reached up to stroke the owl, trying to smooth her puffed feathers and get her to calm down. “I’m sorry you worried, but it’s gone now. I’m fine. It’s okay, girl.”

He got the owl onto his right forearm and brought her down to eye level, stroking her head and neck with his other hand that was only a little hampered by Draco’s continued grip on his upper arm. The owl started to calm, nibbling lightly at his chin, then stretching herself upwards to rub her beak, then the top of her head over his forehead. She certainly knew what his problem had been, though there was nothing the pair seemed able to do about it. Harry made a mental note to talk with Healer Davidson about it, and ask again if there was any progress in treating the thing. He really wasn’t looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts classes if he had this to look forward to.

With some prodding by the owl, who indicated her desire by picking up Harry’s fork in her beak rather pointedly, Harry resumed his meal. Hedwig walked up his arm and fluttered to his shoulder with a hop, and settled herself to watch over her wizard and make sure he ate a decent amount. Harry was far from enthusiastic about it, but ate to please her. Draco gave his arm a squeeze, to which he replied with a slight smile, and the two boys tried to look industrious over their meals. Hermione didn’t look convinced or impressed, but she never said anything.

Hogwarts ghostly population made another appearance during the feast, floating among the tables and upon occasion, directly through them. A beautiful lady was introduced to the Ravenclaw first years as the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw’s resident ghost. The pudding course did help revive Harry’s flagged appetite, and Draco helped farther by making sure he offered his friend a helping of just about every sweet that appeared. Laughing, Harry tried at least a taste of each.

Once the desserts had cleared from the tables, the Headmaster again rose from his seat.

“I have a few start of term announcements to make,” he began, looking over the student body with a benevolent gaze. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“Also, if you need to know what items are banned from the school, please check the list on Mr. Filch’s door. Last, but certainly not least, please stay away from the third floor corridor, unless you wish to die a most gruesome and painful death. Now Prefects, please escort our first years to their dormitories. Sleep well, everyone.”

Harry waited until they were out in the corridor before saying anything. “I expect there will be a rush of students trying to see what’s on the third floor, now.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione piped up from his right. “If the Headmaster says it’s forbidden, then everyone is sure to obey.”

Draco merely shook his head, and lead the trio in David’s wake. As a consequence, the rest of the first year Ravenclaws fell into line behind them. Harry found himself a little gape mouthed at the movement of the staircases overhead. The youngest Ravens followed along to the west tower of the school, while Harry tried to absorb everything from their route to the many hundreds of paintings and portraits they passed. The castle was truly astounding, prompting a little bit of culture shock in the eleven year old. He could nearly feel the magic embedded in the very stones of the ancient building.

The password for the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, in the west tower of the castle, turned out to be the answer to a logic puzzle posed by the guardian door knocker in the shape of a raven. There was no handle on the door, and only giving an answer to the puzzle would open it, it was explained. Once inside, Harry was struck by the airy comfort and hominess of the common area. Warmly burning fireplaces, two of them, were grouped with plush furniture to take advantage of their warmth, while more groupings were placed to catch the sunlight that would stream in the large windows which completely circled the room. Several study tables with attendant, low bookshelves stood ready to serve, and thick, colorful rugs covered the chill and severity of the stone floor. Tapestries were intermingled with paintings and bookcases on the walls to further enhance the feeling of warmth in the large, room. What might have been cluttered, instead gave the impression of a large, open and airy place. A statue of a woman stood near the only other doorway in the circular room, leading presumably to the dormitories. Like in the Great Hall, the ceiling here was also enchanted to reflect the night sky. The overall color scheme was blue and silver on light colored stone that looked a great deal like marble. In a word, Harry found the common room inviting.

The first years were lead to an arrangement of furniture by one of the fireplaces closest to the stature and urged to make themselves comfortable. Steaming cups of cocoa appeared on the occasional tables, one for each of them. Harry sat between Draco and Hermione on one of the couches, the stresses and length of the day starting to catch up with him. The rest of Ravenclaw House were trickling in and making themselves comfortable elsewhere in the common room, with their own cups of cocoa appearing. Hermione looked longingly at the nearest bookshelf, while Draco appeared to be just as tired as Harry was. Hedwig opted to perch herself on the back of the couch, but she also took in the high ceiling and airy room.

A short, tiny man made his way from the archway leading to the dorms and to the grouping of first years. Harry found himself wondering where he had seen the man before, other than the Great Hall, when it struck him that it wasn’t so much him, as his bearing and gait. He reminded Harry a great deal of the goblins at Gringotts.

“Good evening, newest ravens,” he began with a cheery voice and eager smile. “Welcome to Ravenclaw House and the Aerie. I’m Professor Flitwick, your head of House, and the Professor for charms. For the next several years, this will be your home away from home. In just a bit, the Prefects will hand out your welcome packets. You’ll find plenty of useful information in those packets, so I suggest you study them thoroughly.

“This, as you may have guessed, is the common room. Everything in it is for the common use of all in Ravenclaw. Please be respectful when burrowing books from the shelves, as there’s sure to be someone else just as eager as you to read them. This small library is designed to help you with your studies, as are the study groups which include tutors from all years who will be available to help you along. Now, let’s go around and introduce ourselves, shall we?”

The little man looked eagerly to his left and the boy sitting in a chair closest to him. Starting with him, the group turned out to be Anthony Goldstein, followed by Mandy Brocklehurst, Lisa Turpin and Padma Patil sitting on another couch. Draco, Harry and Hermione introduced themselves next, followed by Terry Boot and Michael Corner who took up the last two chairs.

“Excellent,” enthused Professor Flitwick. “I know you all must be tired, but there are just a few things we should go over. These are your Prefects. You can go to them at any time if you have a problem.”

He indicated two older students who stood by the fireplace holding small booklets.

“Penelope Clearwater and Robert Willard are here for you to answer questions,” Flitwick continued, “They’ll be available to sort you into study groups that will help you with areas of weakness or even for you to help another where you are strong. They’ll help you find your way around the school, and answer any questions you may have about Hogwarts.

“They’ll also be available to settle arguments, and you’d best believe that they won’t be shy about taking points for any misbehavior. Traditionally, Ravenclaw takes the higher road when it comes to House rivalries. I’m sure you’ve already heard all about the scuttlebutt concerning Griffindor and Slytherin Houses. I know I would be much happier if all the Houses were to work together to get along. Each year, we Ravens strive to come closer to that goal.

“This statue is of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. If those four worthy individuals could come together to create all of this, then we mere mortals should do all we can to promote their unity of purpose, don’t you agree?”

Harry found himself nodding along with all the others. It was a noble idea, however impractical it could prove to be.

“My door is always open,” Flitwick went on, “should you have any concerns or need help of any kind. I want you to understand that I, along with the Prefects and our Head Boy David Vecchio, will do all we can to ensure that you are settling in comfortably. I’ll be in the common room most evenings as well, and my own quarters are accessible through the first door past Lady Rowena’s statue. Also, please remember what the Headmaster said about the third floor corridor. It really is dangerous to find yourself wandering there. No matter how curious you are, no student should go there. I can well understand how a sense of adventure may lead you to go exploring, but that corridor is strictly off limits, am I understood?”

Again, Harry found himself nodding along, though he did wonder how effective these warnings might be. To forbid something without a logical, tangible reason other than ‘a painful and gruesome death’ was certain to lead to someone wanting to have a look. Even if only to confirm how dangerous it might be. This was a school, after all. Anything other than structural defects, which should have been mentioned if true, was sure to draw the curious, and even then there were always the foolhardy wanting to know everything for it’s own sake. Even Harry was curious.

“Now then,” their Head of House continued, “each of you take one of the packets, and follow your Prefects up to your dorm rooms. It’s getting late, and tomorrow is going to be a full day. Be sure to be in the Great Hall for breakfast by no later than eight thirty to get your class schedules. Curfew for first years is eight pm, and you should try to be in bed no latter than nine for a full night’s rest. Off you go now.”

Harry accepted his packet and got up to follow the other boys being lead by Willard, Hedwig landing softly on his shoulder before he passed the statue. He smiled a good night to Hermione who was lead away with the other girls to the girl’s dorms. After a considerable climb up the tower stairs, the five boys found themselves lead into an open and spacious, circular room. It was lined by five beds, all but one with a trunk at it’s foot and situated between tall windows, each with a wide, padded seat. A tall, narrow wardrobe accompanied each comfortable looking four poster, and a small nightstand with it’s own lamp took it’s place on the opposite side of the beds. The thick, blue curtains were opened on each bed.

“This is the first years dormatory,” Willard explained. “You’ll find your trunks at the foot of each bed, but if you don’t like the current arrangement, take a few minutes now to move your trunk to a bed of your choice. Please remember to leave out all of your school robes and ties so the house elves can affix the house colours and crests for the morning.”

Since Harry carried his trunk, he went to the unclaimed bed and waited for Draco to exchange places with Michael so they would be next to each other. Removing his own truck from his book bag, Harry gave it a tap with his wand to enlarge it again at the foot of his bed. Another series of taps opened it to the compartment he wanted, and he reached inside to pull out his school robes and ties. He had prepared his trunk carefully so to be able to reach in and get things from small shelves and hooks without revealing the rooms. It had taken three trips to the shop before he was finally satisfied with it. He also removed his pajamas and toiletries bag which he laid on the end of his bed.

Once all the boys were ready, Williard explained where the lavatories and showers were on that floor, and told them again the hours of curfew. He also informed them that with each successive year, their dorm would go down a floor in the tower, to be closer to the common room. Their final year would see them in individual rooms on the same floor as their Head of House and the common room.

While interesting on an informational standpoint, Harry was more than ready for bed. It had been a horribly long day, and all he wanted was a bath and a bed, not even in that order. He’d sort out everything in his head after it didn’t feel as though it were stuffed with cotton anymore. He set up Hedwig’s perch by the window first thing, then pajamas and leather bag of toiletries in hand, Harry followed Draco into the lavatory. While impressive, he didn’t dwell over the appointments in the room. He simply undressed and showered quickly, dressed in his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and lead the way back out to the dorm, clothes bundled in his arms. He made sure everything was laid out on the top of his trunk, and set the toiletries bag on the nightstand before crawling into bed. He double checked Hedwig to make sure she was alright, but his bond was quiescent and he found the owl with her head tucked under a wing.

It was heavenly, the bed. Softly supportive, the sheets crisp and cooly soft yet quickly warming to his body heat, with plenty of pillows for him to both cushion his head and pile around him in a comfortable nest, and the most perfect duvet cover. As tempting as it was to simply fall asleep, he had a promise to keep. So, Harry stayed awake while the others got settled into bed and turned off their lights, then slipped from his own to Draco’s. He slid through a gap in the closed curtains to climb up on the bed, the blonde sitting up again to regard him curiously.

“I guess I have some explaining to do,” he started in a near whisper, looking into the silvery eyes.

Draco nodded.

Harry worried his lower lip. Now that he had to explain himself, he didn’t know where to start, exactly. “Maybe it would be easier if you asked me questions?”

“Okay,” Draco said, plumping a few pillows behind his back to make himself more comfortable. “Why did you want us to get sorted to Ravenclaw?”

Harry knew that one would be near the top of Draco’s list. He sighed. “That’s the hardest one, really. See, you know how I’m sort of.. well, famous.. right?”

Draco nodded.

“Well, it turns out that someone is going to try and run my life,” Harry watched Draco carefully while he tried to explain. “I don’t want that. Ron told me that the Headmaster had been round to his house last Sunday for dinner, and told his mum that he wanted Ron to make himself my friend, and to get me sorted into Griffindor.”

Draco’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “But.. but that’s.. ” he huffed to himself, deflating a little. “I have to tell you something Harry. See, my father told me that Harry Potter was supposed to start school this year, and that I was to find a way to get close to him.. you.”

Harry smirked a little. “Yeah, I can see him doing that. I saw your parents with you on the platform. He probably thinks there’s some status thing involved. His son best mates with the famous kid.”

“Something like that,” Draco agreed with a little shrug, “but he’s always got plans inside of plans. I don’t really know why he wanted me to do that, but I can’t think that status is the only reason, Harry.”

“Well, how do you feel about it?” Harry asked a little warily. He didn’t like to think that Draco could be an enemy. “I mean, now that you know who I am.”

“I had already decided that I’ll make my own friends,” Draco said, crossing his arms, “even before I got on the train. I know what my father is like, Harry. He can be .. well, hard sometimes. I really listened to what you said that day in Diagon Alley, though. I have feelings, and thoughts of my own. I shouldn’t let Father put them there for me, right?”

“Right,” Harry said, smiling his relief. “I’m glad, Draco. I know it’s probably not easy to go against the things your father is teaching you, but I really do believe that you should make up your own mind about some stuff, at least.”

“I know,” Draco was nodding, looking at his duvet covered knees a little pensively. “I had to hide it from him a little, that I was making up my own mind about some stuff. You really did make me see things different. I can’t believe that happened. I met a boy, never knew his name, and he changed everything.”

Chagrined, Harry looked away, worrying his lip again. “I’m sorry. Look, I really don’t want you to get into trouble with your father. I wasn’t trying to do that. I was just… I … ”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco was quick to reassure his friend, a hand resting on Harry’s shoulder. “I got it, okay? I know what you were trying to do. I was a prat, I can see that now. Going on and on about my father as though I didn’t know what my own thoughts looked like. You helped me, Harry, and I have to thank you for that.”

“Really?” Harry said, looking hopefully into Draco’s eyes.

“Yeah,” the blonde replied, giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze. “Besides, I thought that pretending would be good practice for being in Slytherin.”

“I guess I changed that too,” Harry said with a smile smile. “That’s the other reason I wanted you to come to Ravenclaw. It seemed like the perfect place to hide a couple of Slytherins.”

“You too?” Draco’s eyes were wide, and he laughed when Harry nodded, quickly trying to make himself more quiet with both hands over his mouth.

When the two boys sobered, Draco regarded Harry with a worried frown. “What happened during the feast, Harry? I don’t believe that was a sudden headache that just as suddenly went away.”

Harry sighed. How to explain this one? He didn’t even know what happened.

“I really don’t know,” he began. “It’s the second time that happened, but it was the worst. The other time happened at the Leaky Cauldron, and Professor Quirrel was there then, too.”

“What, Harry? What happened?”

“It was my scar,” Harry said, lifting his fringe to reveal the lightening bolt shaped mark on his forehead. “It hurt really bad, like a burning spike was being pounded right through it. I don’t know why, though.”

Draco reached out, a single finger tracing the vividly pink mark. Draco had never seen it before since Harry tried so hard to keep it hidden. Harry found it tingled with the cool tracing, sort of painful, yet not.

“It stopped hurting as soon as you touched me,” Harry confessed quietly.

“Really?” Draco said in surprise.

Harry nodded, dropping his hand again. “I really don’t want to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not if I’m only going to feel that every time the Professor turns around.”

Draco shrugged. “So, I keep a hand on you or something. We can get around it somehow.”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, nodding a little. “I just wish I knew why it happened in the first place. I hope my Healer can figure it out. I’ll have to tell him about it when he comes.”

“Wow, your Healer is coming here?” the blonde asked, “to Hogwarts? Why?”

“I need monthly spells and potions, and he brings me some nutrient potions. What he doesn’t send by Hedwig, anyway. She would get pretty tired going back and forth so often.” Harry hadn’t intended to reveal so much about himself, but he simply couldn’t refuse Draco anything, he found. Not even answers.

He’d still keep his big secrets, of course. He had to, for now, but he was deeply reluctant to deny the other boy straight forward information about himself.

A quiet bark caught the attention of both boys, and they looked out the gap in the curtains. Hedwig was awake on her perch, her yellow eyes luminous in the moonlight. She puffed up her feathers, then shook herself hard, flapping her wings. Harry could feel her fond exasperation, and he smiled to himself.

“I guess that means it’s time for bed,” he said to Draco.

Hedwig churred a note of indignation, then tucked her head under her wing again. Draco snorted from beside him.

“I guess so. Thanks for explaining things, Harry. I think Ravenclaw might be a good fit, now that I’ve had a chance to think about it.”

Harry smiled. “I’m glad. Night, Draco.”

“Night, Harry.”

Although reluctant, Harry slipped from the bed and padded barefoot back to his own in quick steps because of the cold floor. He jumped into his own bed, leaving the curtains open a little on Draco’s side, and toward the brazier. He made himself comfortable, then let his thoughts drift to that clear space in his mind he often visited before checking his magical core. He found that if he did it before sleep, he not only slept better, but he was able to retain things he had learned through the day, if he gave them some consideration while drifting. He did this now, barely noticing the transition between mediation and sleep when it finally claimed him.

Habitually an early riser, Harry still preferred to wake with Hedwig’s gentle nudges. He greatly enjoyed these quiet moments of the morning, communing with his familiar. He glanced at the time, twenty five to seven, and sat up to arrange the pillows for their morning ritual. With Hedwig in her usual place on a pillow next to his knee, Harry explored his core. He gently stroked the bond strand to the owl. It was now thick and strong, humming happily with the owl’s emotions and perceptions. She enjoyed their mornings just as much as he. Lately, he had been trying to determine how deep his core was, without actually entering it. He hadn’t yet told Healer Davidson about these internal explorations, and wasn’t sure about what he was doing. He progressed slowly, taking his time to become deeply and intimately familiar with his magic.

He could also feel the castle’s magic even more strongly here, for some reason. Perhaps because he was calmly open to it while exploring so deeply within himself. It didn’t infringe on him in any negative way. It was simply there, like a warm blanket enfolding him. Tentatively, he reached out to it, as though playing his fingers through the field of magic guarding the doorway to his vault. This was far more vibrant and deeply layered, however. Complex and stirring warm acceptance to his touch. Harry could feel possibilities. Endless possibilities, in the depths of this unfamiliar magic. He didn’t know what it meant, but he found it exciting and interesting. He went back to exploring his own core.

He was surprised to find the thin strand of a new bond forming. It was a silvery green, like the underside of new leaves on an aspen in spring. When he gingerly touched it, he could very faintly feel the sleeping presence of Draco. His heart leapt in excited joy, and he instantly began the process of shoring up his end of the nascent bond. He didn’t know that such bonds could form, as he hadn’t researched bonds all that much. He simply accepted Hagrid’s word about bonding with Hedwig, and wanted it to happen too much to find out if there was a possibility that it wouldn’t. He would have to change that now. He would need to learn what it would mean for both him and Draco. He would also need to talk with the blonde about it, to get his feelings on the matter. It would hurt, but if Draco didn’t want this bond to happen, he would break it. He wouldn’t force the other boy to accept something he didn’t want.

Once finished there, for now, since he wanted the bond to progress slowly and naturally, he concluded his morning tour as he normally did. He took a peek at that really black, nasty strand. Alarmed, he found it had thickened and had sprouted new roots at his core. Harry was disgusted enough to feel intense nausea roll his stomach and Hedwig’s concern over his sudden change in mood echoed through him. He was so desperately upset over this change, that he dared to get the closest he ever had to this intruder. He tried to get his core to reject the new roots, and was encouraged when the surface of his core began to ripple and weave, then heave beneath the tentacle strands. Harry tried harder, concentrating. One, then another, were shaken loose, wavering and trying to reattach themselves, but hot sparks jumped from his core to sear them. Harry concentrated harder, his core bucking under the intrusions, until all the new filaments were shaken loose and seared. The strand itself thinned, and Harry backed away in exhausted relief.

That took a lot to do, so he knew he hadn’t a hope of trying the thicker roots. He really needed to talk to Healer Davidson.

Harry woke to find all of his dorm mates grouped around his bed, Draco sitting right in front of him, and Hedwig barking her concern, perched on his thigh.

“What did you do, Harry?” Draco asked, frowning deeply. “What happened?”

“What?” Harry looked around at everyone. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

“It felt like the whole room was shaking,” Michael said. “Your curtains were flapping around like in a wind and we’d get a shock when we tried to shake you awake.”

“That happened to me, once,” Terry offered. “I had a nightmare after visiting a Halloween horror house, and my mum woke me. Things in my room had been flying around.”

“Is that what it was?” Anthony asked. “Did you have a nightmare Harry?”

Harry nodded. He couldn’t see any other way to explain the magical outburst that the others would accept. Except Draco, of course. The other boy was looking at him skeptically.

“Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yawning, Anthony waved away Harry’s apology. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, turning away to return to his bed. “We should probably get up anyway.”

“I wonder what’s for breakfast?” Terry said, suddenly looking wide awake and eager for the day.

While the others returned to their parts of the dorm, Harry turned to Draco, his fingers stroking Hedwig’s feathers.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Draco stated, watching his new friend.

“No, it wasn’t.” Harry agreed. “There’s something stuck on my core. It’s black and nasty and I don’t want it. I found this morning that it’s trying to grow, so I was shaking it off.”

Draco knelt in front of him, his mouth agape and looking stunned. Harry started to get worried for his friend the longer the silence stretched and Draco hunted for words.

“What did you do?”

Harry frowned, tilting his head. He decided to explain a little more. “Every morning, I meditate on my magical core. I like seeing the changes and how it interacts with me, and things around me. I helped Hedwig’s bond with me grow that way, and I discovered a new bond starting to form with you. Anyway, since I started doing that, there was always this black one, and I hate it. I never go near it, because I don’t know what it is or what might happen. This morning, though, I found it had tried to grow, and I had to stop it.”

Draco swallowed hard, staring at him, then abruptly rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Wait a minute. Wait. Okay, so you’re telling me that you can see your magical core?”

Harry nodded when the silver eyes reappeared.

“And you could influence your bond with Hedwig?”

Harry nodded again.

“And you have a bond with me?”

Harry again nodded, smiling tentatively this time.

“We’ll get back to that. So, you have this black bond that you don’t like and want to get rid of?”

Frowning, Harry nodded a fourth time.

Draco frowned, studying him. “I wonder if it has something to do with your scar. Last night it hurt worse than ever, and today this black bond had grown.”

Harry blinked at the blonde. Why hadn’t he seen the connection for himself? “That’s brilliant, Draco. That must be it.”

Draco frowned and stared at him hard. “You’re going to teach me how to look at my core, Harry, and you’re going to tell me what this bond between us is all about.”

“I don’t know what it’s about, Draco,” Harry said, feeling unsure of himself and deeply unsettled by that feeling as much as Draco being angry with him. “I’ll break it, if you want.”

“What?” Draco exclaimed, indignant and kneeling up straight. “Don’t you dare. Look, we’ll just have to get a couple of books and look it up. Okay?”

Harry nodded emphatically. That’s exactly what he had intended to do.

“Good,” Draco nodded decisively, then slid from the bed. “Get up and get dressed. We might as well go to breakfast since we’re awake. Merlin, what time is it anyway?”

Deeply amused at Draco ordering him around, Harry checked the time even as he slid out of bed with a much happier owl on his arm. “It’s ten past seven.”

“Merlin’s beard, it’s too early,” Draco complained, going to his own bed and trunk.

Harry found he was famished, once he turned his mind toward the thought of food. He thought he could use a couple hours more sleep as well. His efforts had cost him, it seemed. Sleep would have to wait, however. He wanted to get started on his first day of school.

All the boys got ready quickly, and before seven thirty they were in the common room, waiting for one of the Prefects to appear and lead them to the Great Hall. Harry had his booklet with him, which he intended to read over breakfast, and was already looking over the pull out map of the castle. He also had all of his books and other necessary items in his book bag, slung over his shoulder.

“This looks easy enough,” Draco commented from over Harry’s left shoulder. Hedwig churred her agreement from Harry’s right.

Harry wanted to agree. As confusing as the multitude of changing stairs and long corridors appeared, the castle’s layout certainly seemed straight forward enough on paper, or parchment in this case. The girls came down from their part of the tower just as the Prefects arrived. The entire group made their way down to the Great Hall, the two boys tracking their progress on the map and even correctly predicting turns and which staircase would be used.

Harry found himself eating the largest breakfast he ever had. He was starving. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, fried potatoes and even some cut fruit. He tried some pumpkin juice on Draco’s urging, but found it a little too thick and cloying for his taste, so switched to milk. Hermione chattered away to his right, reading out information to the other first years from the booklet and participating in the little discussions that sprang up amoung the children. Harry was happy enough to listen while he ate, much to Hedwig’s pleasure.

Professor Flitwick walked the length of the table, passing out the student’s schedules and answering questions or having brief conversations with the upper years. By the time he reached the first years, Harry had finished eating and he and Draco were talking about the Founders, a discussion prompted by a passage in the booklet. The youngest Ravenclaws looked over their schedule for the first term.

Monday: Period 1: Transfiguration – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff

Lunch

Period 2: Charms – Slytherin Ravenclaw

…..

Tuesday: Period 1: History of Magic – Griffindor Ravenclaw

Lunch

Period 2: Potions – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff

Flying – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff (4:30 pm)

……

Wednesday: Period 1: Potions – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff

Lunch

Period 2: Potions – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff

…..

Thursday: Period 1: Herbology – Ravenclaw Slytherin

Lunch

Period 2: Transfiguration – Ravenclaw Hufflepuff

Midnight:  Astronomy

…..

Friday: Period 1: Charms – Ravenclaw Slytherin

Lunch

Period 2: Defense Against The Dark Arts – Ravenclaw Griffindor

“We have flying tomorrow,” Draco enthused. “You’re going to love it, Harry. I can’t wait.”

“Flying?” Harry pictured himself floating in the air.

“On brooms,” Draco explained. “Like for Quidditch.”

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick interrupted. “the Headmaster told me that he would like to see you in his office after breakfast. You’d best hurry if you don’t want to be late for your first class. The password is Gobstoppers.”

“Do you know why, Professor?” Harry frowned, unable to think of why the Headmaster would call him to the office.

“He didn’t say,” the Proffessor said, looking unsettled by the whole idea, “but feel free to talk to me about it at lunch or before Charms this afternoon, if you need to.”

“I will. Thanks Professor.” Harry nodded, and turned back to Draco. “I guess I’d better go. I’ll see you in class.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll hurry.”

“I can’t think why the Headmaster would want to see you, Harry.” Hermione said, frowning herself. “You didn’t break any rules that I know of.”

“I didn’t,” Harry agreed, getting up from the bench and adjusting his book bag after he fished out his map. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Walking quickly, Harry left the Great Hall and started up the stairs toward the Headmaster’s office. Why the man couldn’t have stayed in the Great Hall and talked to him there was a mystery. Harry was surely going to be late for his first class. That wasn’t the impression he wanted to make on his teacher on his first day. Following the map, and Hedwig who flew ahead, he made his way as quickly as he could to the correct floor, then found himself outside the office facing the statue of a gargoyle which blocked his way to the statue of a bird beyond. Harry gave the password the Professor had told him, and the statue leapt aside to allow him passage to the now revolving statue, which revealed a staircase going up, much like an escalator. Harry slipped the booklet back into his book bag, got on the rising staircase and climbed as well as rode. At the top, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside.

Harry opened the door and entered the Headmaster’s domain. Closing the door softly behind him, he and Hedwig looked around at the cluttered office. Every available inch of wall held a portrait, and every surface held some gadget or another, most of them in motion.

“Ah, Harry. Come in, come in,” the Headmaster beckoned from behind his large, ornate desk. A chair sat in front of it, chinzed and overstuffed.

Harry frowned a little, though walked forward to perch on the edge of the offered chair.

“Lemon drop?” the Headmaster offered from a bowl of candies on his desk.

Harry shook his head. Hedwig’s inquiring churr had Harry looking toward the window, where a beautiful red and golden bird was on a perch. The boy’s eyes widened a little. He had never seen a bird like it. The bird warbled a greeting, and Harry instantly recognized it as the bird song that connected him to his wand. This must be a phoenix.

“I’m sure you must be wondering why I called you to my office, Harry,” the Headmaster was saying. He looked amused at Harry’s reaction to seeing the phoenix.

“I am, sir” the boy allowed, collecting himself and settling his thoughts. “I haven’t broken any rules.”

“No, of course you haven’t, my dear boy.”

The Headmaster’s words made Harry want to frown again, but he kept his expression as neutral as he could. He didn’t much like the familiar way the older man was speaking to him.

“I was just hoping to find out why the hat sorted you into Ravenclaw,” Dumbledore continued. “I have to admit I was surprised that you weren’t sorted into Griffindor.”

This time Harry did frown. “I don’t see why it’s important, Headmaster. I mean, I’m just another student. Why does it matter what House I’m in?”

The Headmaster frowned as well, as though unused to being questioned in quite this way. Harry felt a subtle pressure in his head, much like how it felt when the hat was sorting him. He tried the same trick of thinking only of leaping chocolate frogs, piling over each other. Hedwig barked and even the phoenix sang a low tone. The pressure disappeared.

“Of course it isn’t important,” Dumbledore finally said with a genial smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I was merely curious. Your parents, after all, were both in Griffindor.”

“Then why am I here, Headmaster?” Harry immediately returned. He had quickly determined that this meeting was not only unusual, but something that wasn’t to his favor. As alluring as information about his parents was, Harry could sense it was a trap of some kind, designed to lower his defenses.

Dumbledore looked a little taken aback, as though surprised that his lure hadn’t worked. He glanced down at his desk, then held up a parchment.

“I have a letter here, from a Healer Davidson,” he began, watching Harry closely. “It is to inform me that he will be visiting the school this coming Saturday to see you, and to request a time table for monthly visits.”

“That’s good,” Harry nodded, doing his best to project a sense of expectation. “What time on Saturday? I suppose we should meet in the infirmary.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “I’m certain that anything this Healer would see you for, our own Medi-witch, Madam Pomfrey, could easily take care of. I’m afraid I’m going to have to refuse this request and insist that you see the school Medi-witch.”

Harry shook his head. “According to the Hogwarts Charter, ‘any student enrolled in the school who has a personal Healer is to be afforded any and all expectations of seeing said Healer at the professional’s discretion or on an as needed basis’. Healer Davidson is my personal Healer, Headmaster. He is allowed to visit me.”

Dumbledore was frowning, clearly frustrated at being so neatly sidestepped. “You are correct, although I’m surprised that you know that, Harry. Not many students bother to read the Charter.”

“I’m surprised that the Headmaster of a school would deny any student proper medical attention,” Harry returned. “What time should I expect Healer Davidson, sir?”

“Why do you have a personal Healer, my boy?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, though he hadn’t completely masked his surprise at Harry’s accurate observation, and again Harry felt that pressure in his mind. Again the frogs cavorted.

“That is personal, Headmaster,” Harry answered, averting his eyes. Licorice wands joined the frogs, all dancing in a line. “The time, sir?”

Frowning now, the twinkle intensifying, Dumbledore finally seemed to relent. “He writes that he will be here at two p.m.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry got up immediately. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my first class, or I’ll be late.”

“Of course, my boy, of course,” Dumbledore said, more than a little distracted. “Off you go.”

Harry left the office and hurried toward the room marked on his map as the Transfiguration classroom. Checking his watch, he found he had only just a little over ten minutes to get there in time.

Back in the Headmaster’s office, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind Dumbldore’s desk.

“That was informative,” the Potions Master observed.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair thoughtfully.

“It would appear the hat had every reason to place the boy as it did. He’s clearly intelligent.”

“He’s also secretive, Severus.” the Headmaster stated with worry. “That bothers me, I’m afraid. No child so young should have secrets. I’ll need you to find out what you can.”

“As you say, Headmaster.” Professor Snape swept from the room, leaving a pensive Headmaster behind.

Of Classes and Classes

Harry ran down the Transfiguration corridor, Hedwig flying behind him, seeing his House mates gathered near the classroom doorway. There were even many of the first year Hufflepuffs as well. They were no doubt looking to have a goggle at The-Boy-Who-Lived. Panting, Harry stopped before Draco, and checked the time. He made it with four  minutes to spare.

“You made it,” Hermione said happily. “We were starting to worry.”

“Yup,” Harry bent with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Hedwig fluttered to Draco’s shoulder, much to the blonde’s surprise. “I.. found…. a shortcut… ”

“That’s good,” Draco said, stroking the owl who was investigating his slicked back hair. “You’ll have to show it to us.”

“We’d best get inside before the teacher arrives,” Hermione said, looking pensively into the classroom. “We really don’t want to be late.”

The students filed into the room, seeing no one but a tabby cat perched on the teacher’s desk, watching them all intently. By the time Harry settled between Draco and Hermione, his watch chimed the hour. Hedwig walked from Draco’s shoulder to his, then to the back of his chair, yellow eyes fixed on the cat. Harry could feel her smugness after a moment’s concentration. She knew something, so he watched the cat as well. He and Draco may have been the only students in the room who didn’t gasp in amazed surprise when the cat leapt from the desk, transforming in air to end up on her feet as Professor McGonagall. He may not have been too surprised, but Harry was certainly impressed. The flare of magic had been interesting to watch.

“Welcome to your first lesson in Transfiguration,” McGonagall began, walking down the aisle that separated the two Houses of students. Hufflepuff on her left, and Ravenclaw on her right.

Harry hadn’t noticed the house division when he was getting settled, but he did now and frowned a little, wondering why it had happened. They were in separate Houses, sure, but they were all eleven year old kids. They shouldn’t have been quite so segregated on the first day. He turned his attention back to the Professor.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she was saying. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Their first lesson was to turn matchsticks into needles. Harry had already read the textbook, so knew what to expect. He was eager to have a go, and already had his wand out and ready by the time McGonagall had finished her instructions. Magic was about intent, he had read, and about will, so when he got his matchstick, he paused long enough to clearly envision the results he wanted, before trying to cast the spell. His wand moved in careful mimicry of the correct pattern, and he felt a trickle of magic move along his arm, into his hand, and through his wand. The needle gleamed from the desktop at him.

He looked up to Draco with a wide smile. “I did it,” he exclaimed quietly, utterly unable to contain his excitement.

He had cast a spell. He really was a wizard. He didn’t really count what happened on the train, because that was less about intent and a lot more about survival. This was different. He wanted to turn the matchstick into a needle, and it happened.

By the end of the lesson, Draco, Hermione, Lisa Turpin and one of the Hufflepuffs had managed the transformation. Harry was confident that the two foot essay on the theory of the transfiguration wouldn’t take him long.

“Please remain a moment, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as the first years were packing their books and parchments away, and getting ready to leave.

He looked up at her in surprise, then resignation, nodding. Harry gave Draco a shrug at the blonde’s inquiring eyebrow, and sighed heavily. Was every teacher going to keep him after class?

“We’ll stay with you, Harry,” Hermione insisted, and indeed her and Draco weren’t getting up to leave as the others were.

That certainly made him feel better. Looking around him, he noted that the other Ravenclaw boys had also remained in their seats, and the rest of their year mates were hovering uncertainly near the door. Harry looked back to McGonagall. She was looking over the students with a raised eyebrow.

“Off you go, children,” she insisted with a wave of her hand. “I only need Mr. Potter for a moment.”

Those at the door began to file out, reluctantly, while those still in their seats only got up when McGonagall stared at them pointedly. Hermione and Draco refused to move. The door finally closed, leaving only the three still at their desks.

“Honestly,” McGonagall said, “I would like a private word with Mr. Potter. You two can wait out in the hall.”

“It’s alright, Professor,” Harry said, looking up at her. “I don’t mind if they stay. I don’t have anything to hide.”

The Professor raised her brow again, and pursed her lips. It was obvious she didn’t like being thwarted, nor disobeyed, but she hadn’t taken any points so how important could this little meeting be?

“Very well, then,” she said, approaching the desks they sat at. “The Headmaster has asked me to inquire after your health. He seems to think that a visit by your personal Healer is a cause for concern.”

It was Harry’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Forgive me for asking, Professor, but you don’t agree?”

“Of course I agree,” she sputtered, flustered. “Why would you ask me that?”

Harry only shrugged, looking up at her innocently. “I was only curious. It was the way you worded that. If you like, you can thank the Headmaster for me, for his concern, but it’s still a private matter.”

He stood up, Draco and Hermione following suit. Hedwig flew up to his right shoulder. “Was that all, Professor?”

“No, actually, it wasn’t.” McGonagall replied, gathering herself. “You appeared to know what I was going to do at the beginning of class. Have you had experience with an animagus before?”

Both Harry and Draco nodded.

“On the train, Professor,” Draco answered for Harry. “Peter Petegrew is a rat animagus. Did you know?”

“He’d been living with the Weasley’s as a pet for the past ten years,” Harry continued. “Who would have thought?”

“I saw him on the train,” Hermione concluded, wrinkling her pert nose. “Horrible looking man.”

“Petigrew? Rat?” McGonagall looked stunned. “On the train? The Weasleys? Was the rat’s name Scabbers, by any chance?”

“That’s what Ron called it, yeah,” Harry confirmed. “Right before it bit him, and Hedwig tried to catch him, and he turned into a man.”

McGonagall appeared to be at a loss for words, and stared into space for several moments until Draco cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Professor. Might we go to lunch now?”

“What? Oh yes, yes of course,” she said, snapped out of her haze. “Run along.”

The three headed out to find all of their year mates waiting in the hallway. They ended up explaining to them, on the way to the Great Hall, that the Professor wanted to know what had happened on the train. Nothing was said about Harry’s health, or the impending visit by the Healer.

Professor Flitwick was in the Hall for lunch, so when Harry sat down, he fetched a piece of parchment and a quill from his bag, and quickly wrote a note. Rolling it up, he passed it up to Hedwig.

“Would you take that to Professor Flitwick for me, Hedwig? He might want to reply.”

Churring happily, she took the rolled note in her beak and launched herself into the air for the short journey to the head table.

Harry kept half an eye on the head table while he and his friends loaded up their plates for lunch. Harry was again famished, and quickly drank his potion before beginning to eat. This seemed the final straw for Hermione, who lent closer to him on his right.

“Honestly Harry, won’t you tell me now what’s in the vial?” she asked, a little hurt tone in her voice. “I’ve been ever so patient.”

Quickly chewing and swallowing, he answered in a new whisper. “It’s a nutrient potion. I didn’t eat right growing up, and my body needs extra nutrients.”

“Is that why you have a personal Healer?” the girl frowned, studying him carefully. “Because you weren’t fed properly?”

Giving her a wary glance, Harry only nodded. Sitting up properly, Hermione went back to her meal, apparently chewing over that information.

“What did the Headmaster want to see you about?” Draco asked from his left.

Harry sighed. “It was stupid, really. He wanted to know why I was sorted to Ravenclaw, then he wanted to know why Healer Davidson needs to see me this weekend.”

“I don’t see how that’s really his business,” Draco obsserved slowly with a frown. “As Headmaster, he might need to be informed of any serious condition you might have, but otherwise it’s your personal information.”

“You’ve read the Charter, too?” Harry smirked.

“Of course,” Draco drew himself up importantly. “My father is on the Board of Governors, so I read all I could about Hogwarts.”

“Good,” Harry’s eyes had lit up. “Maybe you could tell me if the Headmaster has the right to intercept a student’s mail.”

Draco looked at him sharply, frowning. “That’s a serious allegation, Harry. Are you sure?”

Harry nodded, leaning closer. “I know for a fact Healer Davidson had intended to write to me personally. I hadn’t got a letter, yet the Headmaster had one from him.”

“Is that why you need an appointment with Professor Flitwick?” Hermione asked from his other side.

Harry nodded, watching Hedwig return with a small scroll of parchment in her beak. “I guess I’ll find out if our Head of House will stick up for his Ravens.”

He greeted the owl when she landed lightly on his shoulder, and accepted the note from her before feeding her some of the pork from his plate. He leaned back far enough to unroll and read the scroll under the table, then slipped it into his bag. He picked up his fork again, no where near finished with his meal.

“I’ll see him after charms,” he informed his friends.

“Did you want me to stay with you?” Draco asked.

“Sure, if you want,” Harry said after swallowing. “It’s not like you don’t already know.”

“And me too, Harry?” Hermione tentatively offered from his right. “I know you don’t know me as well as Draco, but I really do want to be your friend. Will you let me help support you?”

Harry paused to look back and forth between the two. Hermione looked hopeful, while Draco looked neutral. Harry frowned a little, thinking quickly. He knew Hermione was muggle born, and Draco was raised by the ultimate aristocrat. There had also been that tiny slip right before the sorting. Could Draco be prejudiced against the muggle born? Harry decided it was time to nip that in the bud, and he nodded to Hermione.

“Sure, you can stay too. I don’t mind having all the support I can get.”

He looked back at Draco in time to see him clear a slight frown. Thinking quickly, Harry got Hedwig transferred to the table.

“Herminoe, would you feed Hedwig for me? I need Draco’s help with something.”

“Sure, Harry,” the girl smiled, happy to interact with the owl, while Harry got up and tugged on Draco’s arm.

“Harry, my lunch,” Draco protested.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry insisted, tugging harder. “You know the elves will keep it warm.”

Draco relented sullenly and got up to follow his friend from the Hall and to the nearest lavatory.

“What do you need in here?” the blonde asked, clearly frowning now, with a slight wrinkle to his nose.

Checking that the stalls were empty, Harry took Draco’s hand again and marched him to the only clear wall in the bathroom. He slapped both of their hands on the wall.

“Close your eyes and feel, Draco,” Harry said, watching the blonde.

“What?” Confused, Draco looked from their hands to Harry and back.

“You said you wanted to learn to see your core, so feel.” Harry insisted. “Under your fingers. Feel the warmth. Feel the slight tingle. Feel the currents of movement.”

Draco frowned more deeply even as an excited gleam entered his silver eyes. He closed them, frowning in concentration.

“Relax, Draco,” Harry said. “Just open yourself up and feel.”

Draco’s forehead cleared of the frown, but he still looked tense with expectation.

“Relax, like you’re in the softest bed you can remember, covered in the warmest covers. All is quiet and peaceful. You’re drifting right at the edge of sleep, and  you can feel the warm air surrounding you.”

Draco’s shoulders relaxed farther, and he exhaled softly, the hand under Harry’s relaxing against the wall. Encouraged, Harry continued.

“Feel the flow of warm air coming to your bed. It’s right under your hand. Can you feel the currents? Moving and shifting, flowing steadily.”

Draco suddenly inhaled sharply, whispering. “I can feel it.”

“Just feel it, Draco. It’s like it’s alive under your hand, begging a petting.” Harry said, watching Draco’s face closely and the shift of emotion. “Open yourself up to it. Let yourself see it in your mind.”

“Wow,” Draco exclaimed softly after a few silent moments. “It’s so big.”

Unseen by the blonde, Harry nodded. “Now turn that focus inside of you. Right here.” He touched Draco’s breastbone with his other hand. “Deep inside, where it tingles whenever you did accidental magic. Look there.”

Draco’s brows knit a little in concentration, and he began to worry his lip, before his expression suddenly changed into one of wonder. “Oh.. oh I can see it. It glows. It’s silver and green all mixed up like a pool of melted metal.”

“That’s magic, Draco,” Harry said softly. “It’s in you, and me, and it’s in the very stones of Hogwarts. Magic is bright, and beautiful and alive with all the possibilities in the world. It’s a wonderful gift that  we were born with, Draco. I still can’t believe that I have something so beautiful inside of me, that I was born with it and it shows me that I have so many wonderful possibilities I could explore. It’s like a miracle for me, Draco. Magic saved me from a really terrible life, and I’ll never be able to thank it properly. Maybe by being the very best wizard I can be.

“But the point is, we were born with this beautiful thing inside of us, a part of us. It’s a part of who we are, and it sets us apart from other people in the world. It doesn’t make us better than them, just different. Magic doesn’t make us stronger than them, only able to do things in a different way. Magic is a gift, Draco. A perfect, wonderful gift.

“Why does it matter who our parents are, when we have this inside of us?”

By the time Harry finished, Draco was watching him intently, absorbing every word.

“Why does it make a difference if your parents are magical or muggle, if you have such a wonderful gift living inside of you?”

Draco swallowed hard, silver boring into green.

“Hermione and I only discovered magic a couple of months ago, at best. You grew up knowing all about it. Knowing your heritage and what it means to be a wizard. Hermione and I, we have a huge learning curve, and so little time to catch up to you. We’re both going to be relying on you to help us, Draco. We need you to be there, to help guide us both.

“It doesn’t matter who her parents are, Draco,” Harry insisted, staring intently into the other boy’s eyes. “Not when she has this inside of her.” He slapped their hands against the stone again. “She’s exactly like you and me. She’s one of us.”

Tears abruptly sprang into Draco’s eyes, and he tore his hand from under Harry’s, turning away. The blonde paced to the other side of the bathroom, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his back turned to the brunette.

“You’re changing everything,” he said brokenly.

Harry felt his heart wrench painfully. He couldn’t stand to see Draco so upset, but he didn’t move.

“You.. you have no ri…why?” Draco’s fists move up, as though he were knuckling his eyes. He was breathing raggedly, swallowing sobs. “Why did you tell me that? Why do you have to change everything?”

“Because,” Harry said slowly, feeling out the words even as he said them. “Because magic is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He watched Draco’s shoulders shake, his own heart breaking for the other boy. “Because I believe that we have a duty to magic.”

Draco’s breath hitched. “What… what duty?”

“Everything beautiful in the world should be appreciated, exactly as it is,” Harry said. “Every gift should be treated with respect, Draco, and with reverence. Gifts are so special. Our duty is to appreciate our gift of magic to the utmost of our ability. I think, that to do that, we need to be the very best we can possibly be. The best wizard. The best friend to magic we can be.”

Harry watched Draco silently cry for a few moments, wanting so much to comfort the other boy.

“We need to say thank you for our gifts, Draco.”

Draco broke. The blonde sank to his knees on the cold, unyielding floor, covering his face in both hands and crying in earnest. Harry rushed to him, sinking behind him and wrapping his arms around the other boy, holding him tight. He didn’t say anything more. He knew he didn’t have to. He just held on while Draco cried. When Draco’s sobs slowed, Harry fished a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and passed it to the other boy. He silently helped Draco to his feet, and to the sinks so the blonde could wash his face. He passed him a towel to dry himself with, then followed Draco out of the lavatory and back to the Great Hall.

Draco stopped behind Herminoe, looking torn for a moment, before he squared his shoulders. Harry just watched silently.

Herminoe looked up from lightly stroking Hedwig, and gave Draco a confused little frown. “Hello Draco, what took you boys so long?”

Draco just held out his right hand. “Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Blinking in surprise, Hermione sat up a bit straighter, turning on the bench to better face the blonde. “Um… Hello Draco. I’m Hermione Granger,” she took Draco’s hand and they shook as she started to smile, amused and clearly humoring the blonde. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too.”

Draco tentatively smiled back, gave a single nod, then returned to his seat. Harry sat down as well to resume his meal. He knew that Draco still had a lot of prejudice to overcome. He was raised with it, after all, like mother’s milk. But, it was a start. A very good start.

Harry gave Hermione a wide smile in answer to her inquiring look, only shaking his head. She could wonder for the rest of her life what that was all about, but Harry wasn’t about to be the one to tell her. She might figure it out on her own, one day.

 

Letters, Ledgers and Legacies

Dear Mother and Father,

I write to you after my first day of classes at Hogwarts. You were right, of course. Hogwarts is all you said and more. I still can’t believe I’m really here. I have already begun to make the kinds of connections that will see me in good stead as I grow into the man that will one day lead the Malfoy family.

You may be disappointed to learn this, but I have been sorted into Ravenclaw House. I, however, am not. I admit I was alarmed at first, knowing how you would feel that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin, but I have to admit that this may work much better for me. The students in this House are smart and focused. Several have already indicated an inclination to future careers that can only benefit the Malfoy legacy. You did say it first, Father: Connections begin at school. As the Slytherin you raised, I have decided to keep your council close, and my eyes, ears and mind open. In only one day, I have learned things that will help shape the man I will become. I think you may become proud of the result. I have a strong suspicion that the result will bring the Malfoy name into even greater prominence in the Wizarding World.

Do you remember, Father, that day in Diagon Alley when I joined you for ice-cream, speaking of a boy I had met in Madam Malkin’s? I knew, that day, that I had met a boy that I could become fast friends with. I also knew, that day, that I had met a boy who could change the world, and whom it would be very good to become close to. His influence will undoubtedly make waves, yet I know these will be good changes. I met that same boy on the train, and the first thing we did was share an adventure. We stood side by side and together we defeated a man long believed dead. This man bore the Dark Mark, Father. On his first day’s voyage into our world, this boy had already had a great impact, and I had stood at his side. He’ll be a part of History, Father, and I intend for my name to join his in the books that will be written.

You may not agree with all of the decisions that I will make, but know that I make them with the future of the Malfoy name firmly in mind. As Scion, it will one day be my duty to lead our family into even greater prominence. I intend to do so, but our methods may differ. Don’t judge me too harshly for this, Father. Just bear in mind that what I do is for our family, and my commitment to an even greater duty to Magic itself.

We must, after all, always say “thank you” for our gifts.

Your son,

Draco

P.S. The boy’s name is Harry Potter, who is also in Ravenclaw, and he is my friend.

P.P.S. Mother, I would adore one of those lovely care packages you talked about on Saturday. It’s never too early to begin making a good impression.

…

Headmaster Dumbledore,

I would like to meet with you after dinner, should you be available. It concerns one of my Ravens.

Professor Filius Flitwick

…

Albus,

I’ll need to speak with you tonight about an incident that occured on the Hogwarts Express. After dinner will suffice.

Minerva

…

Dear Mum and Dad,

Hogwarts is amazing! I’m ever so glad you allowed me to come. I’m learning ever so much about magic and how to work with my abilities.

I’m in Ravenclaw House. Do you remember what I told you about the Four Founders of Hogwarts and their Houses? I think I’m in the best of the lot. I even have friends already! On my very first day! Harry and Draco are also in Ravenclaw, and are the brightest boys I’ve ever met. Harry has an owl familiar named Hedwig, and she’s ever so gorgeous. She’s a snowy owl, and Harry let me feed her lunch. She’s so sweet and gentle. Do you think you might allow me to get a familiar one day? That would be wonderful! Harry says their bond is like getting a warm, loving hug all the time.

Draco is from a rather prominent family in the wizarding world, and he looks and acts every inch the aristocrat, but he’s terribly fun too. He has the most marvelously dry sense of humour, and he’s utterly devoted to Harry. Both Draco and Harry are strong in magic. They, along with myself, have so far been the first in our classes to get a spell correct. We’ve earned so many points for Ravenclaw today.

I’m a little worried about Harry. From what I’ve been able to learn so far, it doesn’t sound as though he had the best upbringing. He’s ever so sweet and kind, however. I just know we’ll become the best of friends.

I should get to my homework so I’ll send this along to you tonight. I’m already looking forward to what I’ll learn tomorrow.

Love to both of you,

Hermione

P.S. Harry is letting me borrow Hedwig to send this letter. He’s so sweet! Mum, Dad, this is Hedwig. She’s marvelously smart. Please do say hello to her, and give her a nice treat of bacon or chicken and some water before she’s to come back. Harry says that she’ll wait for you to write back, if you like. Thanks. Love you both!

…

Dear Healer Davidson,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I’m very much looking forward to your visit this coming Saturday. I’ll be ready to meet you in the school infirmary at 2 p.m. We’ll have much to discuss.

If it isn’t an imposition, would you mind bringing along a selection of sweets from Diagon Alley? I’ve made a few friends, and they all agree that being unable to visit Hogsmeade in first year is a terrible crime. The first visit to the village was announced at dinner this evening. I’ll of course pay you back when I see you.

Best regards,

Harry Potter

…

Dear Mum,

Scabbers was an animagus!! How could you let Percy keep a rat in the first place? I never did like it, even when he gave it to me. The Aurors have him now, and good riddance. He was a Death Eater!! I saw the tattoo myself.

Everything’s gone wrong so far. I’m in Griffindor, of course, but Harry Potter got sorted to Ravenclaw, and he’s friends with Draco Malfoy!!! How can he be friends with that slimy snake over me? I even told Harry that Malfoys are all dark wizards. They were sitting together on the train, and they’re the ones who caught Pettigrew. They barely even talked to me. If it wasn’t for me finding them and sitting with them, they never even would have known about Scabbers. Malfoy didn’t even have the decency to get sorted into Slytherin like he belongs. He’s in Ravenclaw too.

Harry Potter is a traitor. He’s going to end up a dark wizard too if he isn’t careful, hanging about with that Malfoy snake. Harry even had a picnic lunch for them both on the train, can you believe it? Fried chicken and potatoe salad and tea, and they didn’t even offer to share. It was in a basket and everything, with real plates and cutlery. I was stuck with those sandwiches, and couldn’t even buy a single licorice wand or chocolate frog off the cart, when Malfoy bought six! He didn’t even offer me one, but he gave Harry three of course. He’s a brat. I have to get Harry away from him if he’s going to be my friend, but it’s hard since he’s in a different house. What do you think I should do?

Love,

Ron

P.S. Do you think you can send me some cake? I really miss your cakes, mum. And if the twins write to you, don’t listen to them. I didn’t have anything to do with Longbottom losing his rememberall. It was his own fault anyway, the fat little git. He can’t even ride a broom right. McGonagall wasn’t being fair when she took those house points.

…

Hullo Mum and Dad,

Gred and Forge here, your most favorite

handsome

intelligent

and inspiring sons.

What did you do to Ronnikins?

He’s been complaining all week

All he talks about is Harry Potter

Who isn’t even in our House

and Draco Malfoy

also not in our House

and how the boy-who-lived-to-make-him-crazy should be

his very bestest mate of his own.

He’s been so barmy that he made Neville Longbottom take off too early during flying lessons

and break his arm falling from his broom, the poor sod.

Then Ronnikins threw Longbottom’s rememberall into the wall of the castle.

It’ll never be the same

McGonagall saw him do it

and she took twenty points from Griffindor

then gave our brother detention and an essay

on respecting other people’s property.

well deserved, that.

Agreed. Potter’s a good lad.

We talked to him at lunch yesterday.

Level headed, that one.

Well suited to Ravenclaw, if you ask us.

Bit of a prankster lurking in him,

And Malfoy too.

We’ll keep an eye on the pair

But whatever you do

FIX RON!

He’s driving us barmy!

Love, Gred and Forge.

…

Dear Mother and Father

I realize I hadn’t written yet, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Scabbers, the rat, turned out to be an animagus. He transformed on the train, and apparently tried to attack Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, as well as Ron. The boys captured him. I still can’t believe this, but it turned out that it was Peter Pettigrew. I don’t know if that’s been confirmed or not, but Mr. Potter appeared to think it was him. Pettigrew was wearing the Dark Mark. How can he be the hero the Ministry claimed if he was a Death Eater? Was it really Black who betrayed the Potters, all those years ago? Black certainly never did kill Pettigrew, and what reason would the man have to hide as a rat if he was innocent of any wrong doing, if he was indeed a victim? Why continue to let the wizarding world think that he was dead?

I have a lot of questions.

Father, you work in the Ministry. Surely you can find out from Administrator Bones. Please write to me and let me know what you find out. If the Ministry lied all this time, and imprisoned an innocent man, then things are worse off then we all thought.

Your son,

Percy.

…

To: Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

From: Amelia Bones, Director of the DMLE, Ministry of Magic

Dear Sir,

Pursuant to our floo conversation of September 1st, I would like to visit Hogwarts this coming Sunday, September the 8th, to further a current investigation.

I should arrive at 1:30 P.M.

Please make a conference room available for interviews. Also, please make available the following students with whom I need to consult:

David Vecchio – Head Boy

Marrietta Whych – Head Girl

Percy Weasley – Prefect

Ronald Weasley

Draco Malfoy

Harry Potter

Please make yourself, and the heads of the houses of the above named students, available following those interviews. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Regards

Amelia Bones

…

Dear Draco,

I hope to set your mind at ease, my son. I am not disappointed that you were not sorted into Slytherin. Ravenclaw is a worthy house, and I am proud to have sired such an intelligent son. My faith is well placed. Already you are proving your worth to the Malfoy name. Becoming friends with Harry Potter so quickly is a great boon. Use it well.

Your mother has prepared the requested package, and I send it with this letter.

Continue to make me proud.

Your Father.

…

Dear Hermione

Your father and I are so glad that you are getting on so well at Hogwarts. We had hoped that this would be the change you needed to really blossom and come into your own. I’m so glad to find that we were right, and so quickly.

Your friends sound like fine boys, and your father and I look forward to meeting them one day. Perhaps for the Yule Holiday? You can extend the invitation, if you want. We’d be happy to have them.

Hedwig is as beautiful as you described, and marvelously tame. She ate right from my hand. Harry is a very lucky boy. Your father and I will discuss the idea of a familiar for you. I’ve sent along some more dental floss for you. I know how quickly it runs out when you use it daily. Let me know when you need more.

Looking forward to your next letter.

All our love,

your mum and dad.

…

RONALD WEASLEY!!!

HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT REMEMBERALL AND BREAK IT!

YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE CERTAINLY TAUGHT YOU BETTER MANNERS THAN THAT!

AND GETTING ONE OF YOUR HOUSEMATES HURT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU HAD BEST BELIEVE THAT WE AGREE WITH YOUR PUNISHMENT. JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HOME AT CHRISTMAS.

THERE WILL BE NO CAKE FOR YOU ANY TIME SOON.

Fred and George, dears. Your father and I are glad that you’re finally doing the responsible thing and looking out for your brother. I’ll write more to you later.

Percy dear, your father says to tell you that all is in hand. Try not to worry. He’ll write a longer letter to you when he knows more.

All our love

Mum and Dad.

…

Dearest Ronald,

I simply had to send you that howler. What were you thinking? You never, ever, harm a housemate! Has the Potter lesson taught you nothing? They were betrayed by a housemate, and killed. You had best shape up, young man. Black or Pettigrew, it hardly matters. They were both in Griffindor, weren’t they? Traitors and betrayers. Is that the way you want to be remembered?

I suggest you apologize instantly and sincerely to young Mr. Longbottom, and no more calling him names. He’s a Griffindor. He’s earned at least that much respect.

It’s a terrible waste and shame that Harry Potter got sorted into Ravenclaw. You’re right, this will make things a little more difficult, but not all is lost. You can still befriend him and lessen the influence that Malfoy boy has on him. Make sure to seek him out whenever you can, and make yourself invaluable to him. I know you’ll find a way. You’re a clever boy, yourself. Just do what you can to get between those two whenever possible. I’ll do the rest.

Much love,

Mum

…

Dear Mr Potter

I realize that we don’t know each other very well, but I felt I had to write.

I’m hoping that we can meet sometime this weekend and talk. You see, growing up, I had all sorts of stories about the Potter family from my grandmother. We’re god-brothers, you and I. Your dad, James Potter, was my godfather.

I’m very much hoping that we can meet and get to know one another. In other circumstances, we would have grown up together, and learned our places as scions of prominent families.

I’ve also been hearing a few things in the Griffindor dorm room that I think we should discuss.

Please let me know a convenient time and place to meet. I would prefer that my dorm mates don’t know about it, for the present time.

Your servant,

Neville Longbottom

…

Severus,

I find myself a little concerned, my old friend.

It seems that my son, Draco, was completely successful in his goal of becoming friends with one Harry Potter. However, the boy appears to be gaining a confidence beyond his current station.

As the boy’s godfather, I entrust you to keep a close eye on the situation. I will not have my son unduly influenced into, shall we say, an unsavory mindset.

I trust you to handle the boy as you see fit.

Things are stirring at the Ministry. Fudge has called me in twice this week to ask my advice on a little matter currently in Askaban. I’m doing what I can. See that you do, as well. It may be to our advantage if Black is released. It seems unavoidable at this point, at any rate. Pettigrew has been well and truly caught. He had served his purpose, however.

Lucius.

…

Severus,

Lucius finally allowed me to read the first letter Draco sent home. I can’t tell you how heartened I am.

I implore you. Encourage this friendship he has discovered with Mr. Potter. See that he grows into the man that I know in my heart he should be. Don’t let him fall into his father’s folly.

I trust you implicitly.

Narcissa

Monday, September 2, 12:50 PM

The first year Ravenclaws made their way down the Charms corridor after lunch. Harry could see ahead a group of other first years waiting outside of the door. These were the Slytherins. When a girl and two larger boys stepped out of the group at their approach, Harry could feel Draco stiffen slightly at his side. The brunette regarded the trio a little more closely as the groups met.

“Malfoy,” the girl said, eyeing Draco with a curious mix of hunger and distain.

“Parkinson,” Draco greeted the girl with a slight nod. “Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. I’m sure you’ll get to know the others soon enough.”

“Charmed,” Parkinson drawled when it was clear she wasn’t. The girl’s eyes lingered on Harry for a moment, and dismissed Hermione entirely.

“I have to say that you surprised me, Draco darling,” Parkinson said with a false smile. “I never would have guessed that you were hiding a brain somewhere in there. Getting yourself sorted into Ravenclaw. What would your father say?”

The girl had perfected the art of the snide drawl, and it set Harry’s teeth on edge. Draco merely smirked.

“My father will see the advantages, just as clearly as I do,” Draco replied calmly. “Such a shame that you’re lagging behind, Pansy.”

Pansy’s eyes hardened. “Be careful, Draco darling. You know how your mother hates to hear when you forget your manners. She also becomes displeased when you forget your obligations.” Her eyes flicked to Hermione and back to the blonde.

Draco stiffened slightly. “My obligations are to the Malfoy name, Pansy. I’ll do what benefits the family most. That doesn’t necessarily include you, you know. It never has.”

Pansy’s face twisted briefly into a look of hate, before it smoothed into the quiet disdain she had managed to maintain up until that point. The hunger in her eyes, however, seemed to grow. Harry recognized greed when he saw it. He’d seen it enough in cousin’s eyes. There was an entire conversation of subtext going on here that Harry didn’t care for one bit. His green eyes narrowed.

“Now, Draco,” the Slytherin girl simpered, “you well know that the advantages of certain obligations were discussed all summer between our fathers. I’d hate to disappoint Daddy. He gets ever so cross when his plans are ruined.”

Draco smirked again, relaxing. “There are advantages,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he regarded the girl with a dismissive glance even as he leaned closer to Harry, “and then there are advantages.”

Pansy looked between the boys, then her eyes widened before narrowing. “I see,” she finally considered. “In that case, I might have to reconsider my own obligations. Family is, after all, everything.”

“Indeed,” Draco replied with a slight smile. “Shall we get to class? It wouldn’t do to be late our first day.”

As the children began to file into the classroom, Harry held Draco back a little by way of a firm grip on the other boy’s robe sleeve.

“Will you tell me what that was about later tonight?”

“Of course,” Draco nodded.

Hermione only looked thoughtfully confused.

…

Monday, September 2, 7:56 PM

Albus Dumbledore had only just settled behind the desk in his office to take care of some correspondence, when a knock sounded from the door. With a put upon sigh, he replaced the quill he had picked up. He had forgotten that two of his staff had wanted to see him.

“Come in,” he called out, somewhat reluctantly.

As expected, Minerva McGonagall opened the door, holding it for Filius Flitwick, before closing it again. The two approached his desk while Albus conjured a pair of overstuffed chintz chairs for them.

“Good evening,” Albus began cordially. “Lemon drop?”

“No thank you, Albus,” Minerva replied, sitting down.

Filius only shook his head, managing somehow to make climbing into the chair look not only easy, but accomplished. Albus never could figure out how the man did it, no matter how many times he saw it. It amused him greatly. One day, he’d make the chair another inch taller.

“So, what can I do for the two of you this evening?” Dumbledore sat back in his seat, folding his hands on the beard resting over his stomach.

As though they had discussed it before coming up the staircase, Minerva went first.

“Why didn’t you tell us that Peter Pettigrew was alive, Albus?” she stated baldly.

Looking closer at his Transfiguration teacher, Albus would tell that she was upset, but containing it well. He flicked a glance toward Filius to find the Charms Master quietly regarding his own fingernails. They must have discussed the matter at some point.

His stalling had drawn the silence out a little too long, so Dumbledore sat forward a little. “Auror Bones floo called me last night, after the Feast, to inform me of what had happened on the train. I thought it wise to wait until the identity of the man captured was confirmed before informing the staff.”

“You might at least have told us that three of the first years may need some sort of counseling,” Minerva frowned at him. “Those children were likely traumatized, especially the Weasley boy, by what had happened. His pet turned into a man before his very eyes, Albus.”

The event hadn’t affected the boy’s appetite, Dumbledore had noted the night before, having witnessed the latest Weasley’s foray into the Feast. It hardly spoke of any form of trauma, but he allowed the point with a slow nod toward McGonagall.

“Surely it’s not too late, Minerva,” he said gently, hoping to smooth her hackles. “It’s only been a day, and since the three are in your respective Houses, I have every confidence that you both will see to the matter before they retire for the night.”

“I intend to,” the woman’s Scott brogue replied. “But that doesn’t answer my question, Albus. If Pettigrew is alive, then Sirius Black has been innocent all of this time. How could you have let him be imprisoned in the first place? Surely he was questioned after his arrest.”

Dumbledore regarded the top of his desk, strewn with parchments. This was a very sticky topic, and one he really didn’t want to wade through. He quickly considered the angles, but Minerva’s direct question really left him without much room to play with.

“If I recall correctly,” he began slowly, his twinkling blue eyes watching the woman, “he wasn’t questioned. At least, I saw no transcripts of any questioning.”

“What?” Minerva gaped at the Supreme Mugwump. Even Flitwick was staring at him, aghast.

“You must remember what it was like, Minerva,” Dumbledore explained. “Three weeks of trials of the captured Death Eaters, and more being arrested daily as they were named. The Auror department was hard pressed to question those on active trial. Having arrested Sirius on the very street where the incident happened, only moments later, and the man himself stating that he had killed them, the Aurors seemed confident of his guilt. You must admit that the evidence was overwhelming. Even I didn’t question it at the time.”

McGonagall sat back with a small huff, before she reluctantly nodded. She did indeed remember. Mostly she remembered the grief for the Potter family, and her relief that it was all over at last. She should have been more vigilant.

Sensing his Transfiguration teacher had been temporarily declawed, Dumbledore turned to Flitwick.

“What can I do for you tonight, Filius,” Albus opened.

Gathering himself from the revelation of Black’s circumstances, Flitwick sat up straighter in the chair. “One of my first year Ravens came to me after Charms this afternoon, and told me that his personal Healer was expected in the castle this weekend.”

“Harry Potter,” Albus confirmed with a nod. “I told him myself just this morning.”

“Yes, he mentioned that as well,” Flitwick said. “What I find interesting, however, was the fact that Mr. Potter was convinced that his Healer was going to owl him directly with a day and time of the meeting.”

“He must have been mistaken, Filius.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“I don’t think so,” Flitwick stated. “but it’s possible. We can clear this up quickly, however. If I may have a look at the Healer’s letter?”

Dumbledore regarded Flitwick’s outstretched hand for a moment before he answered.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the Headmaster stated with a guilty air. “I’ve already burned the letter, along with some other unneeded correspondence.”

Both teachers gasped.

“Albus,” Minerva exclaimed, “you know very well that should have gone into the child’s file, or his medical records.”

“I know,” Dumbledore sighed heavily, “Unfortunately it was done before I realized my mistake. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Flitwick said sadly. “I’ll have Madam Pomfrey come up and see you tonight. Maybe a restorative draught or a pepper up potion would help?”

“A pepper up might be just the thing, Filius,” Dumbledore said with a sniffle. “I have been feeling a little stuffed, lately.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by the infirmary on my way to the Aerie,” the diminutive man said, getting out of the chair with as much aplomb as he got in. “Good night, Headmaster, Minerva.”

“Before you go, Filius,” Dumbledore ventured, as though it were an afterthought. “Did Harry happen to mention to you why he required a personal Healer?”

The Charms Master paused. “No, he didn’t Headmaster. I’m sure we’ll be informed should the child’s condition be serious enough.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore smiled, doing his best to appear as though he already knew, instead of frustrated.

Flitwick turned to leave, and a more subdued McGonagall got up as well. “Good night, Headmaster.”

“Good night,” Albus said, sitting forward to pick up his quill again. “Good night.”

The two left together, and Dumbledore sat thinking for several minutes. Only one day in the castle, and Mr. Harry Potter was already becoming something of an enigma, if not an outright thorn. Was this really the child of prophecy? Was Harry Potter really their only hope? He had expected a meek and humble child, ignorant of the wizarding world and reliant on the Headmaster for information outside of his classes. A child he could guide and mold into what was needed. Instead he found  he would need to change his approach drastically.

With a shake of his head, Dumbledore put the questions aside for the time being, and turned his attention to the letters he needed to write. If Sirius Black was going to be released soon, he would need to find Remus Lupin. It was possible the werewolf would be able to help him salvage something of this situation. He could certainly distract Black long enough for Albus to formulate some plan regarding the Potter boy. The child was proving to be a little more slippery then expected, and needed to be contained.

…

Monday, September 2, 9:35 PM

Harry sat up in the gloom enveloping his bed when Draco slipped through the gap in the drapes.

“I don’t believe it,” the angry blonde quietly seethed even as he settled cross legged by Harry’s knees. The boy had been containing his anger since their Head of House spoke with the trio after his meeting with Dumbledore. “The Headmaster read your mail.”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “But it doesn’t really matter. I’ll just use Hedwig from now on. He’d never get a letter from her.”

“It’s still not right,” Draco said, sullenly. “What if he’s reading everyone’s mail? I have a letter for Mother and Father I need to send out, but now… ”

“Don’t worry, Hedwig can take yours along with Hermione’s and mine in the morning.” Harry reassured the other boy. “She’d love the exercise.”

“Are you sure? That will be a lot of traveling for one owl.”

“I’m sure,” Harry nodded. “Now, tell me what that was all about with Pansy Parkinson.”

“Oh,” Draco sighed, shaking his head. “She had decided last year at her birthday that she was going to be Mrs. Malfoy, so convinced her father to start betrothal negotiations over the summer. Father told me that he doesn’t really consider the Parkinsons to be a good match, but he’s humoring Mr. Parkinson for the time being. All Pansy can see are the Malfoy vaults and Paris fashions.”

“You mean you might have to marry that girl?” Harry exclaimed with wide eyes. The idea was so wrong to Harry that the bed frame shook.

“Shhh,” Draco hastened to quiet his friend, waving a hand. “It’s not going to happen, Harry. I already wrote Father that you and I are friends, and it would be better for the family if we were able to align our Houses. He won’t accept any marriage contract until he thinks that over.”

Only slightly calmed, Harry narrowed a look at the blonde. “What do you mean by ‘align our Houses’?”

Draco lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It could mean a lot of things. A Vow of Brotherhood; maybe a Vassal Vow. The Potter name is prominent enough for that. Maybe even a marriage contract.”

Harry stared at the blonde, wide eyed. “M.. marriage?”

“Sure,” Draco shrugged, looking a little confused. “Why not?”

“But… but we’re boys!”

“So?”

Leaning closer, Harry looked hard at Draco. “Do you mean to say that boys can get married in the wizard world?”

“Of course they can,” Draco said, confused. “Do you mean that they can’t in the muggle world?”

Harry shook his head emphatically. “No. Least, I don’t think so.”

Draco sat back, wrinkling his nose. “How barbaric. Muggles certainly enjoy limiting themselves, don’t they?”

Harry could only shrug. What did he really know about marriage and relationships and the like anyway? He decided to get back on topic.

“So, Pansy thought that you were going after Hermione?”

Draco nodded. “She likely saw me shaking her hand at lunch, and assumed that her bid for a contract was in danger. She doesn’t really like me. She just wants the money.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much,” Harry nodded. “And that bit at the end?”

Draco blushed, looking down at his toes. “Well, I implied that I was after you, which would be a much better match anyway. So, she’s probably trying to figure out how she can get herself attached to both of us, now.”

Harry’s eyes widened again while he tried to wrap his mind around three people being in a marriage. He had never heard of such a thing. He shook his head hard, and shuddered. He couldn’t see himself spending a lot of time around the bitter, greedy girl. It would be a nightmare. She was a female Dudley, only worse.

Draco laughed when the bed shuddered with Harry. “Don’t worry. She can think about it all she likes, I don’t care. My goal was to deflect her and get her to call off her father. She knows she hasn’t a hope of competing with you.”

“Only too right,” Harry stated with false bravado and lifting his nose in a snooty pose. “I’m a Potter.”

Both boys collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

“Oi,” Michael called from his bed. “Trying to sleep, here.”

“Sorry,” Harry called back with a wide grin. The two hushed their fit of laughter and tried to subdue themselves.

Harry frowned into the darkess, whispering. “So, what does a peahen do when the peacocks only display for each other?”

“She scratches the dirt,” Draco said. “I’ll bet she’s already considering any boys from families with wealth, and she’ll have one picked and plucked by the end of the week. She’s pretty enough to make a good first impression on someone, anyway.”

Harry hadn’t really noticed, and could only shrug. “You’re going to have to teach me about all this family stuff, Draco. I mean, I know the Potters have a seat on the Wizengamot and who my grandparents were and stuff, but I don’t know about contracts and vows and that sort of thing.”

“You really have no idea of your familial obligations, Harry?” Draco looked a little shocked from where he lay on his stomach, a hand propping his chin.

Harry shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. “Only what I’ve read in a couple of books over the summer. Dry facts mostly. I grew up… well, I only just found out I was a wizard early in August. Aunt never spoke about my parents.”

“I don’t think I like this aunt of  yours,” the blonde frowned in the darkness.

“I hope I never see her again,” Harry bit his lip hard. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, not really. A part of him must have, though.

A hand found his in the darkness and squeezed. “Why do you have a personal Healer, Harry?”

The tousle haired boy was quiet for a very long time, fighting an internal battle between wanting to tell and forgetting the past ten years ever happened. Draco squeezed his hand again.

“They… I.. ” Harry turned his hand to squeeze Draco’s back. “I can’t yet, Draco. I’m sorry.”

“I suppose I can wait a little while,” Draco sighed, “but only because I like you.”

That made Harry smile. “Fair enough.”

…

Tuesday, September 3, 12:27 PM

Harry didn’t know how much he as going to like Herbology. The subject itself was interesting, especially how it related to potions, but the other House they had class with was going to quickly become a problem unless the boy could find a way to disabuse Weasely of the idea that they were best mates. Harry spent nearly the entire class having to endure the red head’s glowers at Hermione and Draco or attempts at inserting himself into every conversation from the next work bench. What the budding bully hadn’t realized was that Harry was capable of having many friends, but he certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to become isolated to one. Hedwig, of course, was delivering letters, and the boy missed her terribly. He didn’t expect her back until the next morning, at the earliest. He could have used some of her cheer.

The Ravenclaws filed into the Potions classroom after lunch, alongside the Hufflepuff first years. Harry noted again how the Houses seemed to automatically divide themselves to two halves of the room, and wondered why. He already knew from out in the hallway while they waited that the children knew of, if not personally knew each other, for the most part.

The door slammed closed in the wake of the Potions Master, making most of the children jump in their seats. Professor Snape swept up the central aisle between work stations in a billow of heavy black robes. At his desk, the tall man began to call the roll. He didn’t need to quiet the class. Except for his own voice and a usually meek response of ‘here’, the classroom was utterly silent. Harry looked to Draco, who was regarding his godfather with a puzzled frown.

“Ah, yes,” the Professor had paused, scanning the Ravenclaw tables. “Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.”

Harry frowned even as he responded. “Here, sir.”

Draco was stiff with indignation beside him. The roll concluded shortly thereafter and the Potions Master gathered his robes to begin his lecture.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed that little speech. Harry had a brow raised even as he took notes. The man certainly enjoyed melodrama.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“Drought of Living Death, sir,” Harry replied after a moment’s thought. He looked up into the Professor’s dark eyes.

The man’s cool expression did little to indicate if he was right or wrong.

“And were, would you suppose, I would find a bezoar?” the Professor asked, his gaze holding Harry’s trapped.

Harry could practically feel the air currents Herminone’s hand was creating, waving about just behind him. Draco still sat stiffly beside him.

“In the stomach of a goat,” he answered the Professor. Snape’s gaze intensified, and Harry suddenly realized he could feel a very subtle pressure.

It was so subtle and careful he had no idea how long it had been happening, but he instantly filled his mind with the images of dark chocolate goats spitting up white chocolate bezoars.

“What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?” the Potion Master was asking, even as the pressure increased and seemed to worm tendrils through the goats.

“Oh,” Hermione’s quiet exclaimation behind him reminded Harry that there were other’s in the room. She was certainly eager to answer a question. Any question.

Harry, however, was well occupied trying to prevent those sneaky little tendrils from making it past the goats. White chocolate bezoar bombs were spat at the intruders while others were stomped. Only half his attention was on the question asked. “They’re the same, sir. The same plant.”

There was a brief gleam of triumph in Snape’s dark eyes, before the man frowned darkly and spun away to flick his wand at the blackboard. The sudden release left Harry a trifle dizzy, but he blinked the sensation away. The three questions and their answers appeared on the board.

“The plant is also known as aconite. A bezoar is extremely useful in neutralizing most poisons..”

The lecture continued, and Harry exchanged a swift glance with a clearly angry Draco. It seemed his godfather’s behavior was atypical enough to upset the blonde. Harry devoted his attention to his notes.

The class continued, going over plants and potion ingredients and their possible interactions and uses. Harry was already familiar with this information thanks to his studies of the month before. Sadly, if the Professor’s abrasive attitude were any indication, as it seemed to be centered upon him, Harry didn’t think he would enjoy potions nearly as much as he had hoped. Perhaps the Professor blamed Harry for Draco’s sorting? He would have been the blonde’s Head of House, otherwise. The class was finally over, and Harry quickly packed his notebook, quill and ink pot into his ever present book bag.

“Remain after class, Mr. Potter,” the Professor drawled from behind his desk where he was writing.

Again? Harry sat down again with a sigh as the rest of the class, except Draco and Hermione, filed out. Except for Professor Sprout, every teacher had held him after class. Well, he really couldn’t count Charms, since he had requested that meeting.

“We have flying lessons,” Draco said stiffly from beside him. This made the Professor look up. “Sir.”

A dark brow rose, since the last had obviously been added reluctantly.

“I’m sure Madame Hooch will be patient, Mr. Malfoy. You and Miss. Granger will wait in the hall.”

Draco frowned at the Potion Master, and the two had a bit of a staring match before Draco got up with a huff and stalked out of the classroom. With an apologetic look thrown at Harry, Hermione hurriedly got up to follow. A flick of Snape’s wand closed the door behind her.

“Tell me Mr. Potter,” the man said into the room’s stillness as he resumed writing. “How long has your uncle been beating you?”

Harry glared from his seat, unresponsive. Snape looked up at the boy, regarding him quietly.

“You are angry,” he finally observed. “I had expected disbelief, perhaps even tears, certainly denial. This anger surprises me, Mr. Potter.”

“I don’t see why it should, sir,” Harry answered evenly. “I’m certain you’d feel the same if someone stole something from out of your head.”

Thanks to the Sorting Hat, Harry had looked up Occlumens while doing his homework the night before. He was more determined than ever to become accomplished at the skill.

“Quite,” Snape replied, sitting back in his chair to quietly consider the boy before him. “This is not the first time you have surprised me, Mr. Potter. The goats, by the way, were inspired. I had managed only a few glimpses before you were able to block my efforts.”

“Your.. efforts,” Harry said slowly, “were much less intrusive than the Headmaster. It took a few minutes to realize what you were doing.”

“I’m sure,” Snape nodded while considering his desktop. He looked up at Harry again after a moment. “You will meet with me once a week, Mr. Potter, and we’ll work on your defenses. I will owl you the times. Bring Draco along with you, if he wishes. Remind him that I have a role to play. That’ll be all, Mr. Potter.”

Harry frowned as the Potions Master returned to his writing. That was it? No points deducted, no detention for his cheek? He was to have lessons in occlumency? Confused and a little bemused, Harry got up and left the classroom. When he got out in the hall, Draco and Hermione were waiting for him.

As they quickly walked up from the dungeons, Harry quietly explained the brief meeting, saying that the Professor wanted to continue Draco’s potions training, and wished to include Harry. The boy made it sound as though Hermione would be welcome as well, as he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by excluding her. He also, very quietly, gave Draco the message. That seemed to clear up whatever had the blonde so uptight during class, and Harry was glad for that at least. That was also when Hermione learned that Snape was Draco’s godfather. The girl immediately felt sorry for the blonde, having such a stiff and surly man for a godfather. This prompted a story from one of Draco’s private potion lessons, which featured a much different man, and his desire to keep his classroom accident free.

Flying, Harry later decided, was utterly brilliant.

…

Wednesday, September 4, 7:46 AM

The Ravenclaw trio were at breakfast early, Harry really missed Hedwig desperately, even though he could still feel her through their familiar bond. They had never been apart for more than two hours at a time since he’d got her. Waffles with fresh fruit went a long way to cheer him, however. The mail arrived with a flurry of owls in the Great Hall. Harry found that he loved the morning display.  Every species of owl imaginable, from tiny ones that could fit in his hand to huge eagle owls put on a show every morning. It was quickly becoming a favorite for the boy.

One of the eagle owls, a magnificent black and gold speckled specimen, landed in front of Draco. With a happy exclamation, the blonde relieved the bird of it’s burdens and fed it a piece of bacon. Without waiting for a reply, the grand bird was airborne again. While Draco read the note attached to a package, Harry asked if he could read the boy’s copy of the Daily Prophet which had come with the owl. Draco nodded distractedly, and Harry turned the paper up between himself and Hermione, so they both could read the headlines.

Break-In At Gringotts

Goblin Security Breached

Fascinated, Harry quickly scanned the article, then read it again more slowly. Vault 713 had nearly been breached by an unknown, powerful wizard sometime in early August. Since the vault in question had been emptied earlier that same day, the goblins delayed the announcement until they had concluded their own, internal investigation of the attempt. The goblins assured the wizarding public that their security measures remained secure, and the vaults were safe.

Harry glanced up at Hagrid, sitting at the head table, but it didn’t look as though the large man had a copy of the paper. He stored the information, and let Hermione set the pace of the joint reading while he finished his breakfast.

…

12:22 PM

The Ravenclaw first years had finished their lunch and were simply sitting in the Great Hall talking. They wanted to enjoy a little time in the light before going back down into the dungeons for the second half of double potions. A pair of identical red heads appeared behind Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, who were sitting across from Harry, Draco and Hermione.

“So which one of these ikle firsties,” said one.

“Has got Ronnikin’s knickers in a twist?” finished the second.

“Ronnikins?” echoed Hermione, trying not to laugh.

“Great Merlin,” Draco said dryly, eying the identical pair. “I heard there were more Weasleys in Griffindor.”

“We’re the fun ones,” the one on the right said. “I’m George.”

“And I’m Fred,” said the second. “Gred and Forge, at your service.”

“For all of your pranking needs. Just call on us,” continued George.

“If you have a little job of mischief,” finished Fred.

The Ravens were looking on the pair with great amusement.

“That could prove interesting,” Draco mused, smiling up at the pair. It was obvious there was some sort of plan already spinning in his head.

“What’s Ron’s problem now?” Harry asked the pair, mostly as a way to forestall Draco.

“So you’re the Harry,” Fred said, folding his arms.

“Who broke our ikle brother’s heart,” finished George, also folding his arms.

Harry laughed a little, incredulous. “Broke his heart? Is that what he’s saying?”

“To hear him tell it,” George began, settling on the bench on Michael’s left.

“He practically proposed,” continued Fred who squeezed himself in on Micheal’s right.

“And you turned him down flat.” George said.

“He even said,” Fred said.

“That you lied to him,”

“About getting sorted into Griffindor.”

“So now, he’s going on about being your best mate,”

“Even while cursing you for lying to him.”

“So we decided we’d get the real story,”

“Before we strangle the poor sod.”

“Put him out of our misery.”

“Too right.”

Harry felt he was at a table tennis match, having to look back and forth between the two while they talked. It was a little disconcerting, the way the finished each others sentences, but highly amusing at the same time. Draco was quietly laughing on his right, while Hermione looked more than a little gobsmacked, on his left.

Harry shook his head. “Alright, I’ll tell you what happened on the train. Draco and I were sitting in a compartment, when Ron came along.”

Fred and George leaned forward, folding their arms on the table and nearly squishing Michael between them.

“He practically invited himself to sit with us,” Harry went on with the story, “but I thought ‘why not? I could make another friend.’. But he told me later, out in the corridor outside the loo, that he had only looked for be because I’m Harry Potter, and he only wanted to be my mate because I’m Harry Potter. I don’t want someone to try and be friends with me because they think I’m famous. I mean, what would you do?”

Not a word of it was a lie, exactly. He’d only fudged the truth enough to make the entire situation sound a little different from the reality. He didn’t need everyone in the Great Hall to know that the Headmaster had practically ordered the youngest Weasley boy to befriend him. He absolutely didn’t want anyone to know what the boy had said about Draco.

Michael managed to squeeze himself forward as well, and mimicked the older boys by folding his arms in the scant space provided. “I’d tell him to get stuffed,” he said with a firm nod.

“Language, Michael,” Hermione huffed.

“So,” Fred said, looking thoughtful. “Young Malfoy here didn’t cast some kind of control spell on you?”

“He didn’t Imperio you into being his mate instead of Ronnikins?”

Harry frowned at the bookends. “Has he said that about Draco?”

The pair nodded. Harry sat back and looked at Draco, who only looked amused by the whole thing. Harry felt insulted for him, and intended to do something about it. Getting an idea, he reached into his bookbag, fumbled for a moment, then leaned over the table with his fist outstretched toward George.

“Here,” Harry said. “Five galleons. I’m hiring you two for a little bit of mischief.”

The twins exchanged an unreadable look, but they were clearly exchanging some kind of information, because less than a minute later George accepted the coins with a grin. “What’s the job, boss?”

“If Ron is so set on fame, give it to him,” Harry grinned back. “Make him famous in Griffindor. If you can make him famous in the whole school, I’ll pay you another fifteen galleons. Five for each House.”

“Would you prefer a good kind of fame,” Fred asked, also grinning.

“Or something more humbling?” George finished.

“Definitely humbling,” Harry said with a nod. “I’ll even throw in another five galleons for every Professor you can get involved.”

“Time limit?” George asked.

“None,” Harry answered. “Take all year, if you like.”

“We’re on the job, Harrykins,” Fred said, getting up from the bench.

“If we can’t make him famous,” George said, also getting up.

“We’ll make him infamous,” they finished together with identical grins.

“Oh, one more thing guys,” Harry said, holding up a finger. He waited until the twins were looking at him expectantly. “Never, ever call me Harrykins.”

With a smirk, they both saluted, each using an opposite hand, and left the Ravenclaw table.

“Wow,” Michael panted, half laying on the table. “I thought they’d never leave.”

…

4:05 PM

Hanging out of a tower window, Harry, Draco and Hermione watched the Griffindors and Slytherins at their flying lesson. The three winced, then groaned when poor Neville Longbottom had the devil’s own time with a particularly stubborn broom. Harry wanted to go down to meet the boy at the infirmary, until his attention was caught by a flash of red. The three watched Ron Weasley pick something up from the ground where Neville had landed so badly, then throw something small and round at the castle wall. The sound of shattering glass filled the silence, outside and in, until the stern cry of Professor MacGonagall.

“Ronald Weasley. Come here at once!”

They watched as Ron was soundly chastised in front of the two House first years, then hauled into the castle by an ear. They laughed all the way to the infirmary, where they found that Neville had suffered a broken wrist that would be mended overnight with skel-e-gro. Harry certainly sympathized, and explained to the frightened boy what to expect, and that he had the option of Madame Pomfrey putting him into a charmed sleep while the break healed. While Neville thanked him for the advice, the three were shooed out by the Mediwitch.

Hedwig finally returned at dinner time, and Harry was all set to forgo his meal in favor of reuniting with the owl. He had missed her that much. She had also brought along a reply to Hermione’s letter, which pleased the girl to no end. She was quite enamored with the owl, and proudly announced that her parents would most likely allow her to get a familiar of her own after she had read the letter.

After dinner that evening, and after completing their homework for the day, Draco began Harry and Hermione’s lessons on pure blood etiquette. The double potions class had gone extremely well. All three of them had turned in a perfect potion, which made Harry feel much better about inviting the girl along on the extra tutoring lessons. He had decided that if she were to be one of his closest friends, which she was fast becoming, she had best start learning how to defend herself in every way possible. He would certainly try his best to convince the Potions Master of his reasoning.

As for the etiquette lessons, Harry had decided that he might as well learn as though he had been raised a pure blood, and the knowledge certainly couldn’t hurt Hermione, if she expected to socialize with the elite at some point.

The smallish package that Draco had received from the owl turned out to be a rather large care package of sweets. Draco made the lesson he gave a little more fun by passing out sweets to the rest of Ravenclaw in the common room, prompting a few of the older students to sit in and help by acting out things like formal greetings, casual greetings, high tea, and even a few dances were covered. Professor Flitwick was so impressed with the efforts, he decided that a nightly session would benefit all the muggle born of his House.

Draco practically strutted proudly the rest of the evening.

…

Friday, September 6, 1:12 AM

Harry was exhausted. Too keyed up at the prospect of being able to stay up so late, all of the Ravenclaw first years never had a nap in preparation for Astronomy. When his scratchy eyes tried, for the sixth time, to close, Harry decided that it was a mistake he would never make again. How he was going to get up for Charms in the morning was anyone’s guess. Only Hedwig was able to keep the trio awake long enough to take semi-coherent notes, and the first years trudged back to their dorms, nearly asleep on their feet.

…

8:30 AM

Harry yawned into his scrambled eggs. He was so tired, he had completely forgotten his nutrient potion until Hermione reminded him, halfway through his breakfast. They’d have to hurry and eat if they wanted to make it to Charms in time.

The owls arrived right on time, and Harry was delighted to find a little barn owl had landed in front of him. He fed the bird some bacon, enduring Hedwig’s jealous churring, and then tucked the letter into his book bag until lunch, when he’d have a proper amount of time to read it. After he rubbed his face, he tried to finish his meal.

“RONALD WEASLEY!!!”

Harry’s face jerked out of a near touchdown with his plate, and he stared toward the Griffindor table. The shrill voice echoed in the Great Hall, and the redder Ron got, the louder the voice was. It certainly helped to wake him up, and he spent the rest of his breakfast savoring every word of that howler, as Draco called it.

As it turned out, the Ravenclaw first years needn’t have gone to such pains to hurry. Professor Flitwick had been teaching a good number of years, and he had fully expected half the class to be late. Instead, he gave them a point each for being conscientious and on time. Harry thought that was marvelous, as he had heard the first year Slytherins had lost a point each for being nearly an hour late the morning after their first Astronomy lesson.

The note, it turned out, was from Neville Longbottom. After reading it at the table at lunch, Harry consulted with Draco and Hermione, and they decided to meet with the Griffindor on Sunday morning at the same alcove window they had used to watch the flying lessons. It was private enough, and at the end of a seldom used corridor on the fourth floor.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, that afternoon, proved to be every bit as unpleasant as Harry feared. Ron stayed on his own side of the room, thankfully, but Harry found that his scar throbbed constantly the instant he stepped into the classroom. Draco ended up keeping a hand under the table and on Harry’s thigh to help mitigate the pain. By the end of class, Harry had a stomach churning headache, and Hermione offered the use of her notes, as neither boy had been able to take many. It didn’t seem to matter that Quirrel had rarely turned his back to the class. Just being in such close proximity seemed to be enough. Harry was desperate for Healer Davidson to have a solution.

After sicking up a dinner he barely touched, Harry went to bed early.

…

Saturday, September 7, 9:38 AM

Harry slept late, but he did wake feeling much better. The headache had gone, and he actually felt hungry. He was also very much looking forward to seeing Healer Davidson that afternoon. He spent extra time in the shower, just for the luxury of it, then dressed casually in jeans and a warm, comfortable jumper.

Breakfast brought a couple of surprises. A note, delivered by a raven of all things, came from Professor Snape. It said to meet in his office on Sunday, at 6:30 PM. That would give them a little over an hour before they needed to be back to the Aerie for curfew. The second surprise was Professor Flitwick telling Harry and Draco of the meeting with Director Bones the following afternoon. Harry found himself relieved. Hopefully, this would mean that the senior Auror was tying up loose ends before giving his godfather his freedom.

The three spent the time until lunch, catching up on homework with the other first years. They had been diligent through the week about getting their assignments done the day they were given out, but it was good to have the extra time to add some spit and polish. Out of all the first year Ravens, Hermione proved herself to be more than a little handy at research. No matter what the topic, she was able to find a book and passage that were helpful. Harry had no clue how she did it having had barely a week with the Ravenclaw library, and most of it spent with him and Draco. Even a few older students had taken to sitting in on the first year studies in the evening, just to challenge the girl to find some information she was likely unfamiliar with. The first years benefited by learning something from the more advanced core subjects.

Harry kept one eye on his watch during lunch. He had waffled back and forth between allowing his friends to be with him in the infirmary, but in the end decided not this time. He hadn’t really explained anything of his past to them. He wasn’t sure they would understand. One thing Harry did understand, was that he would need to tell Draco. He hoped desperately that the blonde would take his side, and not consider him a burden and a freak as aunt and uncle did.

Draco and Hermione walked with Harry out of the Great Hall. They had decided to walk their friend to the infirmary before continuing to the west tower. In the entrance hall, the children were stopped by the Headmaster.

“Harry, my boy, just in time,” Dumbledore greeted them, his blue eyes twinkling. “Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll accompany Harry to the infirmary. You children can go on with the rest of your afternoon.”

With a slight frown, Draco looked to Harry. Harry could only return a half shrug, his eyes reflecting a little defeat. There didn’t seem to be much he could do to dissuade the school’s Headmaster. With a slight nod to Harry, Draco gathered Hermione.

“We’ll see you later, Harry,” she said, more than a little confused.

“Yeah, see you later,” the brunette replied a little listlessly, watching the pair as they went out the main doors of the castle to likely take in some sun. Hedwig churred softly in his ear, nibbling his hair.

“This way, my boy,” the Headmaster was saying when Harry turned back to him. Harry followed the older man up the main staircase.

“Sir,” he began, “why do you call me ‘my boy’? We hadn’t met before the other morning, and you call everyone else by their last name, except for me.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Harry,” the Headmaster replied, slowing his pace so the much smaller boy could keep up. “I certainly feel as though I know you quite well.”

“I don’t see how you could, Headmaster,” Harry said. “Like I said, we’ve only just met. I’m just another student in your school, just like all the others. What makes me so special?”

“Well, I knew your parents extremely well, for one,” Dumbledore replied. “I helped them hide, when the time came, from Voldemort. I was there at your naming ritual. I’m also the one who placed you with your aunt and uncle, after your parents were killed.”

Harry watched the staircase rather than the Headmaster as they walked. Once again the Headmaster tried to lure him with information about his parents, and again Harry wasn’t going to take the bait. The subject was far too volatile for him to discuss with the man he saw as one of the main sources of his problems.

“That’s all well and good,” the boy said, “but what does that have to do with knowing me? Forgive me for saying so, sir, but all of that only says that you know of me. You don’t really know me.”

“Nonsense, my boy.” the Headmaster twinkled down at him, resting a hand on Harry’s unoccupied shoulder. Hedwig hissed. “I’ve known you since you were born.”

“Really?” Harry asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. “So all these years, you’ve been watching me at aunt and uncle’s? I mean, you must have been, if you feel you know me so well.”

“Of course I have, my boy,” Dumbledore said, as though amused with the boy. “I’ve been quite vigilant over the years. I’ve grown quite fond of you, and feel like something of a grandfather to you, Harry.”

“Then why haven’t I ever met you before, Headmaster?” Harry asked as they turned down a corridor. He really wanted to shrug the man’s grip from his shoulder, but didn’t dare quite yet. “It would have been nice to find out sooner that I’m a wizard.”

“I felt it best that you didn’t grow up with the stigma of your fame in our world, Harry,” the Headmaster said, slowing their steps even farther as they neared the infirmary. “Surely you can see how much of a burden that would have been on such young shoulders.”

Harry frowned a bit, thinking that over. “No,” he finally said. “I really don’t see that. Mostly because I don’t know why a baby can get famous because their mum and dad were killed by a bad man. There are loads of orphans, Headmaster. I can’t say that any one of them are so famous because they lived.”

They stopped outside the infirmary doors, and Dumbledore turned to Harry with a more sober and serious expression.

“Harry, I’m going to tell you a secret,” he began, watching for, and seeing the interest he had sparked in the boy. “It is my belief that Voldemort is not dead. Not truly dead. The wizarding world may soon have cause to look to you, once again. I can only hope that your young shoulders are strong enough to bear the weight of the responsibilities you’ll soon face.”

Harry’s feigned interest soon dropped into a deep frown, aimed at the Headmaster. “I don’t understand, Headmaster. Why would people look to me if this dark wizard isn’t really dead?”

Dumbledore patted Harry’s shoulder, turning the youngster toward the infirmary doors. “That, my boy, is a topic for another day. Off you go, now. You wouldn’t want to keep your Healer waiting.”

“Wait a second,” Harry protested, ducking out from under the Headmaster’s hand, Hedwig flapping to maintain her balance, and turning back to him. “That’s not fair. You can’t go and say something like that without explaining, Headmaster.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to, Harry,” Dumbledore said with the air of an adult who was being entirely too reasonable with a child’s temper tantrum. “Your Healer is waiting.”

“He will wait,” Harry said, deeply and truly angry now. Hedwig was mantled and hissing on his shoulder. “Why is some dark wizard my responsibility?”

Dumbledore shook his head with a soft sigh. “I’m sorry Harry, but that is information you’re just not ready for yet. You’re just too young.”

“Then why mention it in the first place?” Harry replied tightly.

Dumbledore blinked, the twinkle in his blue eyes somewhat diminished. “I wanted to convey a small sense of what you’ll be facing in the future, Harry. I only want to help you prepare, after all.”

“Prepare for what?” Harry was like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to give this up until he had some hard information.

“For your destiny, of course.” The Headmaster was looking more uncomfortable, and turned to walk back down the corridor. “We’ll talk again soon, Harry.”

The boy quickly ran to cut off the man’s retreat, planting himself firmly in the Headmaster’s way. “No, Albus. We’ll talk now. Why is some dark wizard my responsibility?”

Dumbledore sighed again, growing exasperated. “Now look, Harry…”

“No, you look, Albus,” Harry interrupted, rock solid in his conviction. “If you’re going to tell an eleven year old boy that he’s responsible for some dark wizard who likes to go around killing people, not the least of whom were his own parents, then you are going to explain yourself.”

Dumbledore looked dumbfounded. The silence stretched, and the two were locked in a silent battle of wills. In the end, it was Dumbledore who broke the stalemate by the simple expedient of disappearing with a soft crack.

“ARRRRGH!” Harry yelled into the empty corridor.

Hedwig screeched and flew to perch on a nearby suit of armor as Harry’s magic crackled and snapped in a bright show of arcing sparks against both stone walls of the corridor. Harry let himself vent for several harsh breaths, then closed his eyes and concentrated on drawing his magic back into his core. When he felt that he was well enough contained again, Harry sighed deeply and opened his eyes.

“I find myself not only surprised, Mr. Potter,” a silky deep voice said from directly behind the boy. “But impressed as well.”

Harry made sure his anger and magic were contained, and that he was wearing an impassive expression before he slowly turned on his heel to look up at Professor Snape. He sighed again. He should have known that he couldn’t even lose his temper in private. “What are you doing here?”

A dark eyebrow rose, and Snape simply looked at Harry, waiting quietly.

Harry rubbed his face, drawing both hands through his unruly hair before he sighed again. “I apologize, Professor. That was rude. What brings you to the infirmary, sir?”

“I understand, Mr. Potter. I happened upon you at an awkward time,” Snape said, walking toward the infirmary doors. “I won’t take any points. This time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, following along after Hedwig settled on his shoulder again.

“Draco thought the meeting with your Healer would go more smoothly with the resident Potions Master at hand.” Snape explained, opening the right hand door to the infirmary and ushering Harry inside with a mere look. “He also thought it would be a good idea for another adult to be present during your conversation with the Headmaster.”

Harry snorted softly to himself. That would have been a good idea, if the Professor had been a little faster. Harry might have been able to shame the old man into telling him what he needed to know.

“I thought you handled yourself perfectly, Mr. Potter.” Snape had stopped just inside the door after closing it behind them, speaking quietly. “It was the Headmaster who was being entirely unreasonable. The man also cheats.”

Harry was surprised into a short laugh. “Yeah, he does.” He looked up at the Potions Master shrewdly. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Snape inclined his head. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Harry jerked in surprise, watching the Professor progress across the infirmary. Just like that? Snape was really going to tell him? Heartened, Harry hurried to catch up to his potions Professor who was talking with an older woman wearing an apron and a starchy white cap.

“Madame Pomfrey,” Snape said as Harry approached the pair, “this is Harry Potter. You were just telling me that his Healer is waiting in one of the isolation rooms?”

“He insisted, he did,” Pomfrey said even as she was looking over Harry as though she would like nothing better than to whip out her wand and give him a once over. “The Healer. Said they’d want privacy.”

“Just so,” Snape said with a slow nod. “It is his prerogative.”

Harry just did his best to look innocent and guileless while the Mediwitch looked him over. She sighed and turned on her heel, waving toward the back of the infirmary. “He’s in room two, Professor.”

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” Snape acted as though the Mediwitch was usually a little abrupt, as she probably was, and lead the way for Harry, who was watching the woman return to her office.

At the back of the infirmary was an arched doorway that lead to a short corridor of three rooms. Snape let Harry lead the way to room two, the door of which Harry opened.

“Ah, Harry. Good. I was just finishing..” Healer Davidson stopped when he saw Professor Snape behind his patient in the doorway. “Oh, good afternoon. Was there something I could help you with?”

“I am Professor Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts,” Snape said, addressing the Healer. “With Mr. Potter’s permission, I could sit in on your examination, or return later. There was some indication that my services may be needed.”

Harry considered the Professor for several heartbeats, then looked to Healer Davidson. “It’s okay with me, I guess.” he finally said. “He kind of found out some stuff.”

“Are  you sure, Harry?” Davidson asked, ignoring the Professor while he concentrated on the well being of his patient.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

He wasn’t thrilled about it, since he wasn’t in complete control of the situation and thus couldn’t predict what information the Professor would find out, but Harry could see how having the Potions Master make even his nutrient potion would be a better option then finding an alternate way of getting some than by owl.The Headmaster had proven himself completely untrustworthy, so Harry wouldn’t be taking any more risks. Not where Dumbledore was concerned, at any rate. There was no way he’d allow something meant for him to fall into the elderly man’s hands.

While the Professor entered the room and closed the door, and Healer Davidson finished casting his wards, Harry crossed the room. He sent Hedwig to perch on the head railing of the bed, before pulling off his jumper to lay it over the foot of the bed. He heeled off his trainers and hoped up onto the bed to lay back on the crisp sheets. He was well used to the routine by now.

Snape watched impassively from one side of the doorway, which Davidson was just finishing up. He held up his wand where the Healer could see. “If you would allow?”

Davidson nodded once, and Snape turned to cast two spells over the doorway. Moving to the center of the room, he cast toward each of the four walls, the ceiling and the floor. Tiny spots in the corners, near the ceiling, had glowed red, so he cast a different spell at each spot until he was satisfied. He then crossed the room to the bedside, and removed the painting of a landscape from the wall, turning it around and propping it up beside the bedside table.

“That should ensure your privacy,” Snape said when he was finished.

“Thank you, Professor,” Davidson said and Harry nodded his approval.

Snape inclined his head. “Think nothing of it.” He moved to a chair against the wall at the foot of the bed, and sat down with his arms, and legs, crossed.

With his clipboard and self inking quill hovering at his side, Davidson cast the first of the diagnostic spells on Harry, considering the results carefully before doing the next set. Harry lay quietly watching the ceiling. After the fifth set had finished recording, Davidson looked over all the notes, absently fetching a chair from the other end of the room to pull closer to the bedside. He sat down, still reading each page carefully. Once he was finished, he lay the clipboard over his lap and considered Harry.

“Okay,” he began, “your weight has come up some, and I’m glad to see that. Another week or two, and  you could actually be in the lower end of normal for your age. You’re going to have to start building muscle mass now. I’d like you to start some light exercise. Even walking for half an hour every day will be helpful.”

“Well,” Harry said, “there’s all the stairs. Does that count? We’re going up and down them all the time.”

Chuckling, Davidson nodded. “Yes, it helps, but I’d like you to do a little extra. If you’re going up, take the long way so you encounter more stairs. Coming down, jog a couple of times up and down a corridor. Every little bit helps.”

Harry nodded with a sigh, wondering how he was going to fit that into his already crowded schedule.

“Good news, your heart is stronger,” Davidson was saying. “Bad news, your lungs are not. I’m going to have to do the respiratory spells for you again. I don’t want you getting an infection right now, and it’s the time of year for it.”

“Yeah, okay. Padma was sniffling at breakfast this morning.” Harry nodded. “I stayed as far from her as I could.”

“You did good,” Davidson confirmed. “There was no sign of infection. Yet.”

He looked over the clipboard, turned a couple of pages, and read again. “Okay, looks like we’re up to your kidneys and bladder for today. Do you feel alright to go ahead?”

Harry nodded. “I want to get it all over with, but I know it’ll take time, Healer.”

“Good lad,” Davidson smiled, getting up to place the clipboard on the bedside table beside the now quiet quill. “I’m going to give you a charmed sleep for this one, Harry. It’ll last about an hour. Will you be alright with that?”

Harry considered, casting a swift glance toward Professor Snape, then nodded. He closed his eyes, and Davidson cast the sleeping charm. He waited a few minutes, checking Harry’s vitals by hand while he waited. Once he was sure the boy was deeply asleep, Davidson started. He cast a charm which showed Harry’s internal organs. Specifically, his kidneys and bladder. With delicate wand movements, he started his work.

Snape was impressed. He watched the Healer as he worked, fully understanding what he was doing and why. It was tiring, delicate, and very precise work, but the Healer’s concentration was absolute. Snape did his best to give no cause to distract the man, and remained completely still and quiet. Snape could see the projected image perfectly, and watched as the Healer healed many scars and psudo tears in the walls of the organs. What horrors had this boy suffered, that could cause so much damage? The bladder’s placement was realigned, and the urethra straightened and strengthened. Snape was shocked to notice the Healer had used a mild sticking charm to hold the bladder in it’s new position. He had never even heard of such a thing.

After a little over forty five minutes, Davidson cancelled the image charm and sat down, rubbing his eyes. After a few minutes, the Healer sat up and pulled a vial from his pocket. He quickly downed the pepper up potion, steam streaming from both ears, and stood up again. He checked his notes, then cast a couple of diagnostic charms on the sleeping boy, before finally giving a nod of satisfaction.

“I can think of at least two potions that will support and strengthen the work you just did, Healer,” Snape offered quietly. He met the Healer’s eyes when the man turned to him. “I’ll begin them tonight. I estimate a four day course would see it done.”

The Healer regarded the Potions Master quietly for several long moments. “I’ve taken my vow to this boy extremely seriously, Professor. I’m aware of your background. I warn you now. Harm him, and there won’t be enough left of you for even the tinest potions ingredients. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

After a slow blink, Snape inclined his head, then drew his wand. “I swear upon my magic, that I will never intentionally harm Harry Potter. So mo….”

“You will also keep his secrets,” the Healer insisted.

Snape raised a brow, then gave a curt nod. “I also swear that I will keep Harry Potter’s secrets, unless he specifies otherwise. So mote it be.”

The magic of both vows settled on the Potions Master, and Snape cast a luminos that brightened the tip of his wand. The Healer relaxed.

“The potions would be appreciated,” Davidson said as he began to cast a series of spells over Harry’s chest.

“Was there an accident?” Snape finally asked after watching the Healer for a few minutes.

Davidson recorded the results of the last of his spells, then sat down again with a long sigh. “No. Harry’s never told me any details, but his body told the story well enough. Only years of systematic neglect and physical abuse could have resulted in this kind of damage.”

Snape frowned darkly.

“My first instinct,” Davidson went on, still watching his patient sleep and casting the occasional, sub vocal diagnostic charm, “was to hunt down his relatives. I could have cheerfully killed them had they been in front of me that first day.”

“How did he avoid additional damage, after he began seeing you?” the Potions Master asked, just as quietly.

“He stayed the rest of the summer near Diagon Alley, near as I could tell. I met with him there a few times. I doubt he’s even seen them since he first visited me at St. Mungos.”

“With Fortune’s favour, that will continue to be the case,” Snape replied.

Davidson only nodded before he got up again. He took up the clipboard when the quill stopped moving, and read over the notes taken. A final series of charms and spells were cast, then a final diagnostic.

“That’s all I can do for today. If he doesn’t contract one of many respiratory ailments over the next few weeks, he should continue to improve at a good pace,” Davidson observed. “It’ll take another three or four sessions before I’m happy about his heart and lungs.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t started him on a potions regime as well,” Snape said, almost too lightly. “I’ve noticed the nutrient potions, of course, but he does need more support for his system to aid your repairs with his own magic.”

“I agree,” Davidson said, sitting down again to regard the Potions Master. “I’ll wake him, and we’ll discuss the possibility. It’s up to Harry. I told him from the start I wouldn’t do anything without his knowledge or consent. I intend to keep my word.”

Snape only inclined his head, and the Healer cancelled the sleep charm. Gradually, with some slow stretches, Harry woke and blinked open his eyes.

“All done, Healer?” the boy asked groggily as he worked himself into a sitting position. Davidson propped the pillows behind him, while Harry knuckled sleep from his eyes.

“All done. Take a few, deep breaths for me Harry. I did the lung spells as well while you slept.” Davidson said, his wand ready to monitor this secondary examination.

Harry was put through his paces, then allowed to dress again. The boy settled on the edge of the bed, much more awake, and stoking Hedwig who had hopped down to his knee.

“Things look good, Harry,” Davidson finally allowed with a smile. “Continue to try and avoid anyone who is obviously ill. Do you know the bubble head charm?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’ll teach it to you before I go. If you have to spend an extended period of time in close proximity to someone ill, I’d really prefer you to use the charm.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “I’ll try to remember.”

“Good lad,” Davidson smiled. “Now, the Professor here would like to talk about a course of potions for you. He’s already recommended two that will support the work I’ve done today. I’ve waited before starting you on potions until I had you a bit more stabilized, especially your magic. It’s been supporting your system for years, and I wanted it to have a decent rest before we asked it to start working on aiding your healing again. Just so you know, he’s taken vows on his magic to do you no harm, and to keep your secrets.”

Harry listened carefully before nodding. “Okay. There were a couple I had wanted to ask about.”

The three worked their way through a discussion of possible potions, their side effects, what they would do for Harry, and even their taste. Harry finally agreed to a five day course of four potions that Snape would brew for him, followed by a month long regime of two additional potions that he would take once a week. The Professor even agreed to take over providing the nutrient potion, with a few changes that were more tailored to Harry’s needs, all of which were discussed thoroughly before Harry agreed to them.

Once everyone was satisfied and agreed on a course of action for the next month, Harry insisted that Davidson decide on the date of his next visit. He told the Healer that he suspected the Headmaster had intercepted the Healer’s last letter, and that was confirmed as Davidson outright said that he had sent the owl to Harry, not the school in general. The Healer was angry, and intended to speak with Dumbledore before leaving the school that day.

“There’s one more thing,” Harry said, almost hesitant to bring it up with the Potions Professor in the room, but he didn’t see that it made much difference at that point. “My scar.”

Davidson nodded. “I’ve been speaking with the goblin Healers about it, Harry. They’ve so far been encouraging in the information they gave me, but they really need to examine you personally before they can say for sure if they can do anything.”

“That’s great,” Harry said, “but there’s been a little.. problem. You see, it’s Professor Quirrel. When ever I’m close to him, my scar really hurts. After DADA yesterday, I had a wicked headache and even sicked up. My scar throbbed the whole time in class. Before that, I had seen him twice. Once at the Leaky and again during the Sorting Feast, and both times there was a sharp, stabbing pain in my scar.”

Davidson was frowning well before Harry had finished, but he listened closely. “This only happened the times you’ve described, Harry?” He sat forward on his chair, casting a localized diagnostic on Harry’s forehead. “It’s never happened before?”

“No, never,” Harry answered, doing his best to keep utterly still for the Healer while he talked. “Only when Quirrel had his back to me at a distance, and in his class.”

“Well, you’ve never mentioned any pain before,” Davidson agreed, sitting back with a thoughtful expression. “I think I should bring Goldleaf here, Harry. He’s the goblin Healer I’ve been consulting with. I really think we should get this looked at sooner, rather than later.”

Harry was already nodding. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Good, I’ll talk to him as soon as I can to see when he’d be available,” Davidson said, making notes on yet another page on the clipboard. “Send Hedwig to me on Wednesday, and I’ll send back a date when we can meet you.”

Hedwig churred, bobbing her head, making Harry laugh and the Healer smile. “I’ll send her, Healer.”

Davidson finished his notes then shrank the clipboard and quill to tuck into his robe pocket. “So, was there anything else you wanted to talk about today, Harry?”

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I think we talked about everything we need to, for now.”

Davidson nodded, then grinned. “How did your first week of school go?”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, becoming much more animated, “weird, exciting, confusing, brilliant..”

“You said that one already,” Davidson laughed.

Harry blushed, “Well, it was. So much has happened in only a week. I haven’t even taken it all in yet.”

“You know I’m only a letter away if you need to talk to someone. I’m always here for you, Harry. I hope you know that.”

Harry was already nodding. “I know, and I appreciate that, Healer.”

The level of trust he had for Healer Davidson was different than that for his friends. It was tempered with a great deal of respect that the Healer had earned during his dealings with the much abused boy. He had always kept his word, even in the little things. That went a long way in Harry’s book. He only trusted Draco a fraction more, but not by much at this point.

The two then spent some time going over the bubble head charm and it’s counter, until Harry could cast it perfectly. Then Davidson presented Harry with the shrunken package of sweets and treats he had picked up for the boy. He refused any mention of Harry paying him back, saying that he was happy to give the child something that was bad for him, then winked when Harry laughed.

“Well then,” Davidson slapped his knees dramatically and got up. “I’m off to beard the lion. Wish me luck, Harry.”

Harry laughed. “Good luck, Healer. Give him one for me, too. I owe him.”

Snape snorted in amusement. He had been so still and quiet, Harry had nearly forgotten the man was in the room with them. The Potions Master also rose. “I’ll walk as far as the Great Hall with you, Mr. Potter. It will soon be time for dinner, and your friends would more easily find you there.”

Agreeable, Harry nodded and got up from the bed. He waited by the door while the two men dismantled the wards they had erected, then followed them out into the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey was there with a student, administering a dose of pepper up potion if the steaming ears were any indication. Harry paused by the foot of the bed.

“Madame Pomfrey?” he waited until he had the Mediwitch’s attention. “I just wanted to say thank you for allowing us to use the examination room. It was very generous of you.”

The Mediwitch smiled at the small boy, waving him off with a “tish tosh, no worries, Mr. Potter.”

“I’ll owl you with information for Harry’s records, here at the school, Madame,” Davidson said. “I’m afraid it will be scant until you and I have had a chance to talk over his case. In the mean time, I would again appreciate your floo call should Harry have any sort of accident, or fall ill.”

“As I told you before, Healer, it’s my duty. I’ll floo call you before any one else. You have my word on it.” Madame Pomfrey said a sight more curtly.

“Thank you Madame,” Harry interjected. “It means a lot to me to know that my private business won’t be spread over the school.”

Pomfrey looked uncomfortable before she nodded to Harry with a soft smile. “Have no fear, Mr. Potter. They won’t be hearing a thing from me.”

“Or me,” said the boy who’s ears had finished steaming. “I’m Cedric, Cedric Diggory. In fact, I didn’t even see you today.”

Harry grinned at the third year Hufflepuff, and allowed the Healer to steer him out of the infirmary, Snape trailing like a long, dark shadow.

Healer Davidson knocked on the Headmaster’s door, then opened it when he heard the call to enter. He paused after closing the door behind himself, taking a moment to look over the room with all of it’s shining, spinning, rocking gadgets on nearly every available surface.

“Yes?” Dumbledore asked from behind his desk, “How can I help you?”

Davidson doubted very much that the older man didn’t know who he was, so he continued to take his time while crossing the room, looking over the more interesting pieces that caught his eye.

“I find myself wondering, Headmaster,” he said while looking over a silver sphere surrounded by other, smaller ones in slow orbit, “how you sleep at night? Do you toss and turn, thoughts whirling, or do you sleep soundly?”

“I beg your pardon?” the Headmaster said.

“If it were myself, I imagine I wouldn’t get much sleep at all,” Davidson continued, moving on to the next little gadget. “Too many thoughts crowding my head, I suppose. Unfortunately, my wondering doesn’t answer a rather important question.”

“Oh?” the Headmaster asked. “What would that question be?”

Davidson straightened from where he was facing two little devices that seemed to work in concert. “Why would the Headmaster of a school want to kill an eleven year old boy?”

Davidson lightly touched a silver and gold coloured piece, wondering if the metals were as real as they appeared. When the silence in the room stretched a little too long, he glanced over to the desk to find Dumbledore staring at him in apparent shock.

“I’m sorry, did I figure it out too quickly for you? Perhaps my visit came a bit early in the year and you hadn’t really finalized  your plans? I mean, it’s no small thing to potion a child into submission. It must be done slowly and gradually if you want lasting results. Perhaps you were hoping that I simply wouldn’t notice. Yes, that must be it.”

Davidson moved on to the next little gadget, which seemed to belong to a set of three. He tilted his head while looking the trio over, frowning thoughtfully. “Of course, this isn’t just any child we’re talking about. This one could be quite the coin in the right pocket. A real bargaining chip if someone wanted to keep the wizarding world under their thumb. He’s sure to garner quite a bit of support, if used correctly.”

Davidson pulled out his wand, lightly tapping the center of the three little pieces. “Fortunately for the child, he has a rather diligent Healer. No detail too small, I must say. The massive drain on his magic in burning off even those tiny doses was rather notable.”

The silence in the room stretched while Davidson lightly tapped the device to the right of the center one. “And then to find out that you are intercepting the child’s mail.” He shook his head slightly, tsking. “Not only rude, but clumsy.”

Not yet touched, the device on the left of the center one began to spin faster and faster, then abruptly stopped all movement. Davidson gave it a tiny nod, putting away his wand. With a delicate finger, he teased open a tiny door in the side of the device. “I’d say you are certainly trying your best to do something, but then that question remains. Why? It’s always ‘why’, isn’t it? Why this, why that. Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump shouldn’t have to answer to any ‘why’s’, now should he? But there’s the rub, you see.”

He removed a tiny vial containing a single, blood red drop of liquid. With a deft flick of finger, the tiny door closed again. “The higher you are, the more ‘why’s’ you need to answer. It must be tiring.”

Davidson turned to the Headmaster, while tucking the vial safely into an inner pocket of his robe. “So, back to my original question? How do you sleep at night, Headmaster?”

“What exactly is it that you want, Healer?” Dumbledore finally asked.

Davidson smiled. “Quite a lot, really, but I’m not the greedy sort. World peace and a few million galleons are the dreams of many, I’m sure. Truthfully, I have rather simple needs, so I’ll only make a very simple request.”

The silence stretched between them again, until Dumbledore was forced to break it. “Yes?”

Davidson’s entire demeanor changed from congenial, to severe. “You will take a vow on your magic, right now, that  you will leave Harry Potter alone. No more plans. No more interference. No more potions. No more manipulations.”

“And what, exactly, would prompt me to do something like that?” the Headmaster asked. “As his magical guardian, it’s my duty to see to the boy’s welfare.”

Davidson was tempted to laugh, but he only tilted his head slightly. “My ward has a magical guardian who is much more actively invested in his welfare. The vow, if you please, Headmaster.”

“Your ward?” The Healer could practically see the wheels and cogs spinning in the Headmaster’s no longer twinkling eyes.

“You’ll find everything in order at the Ministry, Headmaster,” Davidson stated, calmly drawing a tightly rolled scroll from yet another inside pocket of his robe, and laying it gently on the delicate looking occasional table he stood behind. “That vow, Headmaster, for the third time.”

Dumbledore stared at the scroll from halfway across the room, as though he could read it. A tiny clock chimed the hour in the growing silence. With slow, deliberate movements, Dumbledore drew his wand. An explosion of sound from the corner near the window drew both men’s attention as the phoenix left his perch with a discordant screech and ball of flame, only to reappear in practically the same moment in front of the Healer with another burst of flames. The bird’s vocalizations reached a high enough pitch to make Dumbledore wince and cover his ears, while the Healer wasn’t affected at all.

Abruptly, the phoenix stopped singing. Davidson’s ears still rang a little in the ensuing silence, even though the sound hadn’t hurt him as it had the Headmaster. Facing Dumbledore, Fawkes landed lightly on the occasional table, knocking a few devices to the floor with metallic clangs. The bird stared at the Headmaster. The man’s shoulders slumped and Dumbledore again raised his wand with an air of defeat.

“I do solemnly swear,” he said after clearing his throat. “upon my magic, that I will no longer interfere in the life of Harry James Potter. So mote it be.”

Davidson watched the magic of the vow settle on the Headmaster in a soft nimbus, then gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Headmaster. Good day to you.”

He turned on his heel, and calmly walked out of the office, carefully shutting the door behind him. Once safely out of sight, however, the Healer leaned heavily against the door, blowing out a huge breath of relief and panting a little, trying to contain his reaction. He didn’t know what Dumbledore was about to cast on him, but it couldn’t have been good if the man’s own phoenix familiar reacted the way it did. His hands shaking, Davidson slowly rubbed his face, and then pulled himself back together. He had things that needed done. Hardly trusting his legs quite yet, he never the less made his way down the stairs.

Inside the office, Dumbledore stared at the closed door until his gaze was drawn to the phoenix still perched on the small table, staring at him.

“Caught yourself in a pickle, haven’t you?” the Sorting Hat said from a shelf over head. “I did try to warn you about Riddle, all those years ago. I even tried to give you advice when you became Headmaster. Now look at the mess.”

“Why did you put Harry in Ravenclaw?” Dumbledore asked the hat, as he had every day since the Sorting.

“Always thought you knew better, of course. Never willing to listen. Now we’ll see what happens, won’t we?” the hat ignored the question, as it had every day since the Sorting.

Fawkes gave a mournful cry, looking at Dumbledore as though he were deeply disappointed in the wizard, then abruptly left in a burst of flames. Dumbledore jerked in his ornate chair, clutching his chest, before he slumped with a mournful cry of his own. His weak bond with the phoenix had been broken.

“Quite the pickle,” the hat observed, then fell silent.

Dumbledore never made it down to the Great Hall for dinner.

As arranged, Harry, Draco and Hermione went to the fourth floor corridor very early Sunday morning. Harry would have liked to have another hour’s sleep, but meeting with Neville Longbottom seemed both important and intriguing enough to get him out of bed and wandering the halls before breakfast. The three grouped at the window they had watched the previous week’s flying lessons from, Draco yawning hugely and leaning against the window frame with his eyes closed. Hedwig looked outside with wide, yellow eyes, catching even the smallest movement on the wide lawn below. Harry was just considering opening the window to let her go hunt, when Neville arrived.

The shy boy’s steps slowed long before he reached them, and Hermione went a long way toward breaking the ice when she asked after the Griffindor’s wrist, first thing. The four soon settled on the floor, basking in the early morning light streaming in the window, while Neville talked about his first infirmary experience. He didn’t really remember much, since he slept through most of it, but it turned out that the trio had been his only visitors during his entire overnight stay.

“I can’t believe McGonagall didn’t even visit,” Draco sniffed.

“I know,” Hermione ecohed. “I always thought she was like a mother lion.”

“I’m sure she was busy,” Neville suggested meekly. “She did have Ron to deal with, after all.”

“That’s true,” Draco agreed quickly, grinning. “That was a brilliant howler his mother sent.”

“It was,” Neville agreed, blushing while Harry and Hermione were nodding with smiles of their own.

“Has he tried anything else with you, Nev?” Harry asked. “I can’t imagine he was very happy about that howler and detention.”

“He was really mad,” Neville said, hunched forward and red with humiliation. “He went on all day and night about the howler. Said how unfair it was that he was being punished because I’m a .. a … a fat squib who can’t ride a broom.”

“What a prat!” Harry exclaimed in indignation, sitting up straight. “You’re no squib, Neville. I can feel your magic from here.”

The Griffindor blinked up at the Ravenclaw sitting across from him. “Wh… what?”

Draco and Hermione were also looking at Harry curiously, and the brunette blushed. Harry looked down at his hands, finding his intertwining fingers utterly fascinating.

“Anybody could, I’m sure,” he finally said. “Healer Davidson once told me that he can see my magical signature.”

“That’s probably why he wanted to be a healer, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “Mage sight is a really rare gift. Mostly healers and Unspeakables have it.”

“I do too,” Draco said proudly, then seemed to subside a little when the others snapped their attention to him. “Well, sort of. Harry is teaching me.”

“Really?” Hermione said, wide eyed. “I didn’t think it was something you could teach. Can you teach us, Harry?”

“Sure, I guess,” Harry shrugged.

“Later, though.” Draco said, leaning toward Neville who sat cross legged on his left. “What else has the weasel done?”

“Well, other than me, he’s been going on all week about you and Harry,” Neville said, looking between the other two boys. “He been saying how you’re a slimy snake, and Harry’s a liar, but then he says how you should be in Griffindor, Harry, and friends with him instead of Draco. He said Dumbledore promised him that he’d be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’s been cheated.”

“What rubbish,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Snakes aren’t the least bit slimy.”

“Hush, Draco,” Hermione admonished before turning back to Neville, who was licking his lips nervously. “Go on, Nev.”

“Well,” the boy nearly stammered, “everybody in the dorm had been ignoring him the past few days, but last night Ron just starts loudly saying that he wrote to his mum, and that she wrote back and said she was going to fix everything. He said we’d all be sorry for doubting him, because his mum would see to it that we were all proven wrong about him.

Seamus asked what he meant, and Ron said that his mum would fix it, and that he wouldn’t be surprised if you got resorted to Griffindor, and you, Draco, to Slytherin like you belong, before she was done. Before that, though, him and Seamus had been spending most evenings talking about how they were going to keep you two apart so Ron could worm his way in to being your friend, Harry. I guess some of those plans might be back on, because Seamus and him spent half the night talking.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Hermione observed.

“No,” Draco agreed. “By himself, the weasel was just a prat, but if he gets help from someone with half a brain he could be trouble.”

“Yeah,” Harry also agreed, frowning thoughtfully. “Nev, you said the others had been ignoring him the past few days?”

Neville nodded. “Since the flying lesson, yeah. But they haven’t been talking to me, either. Nobody does, really.”

“That’s unforgivable,” Draco said, frowning. “don’t they know who the Longbottoms are?”

Neville only looked down at the stone floor while Hermine looked puzzled. “Who are the Longbottoms? Sorry, Neville.”

“Only the third most influential family in Britain,” Draco said confidently. “Cultivating a friendship with Neville here could see your own family status rise just by association.”

“That’s nearly as bad as wanting to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived just because of the name.” Harry scoffed, making Neville giggle a little.

“Is it really that important?” Hermione asked Draco. “This ranking of family names?”

Draco nodded. “It’s pretty much the backbone of politics in the Wizengamot. Prominent families create blocks of votes and try to influence others to taking their views, if you really want to simplify it.”

“It sounds terribly old fashioned,” Harry observed, “and doesn’t seem to work that well, anyway. Everybody is pretty much only looking out for themselves.”

“So what, exactly, is the ranking order?” Hermione asked, entirely focused on the topic. “Do you know, Draco?”

“Of course,” Draco said, starting to tick fingers. “The Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Black, Potter, Longbottom and Greengrass. Then there are the Most Noble Houses of Malfoy, Prewitt, Blustrode, Lestrange and Macmillian. Then there are lesser families like the Parkinsons and Weasleys.”

“So, what determines this ranking?” Hermione frowned.

“Mostly the age of the family line,” Neville answered. “How many generations back you can count the family line, their wealth and blood status. That last bit has only been considered important in the last fifty years or so.”

Draco was nodding. “The Weasley’s, for example, are an old, pure blood, family line, but their status had gone way down because they’re not very affluent, and haven’t been for many generations.”

“So Pansy was trying to improve her family position by marrying into the Malfoy family.” Harry stated it more as a fact then a question, and Draco nodded.

“But there are other ways to connect your family to another to raise status.”

“Like what my family did about twelve generations ago,” Neville said. “The Longbottoms were Vassals of the Potters before we established our own wealth.”

“You still are,” Draco said.

“Is that why you wrote ‘your servant’ on that note, Neville?” Harry asked. The boy’s eyes widened when Neville matter-of-factly nodded. “But, I thought that was just some formal way of closing the letter.”

“No, you’re the Scion of the Potter family, Harry. The last of your line. You’re still my Liege Lord.”

“And that,” Draco stated with confidence, “is why Neville is here today. It’s his duty to look out for your interests, Harry. He had information that you needed, about Ron and the Griffindors.”

Harry looked incredulously between Draco and Neville, who was nodding. Frowning, he shifted so he could draw his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. “I thought it was because you wanted to be my friend.”

He couldn’t help saying that. It made him sound weak and petulant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hated the thought of people trying to get close to him just because it could do something for their own social status. He wanted true, honest friends.

“I do!” Neville exclaimed, the most forceful the others had ever seen him. “I grew up with stories about the Potters and how my Da was good friends with yours. Gran told me that we were supposed to grow up together, like brothers. My mum is your godmother, and your dad was my godfather. I wrote to you so we could meet as soon as I could. I really want us to become brothers, like we were supposed to. It wasn’t fair that we had to grow up apart.”

Harry worried his lip, studying Neville closely. Every instinct he had about people told him that Neville was being sincere, but the hurt little boy part of him was still skeptical. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do, Harry. I swear it,” Neville asserted earnestly, looking straight into Harry’s eyes. “I’ll even take a vow on it.”

Harry was shaking his head before he realized it. “No, you don’t have to do that, Neville. I believe you.” He sighed, rubbing his face on his knees before he let them drop into a loose fold. “I’m sorry. I kind of over reacted a little.”

“I don’t think you did,” Hermione sympathized. “No offense to you, Neville, but I can understand where you’re coming from Harry. I know how much you hate all that being famous thing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Draco added, bumping shoulders with the brunette. “Wasn’t I your friend even before I knew what your name was? I don’t blame Neville for wanting to be another friend.”

That made Harry smile a bit self consciously and Hermione jumped on the potential story.

“How could you be friends without knowing his name?”

“He was just The Boy From Madam Malkins for a whole month,” Draco laughed. “We met there, and then got our school books. It wasn’t until after that I realized that he knew my name, but I didn’t know his.”

“I told him on the train,” Harry added sheepishly, making the others laugh.

“That’s a story to tell the grand-kids,” Neville said, smiling before he sobered and looked at Harry seriously. “I really do want us to be like it should, Harry. I only really had Gran and my uncle and his family growing up. I was a bit lonely, I admit that. But I always dreamed of what it would be like when we finally met. How we’d be good friends and the brothers we always should have been. It’s what our parents intended, and it’s really the only thing I ever wanted. A brother. My brother Harry.” The young Longbottom smiled at the floor a bit wistfully. “When Gran told me the story of how we were born a day apart, I told the house elves that I wanted to celebrate your birthday every year too, like you were there. We’d have a dinner of things I thought would be your favorites, even things that I hated but I’d eat cause it was your birthday, and there’d be cake with Happy Birthday Harry wrote on it, and ice cream and stuff…”

Deeply embarrassed at this childhood confession, Neville’s voice trailed off and he was blushing furiously. Impulsively, Herminone threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Ohh Neville, that’s so terribly sweet!” she gushed, making even Harry and Draco blush and look away a little uncomfortably. Hermine let the boy go abruptly to turn on Harry. “I insist that you treat your brother more fairly, Harry. I mean, did you hear that? How can you be mad at him after that.”

Harry quickly wiped a lone tear from his cheek, more than a little surprised to have found it there, but he was smiling a bit shyly at Neville. “I’m not mad, Neville. It sounds absolutely perfect. I really wish that our birthdays could have been exactly like that.”

“I say you just carry on like they were,” Draco observed, trying to appear the mature one of the group, “and leave off.”

“Deal,” Harry said with a relieved smile, putting his right hand out into the center of the circle.

Draco quickly followed, his hand on Harry’s, which was joined by Hermione, then finally a smiling Neville.

“The four Musketeers.” Hermione said, giggling. “All for one, and one for all.”

“All for one, and one for all,” the other three said, though Draco and Neville really had no clue why they said it. It still sounded really good to them, and they were happy enough to embrace the sentiment.

“I’m starved,” Harry announced, rubbing his growling stomach. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

“And you,” Draco said, pointing at Hermione as they all started to get up from the floor, “can tell us what a Musketeer is while we eat. I really hope it isn’t something ghastly.”

Harry quickly gathered his book bag and Hedwig from the windowsill, and the four made their way down to the Great Hall.

It was still very early, so there were only a few other students in the Hall when they arrived. The four sat together at the Ravenclaw table and talked animatedly about the movies Hermione had seen about the Musketeers. Draco was enraptured with the sword fighting, while Neville found D’Artagnan the most noble of the four. Hermione promised to get her parents to send a copy of the Three Musketeers to her at school, and she’d read the entire story to the boys.

Hermione and Neville gained a sudden pair of bookends when the Weasley twins sat down at the table.

“Lookie here, a firstie lion.”

“At the wrong table, no less.”

“Should we be worried?” they finished together.

“Fred, George,” Harry instantly gained the pair’s full attention when he correctly identified them both, “this is my godbrother, Neville Longbottom. I hear he’s not really getting the respect he’s due in Griffindor, as Scion of Longbottom House.”

Both twins winced and exchanged a look over the heads of Neville and Hermione.

“Come on, Harry,” George said.

“No one really bothers with that anymore.” Fred continued, trying to not look overly guilty.

“Maybe not so much,” Harry said conversationally while feeding some bacon to Hedwig, “but I’ve been learning that it’s still important. Would I expect the same treatment, if I were in Griffindor?”

He honestly wanted to know, because his older Housemates, while they did treat him as a younger peer, still afforded him a margin of respect as a Peer. Harry didn’t really understand completely why until their earlier conversation in the corridor.

Somewhat reluctantly, the pair shook their heads.

“Probably not,” Fred admitted. “But there’s other reasons for that.”

“That Ronnikins likes to remind us of constantly.” George finished crossly.

Harry hummed softly while selecting another piece of bacon to feed to the appreciative owl. “Well, I’ve been thinking. I think it might set a good example for the other Griffindors, if two of their House were to start treating Neville with the proper degree of respect. It would show up Ron’s behavior, too, I expect, just by contrast.”

The pair exchanged a more speculative look, then looked back to Harry.

“I also think,” the brunette continued, “that these two Griffindors, because they’re a bit older and more poplular, not to mention wicked beaters, would make the perfect.. well… sort of like vassals, for my godbrother.”

“Now there’s an idea, Fred.”

“A right brilliant one, George.”

“Now, Harry…” Neville began before Draco waved him to silence, his grey eyes dancing.

“Dad would be proud.” Fred was saying.

“But wouldn’t admit it.” George replied

“Mum would be insufferable.” Fred suddenly winced.

“Full of herself.” George agreed with a frown.

“We could keep that bit quiet.” Fred speculated.

“Until we’re of age.” George agreed thoughtfully.

“We’ll have to write to Bill.”

“He’ll know how to handle it.” George agreed with a nod.

They both looked to Harry. “What do you propose?” They said in unison.

“A vassal ship under the Potter name, attached to the Longbottom line. You’ll be his bodyguards, essentially.” Harry said, looking between them. “But I want to finish researching it, just to make sure I have the right terms. I won’t even hear of any kind of vow or anything until then.”

“Really Harry, I don’t need…”

“Hush Neville,” Hermione interrupted, fascinated. “He’s only trying to help.”

“I think that’s my duty, Neville,” Harry said to the boy across from  him. “To look out for you.”

Neville blushed, but subsided.

“It’s true, Neville.” George said seriously.

“As your Lord, he’s obligated to see to your welfare.” Fred continued.

Harry sighed and shook his head ruefully. “Did everyone know except me?”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Draco said, spreading marmalade on an English muffin. “You didn’t grow up with the lessons like most pure bloods do.”

“You’re making remarkable progress in only a week, though, Harry.” Hermione said. “And I’m learning loads, too.”

Harry sighed again, but looked back to the twins. “So, what do you say?”

“We’re very interested,” George nodded.

“And Neville here won’t have anything to worry about while you do your research.” George agreed.

“You just let us know”

“When you’re ready to go ahead.”

“We’ll write our eldest brother, Bill,”

“He works for Gringotts,”

“Of what sort of formal arrangement he might suggest.”

“I don’t think you had the whole family in mind, Harry.”

“No, I didn’t really,” Harry agreed. “No offense to your family, but…”

“No, we understand completely.” Fred assured the younger boy.

“Ron’s really mucked things up.” George agreed with his brother.

“Inviting the family by name would only give him exactly what he wants.”

“Which he hasn’t earned by even the least margin.”

“We hope he shows up for Quidditch try outs,”

“So we can beat some sense into him.”

“So, that’s settled, then.” Fred grinned.

Draco frowned after swallowing his latest bite. “That doesn’t make us six Musketeers, does it?”

The other three first years laughed. The twins looked baffled, but game.

While they had talked, the Hall had been filling with other students looking for breakfast. All of the other first year Ravenclaws, and even a few third year Griffindors, had gravitated toward the group of six, drawn by the laughter and easy conversation, in addition to the presence of the popular twins. Neville had appeared apprehensive and nervous at first, but as the conversations branched out to include the new comers with no sign of resentment toward the lions in their midst, he began to relax and participate. Harry was more than glad to see that. Neville was painfully shy, and Harry felt he really needed a good boost in self confidence. Hopefully the twins would be a good influence on him in his own House. That was his real goal.

When the breakfast dishes disappeared, the twins suggested that anyone who wanted could follow them down to the Quidditch pitch for a pick up game or two. Harry and Draco were both, instantly, keen. They drew Hermione and Neville along with them through the sheer force of their enthusiasm, and there was soon a group of mixed years and Houses headed to the pitch.

The Griffindor Quidditch team were all there, and their Captain, Oliver Wood, soon had the large group divided into teams, regardless of House or ages. He based his choices on shouted preferences of positions, and a round robin match between four teams started up. Harry had shouted seeker simply because Draco did, realizing too late that it would place them on different teams, but both boys agreed that they wouldn’t spare the other any humiliation on the pitch. They were both in to win, they agreed good naturedly.

Each game would only last an hour, unless the snitch was caught first. While watching the first game, Draco explained the seeker position in more detail to Harry, pointing out what the current seeker was doing and why. Harry found the advice excellent sportsmanship, and couldn’t wait to get into the air. Neville and Hermione had both opted out of playing, but they both promised to cheer the other two boys on.

The first game ended with the twins team winning by points after the game timed out, and Draco’s team went up next. Harry sat, fascinated, unable to take his eyes off of Draco long enough to properly watch the rest of the players or the progression of the game. He was only glad that an upper year Hufflepuff was announcing the scores, or he wouldn’t have had a clue. Draco appeared to be showing off, diving and feigning to draw the other seeker after him, and Harry cheered every time she fell for it. Draco suddenly sped across the pitch toward Wood, who was playing keeper for his team. The other seeker was slow to follow, thinking it another bluff, when Draco’s hand snapped out into the middle of one of the goals. The blonde held his fist up triumphantly, wearing a wide grin. Harry, Hermione and Neville were all jumping up and down, cheering.

“Malfoy catches the snitch!” the Hufflepuff announced. “Team 2 wins 170 to 0.”

Draco landed like a conquering hero, passing Harry the school broom. “Go on then, Harry.” he panted, still out of breath with excitement. “Show them how it’s done. Just like that.”

Grinning, Harry exchanged his book bag and Hedwig for the broom and snitch, and then ran to where his own team was grouping near David Vecchio, who was acting as referee for the games. He handed the tiny ball over, and joined his team, taking the ready stance he had seen Draco do, ready to launch into the air. The whistle blew, and he was in the air. He hadn’t flown this high during their first lesson, but Harry found it exhilarating. He took up a position above the main body of players, as Draco had explained, and started looking for the snitch while keeping an eye on the other seeker.

When the Hufflepuff made a sudden dive, Harry nearly fell for it, until he realized he couldn’t see the flash of gold anywhere along the other seeker’s path. Instead, he flew to the opposite side of the pitch, looking intently. A streak of light caught the corner of his eye, and suddenly there it was, skimming along the grass in front of one of the stands. Harry tucked himself along the broom and dove, never taking his eyes off the tiny, winged ball. When the eleven year old got closer, the snitch began to zig zag across the field, Harry in hot persuit, then shot straight up. The brunette was hot after it, making a sharp, nearly ninety degree turn, and flying as fast as the broom would go. He barely saw the other players that he quickly wove through, his hand already outstretched as he gained on the ball. The snitch tried one last turn to try and evade him, but Harry nearly anticipated the move, and his hand was there to meet it. With a whoop, he sat up and stalled his broom, turning in air into a dive then pulling back up.

“Potter catches the snitch!” Harry heard. “Team 3 wins in twenty minutes, 150 to 0”

Quickly finding his friends on the edge of the Pitch below, Harry saw that they were all jumping, clapping and cheering. His team mates each managed to give him a congratulatory thump on the back as he landed, and Harry handed over the snitch to David, before turning to give the broom to the next seeker up. He ran to his friends to watch the next game, still grinning from ear to ear.

When he next played, Draco’s team was only just beat out by the opposing seeker, but Draco had certainly given the older boy a good chase. That left Harry’s team against the twins. Harry did his best, but the snitch never showed itself once, and the twins team ended up winning in points when the hour was up. He still had a blast, though, and was determined to try out for the Ravenclaw team next year.

The children streamed back toward the castle for lunch, laughing and in high spirits after the impromptu games. Draco and Harry had a good natured argument about who would play seeker and who another position next year for Ravenclaw, while Hermione, Neville and the twins made their own suggestions.

While they enjoyed lunch, Harry absently noted that the Headmaster had again not shown up to the Hall for a meal. Dumbledore had missed dinner, breakfast and now lunch. He half hoped that their little confrontation outside of the infirmary was the cause. It would serve the old man right, to be unable to face his victim. It was a pity that Ron couldn’t have followed the example. He showed up at the Ravenclaw table when the other first years were just finishing their meal.

“Thanks for inviting me to play with you guys,” Ron frowned at his brothers, who were entertaining Neville with a tale of one of their pranks from the year before. The table around the group went silent. “By the time Dean told us there was a game going on, we got there too late to join a team.”

“It’s not our fault,” Fred laughed.

“That you can’t get out of bed sooner.” George grinned.

The others laughed, making Ron’s ears flush red.

“You could have come got me,” he insisted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Go all the way up to the tower,”

“Just to drag you out of bed?”

“Are you mad?” The twins asked in perfect sync.

“You’d think you’d wake yourself up,” Fred observed

“With all the snoring you do.” George agreed with a grin.

“We’re not alarm clocks.” They said together.

This prompted more laughter from those who could hear the exchange.

“No, you’d rather take the squib instead of your own brother,” Ron said bitterly, staring hard at Neville who sat stiffly between the twins.

Several of the children, including Hermine, gasped. “Shame on you, Ronald Weasley,” she said crossly.

Wearing the most grim expressions an angry Harry had ever seen on anyone, the twins slowly rose from the bench in perfect unison, and stepped out into the aisle to better face their brother.

“You still owe the Longbottom Scion an apology, Ronnikins.” Fred said evenly in the growing silence of the Hall.

“That makes two now, little brother.” George continued, just as quietly fierce.

“We think you should apologize properly,” Fred said, slowly walking around Ron’s left.

“In public,” George continued, walking around Ron’s right.

“And on your knees,” they said together, forcing Ron down with a hand on each shoulder.

Sputtering, Ron tried to get up, only to be pushed back down by a firm hand on each shoulder. Spotting Percy at the other end of the long aisle between the tables, he called out. “Perce, make them let me up.”

Frowning, the eldest Weasley at Hogwarts studied his three brothers, then folded his arms. “Do the right thing, Ron, and redeem the family honor. Apologize to Lord Longbottom.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “He’s no Lord.”

“He’s as good as,” Fred said, holding his brother firmly.

“And you well know it.” George agreed.

Ron looked around, finding a sea of faces all staring at him, including the Professors. His Head of House looked particularly stern, having just found out that he hadn’t apologized to Neville as he was supposed to. Ron got a mulish look on his face when his gaze rested on Neville, who sat up straighter and tried to square his shoulders as his grandmother had oft reminded him to do.

“I won’t,” Ron said, trying again to get out from under his brother’s grip.

Percy’s hand was swift and accurate, the slap across Ron’s face loud in the silent Hall. Ron hadn’t even seen his brother come down the aisle.

“How dare you dishonour our family!” the fifth year Prefect roared. “Our honour is all we have, and you’d just throw it away like some piece of garbage? Apologize! Now!”

Holding a hand against the imprint on his cheek, Ron stared up at his brother, in complete shock. Swallowing hard, he opened and closed his mouth several times, before he managed to turn a nearly blank look to Neville. “I.. I.. I’m sorry, Lord Longbottom. I apologize for your rememberall, and for calling you a squib. It’ll never happen again.”

Neville looked nervous, but cleared his throat and managed to speak clearly. “Thank you, Mr Weasley. I accept your apology.”

Percy turned to Neville and bowed from the waist, speaking formally. “On behalf of the Weasley family, please be assured that we will do what we can to correct our youngest brother’s behavior, Lord Longbottom. Thank you for hearing his apology.”

The twins also bowed, and then hauled Ron to his feet between them, taking him in Percy’s wake from the Hall. Neville turned back around on the bench to face Harry and Draco, and Hermione slid closer to him on the bench. He let out a long sigh, and seemed to slump a little.

“That,” Draco said, waiting until Neville looked up at him before he continued seriously, “was the proper level of respect to show House Longbottom. It’s only your due, Neville. Expect it, and it will come.”

Neville stared at the blonde, swallowed hard, then gave a single nod, squaring his shoulders again. Harry grinned, watching his friends begin to interact again as the Hall again filled with the voices of the other students. See? Just a little self confidence.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Flitwick came up behind Harry and Draco, waiting for the pair’s attention before he continued. “You have a meeting to attend this afternoon. It’s nearly time. I’ll take you to the room reserved for the interviews.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Draco exclaimed, setting down his forkful of chocolate cake. “I forgot about that.”

Harry frowned at him, getting up from the bench while Hedwig flapped on his shoulder. “How could you forget a rat man?”

Draco rolled his eyes, falling into step beside Harry. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

Harry laughed, turning to give Hermione and Neville a wave as they followed Professor Flitwick from the Hall.

Simple, ladder backed chairs had been set up in the hallway on either side of the door of the chosen room. Harry noted that the Head Girl and Boy were already sitting, waiting for their interview on the near side, while the twins flanked a very sullen looking Ron on the far side of the door. The red head’s cheeks were streaked with dried tears, a red hand print standing out vividly against the freckles. Ron occasionally sniffled and mopped his face with a piece of linen, but didn’t look up at the arrivals. Percy was slowly pacing the corridor in front of them, looking very lost in thought.

Harry and Draco settled next to the Head pair, who each smiled a greeting, and Professor Flitwick, surprisingly, also took a chair. The two Ravens exchanged a look, but didn’t ask the diminutive man why he stayed. Harry checked his watch, a quarter past one, and settled himself to wait. Hedwig’s soft churr a few minutes later announced the arrival of Professor McGonagall who was followed by a group of wizards and witches. In the lead was Director Bones, her manacle flashing in the torchlight of the hallway. All but two of the Aurors went into the room, while McGonagall settled herself on a chair next to Fred.

No one said a word. The two Aurors took up positions on the opposite side of the corridor, standing against the stone wall and watching the waiting staff and students impassively. Harry found the silence a little disconcerting. When he felt a deeper well of silence go up, he leaned forward to look past Marietta and David at the closed door of the unused classroom. The threshold shimmered with layers of new magic. Hedwig clicked her beak and churred softly in his ear reassuringly. After several minutes, the door opened and an Auror Harry had never seen before partially stepped out to call in David Vecchio. The Head Boy went in, the door closed, and Harry and Draco again exchanged a look.

Harry got the impression it was going to be a long wait, so he settled himself as comfortably in the rigid chair as he could, and closed his eyes. He might as well make constructive use of this idle time. Since Friday’s disaster of a DADA class, Harry had been trying to find a way to isolate that black strand that had anchored itself to his core. Draco truely had been brilliant with his observation of a possible connection with his scar. The boy had no clue what was he was doing, but felt desperate enough to try something, anything, to prevent the kind of pain he had experienced on Friday. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable doing this in a hallway, of all places, but he had Hedwig on his shoulder and Draco sitting close on his other side to help warn him if he needed to wake suddenly.

Through the ease of long practice, Harry was quickly able to tune out the random, tiny sounds around him and sink to his core. Harry didn’t let himself go completely. He was still aware of his surroundings enough to pull out quickly if he needed to. He paused to study what he had managed to accomplish so far. He got the idea from the wards set up at his vault. A lightly shimmering, rainbow hued field surrounded the black strand, though it was paper thin and looked entirely too fragile to stand up to even the slightest touch. It had taken him several tries to get even this far and have it stay in place without collapsing. His goal now was to gradually thicken the new wall, a whisper thin layer at a time. Absently, he noted a warm touch on his arm and the soft hum of contentment from Draco’s thread. With no sense of alarm from the blonde or Hedwig, he was able to set aside the sensation enough to concentrate on his task.

From the bottom up, Harry gently coaxed a thin veneer of his own magic to coat the fragile wall. It rose slowly, and not at all evenly, fighting Harry’s will at odd moments. This reluctance on his magic’s part was largely to blame for how difficult this task had turned out to be. Harry couldn’t figure it out. It was like trying to stretch his own skin to cover another person. After what felt like hours, Harry tentatively eased up, watching the new layer closely for any signs that it might collapse as it had that morning. It looked and felt stable, though reluctantly so. Deciding it was enough for now, Harry sighed and expanded his awareness to his surroundings again. The corridor remained as silent as before, Hedwig gently stirring his hair with her grooming, and Draco’s hand a warm weight on his left arm. Harry opened his eyes.

Only Draco would have been aware of Harry’s shock, as the brunette had managed to keep himself from jerking in surprise. Instead, his muscles tensed to find everyone in the corridor staring at him. The door of the classroom opened, and several pairs of eyes shifted to David stepping out into the hallway, the same Auror following to call in Marietta. Harry did jump when Professor Flitwick took advantage of the disturbance to lean closer.

“We will need to have a long talk very soon, boys,” his Head of House whispered with restrained excitement.

Harry paled and nodded jerkily, convinced he was in trouble in spite of the man’s apparent pleasure. More freakish funny business. Somehow, Harry had managed to find himself not fitting into a world that was filled with the strange and outlandish, if not outright fantastical. No matter which way he turned, he was still setting himself apart. All he wanted, was to belong. Draco lightly squeezed his arm, but Harry refused to look up from his fingers intertwined in his lap. He could feel the blonde’s almost amused concern begin to turn to impatience, then reluctant acceptance the longer Harry kept his head down. Hedwig remained a constant warm, supportive presence.

When Marietta came out about twenty minutes later, David got up from beside Harry and the two walked away down the corridor, their heads together and whispering. Percy was called in next. Harry chanced a glance in the Weasley’s direction as Percy was ushered into the classroom. Fred and George were giving him speculative looks, while Ron sat slouched and cross armed between them, moodily staring at the Auror across the hall from him. To Harry it felt a great deal like sitting outside the Principal’s office at his elementary school. A row of delinquent students in uncomfortable chairs, in various moods of petulance or fear, waiting to hear their fate. Harry wanted to, but couldn’t feel the amusement of the situation. His own visits to the Principal were always because of cousin’s bulling actions in the school yard, the blame shifted to Harry. Cousin was always at his worst when Harry was close enough to blame.

Percy took forever in the room. When he finally came out, it was like he emerged from a confessional. The young Prefect looked unburdened and relieved. He gave a nod to McGonagall, and a significant look to his twin brothers, who nodded back to him, before he proceeded back down the corridor. Harry watched him go, then looked back to his lap again. Ron was called in next, and Harry sighed. Uncomfortable, he straightened to lean back in the chair, the back of his head lightly thumping on the stone wall behind him. Harry studied the ceiling, feeling Draco shift beside him and also sigh. Sitting idle wasn’t doing anything for either of them. If Harry had known it would take well over an hour to get to his interview, he would have napped instead of working on his core. It had been a busy morning, and far too early to start with.

Harry felt another stab of annoyance from the blonde, and he looked over to find Draco frowning at the sleeve of his jumper. It was frayed along the cuff. Without thinking about it, Harry sent back a slow wave of calm, as he would for Hedwig if she were agitated. Draco’s widened, grey eyes snapped to his in surprise. The corners of his lips twitched, then slowly curled up. Harry could feel Draco’s sudden amusement and curiosity as the blonde tried to send something a lot more complex than the simple emotions Harry was used to picking up over the past couple of days. It was as though this were the first time Draco had become aware of the growing connection between them. Perhaps it was. Harry had promised not to sever the fragile thread, but he did look at it daily, and it was growing. They really needed to start researching bonds.

When the door opened, the twins stood up, ready to meet Ron as he came out of the room. The red head had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and looked like he had been through the ringer for the second time that day. With a twin on either side, he shuffled along the corridor. As he passed Harry, Ron shot an intense, swift glare at the Ravenclaw. Harry heard Draco suck in a hissed breath. The hate Harry read in Ron’s eyes was complete and lasted only a split second before the other boy’s gaze dropped to the floor again, and the three walked past. Harry and Draco had only time enough to exchange a look before the blonde was called into the room. Giving Harry’s arm another squeeze, Draco stood up and followed the Auror into the room. Harry sighed and tried to get comfortable on the hard chair as he again contemplated the ceiling. It was impossible, of course. After another shift of his numbed buttocks, the chair suddenly had some give to it and felt a lot softer. Harry looked down in surprise, then at Professor Flitwick, who was nearly in giggles beside him as he tucked away his wand. Harry shyly grinned his thanks. He’d have to learn that spell.

While Harry couldn’t hear or feel a thing from inside the room, he could still feel Draco. The strongest of the boy’s simplest emotions came through to him clearly. Apprehension, followed by curiosity. Caution and protectiveness underscored Draco’s sudden enthusiasm. The time seemed to pass much more quickly as Harry was able to simplistically follow along on Draco’s interview. There was no outright sense of alarm or danger from his dorm mate, though there was the tiniest hint of evasion under the burst of pride Harry suddenly felt from the blonde. That sense of pride heavily flavored the rest of the interview. Draco’s satisfaction proceeded the door opening, and the boy himself nearly strutted into the corridor, wearing a small smile, his grey eyes almost silver with pleasure. Harry found himself smiling back at him. It seems the interview went extremely well.

“Mr. Potter,” the Auror called. “We’re ready for you, now.”

Harry got up as Draco sat down. He briefly considered leaving Hedwig with the blonde, before he realized that Director Bones may have questions for her. He gave Draco a small smile, then went to the classroom door. Passing through the spells was an interesting sensation. At least one of the spells had the same feel as the one Healer Davaidson used to isolate a room.

Inside were rows of student desks, and at the front of the room, the large Professor’s desk was taken up by Director Bones. There were scrolls, a large stone bowl, an ornate wooden box, and a large quill sitting with sheets of parchment.  On the near side of the desk sat another of those ladder backed, uncomfortable chairs. There were three Aurors in the room, besides the one at the door. Harry recognized two of them from the train.

“Come in, Mr. Potter,” Director Bones invited Harry, when he hesitated at the doorway. “Thank you for waiting so long.”

Harry shrugged a little as he walked down the space between two rows of student desks. “It’s okay. I was thinking I could have had a nap if the chairs were more comfortable.”

Bones laughed and promptly cast a cushioning charm on the chair on the other side of the desk. Harry sat down, letting Hedwig settle herself on the back of the chair while he took careful note of where the Aurors had stationed themselves in the room.

“Let me explain what we’ll be doing today, Mr. Potter,” Director Bones began when Harry turned to face her. “I’m going to retrieve your memory of the incident on the train, and then we’ll both view it in this pensieve. As it plays, I’ll pause it whenever I have a question for you, or need something explained or clarified. While we do this, this dictaquill will record our conversation. I will also be asking you questions that are related to this incident, and those answers will also be recorded. At the end, I’ll seal both the parchment of the interview, which will act as a transcript, as well as the memory in one of these vials.”

She opened the wooden box to reveal several other vials, each with a glowing white strand in it. “We’ll both then sign the parchment and the vial. Do you have any questions?”

Harry looked over everything she had touched or indicated during her explianation, paying particular attention to the stone bowl and the box of glowing vials. “Will it hurt?”

“Retrieving your memory?” Bones asked, waiting until Harry had nodded before she shook her head with a smile. “No, not a bit. All you need to do, is think about that incident very hard. I’ll use my wand to gently tease a copy of the memory from your mind. It will look just like one of these strands. Then, I’ll put it in the pensieve and have it play for us.”

Harry tilted his head a little, looking past Bones while he thought. This sort of reminded him of Legilimancy. “How do you get your magic to grab a memory, ma’am? Especially in someone else’s head?”

“I use a memory charm. The phrase is memoriam exemplar capiens,” the woman replied.

Harry was memorizing the latin even as he considered the process. It seemed non invasive enough. “Will the dictaquill record everything in the memory, too?”

“Yes,” Bones confirmed patiently. “Every word spoken once I activate it, will be recorded.”

Harry thought about that, and about what had happened on the train. This looked like an opportunity to throw a bit of a spanner into whatever the Headmaster had planned for him, if he did things right.

“Okay. Do you want me to think about the train now?” he asked the Director.

“Yes, please.”

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the compartment of the train, starting at the time Ron sat down, just before he pulled the rat from his cage, and ending when Maretta joined them. Almost as an afterthought, he allowed his later conversation with the red headed boy to leak into the memory. He heard the Director murmor the spell, and felt the tingle of magic brushing against his own. He allowed it access.

“Alright, Mr. Potter,” Director Bones said, prompting Harry to open his eyes. He watched her transfer the glowing, wriggling pale worm from her wand tip, into the liquid in the stone bowl. She then tapped the quill with her wand. “Interview number six. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Student, Harry James Potter, aged eleven. Interviewer, Director Amelia Bones.”

Fascinated, Harry watched the quill leap to attention after the tap, then begin writing every word the Director said.

“Wicked,” the boy whispered, which the quill dutifully recorded, making him grin.

“Viewing of Mr. Potter’s memory of the incident on the Hogwarts Express which directly relates to Case Number 2736,” she then turned to Harry with a smile. “Shall we begin, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded, leaning forward to better see the pensieve. Bones tapped the rim of the bowl three times with her wand, and an image sprang to life, hovering just over the silvery surface of the liquid. It was a full colour representation of the trian compartment, with him and Draco clearly visible. Ron had just slumped onto the bench opposite the boys.

“Wow. It’s like watching myself on tele,” Harry exclaimed, utterly fascinated. “Where can I get one of these pensieves?”

Bones laughed as she paused the image with a tap of her wand. “It’s a perfectly clear image. Well done, for your first time, Mr. Potter. Can you tell me everyone who is in the image?”

“Sure,” Harry said, pointing to each of the boys. “That’s me, and that’s Draco, and that’s Ron. Scabbers is in the cage. Ron had just finished dragging his trunk in. Draco didn’t really want him to sit with us, but I wanted to meet more kids and maybe make a few more friends.”

“Very commendable, Mr. Potter,” Bones said, “As for a pensieve, the goblins make the best ones available, but you can also find them at Slug and Jiggers, the Apothecary.”

She tapped the rim of the bowl twice, and the action of the image resumed. She paused it again when the image Hedwig turned herself around on Harry’s arm. “Can you explain what just happened with your owl, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded. “She noticed the rat, of course, and I could feel her interest in it. She felt a little hungry, but she was also really upset and kept saying ‘wrong, it’s wrong’ at me.”

Bones lifted an eyebrow. “She spoke to you, Mr. Potter?”

“Well,” Harry blushed, looking down at the desk top, “not really. It was the feeling I get from her when something isn’t right and really bothers her. It kind of translate to ‘wrong’, if that makes sense.”

“I think I understand,” the Director said. “The owl is your familiar?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding. “Her name is Hedwig.”

The owl churred softly from behind Harry’s right shoulder, bobbing her head. She too, was fascinated by the image, and was watching closely with wide, yellow eyes. Chuckling at the owl’s antics, Bones restarted the memory. It happened a great deal faster than Harry remembered, and only seconds seemed to pass before Bones again paused the memory.

“How did you happen to know the stunning hex, Mr. Potter?” she asked. “It isn’t taught at Hogwarts until fifth year.”

Harry blushed and sat back in his chair, looking only at his side of the desk. “I got a lot of books when I went shopping in Diagon Alley. I never even knew what a wizard was till my birthday, so I wanted to learn as much as I could before school.”

“That’s certainly understandable, Mr. Potter,” Bones nodded slowly, considering her words carefully, “but Stupify is a rather advanced spell for your age bracket. I’m honestly surprised you were able to cast it successfully.”

“I was really surprised and desperate, ma’am. I didn’t know what else to do.” Harry said with wide eyes. “I couldn’t let him hurt us, and it all happened so fast.”

Bones was nodding. “That certainly makes sense. I can see how desperation and fear could lend your magic a little extra punch. It was well done of you, I must say. You and Mr. Malfoy both.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry blushed again, watching as the Director restarted the memory.

There really wasn’t much left, and after Marietta sat down next to David, the entire memory faded. Bones turned to the dictaquill, lifting her wand, when Ron’s voice sounded from the pensive.

“What are you playing at?”

She turned back to the bowl sharply, watching while the memory of the confrontation in the aisle way outside the loo played out. Harry didn’t watch it, having turned his gaze to the floor in apparent mortification. When the short replay ended, he could feel the Directors eyes on him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I don’t know how that got in there. I’ve never made a memory before.”

“Mr. Potter, please look at me.” Bones said calmly.

Harry lifted his eyes to her reluctantly.

“You are not in trouble,” she said evenly, looking him in the eye. “I understand there was something of an incident involving Mr. Weasley at lunch today?”

Harry nodded, letting his lower lip tremble a little.

“It’s obvious the boy was on your mind, so a memory associated with him was bound to slip in,” she considered him quietly for a moment. “I have to admit, however, that you handled him beautifully on the train. You gained information, without once compromising yourself. That was almost masterfully done.”

Harry blushed to the roots of his hair, letting his eyes drop again. He had the devil’s own time in trying to keep his smile on the inside.

“Let’s finish up the first incident, before we discuss this further, Mr. Potter.” Bones continued. “You mentioned in the memory the fact that the captured man had a finger missing. How did this lead you to conclude that it was Mr. Pettigrew?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Hagrid told me that when my godfather was arrested, there had been a fight with another friend of my parents. He said that all that was found of Peter Pettigrew was a finger. When I saw this man without a finger, it was all I could think about. That it had to be Pettigrew.”

“Did Hagrid explain that Mr. Black had been charged with Mr. Pettigrew’s murder?” Bones asked.

Harry nodded.

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to speak, for the quill, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes.” Harry said. “But even when he told me I didn’t really believe that he was dead. I mean, he said that Voldemort was dead, but there was no body, and nobody else was there that night, and then that Pettigrew was dead, but they only found a finger and people can live without a finger, so I didn’t really believe him. And then he told me that my godfather never even got a trial or was questioned or anything. I mean, he just got thrown in jail because they thought he killed somebody.”

Harry sighed, accepting Hedwig back on his shoulder with questing fingers buried deep in her chest feathers. “I guess I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted my godfather to be good and to be free.”

“That’s a perfectly reasonable desire, Mr. Potter.” Bones said, not without some sympathy. “That’s why I’m here today. I made a promise to you, Mr. Potter, and I intend to keep it.”

“Thank you, Director Bones,” Harry said quietly.

“Now, this business with Mr. Weasley,” Bones paused, considering for a moment, “The memory implies that the Headmaster orchestrated your meeting the boy in the hopes that you would become friends. Do you feel that was true?”

Harry nodded, then remembered the quill. “Yes, ma’am. After breakfast on the first day of school, the Headmaster called me to his office. The only thing he wanted to know was why I had been sorted into Ravenclaw. I thought that was weird. I mean, does he ask everybody how come they got sorted into the House they’re in?”

Bones smiled at him, but seemed to know that Harry had more to say, as she merely nodded encouragement to him.

“Ron’s been.. well, he’s been a prat, really. He’s always butting in whenever he’s around me, and acting like he wants to be my friend, but he always says or does something that insults my other friends. I don’t want a friend like that. His brothers, the twins, told me that he goes on and on about wanting to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. I don’t even know who that is, really. I know it can’t be me. I never did half the things they tell in those stupid story books.”

This time it was Bones who blushed and looked away. “Yes, quite. I can see how you would feel that way.”

“Yeah, that’s about it for Ron. I don’t think he thinks things through very well.”

Bones was surprised into laughter which she quickly suppressed. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say if I agree or not, Mr. Potter. I have to remain unbiased, you see.”

But she did wink at him, which made Harry smile.

“I believe we have everything I need for today, Mr. Potter.” she said, using her wand to retrieve the memory from the pensieve. “All we need to do now is seal and sign the scroll and the vial.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

He watched while Bones transferred the memory into an empty vial and seal it with a cork, then turn to the quill and parchment. “End interview with Harry James Potter, September seventh.”

She taped the quill with her wand, and it settled to the desk. Bones then organized the parchments in order, and rolled them up into a thick scroll which she then sealed with wax, then a few spells. She also sealed the vial with the same spells. Using another quill, she signed both, then turned the quill to Harry for him to sign.

“Unofficially, Mr. Potter,” Bones said, once Harry had finished and she put the desk in order, “I would like to tell you that I believe your godfather has a good chance of being freed. There was indeed no trial nor questioning, and his wand showed no signs of being responsible for what happened to the muggles who were killed that night. With Mr. Pettigrew in custody, and the results of his questioning, I am confident that his trial will not only go quickly, but will exonerate Lord Black.”

Harry grinned. “That would be brilliant. Will you let me know, please?”

“Believe me, Mr. Potter, you will be the very first to know.” Bones promised with a smile.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Harry smiled. “Is that all, then? I sort of have a bit of homework I need to do.”

“That’s all. I’ll see you soon, Mr. Potter.”

“Okay, bye Director,” Harry said as he got out of the chair and hurried toward the door. He turned before the Auror could open it for him, still smiling. “Thanks again.”

The Auror let him out, then closed the door behind the boy.

Shacklebolt approached the desk from the Director’s right. “That is definitely not the way I imagined Harry Potter would be.”

Bones gave a snort of amusement. “I doubt anyone would get it right. He was right, you know. I don’t know who the Boy-Who-Lived is either. It surely wasn’t the boy we just met. For starters, this one was is far too sly to be that little hero.”

“Sly?” Shacklebolt looked confused.

“Sly,” Bones gave a single, firm nod, then looked up at her Auror in disbelief. “Or did you believe that memory of the Weasley boy just slipped in accidentally?”

Shacklebolt’s eyes widened. “But, why? To get Ronald Weasley in trouble?”

“No,” Bones said, contemplating the boxed memories. “To get Dumbledore in trouble. That boy has an agenda.”

“I don’t get it,” Shacklebolt frowned. “Why would he need an agenda?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Bones answered thoughtfully.

When Harry left the classroom, it was to find Draco sitting where he left him, beside Professor Flitwick, but Professor MacGonagall had moved to sit next to the Charms Master, and the Headmaster was standing in front of them. Draco looked stubbornly neutral, keeping his eyes down, while both Flitwick and MacGonagall wore sour expressions that they quickly tried to smooth when Harry appeared in the hallway. The brunette glanced to the two Aurors stationed in the hallway, who had both moved forward, then back to the grouping. Harry was confused. He couldn’t feel a thing from the blonde, and had no clue as to what he had just walked into. The tension in the corridor was thick and heavy.

“Run along, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Flitwick urged Draco. “I’ll see you both in the Aerie later.”

Draco was instantly on his feet, sliding past the Headmaster who looked as though he wanted to protest. Dumbledore glanced to Harry, who was frowning in concern and confusion, then seemed to relent. Draco grabbed his dorm mate’s hand and nearly dragged Harry quickly down the corridor, forcing Hedwig to fly ahead of the boys until they reached the first turn. Only then did Draco slow enough for Harry to realize they had gone the opposite way of everyone else. They’d have to go up a floor or two before they could double back toward the Ravenclaw tower. They took a turn, a staircase and another turn before Harry decided they were far enough away to safely talk.

“What happened?” Harry asked Draco.

He was almost more concerned that he couldn’t feel the blonde’s emotions than what had happened while he was being interviewed. Harry tried to probe the block, which proved to be weak and in the next moment collapsed completely.

Harry nearly tripped over his feet, doubled over and crying out when he was suddenly overwhelmed by Draco’s anger and fear. It took him less than a second to grab the blonde in a tight embrace, Draco trembling against him. He could barely catch his breath, but he focused on sending as much calm as he could to Draco while Hedwig crooned and churred from the helmet of a suit of armour. Somehow Draco had managed to block himself, and had just let go of that control. It hardly mattered, as Harry tried his hardest to calm his friend down enough to be coherent. Draco burst into tears, clutching the back of Harry’s jumper with desperate grips, his breath hot against Harry’s neck. It took nearly ten minutes for Harry to realize that Draco was trying to speak. Fumbling, he managed to get a handkerchief out of his jeans pocket, and passed it into Draco’s fingers when the crying slowed to sobbing breaths.

Finally, Draco eased back and started to mop his eyes, then blew his nose. “I won’t let him. I won’t let him do it.”

Harry frowned. “What happened, Draco?”

Draco sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world was on the eleven year old’s shoulders. Taking a quick look, he moved to the armor and took a seat on the low pedestal it stood on. Harry quickly settled to the floor in front of him, practically on his ever present book bag, keeping a hand on the blonde boy at all times. He didn’t care how dusty the floor made him. All he could feel was Draco’s anger, fear and determination.

“You were in there for a while,” Draco said nasally, fishing out another handkerchief, “when the Headmaster showed up. Flitwick and MacGonagall were talking too low for me to hear, but when the Headmaster showed up they stopped talking. He said hello, and we said hello, and he asked where you were, so I told him you were in having your interview.”

He paused to blow his nose again, then took a deep breath, finally looking as though he was over the worst of his fright.

“He asked how I liked it in Ravenclaw, and that he hoped Father wasn’t too hard on me because of the sorting,” Draco snorted, wearing a bit of a smirk. “I asked him what he could possibly mean, as Father was always proud of me. Then he asked me how you were getting along in Ravenclaw, and I told him that it couldn’t be better. Then he asked me if I knew about your appointment with your Healer yesterday. I just said yes, even though I could tell he was hoping I’d say something else. I’m not about to tell that old goat your business.”

Draco toyed with the handkerchiefs, then dug up another from his pocket to wipe his face again. Harry just sat, listening and waiting quietly. He still sent calming feelings to the blonde, even though he had calmed down quite a bit.

“So then Dumbledore starts talking about how he was concerned for your health. He said that he hoped your condition wasn’t too serious, as then he would have no choice but to ask you to leave the school because we only had a mediwitch. Professor Flitwick got right angry then, and told the Headmaster that if you had some kind of serious condition, then the school would be notified as a matter of course, and your Healer would make sure you had what ever you needed. Then Professor MacGonagall said how Dumbledore was being foolish, and that he should drop the subject.” Draco’s eyes welled with fresh tears.

“And then Dumbledore said how he hoped that I was looking out for you, and not aggravating your condition or making things worse for you somehow. He thought I was hurting you, Harry. How could he think that? He said that if more people knew what was wrong with you, then there’d be more people who could look out for you.”

Draco sniffed hard, then set his chin. “He made it sound like I had to tell him. That if I didn’t, it would be hurting you. He’s a git, Harry. I didn’t tell him anything, I swear.”

“I know you didn’t, Draco,” Harry was quick to reassure his friend. It about killed him to see and feel Draco’s upset, but all he could do was rub his knee and keep sending soothing feelings to the blonde. His throat was tight with supressed emotion.”You would never do that. You’re right. He is a git. I wish we never had to talk to him at all. I don’t know what he wants from me, and he won’t tell me.”

Hedwig floated down from the suit of armour and settled herself on Draco’s shoulder, churring softly and grooming his hair, clicking her beak in concern next to his ear. It made Draco smile, and he was soon petting the owl as she fussed over him. Harry smiled too, feeling Draco calm even more, and that relieved him.

“I feel like an idiot,” Draco confessed after a gusty sigh. “Crying all over you like a baby.”

“I’d probably do the same thing, if I thought the Headmaster was going to send you away. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Draco.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had too, Harry,” Draco returned with a smile. “We’re two of the Musketeers. Dumbledore wouldn’t dare try to separate us.”

“Too right,” Harry grinned. He checked the time. It was nearly half past three. “Do you think we should go to the tower or the library? It’s nearly half three.”

“Hermione is probably in the library. Let’s go there.” Draco answered, getting Hedwig onto his arm so he could pet her better.

Their course agreed, and both feeling much better, if not united in their rebellion against Dumbledore, the boys got up to take stock of where they were in the castle. Neither one recognized the corridor or the portraits hanging in it, so decided to continue in the direction they were heading, in the hopes of finding the main staircase. After another turn, they found themselves at a short corridor with a dead end. This hallway only had two doors. The one on the left turned out to be a dusty classroom, while the one on the right was locked. Harry and Draco exchanged a long look, then Draco shrugged, pulling out his wand.

“We’re here, so we might as well have a look,” he reasoned. “Alohomora.”

The lock clicked, and Draco was able to turn the latch on the door. He eased it open to darkness. Harry drew his own wand and cast lumos before they opened the door wider. Both boys tried to get a good look inside when a massive head and loud barking suddenly blocked most of their view. Neither could believe what they were seeing. It was a giant dog with three gigantic, barking heads, chained to the fair wall. Harry had time enough to notice the wooden, trap door under a huge paw before Draco slammed the door shut and they both backed away hastily, Hedwig was mantled and screeching at the door from Draco’s arm.

“What… why… ?”

“That was a bloody Cerberus!” Draco exclaimed breathlessly. “Who puts a Cerberus in a school?”

They couldn’t hear a thing behind the door, so Harry figured there must be silencing charms in place. The boys hastened back down the corridor until they reached a portrait with someone in it. They asked for directions to the main staircase, telling the lady in the painting that they were lost when she admonished them for being on the third floor. They nearly ran the whole way to the staircase, and quickly made their way to the library. A search of the stacks finally found Hermione and Neville at a table surrounded by books. Breathing hard, the two slumped into chairs, Hedwig opting to settle herself on the back of an unoccupied one to better groom herself.

“Where have you two been?” Herminone asked, then wrinkled her nose when she got a better look at Draco’s dirt streaked face, and the dust all over Harry and his book bag. “And what have you been up to?”

“We were on the third floor,” Draco said, catching his breath.

“Totally on accident,” Harry put in, wanting that point clarified.

“And you’ll never guess what we found,” Draco said, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

Neville and Hermione looked back and forth between them.

“You’re starting to sound like the twins,” the Griffindor noted with some amusement.

“What did you find?” Hermione just couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know even as she wanted to chastise the boys for being where they shouldn’t have been.

Draco leaned forward to whisper dramatically, “A Cerberus.”

“A what?” Hermione nearly shouted even as Neville sucked in a shocked breath.

Harry and Draco shushed and waved at the wide eyed pair, looking around frantically for Mrs. Pince. It didn’t take long for any first year to learn how militant the woman was about silence and decorum in the library. When she didn’t appear, they relaxed marginally.

Blushing at her outburst, Hermione was still determined to make her point. She leaned forward to whisper. “They’re a creature of Greek mythology, aren’t they? What could one be doing here?”

“They do come from the Mediterranean,” Neville also tried to keep his voice to an urgent whisper. “But they do exist. Gran got me a picture book of rare creatures for my tenth birthday. I spent days looking things up in the family library. They really do have three heads, and can get to be over six feet tall.”

Harry’s mind was leaping from conclusion to conclusion. Also leaning over the desk, he shared his thoughts. “The reason it’s here is to guard something. I saw a trap door under it’s foot.”

“What do you suppose it’s guarding?” Hermione asked with a thoughtful frown. “It must be frightfully dangerous to have something like that in a school.”

“I’ll bet it’s a treasure,” Draco said, more than a little enthused by that idea.

Harry was shaking his head, holding out his cupped hand. “No, it’s something that’s about this big.”

Draco frowned at Harry’s hand but it was Hermione who asked. “How could you possibly know that, Harry?”

“Because that’s the size of the pouch that Hagrid got from the vault at Gringotts that someone tried to rob in August.” Harry said, having put some of the pieces together. “If anyone would know how to handle a Cerberus, it would be Hagrid. He might even know exactly what was in that pouch.”

“But why bring it here?” Draco asked, still frowning. “Gringotts is the safest place ever for valuables.”

Harry nodded even as he countered that assertion. “That’s true, but someone tried very hard to get that pouch. They nearly broke into the vault, not knowing it was already empty, and they got away. The goblins would have reported it if someone had been caught. Someone really wants what’s in that pouch, and I’ll bet it’s here to lure that someone to the school.”

“Oh, Harry,” a frightened Hermione was shaking her head, “that can’t be right. Why try to lure someone so powerful to a school full of children?”

“They really would be powerful,” Neville said, more than a little nervous himself. “The goblins take security very seriously. Someone wanting to break in would be risking their life. Goblins kill any thieves they catch.”

Harry rubbed his forehead, suddenly unwilling to share the rest of his theory. If he was right, that meant that Dumbledore’s manipulations were worse than he thought. If he was right, it meant the Headmaster was more than willing to sacrifice a school full of children to get Harry to do what he wanted him to do. If all of that was right, then Harry would have no choice but to do exactly as Dumbledore wanted, no matter what. He hated feeling helpless and out of control.

“What is it, Harry?” Draco asked. “Does your scar hurt again?”

“I’m not sure why the pouch was brought here,” Harry finally said, shaking his head in answer to Draco’s question. “I need to know what was in that pouch before I can be sure. I’m going to have to go have a talk with Hagrid.”

“We’ll go straight after dinner,” Draco said, unquestioningly sure that they were not only going, but going together. “There should be enough time before we go meet with my godfather.”

Harry sat back with a sigh. “This is the longest day, ever.”

“Does your scar really hurt you, Harry?” Neville timidly asked, as though reluctant to intrude on a private matter.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Harry admitted a little reluctantly.

“Whenever Quirrell is around,” Draco finished for his dorm mate.

“Well that doesn’t make much sense,” Hermione frowned, trying to work it through in her head. “Why would your scar only hurt when you’re around one particular person?”

That was the big question. Harry had his suspicions that he was reluctant to make even to himself, but it couldn’t be helped now. The question was out there, and Harry was just as reluctant to think of the possible answer as he was to say it. He only gave Hermione a very pointed and meaningful look. The girl was frowning back at him with a very perplexed expression. He watched as she thought it through, practically able to tell the moment when the only possible conclusion sparked into her mind when her eyes widened and brightened considerably. In the next instant she leapt into denial, shaking her head.

“No, oh no that can’t be right,” she whispered. “Tell me I can’t be right, Harry.”

“What?” Neville asked, still completely in the dark. “What can’t be right?”

Hermione looked more frightened then when she had been told there was a three headed mythological dog in the school. She was still shaking her head.

“Come on, guys,” Harry sighed, getting up and holding out his arm for Hedwig. “Maybe we can catch Hagrid before dinner.”

Herminone and Neville quickly packed up their things, stuffing them into bags. Neville was turning his questioning eyes between the three Ravenclaws in hopes that one would eventually answer him, but all three remained subdued and quiet. Resigned to waiting, he joined them as they left the library to head down to the castle’s main entrance.

One of the first things Harry looked up on his map supplied by the Ravenclaw Prefects, was Hagrid’s Hut. It was clearly marked on the grounds of the castle and Harry had long since memorized the route. The four paused in the Entrance Hall long enough for Draco to quicklly check the Dining Hall to make sure the large man wasn’t already there, before they trouped out into the dying day. It had cooled considerably since that morning’s Quidditch game, and Harry pulled his heavy cloak out of his bag to pass to Hermione, who was wearing only a blouse with a sweater vest and a skirt. Even though she was taller than him, she still looked to be swallowed up by the thick fabric.

Harry lead the way down the trail, and after a turn they could see the hut ahead of them. Hagrid himself was out in his garden, tending some pumpkins. As the children neared the picket fence surrounding the garden, a large boar hound rose from the ground at Hagrid’s feet, wagging his tail furiously and barking a greeting.

“Quiet down there, Fang,” Hagrid said, straightening from an impressively sized pumpkin to turn to the dog. He spotted the children quickly and a huge smile parted his thick beard. “Harry! My word it’s good to see you, lad.”

“Hi Hagrid,” Harry couldn’t help but smile back. He had missed the large man over the past week. “I brought some friends to meet you.”

“So you did, so you did,” Hagrid was saying with a grin as he stepped over a row of pumpkins, stripping off a huge pair of gloves. The boar hound bounded at his feet, still wagging his tail hard enough to shake his hind quarters off. “Come on in, and I’ll set us some tea. The elves just brought me a nice plate of biscuits.”

The four followed along the fence as Hagrid lead them to his hut, then opened the gate for them before letting them in his back door. Fang was insistent that he greet each child personally as they passed through the gate, sniffing and licking each of them to various reactions. Harry rubbed the hounds ears while Hedwig tried to look as though she didn’t notice the large dog from her wizard’s shoulder. Draco wrinkled his nose slightly and lightly tapped the dog on head exactly once, but couldn’t help the grin when the dog rewarded him with a wet cheek. Hermione looked a little nervous, and tried to slide past unnoticed, but that was useless as the large dog rubbed his head against her side, nearly knocking her over. Neville came through last, putting on a brave front to gamely pet the friendly dog as he got his face washed.

Hagrid ushered the four inside and while they settled at the grounds keeper’s large table, Hagrid built up the fire and set a massive kettle to boil over the flames. Fang lay down on the hearth, tail thumping the floor and still watching the children. In a remarkably short amount of time, Hagrid had mismatched cups and mugs on the table, along with the plate of biscuits and a large, steaming pot of tea. He even had a dead mole for Hedwig, which she was all too happy to receive. All the while, he asked Harry how his first week of school had gone, which were his favorite, or least favorite subjects, exclaimed how surprised he’d been that Harry had been sorted to Ravenclaw, though he shouldn’t have been seeing as Harry was so smart, and generally sounded like a proud father.

“Right then,” the big man said as he finally sat down with a pot each of cream and sugar and a few spoons which were placed in the center of the table. “Why don’t you introduce me to all your friends, Harry?”

“This is Draco Malfoy,” Harry began, starting on his left, while Hagrid poured the tea. “He’s my very best friend. We met that first day we went shopping in Diagon Alley.”

“That’s right,” Hagrid said, grinning at Draco. “I remember you saying you met a boy. How do you do, Draco?”

“I’m very well, thank you,” Draco replied, falling back on his well drilled lessons in manners. “You have a very lovely… um.. home.”

Hagrid laughed. “Go on, you can say it. This hut ain’t much to look at, but it’s home. Keep it right cozy, I do.”

It was. The furniture was over large, and there were bundles of plants and things hanging from the high rafters, but the single room cottage was warm, cozy and looked well tended and lived in.

“Next to Draco is Hermione Granger,” Harry went on, not letting Draco dwell on his discomfort, “and then Neville Longbottom.”

“Hello there Hermione, it’s nice to meet you,” Hagrid said, waiting for Hermione’s shy smile before tuning to Neville. “Hello there Neville. Knew yer mum and dad when they went to Hogwarts. Lovely people. It’s a right shame what happened to them. I’m still hoping they’ll turn out alright in the end.”

“Th.. thank you,” Neville managed while stirring his tea with a large spoon.

Hermione gave the Griffindor a sympathetic look, and Harry knew that they’d be hearing the story of Neville’s parents before another day passed. Hagrid made sure each of them got a biscuit and had doctored their tea to suit them before he poured and sugared his own large mug.

“I probably shouldn’t be feeding you lot sweets right before dinner, but I don’t entertain visitors much. It’s a special occasion.” Hagrid smiled.

“This is really good,” Draco said in surprise after his first sip of the tea, then he blushed. “Sorry, but it really is a smashing tea.”

Hagrid only grinned more widely while the other’s laughed.

“Hagrid,” Harry ventured after he had washed down a biscuit. “I really need to ask you something, and I need for you to tell me, if you can.”

Hagrid considered Harry’s suddenly serious expression, then sighed a little. “Blimey, Harry. You can’t go one week without finding some sort of trouble?”

The admonishment was gentle, but it still made Harry’s cheeks heat. “That’s not fair, Hagrid. You know things always happen around me.”

“I know plenty has happened to ya, lad,” Hagrid’s hand settled on top of Harry’s drooped head, “and none of it your fault. You know I only want for you to be happy.”

“I know, Hagrid,” Harry tried to nod while under the weight of Hagrid’s large hand, which gave him a gentle rub then withdrew.

“So, what do you want to ask?”

Harry blew out a long breath, then just asked. “What was in the pouch that Headmaster Dumbledore had you fetch from Gringotts?”

Hagrid frowned into his tea. “You know I can’t be telling you that, Harry.”

“Did you promise never to tell anyone, Hagrid? Like a wizard oath?” Harry asked. He didn’t want Hagrid to risk his magic if that were the case. He’d drop the subject completely and never ask again.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Hagrid said before cutting a look to the boy. “Why do you need to know?”

Harry sighed, glancing to Draco and the others before he answered. “Draco and I found the Cerberus on the third floor, then I remembered about the pouch that you said the Headmaster wanted.”

“So you figured I had a hand with Fluffy,” Hagrid sat back with a put upon sigh, “and then figured they were connected, eh?”

Harry only nodded while Draco mouthed to Hermione ‘Fluffy?’. Hermione shrugged with a pained expression.

“You shouldn’t ought to have been snooping around that floor, Harry,” Hagrid tried to look stern. “You were all told at the Feast to stay away from there.”

“We didn’t go snooping, Hagrid,” Harry said indignantly. “We happened to end up there after the Headmaster was mean to Draco while I had my interview with Director Bones. We just ran, and didn’t realize where we were, until we were there.”

“What do you mean the Headmaster was mean,” Hagrid frowned between Draco and Harry, “and what’s this about an interview? Why would Madam Bones be at Hogwarts?”

Harry sighed, waving a hand and shaking his head even as Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. “We’ll tell you later, Hagrid, I promise, but first I really need to know what was in that pouch.”

“Why do you need to know, Harry?” Hagrid insisted, frowning. The large man was very slow to anger, but Harry could tell that Hagrid was only just remaining patient with him.

Harry answered with the simple expedient of lifting his fringe to reveal his scar. While it looked much better than it did after DADA on Friday, it was still red and inflamed. Hagrid sucked in a breath.

“Blimey, Harry,” Hagrid reached out to gently touch the tissue. “When did this happen?”

“Since I got here,” Harry said, which was technically true. “Please, Hagrid. I need to know if he’s here.”

Neville looked as though he were going to ask something when he jumped suddenly, grimacing, then reached down under the table. Hermione gave the Griffindor a quelling look to ensure he remained silent before turning her attention back to the grounds keeper. Hagrid sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair to take another fortifying drink of tea while he thought. While he might no longer fully trust the Headmaster, Harry knew that Hagrid took his promises seriously. It wasn’t an easy thing he was asking his friend to do. He knew that. The children remained silent while they sipped their tea or ate another biscuit.

Hagrid set his mug down with another sigh. “It’s the Sorcerer’s Stone. The one made by Flammel.”

Harry frowned, trying to remember where he had heard that name before, then suddenly dug into his book bag. After a moment he came out with some chocolate frog cards that he flipped through before settling on one.

“Nicholas Flammel,” he read from the card. “Born: Sometime between 1378 and 1382. An alchemist famous for creating the Sorcerer’s Stone, an object long believed to create the Elixir of Life which will grant the drinker eternal youth. He is also credited with the discovery of the twelve uses for dragon’s blood, along with his co-researcher Albus Dumbledore.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione looked ready to burst into tears.

“How could he?” Draco said, holding his mug tightly between his hands. “How could he do such a horrible thing?”

“How could who do what?” Neville asked, clearly near the end of his patience in the face of the fear he could see in both Hermione and Draco. “Who might be here?”

“Voldemort,” Harry said, dropping the cards back in his bag, his suspicions more or less confirmed now. He missed Neville’s shocked jerk at the mention of that name and Draco’s wince. “Dumbledore has set a trap for Voldemort in a castle full of children, and he’s using the Sorcerer’s Stone as bait. I’ll bet it’s his plan to get me to be the one who has to do the fighting for him, too, if what he said to me yesterday is true.”

“What did he say to you, Harry?” Hermione asked with a sniffle, trying to master her fear.

“He told me that it’s my destiny, that I’m to be responsible for taking care of Voldemort once and for all.” Harry said grimly, staring into his half finished tea. Draco’s hand took his under the table, squeezing hard. Harry squeezed back.

“That’s codswallop, that is,” Hagrid rumbled angrily. “There’s no way the Headmaster would expect a tyke like you to fight a fully grown wizard. That just ain’t right.”

“No, it isn’t, Hagrid,” Harry agreed, “but that’s what he told me. He’s been trying to control me since before I got here, and you know it, Hagrid. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him, but he just won’t stop.”

“You-Know-Who can’t really be at Hogwarts, can he?” Neville said, his eyes wide with fear. “He.. he’s dead. Y..you already killed him, Harry.”

Harry slowly shook his head. “That’s just it, Neville. Dumbledore doesn’t believe that Voldemort is dead. He told me so.” He tapped his forehead with a finger of his free hand. “This tells me he’s probably right. Somehow, Voldemort is Professor Quirrell.”

“This is foolish talk, Harry,” Hagrid said, getting up to stir the embers in the fireplace with nervous energy. “The Professors have been set to protect the stone. There ain’t nobody who’d be able to get past their tests. It ain’t some kind of trap, it’s like a vault to keep the stone safe. And there ain’t no way that Professor Quirrell is You-Know-Who. I’ve known that man for years, and he’s the same.”

The big man then paused, considering. “Well, except for the stutter, and the turban, but he’s the same bloke I’ve always known.”

“You told me that he had run into some kind of trouble during his sabbatical, Hagrid.” Harry observed. “What if he had run into Voldemort?”

“Don’t be silly,” the big man said, getting up and dusting off his hands. “What would You-Know-Who be doing in Albania? I’m not saying he’s alive, mind, but what do you suppose he was doing there if he was?”

“I don’t even know why Quirrell was there,” Harry exclaimed with an exasperated huff.

“Professor Quirrell was looking to find Ravenclaw’s diadem. He’d got a rumor that it was in Albania or thereabouts, so set himself on a sabbatical to find it,” the big man said as he sat down again.

“Quirrell is a Ravenclaw?” Draco asked with a frown. “What a dismal thought.”

“Aye, he was,” Hagrid confirmed, pouring himself some more tea. “Now you kids listen close. You just put all this nonsense out of your heads. Professor Quirrell is not You-Know-Who, and the stone is perfectly safe. Ain’t no one can get past Fluffy less they know to play him a bit of music. You lot just stay away from the third floor, and don’t be meddling in things you don’t understand. You hear?”

Seeing that Hagrid was as serious as he’d ever seen him, Harry found himself nodding along with the others. He was disappointed in his large friend’s lack of faith in him, but he could understand it as well. Hagrid never had an easy time of it when ever the subject of Voldemort came up. The fear the big man held ran very deep.

“Okay, Hagrid,” he said, “I’ll promise to stay off the third floor, if you promise that no matter who asks you, you never, ever tell anyone how to get past Fluffy.”

“Course I do,” Hagrid said, looking pained to even be asked. “No one will ever hear it from me.”

“No matter what they promise you?” Harry asked, wanting to make Hagrid understood how important it was.

“No matter what,” Hagrid assured the boy.

“Okay,” Harry sighed, letting it go. He knew that short of a wizard’s oath, there was little that could stop Hagrid from letting the information slip to anyone skilled at asking the right questions, but he had to hope that Hagrid would at least think before he answered.

“You kids best be off, now,” Hagrid said, getting up again. “It’s about time for dinner, and I know the elves have something special planned. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

The four got up, saying their good byes while Hagrid held Fang back by the collar. Harry gave Hagrid a hug and promised the grounds keeper that he’d return to visit often, then the first years were making their way back up the path to the castle.

“What are we going to do now?” Draco broke the silence of their walk. “That big oaf will spill his guts in a second.”

Harry stopped and glared at his dorm mate. “I know Hagrid isn’t the smartest, Draco, but you won’t ever call him that again. He’s my friend. He’s the first grown up to ever care about me and do something about it. Me. Harry. Not the sodding Boy-Who-Lived.”

Draco looked stubbornly into Harry’s eyes, then wilted at the deep and very real anger he saw there. Harry was livid.

“Okay,” he said a lot more quietly, “I promise, Harry. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry, okay?”

Harry turned and continued the walk, the others trailing a little behind. Draco sighed and followed. He had really mucked things up.

Harry could feel Draco’s hurt and regret as they entered the castle, but he was still too angry at the blonde to do anything about it yet. Besides, he felt that an abject lesson in his prejudices would do the other boy some good. He couldn’t go around saying hurtful things without thinking about it. The Hall was already filling with students when they arrived, and Harry frowned to see Dumbledore sitting in his usual spot at the head table. He averted his gaze before the Headmaster could see him looking, and sat down at his usual place at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione gave him back his cloak with a word of thanks, and Neville went to the Griffindor table after spotting the twins already sitting there. He had promised to meet the trio in the library after classes the next day.

The meal turned out to be roast chicken with mash and glazed carrots with mounds of peas followed by chocolate layer cake and treacle tart. It was one of Harry’s favorite meals, but he found he wasn’t able to eat a lot while feeding choice tidbits to Hedwig. The talk of the table was the presence of Aurors in the school, and Harry and Draco found themselves fielding many questions throughout the meal. There wasn’t much of a quiet moment for him to give his current problem much thought, and in all honestly Harry simply longed for his bed. It had already been a very long and busy day, and he still needed to meet with Professor Snape that evening. Hopefully the answers he gained from the Potions Master would put all the remaining pieces of his puzzling life into place. As it was, the eleven year old already felt horribly overwhelmed and outmatched.

At Hermione’s urging, he found himself trailing out of the Great Hall with the other Ravenclaw first years, Draco a silent shadow. They dropped back from the main group, then made their way to the dungeons. They were nearly a half hour early, but Harry didn’t really care. He just wanted it done and over with so he could maybe sleep and digest the day’s revelations. As they neared the office door, Harry straightened his posture and lifted his chin, doing his best to bury the day behind stone walls in his mind. He wouldn’t let the Professor see him weak again. Draco knocked, and the three waited.

It took longer than one might have expected, but Snape eventually answered the door, looking the three over with his impassive gaze before inviting them inside. It wasn’t until the door was closed and the students took seats in front of the desk while Snape settled behind it, that he spoke.

“Two I had expectations of, but not three.” As questions went, it wasn’t all that oblique, and even though Snape seemed to be addressing Harry, it was Draco who answered.

“I had been telling these two about my lessons with you, Sev.. I mean.. Professor. Hermione said that she would like some extra instructions too.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “That is a believable cover story, though a little thin given her clear intelligence. I expect that you’ve already deduced that there isn’t likely to be any potions instruction, Miss. Granger?”

“Well, sort of,” Hermione admitted, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I haven’t sorted out what it is about, though.”

“Just as well,” Snape sighed, standing up. “Come along, then.”

He lead the confused children to a door hidden in the deep shadows at the back of the office. It opened to a very comfortable looking sitting room, lit with a warmly burning fireplace. The Potions Master closed the door behind them and indicated that the first years should take a seat on the long couch in front of the fire. Harry looked around. Bookshelves lined the room that opened into a dining area, with what appeared to be a kitchenette beyond. Two doors lead either to sleeping quarters, the main hall, a toilet, or any of the three. The colours were predominantly amber and forest green, with lighter tones of green and silver as accents, rather than the main colour scheme. It was restful, all told, and comfortable. The Professor made himself comfortable in the armchair that was also grouped at the fireplace, and contemplated the three.

“You are here to learn the subtle art of Occlumency.” Snape had their complete attention. “This means to occlude, or hide your mind from the invasions of others. It is not an easy skill to acquire. Many never do. I expect it will take you, Miss. Granger, the entire year to master the fundamentals. Draco already has some rudimentary skill, as I have been teaching him for nearly a year, while Mr. Potter shows some more advanced ability. I will work with each of you as your skill level dictates, but you must learn as quickly as possible if you wish to keep your secrets, private.”

He studied each of them closely, in turn. “I suspect you will all soon share the same secrets. If Mr. Potter wishes them to remain private, I suggest you do your utmost to master this, or sever your relationship. Chose now.”

Draco drew himself up stubbornly, not even looking at Harry or Hermione as he stared the Professor in the eye, clearly determined to do whatever it took to remain Harry’s friend. Hermione looked a lot less sure, especially after the day’s revelations, and she looked to Harry uncertainly.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, Hermione,” Harry felt compelled to say to the visibly frightened girl. “I’ll understand.”

“It’s just..” Hermione shook her head, twining her fingers tight together in her lap. “I never expected anything like this, Harry. We’re just kids. What are we supposed to do? I don’t have any idea of who I can trust anymore.”

“We survive, Hermione,” Harry said pragmatically, “and we trust only ourselves. It’s all we can do.”

The bushy head bowed as Hermione took several deep breaths, thinking hard. Finally she lifted her head and looked to Professor Snape. “I’m ready.”

Harry’s heart gave a jump. He had no idea how important it was that Hermione chose to remain his friend until he heard her say that. He was unreasonably glad.

Waiting another moment to be certain they had all made their choice, Snape gave a slow nod. “Very well. I’ll begin with you, Miss. Granger. I’ll teach you basic meditative techniques designed to access the depths of you mind. This will help you create order and eventually a mind scape that you can manipulate as a series of defenses. While you practice meditation, I will then work with Draco, and then Mr. Potter.”

Rising from the chair, he had the two boys move to the dining table where he left them with a potions journal. “This book will never leave this room. You may take notes, however. When not actively working on your occlumency, you will be permitted to read the journal.”

Both boys nodded, and hunched with their heads together over the book before the man had returned to the couch where Hermione waited. He spent half an hour with the young girl, explaining techniques she could use to meditate and first seeing if she could reach a light trance like state herself. Her mind was already highly organized, but she found letting go of her conscious thought to be very difficult. He finally resorted to very light magic to help her obtain the correct state. He then fetched Draco to help him work on his mind scape.

Left alone at the table, Harry found the potion journal a perfect distraction for his own thoughts, and allowed himself the escape by taking notes on what he read. It really was fascinating to read the experiments and thoughts of a budding Potions Master who had lived over a hundred years ago. He only knew it was his turn when the Professor lightly tapped the table top, then nodded toward the office they had left earlier. Harry packed away his notes and closed the journal, following the Professor into the other room and taking a seat on the student side of the large desk. Snape sat in his own, comfortable looking chair.

“You and I have other things to talk about, Mr. Potter,” the older man began, casting a localized spell that Harry had never heard of before. It subdued the sounds from the rest of the room, and was likely meant to keep their conversation private. “I promised you a few answers, and I suspect you’re far enough along to forgo this first lesson.”

Harry nodded and chose to be bluntly direct. No more beating around the bush for information. He needed to know.

“Why is the Headmaster so determined to control me?”

“Three months before you were born, there was a prophecy made. ‘The one who will vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who had thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.'” Snape watched Harry as he recited the prophecy, then calmly dropped the real bombshell. “I over heard this prophecy in part, the part I told you in fact, though I know there to be more to it. I have since been unable to learn the rest which currently sits in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. The part I did know, I relayed to the Dark Lord, who then decided to seek out and kill you and your parents.”

Wide green eyes stared up into his. Harry didn’t move, and didn’t in fact, appear to be breathing. The eleven year old’s magic, however, was a maelstrom around the boy, crackling and snapping in a visible nimbus. Hedwig huddled as close to Harry’s neck as she could get to avoid the arcing jets of magical lightening that filled the air with the ozone of an impending storm.

Prepared to face this boy’s anger, a decision he had made on the spot outside of the infirmary doors the day before, Snape remained as impassively still and nonthreatening as he could.

“Why?” Harry’s nearly broken voice finally croaked.

“I hated your father for what he did to me in school, and for gaining the hand of the most beautiful person it had ever been my privilege to know. I begged the Dark Lord to spare her life. He, however, can make promises he never intends to keep, far too easily. I was young, foolish, and I believed his lies, all of them, until that night. I turned from him the instant I heard of her death.

I make no excuses, Mr. Potter. I am well aware of being responsible for the deaths of your parents. That, however, is the past. How you view me from now on is less important than how you intend to deal with the Headmaster. He believes you to be a commodity that he will one day be able to unleash against the return of the Dark Lord. It is his desire to guide and train you, to test and use you, until you will be nothing more than an obedient weapon. I doubt that he expects you to survive the encounter.”

Harry began to hyperventilate, unable to deal with the emotions trying to tear him apart from the inside. Hedwig barked in alarm, doing her best to calm her wizard who had completely retreated within himself. Harry sat hunched in the chair, folded over his knees. Snape tried to cast a bubblehead charm on the boy to aid his breathing, but Harry’s magic lashed out viciously at the spell, knocking it aside. Snape then stood, moving back from his desk, and was then able to hear the frantic pounding on his door and the muffled voice behind it.

“,,, this door, Severus. Let me in!! Severus! Harry!!”

With a flick of his wrist, Snape spelled the door open, and Draco stumbled into the office, then ran around the desk to Harry. He dropped to his knees beside the other boy, wrapping him in his arms and holding on tight, whispering. There was absolutely no concern for the still sparking eruptions of magic surrounding the boy. Draco simply acted as though it wasn’t there, though the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He merely held on, whispering constantly, until Harry began to breathe more normally and his magic calmed.

Snape couldn’t hear what his godson was saying to the boy, but he could certainly see the hurt betrayal in the silver eyes that suddenly speared him in place.

“What did you do to him?”

“I told him some things he needed to know, Draco. It may take him some time to assimilate it,”

The Potions Master was honestly surprised to still be standing. He had expected Harry to at least toss him across the room in anger. The boy’s control was either much better than he had expected, or he had far more quickly processed Snape’s implied regret then expected.

“Assimilate it? What does that even mean, Uncle?” Draco’s accusatory tone was relentless. “You hurt him. You didn’t have to hurt him if you were just telling him stuff.”

Snape sighed, taking his chair again. “I’m afraid the information would have hurt him, regardless, Draco. I told him why his parents died, and what the Headmaster plans for him. These were not easy things to hear, no matter his age or his willingness to hear it. I did it as quickly as I could.”

“He’s gone away,” Draco turned back to Harry, rubbing his back while Hedwig crooned from the chair back she had retreated to. His voice was thick with unshed tears. “I can barely hear him.”

The Potions Master’s gaze sharpened on his godson. “What do you mean, you can barely hear him, Draco?”

Draco just mutely shook his head, bending his head close to Harry’s so he could whisper again. Snape waited, but the boy refused to speak to him again. After several minutes, he got up to get Miss. Granger out of her meditation. Perhaps she could help Draco bring the Potter boy out of his emotional catatonia.

In reality, Snape simply wanted to retreat. He didn’t know what to do to help the boy. He had to tell him the things he wanted to know, true, but he had no idea it would have that effect on the child. A burst of accidental magic he had expected, but not this conscious retreat. He opted to spend several minutes with Miss. Granger, discussing her meditation experience so she could repeat it on her own in order to practice, before telling her that her help may be needed with her friend. Instantly concerned, she followed him back into the office. He had decided that if Miss. Granger couldn’t help, he would floo call St. Mungo’s in an effort to locate Healer Davidson.

He was utterly surprised, therefore, to find Harry and Draco standing near the outer door of his office, quietly talking. They both turned to him as Hermione hurried to join them.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Harry said with formal, even tones. “I found your lesson very informative. Please owl us with the time of the next lesson.”

Only just managing to maintain his composure, Snape gave the boy a half bow, and watched the trio leave his office. After the door closed, he sank slowly into his chair, deeply puzzled and even more intrigued by this son of James and Lily Potter.

The Ravenclaw library held a collection of the standard books of spells for each year. These, supplemented by what was available in the school library, helped Harry work at an accelerated pace that suited him best. He gleaned what he could from study sessions that included upper years, often delaying his homework in order to follow along with the fourth or fifth years as they discussed their own homework. He followed no structured format, much to Hermione’s dismay. He simply researched topics as they interested him, and shared what he learned with his friends. Defensive and offensive magic were the most common theme.

Various types of bonds was one of the first of these projects, and he set about it with the enthusiastic help of Draco, in particular. Every book that mentioned the subject in the common room eventually made it to the table where the trio often worked, and the library was also soon raided. Professor Flitwick proved to be the most helpful source of information, however. The stares that Harry and Draco had received in the corridor that Sunday afternoon weren’t explained until nearly two weeks later, when their diminutive Head of House explained that there was a glow surrounding the two boys as they appeared to join in a restful meditation session. Flitwick had correctly assumed that the two boys shared a bond of some type. Apparently the spontaneous formation of one was considered a rare and precious gift from Magic, and should be encouraged and nurtured.

Harry stonewalled on sharing the exact nature of his connection with Draco until it was obvious that they could go no further in finding out exactly what kind of bond they had without some sort of help. Everything they had encountered on the topic was vague enough to generate as many new questions as answering existing ones, and many of these bonds seemed almost identical when broken down into common elements. When Harry finally relented, they went to Flitwick with all the information they had, and both eleven year olds described what they could see of the threads that connected them at their core. Being less accomplished at the skill, Draco could only get the impression of a glowing pool in his magic’s colours, with a slowly growing tendril going off into the darkness. He was unable to influence or interact with it at all unless he concentrated extremely hard for the most basic of results. Harry’s, by this time, was a fully detailed landscape for the smaller boy, that he could manipulate fairly easily.

The Charms Master was at first completely flummoxed that the boys could even view their cores in such a way, and spent some time getting Harry to describe how he happened to discover the skill, and then teach it to Draco. The fact that Harry could directly influence the connection, using his magic to strengthen the thread into something strong enough to sustain itself and grow, impressed Flitwick completely. When Flitwick finally told the pair that he believed they shared a soul bond, most likely a Fated Soul Bond, Draco was beside himself with relief and happiness. Two souls that had been created by Magic to be perfectly suited to each other in every way. Their Head of House explained that since the two had been drawn to each other at their very first meeting, and the bond had formed so quickly once they were in near constant proximity, it could be little else. The only way to confirm, of course, would be to check the Book of Souls in the Department of Mysteries, at the Ministry.

Yet another reason for Harry to visit the Department.

Harry found the time to visit Hagrid once a week, most usually Sunday afternoons, and kept his promise to explain what had happened on the train, and the resulting interviews conducted at the castle. In late September, the Daily Profit was full of news of the three day trail of Peter Pettigrew, and the resulting Ministry debacle of the arrest and unjust incarceration of Lord Sirius Black. As promised, Director Bones personally gave Harry the news that Black had been found innocent of all charges, and freed. Dumbledore had been called to testify as to his roll as the castor of the Fidelius Charm, and was out of the castle for a week. Harry was disappointed when the Headmaster returned. It was only a small consolation that the man looked extremely harried. The Profit ran a week’s worth of speculative, scathing articles that featured Dumbledore and the Ministry’s incompetence over the entire matter.

DADA gradually became more tolerable. It was a very slow process, Harry discovered, to erect the kind of shield he needed around his curse scar connection, or thread, or whatever he felt like calling it on any given day. Most usually, Harry was useless during and after the class, and went to bed early with nothing but his nutrient drink and whatever potion he was required to take for that week. The rest of the quartet grew used to this handicap, and used the time to catch up on personal interests of their own since they could do little to nothing to help their friend. No one was more pleased and relieved than Harry when the goblin healer, Goldleaf, made an appointment to visit the school in the second week of October to personally examine the scar. According to Healer Davidson, the goblin Healer had not left the security of the Horde city in over thirty years. This visit not only drew a great deal of attention from the Goblin Nation itself, but their Chieftain in particular. Ragnok would personally escort the Healer along with his personal guard as protective detail. Apparently, the Chieftain was curious about the boy who could draw the premiere goblin Healer out from under Gringotts.

October brought with it cold rains, frosty nights, and the first Quidditch match of the year. Slytherin versus Griffindor. Since the twins were playing in the match, Neville opted to sit with the Ravenclaws. The shy, portly boy had changed considerably in a month. According to the twins, he spoke up for himself more often while in the lion’s tower, and was gaining not only respect, but a measure of self confidence amid his year mates and House mates. Ron, unsurprisingly, proved to be the most stubborn of the boy’s detractors, and tried to undermine Neville at every opportunity. Without much success, the twins were careful to note. Whatever plan or scheme they caught wind of, was instantly turned back on their youngest brother, and the rest of the House always, somehow, found out why. One of Neville’s dorm mates, Dean Thomas, proved to be an invaluable source of information for the twins. They were all too happy to include him in some of their out of House pranks as payment.

The match was a route. Slytherin used every dirty and underhanded tactic they could get away with, to get ahead on points. Even the seeker was using aggressive dives to disrupt the Griffindor chasers whenever they had the quaffle. None of their strategy was technically illegal, but it was certainly effective. The twins did what they could to bat the bludgers directly at the Slytherin keeper or chasers, but in the end Griffindor lost the match with an embarrassing 240 – 30. While not having that much interest in the game herself, Hermione determined that she would help the Ravenclaw team by coming up with flight patterns and plays specifically designed to use against the Slytherin style of play. Being a football fan, she sent a letter home to her father, requesting the avid Puttlemere United fan send along any copies of the team’s plays he could find. The package that Hedwig carried back three days later was satisfyingly thick, and she set to work with a vengeance in every spare moment she could find.

The Saturday of Harry’s appointment with Goldleaf dawned crisp and cold. Since so many goblins were coming to the castle, the Headmaster had to be informed, who in turn informed the staff and then the rest of the school at breakfast that day. All students were warned to remain respectful of their guests, or to avoid the infirmary floor completely if they could not. Naturally, every student in the castle found an excuse to either be outside in the cold, or near the Entrance Hall when the goblin contingent arrived. Dumbledore stood front and center at the main doors to greet the party as soon as their arrival at the gates of the grounds was felt through Hogwart’s wards. It was a long walk from the gates with little legs. It got so cold and drafty on the first floor of the castle, that Peeves complained long and loud, and those students who had opted to remain indoors fervently wished they had dressed for outdoors.

Healer Davidson had arrived ahead of time in order to complete his own scheduled examination and treatment of Harry, and consult with the Potions Master on the boy’s next course of potions. Harry’s lungs still stubbornly refused to respond to treatment and heal fully, and Davidson felt certain that more extreme measures would need to be taken before the boy grew to exceed his current lung capacity. He planned a thorough examination during the Yule holiday to be followed by whatever treatment his consultations recommended after the spring term ended. If Harry grew without adequate lung function, his entire cardiovascular system would suffer.

By the time the goblins arrived, Davidson, Harry and Draco were in the Entrance Hall, waiting to greet Ragnok and Goldleaf before heading back up to the infirmary. Watching Dumbledore’s back as the elder wizard stood at the opened doors of the Hall, Davidson realized that he should have taken Harry out of school for a weekend to meet with the goblin Healer. If the old man managed to insult the Chieftain, the entire group would simply turn around and head back to Gringotts. After killing the man, of course.

The group of six goblins reached the main stairs at the entrance of the castle and halted when confronted with Dumbledore and his staff. The Headmaster stepped forward and gave the group a slight bow, smiling congenially.

“Chieftain, welcome to Hogwarts,” he said. “On behalf of my staff and I, I hope you find your visit pleasant and incident free. If you would follow me, we can talk in my office.”

In the Entrance Hall, Davidson snorted in amusement. Between wizards that was a perfectly acceptable greeting. For goblins, it could be insulting as it basically wished that they found their visit boring and unacceptable. Luckily, Ragnok chose not to reply. He simply returned the half bow, as much as it must have grated on him to do so, and allowed the Headmaster to lead his contingent inside the Hall, followed by the rest of the staff and then students. Ragnok already had a low opinion of wizards to begin with. Dumbledore was not helping that impression at all.

The students eventually filtered inside, allowing the great doors to finally close. The Hall was lined with children wanting a look at the visitors, and Dumbledore swept down the middle of the Hall importantly, his blue eyes twinkling. He passed Davidson, where he stood with a hand on Harry’s free shoulder, on his way to the grand staircase. The look the Headmaster gave the small boy could easily be interpreted as triumphant. Under his hand, he felt the boy’s muscles tense. Dumbledore obviously felt he had gotten one over on Harry. The Healer honestly wished he had phrased that Vow to be a great deal more restrictive. The cagey bugger was finding ways around it.

Ragnok and Goldleaf walked side by side, flanked and followed by four of the Chieftain’s personal guard. They halted when they reached Davidson and Harry. Sliding out from under the Healer’s hand, Harry and Draco surprised both Davidson and the goblins when they stepped forward in unison, and gave a formal, low bow which exposed the vulnerable nape of their necks, in perfect sync. The eleven year olds held that position while Harry spoke.

“Chieftain and Healer,” his small voice was easily heard in the silent Hall, “you greatly honour this lowly human by traveling so far from your glorious city. My name is Harry James Potter, Scion of the Potter line. My companion is Draco Lucius Malfoy, Scion of the Malfoy line. My dept to you has only begun by your visit today. May you find profit and sport within these walls to entertain you, or paths for finding both.”

The Chieftain studied the boy who was easily shorter than him. Dumbledore had stopped on the first step of the main staircase, and was looking back with a frown of disapproval, though he didn’t interrupt. The students seemed to hold their breath, waiting to see what the goblins would do to the first years.

Ragnok stepped forward, his lips parted to expose the sharp points of his teeth. “Harry James Potter, may your enemies quickly find their deaths at your feet. You are a brave child, to greet me in the old ways. I approve. I am Chieftain Ragnok. With me is Healer Goldleaf. If he is able, he will provide you the benefits of his meager skills.”

Harry and Draco both straightened, a smile of pleasure briefly twitching the blonde’s lips as they had passed the first, and most important test. Permission to use the Chieftain’s name, and that of the Healer.

“While I assess Healer Goldleaf’s skill, perhaps you would like to instruct my companion in how to negotiate the price of my time?” Harry offered to the Chieftain, then tilted his head as though considering a fresh thought. “Or perhaps the cost of your own time, Chieftain Ragnok, as my humble business has dragged you so far from home?”

Ragnok laughed outright, the gravelly sound echoed by his guard.

“I will assess the negotiating skills of your companion, Scion Potter,” the Chieftain said with a deadly looking grin. “Lead the way to your healing hall.”

As though they had practiced until they could do it in their sleep, Draco and Harry, with Hedwig riding escort, turned as one to the main stairs, and walked in perfect step. Even the Weasley twins were impressed with their perfect synchronization. The goblins followed the boys, and Davidson fell into step behind the rear guards. As the Healer passed Dumbledore, who had moved to one side on the stairs, he could easily see the contained fury in the Headmaster’s no longer twinkling eyes. Again thwarted in his plans, the man was going to eventually become a problem.

As the group climbed the staircase out of sight, the milling students began to disperse. Dumbledore stood looking up long after he could no longer see the group. He was joined by Flitwick and McGonagall.

“Perhaps I’ll invite the Chieftain to join me for tea afterwards,” the Headmaster said quietly, as though thinking to himself, “since they seem determined to get straight to business.”

“They won’t accept,” Flitwick said with a small smile as he started up the stairs. “Goblins hate tea.”

Dumbledore frowned after the Charms Professor, then turned to McGonagall. “Minerva…”

“No,” the Professor instantly answered, “whatever it is, Albus, I want no part of it. You’ve done enough to that poor boy. Leave it alone.”

She left the scowling Headmaster in her wake as she too, climbed the stairs. The Hall was nearly empty before the Headmaster finally turned to head into the Great Hall, and the staff door there that would provide him a quicker way back to his office. He would need to come up with something else to guide the Potter boy along the path Destiny had laid out for him. After the doors of the Great Hall closed, Professor Snape emerged from the deep shadows behind the stairs, and began to make his way up.

Harry and Draco lead the way to the infirmary and through the still open doors. Two of the guard stopped to flank the main doors as they closed behind the group. The party continued through the main infirmary, and both Harry and Draco gave Madam Pomfrey a respectful nod as they passed her office door where she stood waiting. As she agreed, she gave a curtsey to the passing goblins. One of the guard remained outside the door at the back of the infirmary. The fourth, took his station at the door to the third private room, which was larger than the other two. This one had already been prepared by removing any paintings and monitoring charms, then casting privacy charms. Professor Flitwick even added runes to the four corners of the room for an added layer of privacy. When the runes were activated with the closing of the door, Harry allowed himself to relax a little.

The goblins seemed to relax as well, taking comfort from the feel of a goblin ward surrounding them. His role secondary in this exchange, Davidson took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs that had been grouped in one corner of the room around a low table. All the pieces were of goblin size, including the bed that stood on the opposite wall. Signaled by the Healer sitting down, trays of hot chocolate and sandwiches made of crusty, multi-grained buns appeared on the table, provided by the house elves to Professor Flitwick’s exacting instructions. Still moving as one being, Harry and Draco faced the two goblins with calm, self assurance.

“Refreshments are available, Chieftain, Healer,” Harry said as he and his blonde shadow indicated the seating area with identical movements. “I’ve personally made sure there won’t be a tea leaf to be found. It’s only fair that you recover your strength before we engage in our battle of wits.”

Ragnok’s grin this time looked positively feral. “Someone has instructed you well, child. I find their meager efforts commendable. I’ll ask for their head as a Hosting gift some other day.”

“That’s disappointing,” Harry said, and even pouted. He and Draco crossed their arms in unison. “I find blood to be such a satisfactory gift. Now I’ll have to find another.”

The two boys turned as one to the table beside the bed, where a small, sheathed knife already lay in readiness. Harry picked it up by the dragon hide sheath, and the two turned back to the goblins. “I suppose this little trinket will have to do. It’s hardly worthy, but it’s all I have with me at the moment.”

The two pairs took a step toward each other, and Harry offered the blade, handle first. Ragnok gripped the handle and drew the slightly curved dagger from the sheath to examine closely. If he found the gift acceptable, he’d return it to the sheath. If not, he’d be honour bound to sheath the blade in Harry’s chest. This was the part Davidson was the most apprehensive about. These were mere formalities, but the goblin would be obligated to act accordingly if even the slightest part of the ritual went wrong.

“A High Elf blade,” Ragnok murmured, “bloodied in battle. I suppose I could bring myself to keep this dirty thing.”

The Chieftain sheathed the dagger in the dragon hide, and Harry relinquished his hold on it.

“I find myself encouraged that you would accept such a small gift, Chieftain Ragnok. My negotiator may make me a profit today, after all.”

“I’m pleased that you won’t be forced to kill him, Scion Potter. It takes such a long time to train a good negotiator.”

“True,” Harry replied, “but blood does whet the appetite. Shall we try to eat, anyway?”

“We should try,” Ragnok agreed.

The formalities over, the four moved to the chairs and sat, Harry and Draco still moving in curious sync. Davidson let out a slow breath, and only reached for his mug of hot chocolate after the other four had lifted their own and exchanged them across the table before taking their first sip.

Ragnok ate one of the sandwiches and half finished his hot chocolate before he broke the silence of the room. “That was perfectly done, Scion Potter. Whom shall I thank for your instruction?”

“Professor Flitwick, Chieftain. At my request, he spent a lot of time teaching Draco and I how to properly greet and welcome you to Hogwarts. It cost me a lot at Honeydukes, but it was worth it.”

“Strange the Headmaster didn’t avail himself of that same resource.” the Chieftain observed.

“No,” Harry replied without having to think about it. “I don’t find it strange at all. The Headmaster firmly believes that the world should dance to his music alone. No other orchestra exists.”

“That’s a shame,” Ragnok sighed. “Goblins have some fine musicians.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Harry smiled in return.

“How long have you two been bonded?” Goldleaf spoke for the first time.

“Bonded?” Davidson turned a surprised stare to Harry and Draco. “You two have bonded? When? What kind of bond? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry shrugged, prompting Hedwig to shift to the back of the chair where she continued to groom herself. “It never came up, Healer. I didn’t think it was that important. I mean, from a medical standpoint. Is it?”

Davidson frowned. “It could be. I often treat bonded couples together. The partner’s magic can often be helpful as the patient’s magic will find it less intrusive than mine.”

“It isn’t always recommended, however,” Goldleaf observed, his nose nearly buried in the mug. “What ails one, can ail both. Each case is as unique as the individuals. I will examine them both.”

“As you wish, Healer,” Davidson said, then looked again to the boys.

Why hadn’t he seen it before? There would be some clue in Harry’s magic that he was bonded. He must have dismissed any sign as being that of the familiar bond with Hedwig. How could he have been so short sighted? He wasn’t doing his charge much good lately. He’d have to be much more vigilant.

Goldleaf finished his mug before getting up from the chair. Harry promptly followed suit, following the Healer to the bed. Goldleaf took a tiny chest from his pocket and placed it on the bedside table, where he enlarged it with a gesture. Opening it, he removed two stones, and placed them on the floor about five feet distant from the bed and six feet apart. He tapped one with a finger, and an opaque field went up, screening the bed from the rest of the room. Goldleaf turned back to Harry and instructed him to strip completely and lay down. His cheeks hot, Harry gamely did as instructed and lay shivering a little until Goldleaf cast some sort of heating spell on him.

Harry knew this was going to be a good deal more impersonal than his dealings with Healer Davidson, and had prepared himself all week to be ready for it. He allowed the goblin Healer’s touch without flinching, and moved as instructed. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t quailing inside. Only that he hid it well. He never liked being touched unless it was someone he trusted. Various rune stones were placed on his body in specific areas and activated. The goblin Healer would study the image the stones projected, then would place the stones elsewhere. Harry had to turn over, lay on his side, then the other, then on his back again. He even had to sit up. On his back again, a different set of stones were placed down his chest in a line, then activated. Harry smiled to see an image that exactly matched the colours of his core.

“Do you recognize this, young Scion?” Goldleaf asked.

Harry nodded. “It’s my magical core.”

“You are correct, Scion. Have you seen it before?”

“Sure,” Harry said, seeing no reason to keep the information from the goblin. “I look at it every morning.”

“A useful skill,” the goblin said. He leaned a little closer and pointed to an area of the image. “This is your familiar bond?”

Harry reached up to stroke the strand the Healer had indicated. Completely surprised, he could feel Hedwig as clearly as if he was deep inside himself, touching the actual strand. With a breathless smile, he answered. “Yes, that’s Hedwig.”

“And this one?”

Harry smiled fondly at the strong, spring green and silver strand that twined around rainbow hues. “Draco.”

The Healer next pointed out the very dull spots on Harry’s core. “These are areas of damage, young Scion. They will need to be repaired.”

“Can you do that?”

“Given time, yes, it can be done. This white band, is a block that has been placed upon your magic. It is old.”

Harry frowned. “How old?”

“At least ten years,” the Healer answered. “I will need a signature stone, that I don’t have with me, to determine who cast it and if it can be removed.”

The image turned as Goldleaf twisted the center stone. A cylinder of Harry’s magic rose from his core in the image.

“What is this, young Scion. Do you know?”

Harry nodded with a sigh. “Yes. I made it to surround the black thread. It’s attached to my core, and I think it belongs to Voldemort. We’re connected somehow, through my scar, but I don’t think he knows it yet. Since I made the wall, my scar doesn’t hurt as much when I’m around him.”

Goldleaf was studying the image very closely, turning it so he could have a look at the cylinder from several angles. “It’s primitive, but it seems effective in a limited fashion. Young Scion, you know that this construct will need to be removed before I can do anything with your scar?”

Harry nodded again.

Goldleaf moved the first of the three rune stones to Harry’s forehead, directly over his scar. The image projected changed instantly into a lightening bolt shape, black and malignant. The Healer frowned. Turning to his chest, he selected another stone, and replaced the one on Harry’s forehead. The image changed again to a black mass that pulsated and undulated with a life of it’s own. Another change of stones, and the mass resolved into a vaguely humanoid shape, tightly curled up on itself like an unborn infant. The Healer growled deep in his chest.

“Ragnok!”

The Chieftain appeared around the far side of the screen, closely followed by Davidson and Draco.

“This child has a soul fragment imbedded in his scar,” the goblin Healer growled.

“Merlin’s beard. Harry?” Draco came around the other side of the bed to take up Harry’s left hand. Harry squeezed back, holding on.

Davidson was muttering under his breath, leaning heavily on the foot railing of the bed.

“What does that mean, Healer?” he asked Goldleaf, beginning to be afraid after catching a glimpse of the furious scowl on Ragnok’s face.

“It means,” the Chieftain answered, “that the animal that tried to kill you left a piece of his soul behind, and in you.”

“The old one would not have missed this,” Goldleaf said lowly, “he left it there. He has done this child a grievous disservice.”

“So noted, Healer,” Ragnok growled, then looked at Harry again. “This will need the Priests to work with the Healer, young Scion. I fear nothing can be done today.”

Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his eye which was NOT getting damp.

“There is also this,” Goldleaf said, exchanging the stone on Harry’s forehead for the one he had used first, and replacing it on his chest. “The child’s magic has been bound.”

“Myrddin’s balls!” Davidson swore as he turned away to pace at the foot of the bed. “I knew that bastard had done something, but I never guessed… How could I have been so stupid? Harry, Healer, forgive me. I should have brought Harry to you much sooner.”

“He is young, Healer Davidson. His magic will recover, and his body will soon follow. Your scans would not have found such a cunning binding,” Goldleaf said firmly, before looking back to Harry. “Fear not, young Scion. We will make you whole again. You need only patience.”

Blowing out a breath, Harry nodded, knuckling his eye again. He wasn’t crying, dammit. “Got something in my eye,” he mumbled, then felt a piece of cloth at his fingers.

He clutched Draco’s handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He didn’t even care that he was laying there naked in front of everybody. He was upset and relieved in equal measure. He now knew exactly what was wrong with him, and he had the help he’d need to get well again. He owed Healer Davidson more than he could ever repay.

The goblin Healer sent the other adults back to the other side of the room, then instructed Draco to strip and take the bed while Harry dressed. Blushed from his perfectly slicked back hairline to his chest, the first year reluctantly complied. Once Draco was laying down, Harry took up the blonde’s former position beside the bed. He didn’t impede the Healer’s thorough examination, but Draco found his presence a comfort as he went through the unfamiliar process of a runic examination. When it came time to view his core, Draco’s eyes went mercury with pleasure. He could see it much more clearly than he ever had on his own, and he found the bond strand with Harry of particular interest.

“Touch it,” Harry instructed with a smile.

Almost hesitant, Draco reached up to the image that the Healer indulgently held still for him, and stroked the strand. He shuddered and sucked in a breath.

“Oh, Harry,” he whispered reverently. “It’s you. It’s perfect.”

“Now you know what to look for, Draco. You’ll get much better at it now.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Draco nodded. His visualizations had improved since he started practicing, but he still found it difficult to hold the image for long in his mind’s eye, and nearly impossible to manipulate as easily as Harry did. He had managed to strengthen his end of the bond a little, purely through sheer determination and strength of will.

“You will be glad to know, young Scion, that you have a strong and healthy core,” Goldleaf said. “It will continue to grow in step with your bondmate. But be warned, however. When Scion Potter’s binding is broken, your own core may surge to grow with it. It may be painful for you. I would like you close so I can monitor you both when this happens.”

Draco nodded uncertainly. “When will that be, Healer?”

“Not until summer, young Scion. Scion Potter will need many weeks to recover from the removal of the soul piece and the binding.”

Harry and Draco exchanged a long look. “I’ll wait before I tell Father, Harry. He doesn’t need to know yet.”

Harry only nodded, trusting Draco to know his father’s likely reactions to not only their growing bond, but this as well. From their previous talks on the subject, the brunette wasn’t very encouraged. Lucious Malfoy was man with very rigid ideas.

“Your father will not refuse a request from Gringotts,” Goldleaf said, putting his stones away. “Not if he enjoys his gold profits.”

Draco snickered. “You’d summon him to show up with me?”

“Do you know of another way to get a rich man to give what he does not wish to?” the goblin smiled toothily.

“Healer, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Draco grinned back.

Draco was allowed to dress, and Goldleaf collected all of the rune stones he had used, putting them back into his chest in precise order. Last to be retrieved were the screen stones, then the chest was shrunk and tucked away again. The Healer and children returned to the sitting area where they found fresh hot chocolate and little cakes. It was apparent that Davidson and Ragnok had been talking, but they were quite while the boys enjoyed their hot drinks.

“Your report, Healer?” Ragnok asked.

For all of his dismissive talk aimed at the Healer during the greeting ritual, Goldleaf was the most respected goblin Healer in both Great Britain and France. The less reverence he was given in public, the more respect the goblin personally carried.

“Scion Potter has suffered malnourishment to a detrimental degree. He has had several bones regrown. His internal organs are currently being repaired from the effects of malnutrition at an acceptable rate. His heart shows scaring, but is strengthening. The lining of his stomach shows the early signs of ulcers. This is being treated with potions. The lining of his lungs are weak. This will need replacement treatment. His magical core is bound, as you saw. There are three areas of damage that will need repair. The soul fragment has also, it seems, begun to feed from his core. I was unable to view the connection as Scion Potter has managed to build a shield from his own magic to isolate the connection.”

Draco gulped loudly, staring wide eyed at Harry. He had no idea just how extensive Harry’s medical needs were. He had an idea, of course, through clues his dorm mate had shared with him, but to hear it all laid out was daunting.

“Scion Malfoy is, over all, a very healthy eleven year old human male with the potential to remain Scion Potter’s magical equal. There is, however, a birth defect. His lungs are underdeveloped. He will need lining replacement treatment. Had he been brought to us as an infant, the treatment would have been simple. His current improved condition is due solely to the bond he shares with Scion Potter. Scion Potter’s magic is compensating for the defect.”

Davidson twisted in his seat to better face the two boys sitting next to him. “Exactly what kind of a bond do you two share, Harry?”

Harry cleared his throat, glancing toward the goblins before he answered his Healer. “Professor Flitwick believes it’s a Fated soul bond. He said we’d need to check the Book of Souls to be sure.”

“Of course it is,” the Healer sighed as he sat back again. “Only the rarest, most magically significant bond there is.”

“Malfoys expect only the best,” Draco drawled perfectly, scrutinizing his nails.

Davidson stared at the boy, then burst out laughing.

…

Professor Snape approached the infirmary doors, and the two goblins stationed there. He gave both guards a slow nod, then produced two vials from his pocket.

“Mr. Potter will require these potions. He is on a rather strict timetable, and each dose is precisely timed. Please bring this to him.”

The nearer guard stepped forward to accept the vials.

“Please wait here,” he instructed before he opened one of the doors and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

The second guard immediately shifted to cover the seam of the double doors while his partner was gone. After nearly ten minutes, the guard returned, again closing the door behind him.

“Your name, please?” he asked Snape.

“Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts.”

“Scion Potter sends his thanks and regards. He sends the message that he will be unable to make his scheduled meeting this evening, and looks forward to a new date and time.”

The Potions Master sketched a half bow. “The message was expected. No reply is needed. Thank you for your time.”

He turned on his heel, his robes billowing with a flowing snap, then Snape made his way back down the corridor. He turned a corner, then stepped to the wall and waited patiently. His patience was rewarded a few minutes later, and he struck out to catch the student by his collar, dragging the protesting boy further down the side corridor. When he was far enough from the infirmary to suit his needs, the Potions Professor firmly planted the captured student against the wall.

“Using simple terms and very small words,” he intoned in his most effective classroom voice, “please explain to me, Mr. Weasley, exactly why you were hiding behind a suit of armour outside of the infirmary doors.”

“I.. I.. I wasn’t,” Ron stuttered. “I was just walking.”

“Oh, please,” Snape drawled. “I’m already aware that you are an imbecile. I don’t need it demonstrated. Explain.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, Professor,” Ron insisted, squirming under the hand pressed solidly against his chest. “I was just walking past.”

“Clearly,” Snape said, drawing the word out dramatically, “I will need to jog your memory. Perhaps some veritaserum would help?”

Ron’s eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. “No, no, I’ll tell you. I just wanted to know what the big deal was with Potter, getting goblins to visit him at school. That’s all, I swear.”

“If Mr. Potter wanted you to know, you would know, Mr. Weasley. Ten points from Griffindor for not minding your own business. You can spend detention with me, tonight, to demonstrate your remorse. Seven sharp, Mr. Weasley. Do not make me look for you.”

He released the suddenly deflated student, who ran down the hallway as fast as he could go.

“Another five points from Griffindor for running in the halls, Mr. Weasley.”

Snape watched the child go, then sharply turned on his heel again to resume his journey toward the dungeons. Sometimes he did enjoy being a Professor.

“Come in,” the gravelly voice responded when there was a knock at the door.

…

The door opened to admit the Healer and promptly closed behind him. Ragnok silently invited the other goblin to sit, forestalling the words of greeting that were about to be uttered. The Chieftain felt no need to observe formalities with the Healer while they were alone.

“I have finished my analysis,” the Healer began without preamble after he was comfortable. “The recording was clear enough to use a signature stone. It was Dumbledore.”

Ragnok growled.

“The Scion also carries a Mother’s Boon in his signature,” the Healer continued. “It’s quite powerful.”

“Is it keyed?” Ragnok frowned in consideration.

“Keyed and primed,” the Healer nodded. “That can only mean that the target is near to the Scion.”

“He is in danger, then,” Ragnok observed, even more worried. “Were you able to determine the target?”

“There could be only one with this ritual,” Goldleaf replied. “I consulted with the Priests. It would have been keyed at the moment of the mother’s death. The target will be her killer.”

“So, Voldemort is in the school,” Ragnok growled, sitting forward at his desk. “Just as you said the Scion implied during his examination. Hogwarts wards most surely would have informed the Headmaster.”

“Not unless he has over ridden them, in order to accommodate his pet.”

“Or he doesn’t care,” the Chieftain mused. “He has always had his own agenda.”

“I assume you have begun?” the Healer asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

“Of course,” Ragnok showed all of his teeth in a fierce grin. “They will receive the first owls the second of November.”

Goldleaf’s grin was no less joyful. “Good.”

…

Harry’s only experiences with the muggle Halloween traditional activity of trick-or-treat was limited. He followed aunt, who followed cousin from door to door. The only reason Harry was allowed out of the house on that night was so he could double cousin’s take for the night with his own collections, then carry the bags of candy that cousin filled. Woes betide the unwanted nephew if he dared to try and pocket a piece, much less eat one. Cousin’s usual haul for the night was six, near bursting, grocery bags, as he scoured at least seven blocks of.homes in his quest for confections. Whenever Harry was given questioning looks by other adults, aunt invariably explained that her greedy nephew had quite enough candy with him already, and was done for the night. It was then Harry’s job to sort the candies into separate bags that cousin could enjoy by type whenever he wanted. The bags were always emptied, no matter how many, by St. Andrew’s Day, on November 30.

The boy hadn’t known the exact date of his parent’s deaths until his talks with Hagrid at the Leaky. He now had another reason to dread the October holiday. As the month progressed, he found himself visiting the large grounds keeper more and more often. Harry’s parents never came up in conversation. Harry and Hermione did explain to Draco and Neville how muggle children would dress up in costumes and collect candy, however, and the traditions behind that custom that they had learned in primary school. Draco found it entirely too splendid to be able to get so much candy for free. In return, Draco and Neville explained Samhain and how it was celebrated in the wizarding world, and the quintet discussed how the wizard tradition had evolved into the muggle.

The children also learned from Hagrid that there were unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, when they discovered the grounds keeper tending to an injured one behind his hut. The first one he found, Hagrid explained to them, had already died of its wounds and loss of blood. Hermione was especially upset to hear that something was attacking the beautiful animals. Hagrid assured the children that he was already trying to catch the culprit with the help of the centaurs, who were especially nervous about this turn of events. The centaurs believed that something was drinking the blood in order to prolong its own, cursed, existence. Thanks to Draco’s more extensive knowledge of potions ingredients, it took only a little research to find the information concerning the uses for unicorn blood, either willingly or unwillingly given. Harry found himself watching Professor Quirrell a little more closely after learning that. He still didn’t know how Voldemort was using, or impersonating, the DADA instructor, but if he were willing to kill the purest of creatures, then he bore watching. His need for the stone was sure to be growing.

The Defense Professor took his meals in the Great Hall less and less often. Often going for days without making an appearance there, and eating very little when he did. His stutter had grown worse in class, making the lessons almost impossible to follow, and his appearance was degenerating. He seemed to be ill most of the time, with huge, dark bags under red rimmed eyes, a very pale complexion, and stooped shoulders. The instructor took to teaching his classes from behind his desk, as standing appeared to tire him more quickly. Whatever was happening to the man was certainly taking its toll.

Halloween that year fell on a Saturday. Harry tried to let himself get caught up in the expectant excitement that permeated the castle as the children were looking forward to the Halloween Feast, but he found it difficult to keep from dwelling on the anniversary of his parent’s deaths. As a result, he was especially quiet all day, completing his homework for the week well ahead of the others, much to Hermione’s surprise, before working on one of his own projects of interest.

He was currently researching wizarding law as it pertained to minors, though many of the books he selected in the library covered other aspects of law as well. He still needed to find a way to keep from being sent back to the Dursley’s at the end of the school year, and knew his friends wouldn’t understand his concern unless he explained exactly why he didn’t want to go back. Draco would be the most likely to understand, but since Harry didn’t yet know what he was going to do, he never consulted the blonde. Draco and Neville both assumed that Harry was researching his place as the future head of a family line and his duties, so when they finished their own homework, they both offered Harry information they had learned while growing up knowing they were Scions of a family house. Since this was something else he needed to learn, Harry soaked it up and took notes, as he had each time these impromptu lessons came up.

Ravenclaw House still held their wizarding culture lessons in the common room once a week, of course, and it had expanded to a corresponding information night about muggle traditions and culture. Professor Flitwick found these nights an excellent means of helping the muggle born integrate into wizard society, while informing those raised in the wizarding world about the misconceptions they had about muggles. It was the purest form of information exchange, and he was in attendance at each evening it was held. He had already informed the other Heads of House of these nights in the hope that they would initiate something similar in their own Houses. It was an idea that Professor’s MacGonagall and Sprout were all too eager to employ. Snape, while not reluctant, found himself thinking hard about how he would get his Slytherins started on such a program. Slytherins were not inflexible by nature; they couldn’t be. The topic merely needed to be introduced in the right way in order to be effective.

Wanting to give the first years the benefit of the full Halloween Feast experience, the upper year Ravenclaws were very tight lipped about the topic whenever they were asked. All they would say was to wear something with lots of pockets. As a result, the speculation amid the first years had run rampant all week, increasing their anticipation. By the time the quartet were packing up their books in the library, preparing to head down to the Great Hall, Draco was in the middle of a very long list of foods he hoped to find on the long tables. Some of his choices had Hermione alternately giggling or squealing a disgusted ‘ewwww’. Harry strongly suspected that Draco only mentioned things like haggis and skewered roasted newt eyes just to get their housemate to make that uniquely girlish sound. The funniest part was, Draco never repeated a single item the entire journey from the library to the Hall. If even half of the more appetizing half of that list made it onto the tables, they’d collapse under the combined weight of all that food.

The Hall was decorated with carved pumpkins, live bats, floating candles of white, orange and even black, and streamers in the same colours. Centerpieces of carved squash and turnip lined the centers of each long table, and the plate chargers were laid out in a pattern of alternating orange and black instead of the usual gold. As he sat down, Harry craned his neck to see everything that had changed in the Great Hall for this one night only. When it appeared, the meal consisted of a bounty of the fall harvest. Freshly baked bread, still steaming, pulled pork and whole, roast chickens and pheasant vied for space with winter vegetables, thick gravy and bowls of creamy mash. Harry’s place setting even included a small bowl of raw, diced poultry for Hedwig. The owl perched herself precariously on the edge of the table to have her treat. The children practically stuffed themselves on the excellent meal, but nearly regretted doing so when the pudding course replaced it. Elaborate desserts of every description tempted them to over eat, and practically every child filled their pockets from the bowls of wrapped candies and chocolates. Being the daughter of dentists, Hermione did try to restrain herself, but Draco convinced her to take loads that could later be shared with the boys. Harry’s near bottomless book bag well proved its worth.

The doors to the Great Hall burst open with a loud banging crash that echoed in the Great Hall. The large room fell suddenly silent as all of the students looked toward the doors just as Professor Quirrell came stumbling in, pale and shaking.

“TROLL!” he shouted. “There’s a troll in the dungeons!”

Quirrell took a few more shaking steps into the Hall, looking up to the head table, then nearly whispered. “Just thought you ought to know.”

The man then promptly collapsed to the floor.

Pandemonium broke out. Screaming, all of the younger students began scrambling from the benches, moving as a herd toward the doors in a near panic. Harry caught Draco’s sleeve, firmly holding him down on the bench even as the boy tried to get up to escape, caught up in the general panic. Across from them, Hermione and Neville were already on their feet, fighting their way down the crowded aisle.

“QUIET!” the Headmaster’s amplified voice filled the Hall, managing with that single word to slow the exodus and reduce the screaming.

It was enough of a pause for the upper years to gain some measure of control over their Housemates, and begin creating some order out of the panic. Those who had fallen were helped up even as the Headmaster addressed the students.

“All Prefects, escort your house mates to your common rooms. All students are to follow your Prefects in an orderly fashion, and remain in your Houses until further notice. Professors, you shall come with me.”

Before the Headmaster finished speaking, Harry noticed Professor Snape quickly leaving through the staff door. Turning his attention back to the main doors, he tried to see where Professor Quirrell was, but the milling students and general confusion made it impossible to see if he was still lying on the floor or not.

“Come on, Harry, we have to go,” Draco was pulling on his dorm mate’s arm, even though Harry still had a firm grip on his sleeve.

Harry’s calm had begun to have a soothing effect on Draco, and he began thinking again once the initial panic had subsided.

“He didn’t stutter,” Harry said almost too quietly for Draco to hear.

“What?”

“Quirrell. He didn’t stutter. And the Headmaster is taking all the teachers with him. He didn’t even have Madam Pomfrey stay to see if he was hurt.” Harry frowned, collecting Hedwig and getting up even as he continued to speak quietly with Draco. “I think it’s a diversion, so he can go after the stone tonight. Let’s see if he’s still laying by the doors.”

“That rat tricked us?” Draco said, relieving Harry greatly as his unreasoning fear had turned to anger and curiosity. “I should have seen it, that sly snake.”

He followed Harry up onto the bench and they both found it not only easier to quickly walk down the length of the now student-less table, but catch the odd glimpse of the area just in front of the doors. They couldn’t see the floor very clearly, but there wasn’t any kind of break in the flow of children who were leaving the Hall. Harry kept his eye firmly on the area, but there was no sign of Quirrell. At the end of the bench he stopped and turned to Draco.

“I don’t think he’s there. He left the Hall while everyone was in a panic. I’ll just bet.”

“We should go after him. Where’s Hermione?” Draco rose onto his tiptoes to better see over the heads of the other students bottle necked at the doors and at the ends of the long tables, trying to spot the distinctive head of bushy hair. He pointed. “There she is. At the Griffindor table.”

Harry cupped his mouth. Even though the Hall wasn’t as noisy as it was before, many voices still made hearing difficult. “Mione.”

It took a second call before Hermione and Neville turned to look, and quickly spotted the two boys standing on the bench. Harry pointed at the bench behind them, then made up motions with his hands. Quickly getting the idea, Hermione urged Neville up onto the bench, then looked back to Harry and Draco to see them going back up the long table, toward the head table. She followed, having to step up onto the table itself when she came across a third or fourth year who was still sitting on the bench. Suddenly, on the other side of the table, the twins appeared, using that bench to move along in the same direction as the first years.

“Oi, where are you two going?” Ron shouted to his brothers as they passed him.

“Need the loo,” both Fred and George answered as one.

Ron tried to follow, but he couldn’t get to the bench from where he stood in the center of the aisle, surrounded by his housemates on one side and Hufflepuffs on the other. He was forced to keep moving in the opposite direction.

The head table area of the Hall was clear of students, so when they hopped off the benches, the six were quickly able to group and make their way to the door the Professors used to enter the Hall. They slipped through it as quickly as they could, the echoing sounds of the Hall cut off as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Where are we off to, then?”

“The third floor, by any chance?”

The twins asked as they all jogged down the narrow hallway then emerged onto the landing of a narrow set of stairs.

“No, the fourth floor,” Harry answered, leading the way up with Draco at his side. “I promised Hagrid I wouldn’t go on the third floor, but we can see who does from the little balcony on the fourth floor.”

“Brilliant, Harry.” Hermione exclaimed, starting to huff as she climbed the stairs behind the boys.

Neville was having a harder time of it, trying to run up the stairs, but the twins behind him helped to keep him from falling too far behind. By the time they all reached the fourth floor, they were all panting for breath, but gamely tried to get to the main staircase as quickly as they could.

“This way,” Fred suddenly shouted.

“We know a short cut,” George said, holding aside a large tapestry to reveal a doorway.

With a grin, Harry and Draco doubled back and let the twins lead the way through a dimly lit priest hole. After two sharp turns and only a few minutes later, the children emerged from behind another tapestry. They were mere steps away from the very balcony they were looking for.

“Brilliant,” Harry panted, leaning against the railing and already looking toward the third floor. He could easily see the lines of students moving quickly up the main staircase. “How did you know about that?”

“Trade secret,” Fred gasped.

“We’d tell you,” George groaned.

“But then we’d have to obliviate you,” they finished together.

“I’m going to have to hang about with you blokes more often,” Draco said, trying to catch his breath as he watched the landing in question as well.

“Only if you solemnly swear,”

“That you’re up to no good.” George finished, mirroring his twins grin.

“There,” Harry suddenly exclaimed with a fierce whisper, pointing down to the third floor landing.

The distinctive purple of Quirrell’s turban made tracking the man’s hasty descent from the third floor all too easy. A minute later, Professor Snape emerged, limping. After a brief look at the students using the other staircase, he quickly followed the DADA Professor. They both disappeared into the shadows of the second floor.

“You were right Harry,” Draco said, projecting his pride at his bond mate. “He did try. It looks like my godfather stopped him.”

“And he got hurt,” Hermione said, frowning in concern.

“I hope Fluffy didn’t bite him,” Neville said.

“Fluffy?” the twins asked in unison.

“Don’t tell us that thing,”

“Has a name!”

Draco smirked at the twins. “I knew you couldn’t resist going to have a look.”

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, shaking her head. “Boys.”

As it turned out, there really had been a mountain troll let loose in the school. It had demolished a second floor girls bathroom before it was subdued by MacGonagall and Snape. Luckily, no students were hurt, but it could have turned out much worse. Quirrell had said the troll was in the dungeons, when it didn’t appear to have been there at all. Many students could have been hurt had the troll decided to go to the stairwell instead of wandering the second floor corridors.

Snape’s injury had been healed by the time the children met with him that Sunday evening. As they lay on Harry’s bed talking before going to sleep, Draco told the brunette that his godfather had been unusually forthcoming. Snape revealed that he had indeed been bitten by the Cerberus, and thanked his quick reflexes for retaining his lower leg. Fluffy hadn’t been hurt, but the entire incident proved that Hagrid hadn’t revealed the secret of getting past the three headed guardian. Quirrell was trying a variety of hexes against the giant dog when Snape had intercepted him, and Quirrell had fled rather than be discovered. Harry speculated that Voldemort was becoming desperate to retrieve the stone. He would certainly try again.

November brought with it preparations for the end of term exams, and Neville’s increased levels of stress. It was showing the most in the boy’s casting, both in class and while practicing for homework. Harry was confused. He knew Neville had the magical power to perform the spells, but he failed more often than not. Even potions were suffering as Neville’s concentration eroded. He had been doing fairly well under Draco’s tutelage, but the final straw came the day Neville’s cauldron exploded.

The Ravenclaws had heard about it within hours, and hurried to the infirmary as soon as classes allowed. They were unable to see Neville then, as he was in one of the isolation rooms with Madam Pomfrey, according to one of the medi-portraits who was watching over the infirmary. They checked again before dinner, and again after dinner when they actually found the medi-witch on duty. Madam Pomfrey told them that Neville was resting and expected to recover fully. They could visit the next day by lunch time, if they were so inclined.

They were, but found they had to wait. Neville’s grandmother was in the room with him when they arrived with a selection of lunch for their fourth. Taking pity on the trio, Pomfrey went into the isolation ward, and returned with the news that the first years could visit their year mate, with his grandmother’s permission. Relieved, the trio followed her into the room.

Augusta Longbottom had to be the most formidable woman Harry had ever encountered in his young life. Considering aunt, that was saying something. He convinced himself it was because of the vulture turned into a hat. Harry and Draco both gave her a half bow, while Hermione curtseyed as she had been taught during the Ravenclaw etiquette classes.

“House Potter greets House Longbottom,” Harry said formerly.

“House Malfoy greets House Longbottom,” Draco stated next, maintaining the formal greetings.

Not wanting to be left out, Hermione jumped in. “House Granger greets House Longbottom.”

Augusta rose from the bedside chair, and slowly sank into a curtsey. “House Longbottom greets the Houses of Potter, Malfoy and Granger. Sit and be welcome.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’m Harry, and this is Draco and Hermione.” Harry glanced to the bed, where Neville lay apparently sleeping. “We’re Neville’s friends. How is he?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine, the silly boy,” Augusta scowled a little as she also looked at Neville. Harry frowned.

“If you don’t mind, Ma’am” he asked politely, “could you tell us what happened? We only know the rumors that have been going around school.”

“He exploded his cauldron and burnt his hands and arms rather badly. The Medi-witch has him well in hand. He’ll be healed by tonight, she says.”

Harry tilted his head, still frowning. She spoke as though she had fully expected something like this to happen.

“That’s rotten luck,” Draco said. “He was doing so well in potions. He’s really got himself worked up into a state if he made that kind of mistake.”

“What do you mean, ‘worked up’, young man?” Augusta asked, frowning at Draco.

“Neville’s been having some trouble with his magic all year,” Harry answered for the blonde. “He’s been a little worried about his exams because of it.”

“Hardly surprising,” the elder woman sniffed. “He’s always been that way. My brother had to nearly drop him on his head as a baby just to make sure he wasn’t a squib, poor lad.”

“He’s not a squib,” Harry answered crossly. “He has quite a bit of magic, in point of fact. He just hasn’t been able to use it.”

“Oh?” Augusta’s eyebrow rose slowly. “And just what do you think you might know about magical ability, Mr. Potter?”

The answer was on the first year’s tongue without even having to think about it. “He needs a new wand.”

The older woman drew herself up indignantly. “I beg your pardon?”

“A new wand, Mrs. Longbottom.” Harry insisted. “One that chooses him.”

“Nonsense,” Augusta sputtered. “He honours his father by using my son’s wand. It’s perfectly suitable.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t, Ma’am. I think that Neville’s already proven that.”

They all looked to the sleeping Neville, before the confrontation continued.

“Don’t be ridiculous, young man. You really shouldn’t meddle in things you’re not old enough to understand.”

“You really shouldn’t argue with your Lord, Lady Longbottom,” Harry said with a frown. He hadn’t wanted to, but he realized that in order to get her to listen, he was going to have to ‘pull rank’, as it were. “I must insist that Neville visit Olivander as soon as it’s convenient. I have the eleven galleons with me, if that is the issue.”

The woman blinked at him, stunned and wrong footed. “I beg your pardon?”

“As the Potter Scion, it’s my sworn duty to see to Neville’s welfare, Ma’am. I intend to do so. I require your assistance.”

Augusta stared at Harry for several moments, processing what she had just heard and assessing the determined child in front of her. Finally, she bowed her head.

“As you wish, Lord Potter. It’s my honour to serve as House Longbottom. He’ll have a new wand by the end of the Yule break.”

“Thank you Lady Longbottom,” Harry said while sketching another half bow. “It’s my pleasure to unite our Houses once again.”

The elderly woman smiled briefly and gave a single nod, then sat down again.

“We brought Neville some lunch,” Draco said as he placed the plate of napkin covered sandwiches on the bedside table. “Could you tell him that we came to visit, Lady Longbottom?”

“Of course Mr. Malfoy. Thank you.”

“We should get going to our next class. Thank you for letting us visit, Lady Longbottom,” Hermione said before she curtseyed again.

“It was my pleasure, children. I’m glad that Neville has such upstanding friends.” This time she really did crack a smile.

Feeling a little better about their fourth, and determined to visit again after classes, the trio left the infirmary. Hermione, without surprise, was full of questions about the exchange and the subtext at work. Draco was in his element as he informed her of things Harry had done mostly by instinct. He had wanted to help and protect Neville, and he went about it by whatever means were at his disposal.

The quartet were together again for dinner in the infirmary, and played exploding snap for a large part of the time. Herminoe had insisted that she visit all of Neville’s Professors to collect his assignments for the day, and she promised to help him get caught up once he was out of the infirmary. The twins appeared after dinner in the Great Hall had ended, worried about their charge. They were relieved to find him well on the mend.

“We’re pretty certain that cauldron,”

“Wasn’t your fault, Nev-man.”

“Ron’s been shooting his mouth,”

“So our little bird says,”

“And he had Seamus toss some,”

“Stinging Nettles into your cauldron.”

“The rat.”

“Crowed about it all night,”

“In the dorm room.”

“I didn’t think he had enough intelligence to know what adding Stinging Nettles to that potion would do,” Hermione mused with a deep frown.

“It says so right on the page, Mione,” Harry said with a look of confusion. “that using Stinging Nettles instead of Silky Nettles could produce explosive results.”

“That’s the problem, Harry,” Draco drawled, leaning back on his elbows at the foot of the bed. “We didn’t know he could read.”

Even the twins snickered at that one while the others laughed.

“So,” Harry sobered first, feeling his way through his thoughts. “Ron tried to kill Neville?”

“We don’t think killing him was the plan,”

“But maiming or injuring was definitely the aim.”

The twins felt obligated to defend their brother, but they also recognized that his behavior was completely unacceptable. The explosion likely would have been passed off as an accident if Ron had kept his mouth shut. Now Harry felt obliged to respond to an active threat to his Vassal. He didn’t like the feeling one bit. He wasn’t sure how to handle something like this.

“Draco?”

Draco thought, stroking Hedwig’s chest feathers where she perched on the foot rail of the bed. “You could ask the Weasley family for a Weregild, I suppose.”

The twins sucked in their breaths, both looking to Harry anxiously. A Weregild for someone of prominent standing like Neville would be far too much for the Weasleys to pay. They’d end up owing a wizards dept to the Potters and the Longbottoms. Harry thought about it seriously. He knew what Draco was talking about thanks to his more recent forays into wizard law. Knowing that this was Harry’s decision, Neville didn’t say anything.

“I think,” Harry finally said, “that a Weregild is owed.”

The twins groaned.

“Ron intended to hurt Neville, and he could have been killed,” Harry went on reasonably. “I have to do this guys. He’s gone too far, and left me no choice. If I don’t respond, he’ll feel like he could do it again, or something worse.”

“I’m sorry guys,” Neville spoke up, honestly torn. “I didn’t start this thing with Ron, and I’ve been doing my best to keep it from getting worse. I don’t think Ron’s all there, mates. ”

“We know, Nev-man,”

“Ron’s gone barking.”

“We’ll write to dad tonight.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll write to him, guys. Exams are coming up in a few weeks. It can wait till after they’re over, if you two can keep a leash on your brother.”

“Leashed and muzzled,”

“We’ll do our best, Harry.”

“Thanks, guys,” Harry smiled a bit, honestly contrite. “I really am sorry about this.”

The twins shrugged, rather dejected. “We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, we meant to tell you,” Fred started, patting down his pockets.

“Yeah, Bill finally wrote back from Egypt,” George continued, pulling an envelope from his own rear pocket.

“He sent this for you. Its an idea about the vow for us to take with Neville.”

“He said it was only an idea. You can talk to the goblin he names in your letter,”

“If you want to learn about any other vows that could apply.”

Harry accepted the envelope with a smile. “Thanks guys. I’ll read it tonight and let you know as soon as I can what I decide.”

“Fair enough,” they said together.

Sensing a break in the conversation, Hermione pounced. She had loads of questions about weregilds and vows.

November 2, 1991

To: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore    
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
     Order of Merlin 1st Class
     Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot
     Supreme Mugwump of the International Order of Wizards

Upon review of the Potter estate and all of its holdings, vaults, and properties, it has been discovered that the account manager, Greenbrace, has been negligent in duty in allowing the withdrawal of monies and property by an unauthorized individual. Investigation of Greenbrace’s negligence has shown evidence of the acceptance of bribes. The personal property of Greenbrace, in its entirety, has been seized and relegated to the communal coffers of the Goblin Horde. Greenbrace has been declared an Oath Breaker, and has summarily been dismissed from his duties and executed.

In accordance with Gringott’s policies, it is therefore necessary to recall all objects taken from the vaults and properties of the Potter estate. This will take place on November 2, 1991. All vaults, assets, properties and holdings of the Potter estate are to be held in trust until the maturation of its Scion and sole heir, Harry James Potter.

All monies withdrawn from the Potter vaults, marked for the purpose of the care and upbringing of the Scion Potter, have been found to be erroneous. All such monies which had been deposited to other vaults and muggle banking accounts, and not allocated to the care and upbringing of the Scion Potter, totaling 4 million Galleons, has been confiscated on November 2, 1991.

The total of 3,430,962 Galleons, 12 Sickles and 22 Knuts has been returned to the Potter estate ancestral vault on November 2, 1991.

The remaining owed monies of 569,036 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 7 Knuts shall be garnished from the above mentioned vaults and accounts, those that remain active, as they become available.

As the sole individual to make the initial withdrawals from the Potter ancestral vault, the responsibility of accountability therefore falls to you. Distribution of said monies, fraudulently gained, is also your responsibility. You are therefore held accountable. Copies of all withdrawals, transfers, exchanges and deposits of fraudulent gain, along with the recommendations and conclusions formulated by Gringotts as a result of our investigation, has been forwarded to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Until the 28th of August, 1991, there was no record with the Ministry of Magic or Gringotts Banking System of a magical guardian of one Harry James Potter. The registration of such a position on the above mentioned date prompted the review of the Potter estate. The legal guardian of Scion Harry James Potter, sole heir of the Potter ancestral vaults, now has limited banking rights on said vaults for the sole purpose of the care and upbringing of Scion Harry James Potter. All such transactions will be closely monitored. The present guardian has been notified of their position and duties to the Potter estate, as well as the identity of the new accounts manager of the Potter estates, properties and holdings.

In accordance with Gringotts policies, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has been declared an Oath Breaker. Gringotts will no longer serve this individual’s banking needs. Since all vaults held under this name, and in the name of organizations under the preview of the above named Oath Breaker, have already been emptied in repayment to the Potter estate, they have been closed. All remaining monies owed will be garnished from the source of payments owed to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Oath Breaker. If the named Oath Breaker attempts to enter Gringotts, in any of its locations around the world, the Oath Breaker will be executed.

Thank you for choosing Gringotts for you banking needs.

Regards,

Ragnok
Chieftain of the Goblin Horde
Director of Gringotts Wizard Bank

His hands shaking, suffused with cold dread and literally feeling the blood drain from his face, Headmaster Dumbledore gently laid the letter on his desk after reading it. The Gringotts seal stared up at him, accusingly. Had it really been so much? A few galleons here, a few there. All of it spent for the greater good. Surely they will see that. He will have to make them understand that all he did, he did for the greater good of the wizarding world.

Dumbledore looked around his much diminished office. The half empty bookshelves and empty shelves and tables he had discovered upon waking this morning. Items returned to the Potter family vaults. He had meant to return them. He had only borrowed them to further his research for the greater good of all wizards. His stunned perusal ended on the empty perch by the window. It was getting a little dusty now. The elves refused to clean it. The fireplace flared with green.

“Albus, we need to have a little chat.”

Dumbledore sighed and turned in his chair to better face the floo. “Of course, Amelia. Please step through.”

“No, I think it might be better if you came here, Headmaster,” Director Bones said, then the flames returned to normal.

Dumbledore sighed again. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

“Yes, quite the pickle,” the sorting hat observed.

“Why did you place Harry Potter in Ravenclaw?” Dumbledore asked the hat, once again.

It had become a daily ritual. He would ask, the hat would ignore him. The lack of an answer only served to increase Dumbledore’s need to know. He was actually nearing the point where he wanted to rip the felt to shreds, but he reminded himself that not only would he be unable to, but that it wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to vent his frustrations. He would still end up without an answer. For now, so long as he asked, there was some hope of learning why. Dumbledore very much needed to know why, if he held any hope of guiding the young wizard into becoming the savior the wizarding world needed. The path to Darkness was short and easy, and far too tempting for any child, much less one of Harry’s potential power. That had already been proven by Riddle. If Albus wanted to keep Harry firmly in the Light, he needed to know everything about the child. That Healer had been right. It all came down to ‘why’.

The muggle clock Albus had once bought in Switzerland, so many years ago, chimed the hour. The hat remained silent.

Sighing deeply once again, Dumbledore glanced at the letter laying on his desk, then got up. He’d best change, then inform Minerva that he would be out of the castle for the day. He would arrive at the Ministry every inch the Supreme Sorcerer he was. He had impressions to make, and minds to convince. It was going to be a very long day.

…

Friday, November 6, 1991

“Come in,” MacGonagall looked up from marking the practice O.W.L. exams she had given her fifth year Transfiguration students when the door opened. “Ah, Mr. Finnegan. Please come in and sit down.”

More than a little confused as to why the Professor had asked him to come to her office at the end of the day, the first year Griffindor made himself comfortable on the chair on the other side of MacGonagall’s desk. He watched as she finished marking the parchment she was working on, then set the stack and quill to one side. When his Head of House folded her hands on her desk and regarded him with a stern eye, Finnegan gulped.

“I see two choices for you, Mr. Finnegan,” MacGonagall began, “and you had best think about them very carefully. Your first choice is to tell me the complete truth when I ask you three questions. Your second choice is to tell me right now that you intend to lie to me, and I will simply save us both some trouble by deducting all of Griffindor’s points and assign you detention every evening for the rest of the school year. That will be on top of writing home to your parents with a few choice recommendations.”

Seamus paled and started to shake. Those weren’t choices at all. He frantically tried to think of why MacGonagall would be so angry, and why he would be in trouble. Maybe he’d better hear the questions? He had an idea what this was about, but…. He desperately worked some saliva into his mouth.

“I’ll tell you the truth, of course, Professor.”

“Good,” the Deputy Headmistress gave a single nod. “Your first question. Did you put Stinging Nettles in the cauldron of Neville Longbottom during potions class on Monday morning?”

Finnegan sucked in a choking breath. This was about the cauldron? Shite, shite, shite. He was in for it. How did she find out? Ron had promised! Wide eyed, he considered his choices now. Lie and risk the points being lost and becoming a House pariah, or tell the truth? He gulped heavily, and made his choice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you do this at the request of Ronald Weasley?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you regret what happened to Mr. Longbottom, or do you regret getting caught?”

Shaking in earnest now, Seamus was already nodding at the first part of the question. He only waited for her to finish out of politeness before he burst out. “I didn’t want to do it at all, Professor, but Ron said that he’d tell all the girls about how he caught me wanking in the shower if I didn’t do it. He said they’d all laugh and call me a pervy dirty wanker. I was only going to give it a pinch but Ron shoved a whole handful in my hand. I lost as much as I could on the floor but I knew it was too much. I’m sorry, Professor, I swear I’m sorry. I’m the one what sent him the owl order from Honeydukes because I was sorry. Took all of me allowance I was saving for Yule, but it was worth it. I know it was wrong. I’ll take whatever punishment I’ve got coming, Professor.”

Fat tears rolled down the Irish boy’s face and his chair nearly rattled against the stone floor, he was shaking so badly. MacGonagall’s stern visage had softened a little as she listened to the boy’s outburst. She conjured a handkerchief and passed it across the desk. While the first year mopped his face, she considered her own choices. When Finnegan had largely composed himself, she told him her decision.

…

Harry sighed, rubbed his eyes, and passed the corrected letter back to Draco to approve. He leaned back against his pillows, watching the canopy and drumming his fingers on the lap desk Draco had let him borrow.

“That’s got it, Harry,” Draco said, passing the parchment back to him. “It’s perfect, now. Hermine really gave it the perfect touch.”

“How do you remember all this stuff, Draco? My head is going to explode.” Harry searched amid the parchments on his other side for a perfect one to use as the final copy.

“I’ve been learning all this stuff for years and years, Harry. You’ve only been at it for a couple of months. I think you’re doing remarkably well.”

Harry only snorted while copying the letter out in his best possible hand. At least he could write well with a quill. He’d even been practicing a few of the curly things on his signature.

Draco groaned, rolling to his back. “Please, for the love of Merlin, stop worrying Harry. You’re making my stomach all knotted up.”

“I can’t help it Draco,” Harry mumbled, trying to concentrate on his writing, rather than on what he was writing. “I keep having to do all these grown up stuff and I’m only a kid. I’ve never been allowed to be a kid. I don’t even think I know how to be a kid.”

…

November 11, 1991

Arthur Septimus Weasley
House of Weasley
The Burrow
Addressed to the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
Ministry of Magic
London, UK

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you to inform you of the activities of your youngest son, Ronald Bilious Weasley. It is my understanding that you have already been informed of his previous actions against my Vassal, Neville Francis Longbottom, and the steps taken to correct his behavior. It is my deepest regret that events have progressed to the point where I must write to you personally.

On Monday, November 4, Neville was the victim of an exploding cauldron in his morning Potions class. I have taken the week to investigate this incident. The cause, through the confession by Ronald overheard by a year mate, turned out to be the addition of Stinging Nettles to the potion Neville had been brewing. Ronald had convinced his dorm mate, Seamus Finnegan, to add the nettles to Neville’s cauldron through the pressure of blackmail. This was confirmed by Professor MacGonagall who heard Mr. Finnegan’s full confession. Mr. Finnegan will pay his restitution to House Longbottom in the new year. I convinced the Professor that since this was now a matter under my family’s preview, I would take the responsibility of informing you of Ronald’s participation in this incident.

Luckily, no other students had been hurt in the resulting explosion. Neville suffered severe burns to his hands, arms and face, and was kept in the infirmary to recover for two days. Had his brewing partner, Dean Thomas, not pulled him out of the way as quickly as he did, Neville could well have been killed by the pieces of cauldron that had been ejected. Dean has already been rewarded for his bravery and quick thinking. The Potter family owes him a dept. Neville’s grandmother and guardian, Augusta Longbottom, doesn’t yet know of the true cause of the explosion, and continues to believe that it was accidental.

I, however, know differently.

This incident proves Ronald’s lack of remorse for his previous actions against my Vassal, and continues to show disrespect in word and deed. I’m afraid that this is a situation I can no longer tolerate. Without consequences, Ronald will never learn the value of honor.

Your twin sons, George and Fred, have proven themselves to be of outstanding moral fiber, and have taken upon themselves the roles of squire to Neville. If you would allow them to remain at Hogwarts for the holiday, it is my intention to formalize these positions during the Yule break. You have much to be proud of in these two sons, and they uphold the Weasley family honour with aplomb.

I will also mention Percy as a son to be proud of, as he has done his best to uphold the Weasley family honour in his efforts to curtail your youngest son, Ronald. I’m afraid that his efforts have proven fruitless, however.

This gives me no pleasure, Mr. Weasley, but your youngest son has left me with no choice.

As Scion, sole heir, and sole survivor of the Potter Line, I, Harry James Potter, request the presence of the following individuals at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on Saturday the 21st of December  at 2:00 pm.

Septimus Bilius Weasley
Arthur Septimus Weasley
Molly Lucretia Weasley
Ronald Bilius Weasley
Any other family members you deem appropriate.

On that date, I will hear and witness the fealty oaths of Mr. Fred Fabian Weasley and Mr. George Gideon Weasley to Neville Francis Longbottom.

On that date, I, on behalf of House Longbottom, will exact Weregild from House Weasley, in the name of Ronald Bilius Weasley, as a consequence of the attempted murder of Neville Francis Longbottom.

Should the Weasley family chose not to be in attendance, this charge will be formalized and forwarded to the DMLE.

Once again, this gives me no pleasure, Mr. Weasley. I would prefer to keep this as a matter between our Houses, as I hope that Ronald can be made to see the error he has made in choosing his current path. Like myself, he is a child, who can learn to grow into an honourable man.

I look forward to meeting you,

Harry James Potter

House of Potter

Arthur Weasley rubbed his face hard, then read the letter again. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t say what he thought it said. He read it a fourth time, but not a single word changed. He sat, dumbfounded, for nearly twenty minutes before he decided on what he had to do. Arthur cleared his desk and gathered the parchment, being careful to refold it exactly before tucking it into an inside pocket of his robes. Getting up, he looked around the divider into the next cubicle.

“Joe, I’m heading out early today. Can you cover for me?”

“Early? You, Weasley? What’s the occasion?”

“Bit of a family emergency, I’m afraid. Not something I can talk about right now.”

“Well, best be off then. Hope it’s nothing too dire.”

Arthur bid another of his coworkers good day as he quickly made his way out of the department, then up to the Atrium floor to use the floo network. He really needed some help with this one. Besides, this was something that the Head of the family would certainly need to know, especially since he was also being summoned. Tossing floo powder into the flames, he said clearly and distinctly “Weasley Warren.”

As the flames whisked him away, Arthur fervently hoped that he was far too big for his father to spank.

…

Dumbledore had been out of the castle every day for the past two weeks, and Harry hoped that trend would continue. The less he saw of the Headmaster, the better he liked it. He certainly didn’t want the added stress of dealing with the elderly man on top of studying for his term exams. Unless something else unexpected came up, Harry intended to study as hard as Hermione wanted him to. The only other things he needed to keep an eye on were Quirrell, Voldemort, Hagrid, his correspondence, his Healer’s visit, his potions regime, Draco, Hedwig, Neville, his occlumency lessons, his Family lessons, his independent studies and projects, and…. and he was tired.

Harry was really looking forward to the Yule break just for the chance to sleep late. Only four more weeks to go. He would need to see if one of the upper years would transfigure a calendar for him so he could start marking off the days. Harry thought he’d really enjoy that.

November sped into December as the entire school geared itself toward the end of term exams. The Headmaster did reappear, but he had certainly changed. There was no longer any twinkle in the blue eyes, and he wore a constantly pensive expression. Draco suggested prune juice, which had David Vecchio laughing for two days straight, every time he spotted the blonde first year. Apparently the Vecchio matriarch had a problem with incontinence. The entire Ravenclaw table erupted into laughter on the day that Dumbledore spat out the contents of his goblet at breakfast. The contents looked suspiciously like prune juice. Harry doubted he was the only one who noticed the Weasley twins exchange a high five with Dean Thomas, over at the Griffindor table.

The worst part of those weeks was the blizzard. For six days straight it did nothing but snow and all the students were confined to the castle. It was near torture for Harry, who loved the outdoors and fresh air. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d take a broom to some remote part of the castle and fly up and down the corridors, just for the illusion of freedom. Of course, he’d need to find the broom shed somewhere at the Quidditch Pitch, which was likely under ten feet of snow. Draco, on the other hand, loved it. All he could talk about was how grand it was to have so much snow for Yule. The countryside around the Manor didn’t get nearly as much. It was especially exciting for the blonde first year because he had finally heard back from his father. Draco had asked for, and received, permission to remain at Hogwarts for the Yule break. He was ecstatic.

Harry was too, to be honest. He couldn’t bear the thought of Draco going home for so long. At this point, he didn’t believe that he would be able to be separated from Draco for more than a few hours. So far, four had been the limit before he was forced to seek out the blonde, and they were both in the castle. Having him so far away didn’t bear thinking about. Healer Davidson assured him that the bond would settle in time, and they’d be able to spend more time apart, regardless of distance, but Harry wasn’t looking forward to it. He liked spending as much time as possible with the mini aristocrat. Away from his father’s influence, Draco was proving to be a boy with a fine head on his shoulders and a dry, sharp wit that often had Harry in stitches.

For all the studying and revision they had done for the exams, the tests themselves actually went far better than Harry had hoped. He really wanted to do well, as he had no idea of exactly what he was capable of if he applied himself. He was looking forward to the results. The only one he might probably have had trouble with, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. He continued to have problems in that class. He had managed to convince Professor Flitwick to give him his report instead of sending it to the Dursleys, as they would be away for the entire holiday. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. They often went to aunt Marge’s for a few days over the Christmas holidays. Without having to worry about leaving Harry behind at Privet Drive, they may well go for the entire holiday.

For himself, the top of Harry’s to do list was sleep. As he placed his very last full stop on his very last exam of the very last day before holiday, it was all Harry could think about. His bed. The pillows, the comfortable duvet, the soft mattress, the way the curtains closed to let in only just enough light to see by and left him feeling cocooned and enclosed….. Draco’s elbow put an abrupt stop to Harry’s daydream, just in time to hand in his exam to Professor Snape, who was walking up and down the rows of desks to collect the booklets. Harry let himself lean against his dorm mate while he waited for the class to be dismissed. It was tempting, but he didn’t believe he’d be able to relax enough to sleep in class. Finally, Snape dismissed them, and Harry got up when Draco did, accepted his quill and ink pot which made their way into his bag on automatic pilot, and followed the blonde from the classroom.

“Can we go to bed, now, Draco?” he asked once they were in the hallway.

“Don’t you want dinner first, Harry?” Hermione asked from his left.

Harry nearly jumped. He hadn’t noticed her moving up to join them.

“I don’t really need to eat, do I?” he complained while rubbing an eye.

Draco yawned.

With a concerned frown, Hermione looked both of the boys over as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeons.

“Perhaps a nap before dinner, then?” she suggested. They both looked so very tired.

The boys nodded in unison, and willingly followed the bushy haired beacon up the stairs to the Aerie. Harry hadn’t really given it much thought before, but maybe his extreme tiredness was due as much to Draco’s as his own. They seemed to share so much that it was sometimes hard to tell. When he found himself rubbing his chest, he gave Draco a sharper look. The blonde looked peaked and pale, and his breathing was more labored than normal from climbing the stairs, as was Harry’s. Was one of them getting sick? Great. That was the last thing they needed.

They finally reached the Aerie, and after thanking Hermione, Harry lead Draco up to their dorm. The stairs had never looked so long before. Not ever. They finally made it to the top and inside, and it was all Harry could do to make sure that Draco tipped over onto his bed. He pulled off the other boy’s shoes then got some parchment out of his bag. Using the ever full quill on Draco’s bedside table, Harry wrote three short notes. One to Professor Flitwick, one to Professor Snape, and one to Healer Davidson.

He took Hedwig to the window and made sure she had all three notes secure before telling her where she was going. He opened the window to a blast of cold air that billowed the bed curtains. The snowy owl quickly took off, heading down first to find Professor Flitwick. Closing the window, Harry stowed his bag in his trunk, heeled off his shoes, then crawled into bed beside Draco, fully clothed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He next woke while he was being moved to the infirmary. Groggy with sleep, his chest aching fiercely and his sinuses stuffed to the point where he could barely breathe, he was in a sudden panic.

“Draco!” He reached frantically for his bond mate. He could feel him, inside, but couldn’t see him.

He wasn’t in bed, and was in fact floating. He had no idea where he was. His waving hand suddenly connected with overheated flesh, and Harry gripped hard, recognizing Draco. The two boys clung to each other. Contented again, he fell back asleep.

Disjointed impressions, voices, being too hot to be able to stand his own skin, shuddering and shaking, teeth chattering with the cold, Draco, always Draco, holding tight to him to keep him close, frightening dreams of being unable to find him, a crushing weight on his chest, preventing him from taking full breaths, the comforting, familiar wash of Davidson’s magic over his skin, unfamiliar magic trying to intrude, horrifying nightmares of being chased by Quirrell’s turban that wore a frightening face, loud voices, shouting, a stab of agony at the very heart of him, NO! Draco don’t go! A burning sensation over his whole body, Feeling his bond mate slip farther away from him, deep inside, and his magic latching onto him desperately, not letting him go, needing to do more but unable as his reserves dried up. Floating between dreams, voices, both real and imagined and unable to tell one from the other. His wand was singing. Soothing, comforting and care free. He slept and his dreams eased.

“…rry…. up…. drink…. Harr…… nee…. Har…… up….come……. it…. dri….good… ” Liquid silver, cooling and invigorating, sliding down his throat. Into his limbs. Thirstily, he drank more, desperate for something to ease his parched throat. “that..good boy. That’s it.”

“Draco,” he gasped between sips.

“Do….rry. Right here, Har… he’s right here.  You di… good…Drink. Good boy.” More of that wonderful, soothing coolness to ease his throat, and Harry drank thirstily, his head starting to clear a little. “Are you with me, Harry?”

“Healer?” Harry croaked, trying to blink his eyes open, but they were gummy and uncooperative. A cool, damp cloth passed over his eyes, and he tried again. Blurry, he could just make out Healer Davidson.

“I’m right here, lad. Right here. You did good, Harry. Draco is right here, you’re both fine.” A comforting hand, smoothing his hair.

“Don feelso good…” Harry rasped, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He couldn’t feel the other under a warm weight tight to his side. He could hear Healer chuckle.

“No, don’t suppose you do, son. You’re on the mend, though. Both of you. Can you drink a little more for me?”

Harry nodded, already reaching for the soothing cup, and he drank. He had never tasted anything so good, not ever.

“Wha..appened?” he asked as soon as he was able.

“shhh, sleep now. You need rest, Harry.” Again that comforting hand, smoothing his hair. It was relaxing, and felt so good.

He fought sleep for just a moment longer. “Stay?”

“Of course, Harry.” Healer’s soothing voice. “I’ll be right here.”

Snuggling closer to Draco, feeling his bond mate’s arms tighten around him, Harry went back to sleep.

Voices woke him next, whispering nearby. Harry was able to make out the occasional word while he tried to clear the fog of sleep from his mind.

“… you sure..be alright?”

“They bot….they’re stro…”

A touch on his head, unfamiliar, smoothing his hair.

“He’s so … ttle. Thought .. be bigger.”

“..been through a lot, Mr.,” that was Healer, his voice instantly recognized and soothingly familiar. “When he’s ready, he’ll tell you.”

“I’ve missed so much,” unfamiliar voice, still soothing in its own way, but a stranger.

“I think we both have,” a woman’s voice, melodic and soft. Harry could feel Draco’s deep contentment when she spoke. “Are you certain about the bond, Healer?”

“Very certain, Madame Malfoy,” Goldleaf? “Without it, they both would likely have died.”

A soft sob, and Draco’s spike of worry, soon soothed. The brief alarm was enough to wake Harry fully, and he moaned a little as he stretched.

“They’re waking,” the stranger’s voice and a shift of air from beside him.

Harry tried to blink open his eyes, but it was too bright and made them water. He groaned, trying to turn away from the light.

“Easy, Harry,” Healer and a cool, damp cloth wiping his eyes gently. “Just take it slow.”

“Like this?” the woman’s voice from Harry’s other side, and he felt Draco turn toward it.

“… mum…?”

“Yes, my dragon, I’m here,” her voice sounded so glad. Draco’s content and happiness increased.

Harry squinted into the light, wanting to see what was going on around him. Blurry shapes gradually resolved themselves into Healer, right beside him, and a stranger hovering over his shoulder. Turning his head, Harry smiled to see Draco tight to his side, and the beautiful woman from the train station smiling down at the blonde, soothing his hair and wiping his face gently with a cloth. Goldleaf stood beside her, and gave Harry a nod. Though he felt weak as a kitten, Harry gave him a small smile and nod back.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Healer asked as he cast a diagnostic charm on both boys.

“Don..kno..” Harry mumbled, yawning and trying to knuckle his eyes at the same time. “Wha..appened?”

“You and Draco have been very sick,” Healer said, checking Harry carefully with cooling fingers at his wrist. “One of  you got a lung infection, we think Draco, and your bond allowed you to share it with him.”

“Your magic was very insistent, young Scion,” Goldleaf said. “It kept Scion Malfoy here, and gave him the strength to fight.”

“Unfortunately,” Healer Davidson took up the narrative, looking Harry straight in the eye, “it also deplete your magic reserves which were trying to fight the infection as well. You’re magically exhausted, as well as physically. We nearly lost you both, Harry.”

“We nearly died?” Draco whispered beside him in disbelief.

“You’re going to be fine, my dragon,” Mrs. Malfoy insisted softly, stroking his hair. She turned to Goldleaf. “Can we move him to a separate bed, now?”

Goldleaf actually growled at her, making her recoil slightly, even as Draco and Harry cried out at the same time while shifting closer together. “NO!”

“No, Madame Malfoy,” Goldleaf insisted sternly. “You fail to grasp what you have witnessed yourself.”

“But it’ so.. unseemly.” Mrs. Malfoy wrinkled her nose slightly.

“You are placing adult ideas on an innocent connection,” Goldleaf growled.

“Narcissa,” the stranger spoke up, finally, “that’s enough.”

“But..”

“Mum, please don’t..”

“Enough,” he insisted, staring her down until she dropped her eyes, and her head.

“Yes, my Lord Black,” she said softly, then returned to stroking Draco’s hair.

Harry couldn’t let himself relax until Draco’s alarm had completely dissipated. He then turned to the stranger with a slight frown, studying him closely.

“Black?”

Davidson got up to allow the stranger to use the chair he had been sitting in, seeing Harry’s need to find out who this man was. The man sat almost as an afterthought, his hand warm on Harry’s when he reached out to gently clasp it.

“I’m your godfather, Harry,” he said, “Sirius Black.”

Harry studied the man closely. He looked gaunt, like his skin was relearning the shape of his body, but otherwise healthy enough. Long, wavy brown hair, a mustache and a bit of a beard just under his lower lip. His eyes were warm, though, when they looked at Harry. Warm and happy, if a little haunted.

“I’m glad you’re free,” Harry finally offered, to break the ice.

Black chuckled, the smile transforming his face completely. It made Harry want to smile back.

“I’m glad too,” he said. “Thank you, and Draco too, for catching Pettigrew. You don’t know what getting to finally meet you means to me, Harry.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so just blinked up at the man who was studying him just as closely in return.

“Merlin,” Black burst into a chuckle, reaching out with his other hand to pass a thumb over Harry’s eyebrow. Harry did his best to not flinch back from the touch. “Just look at those eyes. They’re your mother’s eyes.”

Brown eyes suddenly misted, and Black withdrew his hand even as he squeezed Harry’s captured one. He smiled a bit awkwardly. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m sorry. We’ll get to know each other slowly.”

Harry nodded a bit hesitantly. “Okay. What should I call you?”

“Anything but serious,” It seemed to be a reflex reply, an old joke that had gone stale, though Davidson chuckled a little. “You can call me anything you like, Harry. Sirius will do.”

“We’re cousins, aren’t we?” Draco asked in the awkward moment from beside him, to Harry’s relief.

“We are, Master Draco,” Sirius said with forced joviality. “I knew your mother as a girl, though she was a couple of years older than me.”

“Not that many,” Mrs. Malfoy said with a sniff, though she was smiling a little.

The adults were trying, but the awkwardness just seemed to increase. Harry and Draco yawned in unison. That seemed to be the Healer’s cue.

“That’s probably enough for now,” Davidson said gently into the pregnant silence. “They still need a lot of rest. We should let them sleep.”

Harry took the time to notice that he and Draco were in the larger isolation room of the infirmary, while the Healers were urging their visitors out the door with promises of tea. When the door finally closed on Mrs. Malfoy and Black, Draco was nearly asleep again and Harry was yawning. The two Healers made sure their patients were comfortable.

“Where’s Hedwig?” Harry asked Davidson while the man tucked the top sheet more securely around him.

“She’s off with a new friend,” the Healer said with a mysterious smile. “I’m sure she’ll be back when you wake next, Harry.”

Even though he could feel her content, Harry still nodded in relief to know that she was alright. It looked to be another winter storm when he had sent her out. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. Something else was niggling at the back of his mind, while he snuggled under the blanket Davidson and Goldleaf was smoothing over them.

“Something else happened, didn’t it?” he finally asked around a yawn. “When we were sick.”

“We’ll talk about it later, Harry,” Davidson said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed to stroke Harry’s hair. “When you wake up, son. I promise.”

Content with that for now, Harry only nodded with a small smile, still fighting sleep. Healer always kept his promises. “You stayed.”

It was important that he acknowledge that, and he watched Davidson smile softly down at him. “I stayed. I’ll always stay, son, whenever you need me.”

Son. Harry let his eyes close and allowed Draco’s slumber to drag him under, still smiling.

…

Every head in the gaily decorated Great Hall turned to the doors when they opened to admit Narcissa Malfoy and Sirius Black. Curiously enough, they had all opted to sit at the Ravenclaw table. All of the Professors, including Dumbledore, took up the end closest to the Head Table. Augusta and Neville Longbottom came next, flanked by the Weasley twins. Opposite them sat Augusta’s sister in law, Enid, her husband Algie, and their family. The remaining Weasleys took up the next section of table, followed by the students who were staying in the castle over Yule. At the very extreme end of the long table sat a small group of four goblins, including Ragnok. Unable to get permission to stay at such a late date, Hermione was forced to leave on the train with the other students going home, though she wrote to Neville every day.

“How are they?” Dumbledore asked as soon as the cousins were close enough.

Some shifting happened along the bench, and space opened up between Algie and Professor Snape. Black answered while helping Narcissa get seated.

“They’re out of the woods and woke up for a little while,” he paused at the sighs of relief that swept the table. “They were both talking and lucid. The Healers both say that they will make a full recovery.”

Everyone began talking quietly to each other in relief. Ignoring the sidelong dark looks Snape was sending him, Black walked down the length of the table and around to the other side. He took a seat next to Ragnok, then held his head in his hands after propping his elbows on the table. Ragnok left him be for a while, savoring his specially prepared meal. The conversation along the rest of the table gradually rose to normal volume.

“How do you find the human healer, Lord Black?” the Chieftain finally asked, quietly, when he was sure the rest of the table was otherwise occupied.

After a few moments, Sirius lowered his hands to fold his arms on the table, staring down at the aged and smooth grain of its surface. “He’s a good man.”

“He is,” the goblin agreed.

“He’s been good for me. Him and the Mind Healer.”

Ragnok nodded. He had personally recommended the Mind Healer when Black first showed up at the bank, after his release. The man had been in no shape to handle his own shave, much less his estate, at the time.

“He’s been very good for Harry,” Black whispered after another moment.

“He has,” Ragnok also agreed with this assessment. Davidson had made a few mistakes, as all humans do, but by and large he had Goldleaf’s approval. That was good enough for the Chieftain.

“I’m not well enough to take care of him yet, am I?” Black asked, still nearly whispering.

“That isn’t for me to say,” Ragnok responded. “I’m not a Healer, Lord Black.”

Looking around him, Sirius finally pulled a charger and set of cutlery closer to him, then reached for a cup and a goblet. Bowls and a platter of food appeared on the table, along with a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a pot of tea with the expected cream, sugar and lemon slices. He began to fill his plate.

“I should have killed him,” Black growled after he had chewed and swallowed his first bite of food in nearly two days.

“He’ll be just fine where he is,” Ragnok assured the newly minted Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. “At least, until I get back to the bank.”

The grin he showed Sirius was anything but amusing, but Black found himself grinning back anyway, and tucked into his meal with a vengeance.

“I hope you let me watch,” he finally said.

Ragnok only grinned all the harder. “There are many ways to hurt a rich man.”

Sirius nearly barked his laughter.

…

“What day is it?” Harry asked with a sudden frown of consternation. He couldn’t figure it out.

He and Draco were sitting up in bed, eating a rich broth with crusty slices of fresh bread from lap trays. As hungry as he was, Harry found it slow going. He kept pausing to make sure Draco was eating enough. His need to see to Draco’s welfare was overwhelming. The only problem was, Draco felt exactly the same way about him. It would have been funny if Harry didn’t know they had almost died.

“It is Monday, December the 23rd,” Goldleaf answered.

Harry stared at the diminutive Healer, gobsmacked, while Draco hurriedly counted on his fingers.

“Five days?” he exclaimed. “We’ve been sick for five days?”

“No,” the Healer insisted while pointing at their abandoned meals. “You’ve been sick for four days. This is the first day of your recovery.”

Draco frowned while Harry shoved the spoon in his mouth when Goldleaf’s stern look turned to him. “Oh. How many recovery days will we have?”

“As many as it takes,” the goblin replied. “Eat, young Scion. You need your strength.”

Satisfied that both boys were eating at a fair pace, Goldleaf turned back to his box of rune stones, making certain they were in their proper order. Harry guessed that it had taken a lot of stones to heal both of them. The door opened to admit Healer Davidson, who brought a visitor.

“Hedwig!” Harry’s smile was huge, nearly matched by Draco who had called the bird at the exact same moment.

The owl flew from the Healer’s arm to Harry’s, and clicked her beak and churred, fussing over the boys with half spread wings as much as they both fussed over her.

“I just got them eating,” Goldleaf frowned up at Davidson, who only returned an unrepentant smile and half shrug.

“They’ll recover more quickly, and eat better, if everything is as they need it.”

Giving a noncommittal grunt, Goldleaf turned moodily back to his stones. Sure enough, Hedwig soon got the boys back to eating while she alternately preened herself and scolded from her perch on the headboard.

“What happened with Neville and the Weasleys?” Harry asked seriously when he couldn’t eat any more. “I missed the day I wanted to do the oaths.”

“They’re all still here, in the castle,” Davidson answered, settling into a chair on Harry’s side of the bed. “They’ve been worried, and insisted that they could wait for you to feel better.”

Draco snorted. “I doubt very much if Ron is so glad to wait.”

“We’re feeling better now,” Harry said reasonably, “why not invite them in here and we’ll do it today?”

Davidson was already shaking his head before Harry finished. The boy frowned.

“But you know this is important, Healer.”

“I know, Harry,” Davidson said, sitting forward. “I know it’s a strain on your magic to make the Weregild wait now that you’ve called for it, but expending magic in order to exact the Weregild will do you even less good, right now. At least wait until tomorrow.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead while Davidson took the finished trays away.

“Okay,” he finally allowed, reluctantly, “but what about Neville and the twins? We won’t be using any magic to witness the oaths.”

Davidson and Goldleaf exchanged long looks, seeming to have an entire conversation with their eyes. His human Healer turned back to Harry with a frown.

“It’s that important to you, to see it done today?”

Hopeful that it would be allowed, Harry nodded even as Draco spoke up.

“Believe me, I could do with a little less of Harry’s worry cluttering up my magnificent aura.”

Gasping in mock outrage, Harry smacked a giggling Draco in the arm, then burst into giggles himself. “I’m not that bad.”

“Yes,” laughed his bond mate, “yes you are. Worry wart.”

“Okay, okay,” a laughing Davidson relented. “I’ll go get them, but I want you two out in the main ward for this.”

Perhaps a little too eager to get out of the confines of the isolation room, Harry and Draco waited with some impatience while Goldleaf set up a bed for them in the main ward, with Madam Pomfrey’s help, then returned with warm, fluffy dressing gowns and slippers for both boys to wear over their pajamas. The goblin Healer and the Medi-witch helped the two boys shuffle into the ward. The short trip left both boys low on energy and much subdued, and Harry was forced to admit that his Healer was right. They really weren’t very strong at all, yet. Pure stubbornness had gotten he and Draco the last couple of feet to the bed, and Harry was grateful to be sitting, panting, while he was tucked in securely. Hedwig stationed herself on the head rail, between the boy’s heads, and fussed in her usual way.

Davidson returned with a crowd. The entire Weasley clan filed in behind the Healer, followed by the Longbottoms, then Narcissa, Black, Snape, Ragnok and his Guard, Flitwick, MacGonagall and the Headmaster. Harry’s jaw dropped a little when people kept streaming in the doors of the infirmary. He could well see why his Healer wanted to use the much larger main ward.

Harry had never been so intimidated in his young life, as seeing all the people who trooped into the Infirmary. He felt horribly vulnerable and exposed, sitting in a bed wearing only pajamas and a dressing gown, without any idea of who many of the people were. He squared his shoulders, doing his best to hide his fear and the weakness that had his hands shaking where they gripped the edge of the blanket. He may have been very ill, but he refused to show weakness to all of these strangers.

“Mother?”

Narcissa Malfoy swept across the floor of the infirmary to her son’s side. A well-manicured hand lightly stroked his hair once.

“My son. It pleases me greatly to see you recovering so quickly.” Only the tiniest of smiles touched her lips, but Harry happened to be in a position to see the relief and joy that warmed her eyes.

“I’m glad to see you, Mother,” Draco was smiling up at her, then he sat up straighter and half turned to Harry. “Mother, may I present Harry James Potter, Scion and sole Bearer of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. Harry, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of the Noble House of Malfoy.”

Sitting up straighter, Harry flicked a quick glance to the rest of the milling crowd, a little relieved to see Healer already moving into position at his side. He gave Draco’s mother his full attention then, summoning all he had learned so far in those etiquette classes.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lady Malfoy,” he said with a slight nod, since he wasn’t able to give the half bow required. “I’m glad you were here for Draco when he woke up.”

“I would be nowhere else when my son needs me,” Narcissa replied as she dipped a half curtsey. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Potter.”

“I thought that was a dream,” Draco nearly whispered to Harry, his slight smile nearly bursting with renewed enthusiasm while he watched his mother seat herself on the chair provided beside the bed.

While pleased for Draco, Harry found himself shifting against the pillows propping him up. He was growing slowly, yet steadily uncomfortable, and couldn’t help another glance toward the group of red heads before his attention was drawn to Neville at the end of the bed. Healer Davidson must have told everyone that he wanted things done fairly quickly. Neville carried a very formal air, and bowed to Harry.

“My Liege Lord, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom seeks to take on two squires,” the eleven year old Griffindor said, just as rehearsed. “Will you grant permission and witness our vows?”

“What’s this?” the Headmaster said, stepping forward with a frown even as Harry opened his mouth to give his answer.

Ragnok firmly preempted anything that Harry or anyone else might have said. “There is to be no interruptions. There will be a time to speak, Headmaster.”

Disgruntled, the Headmaster looked from the goblin Chieftain to Harry, then took a step back to watch with a frown.

Turning back to Neville, Harry again gathered himself. “My Vassal, the responsibility of a squire is not small. Are you prepared to accept the services of two?”

“I am so prepared, my Lord.”

Harry felt his magic stir as the ritual began in earnest. “Very well. It would be my pleasure to see you and your House well served. Call the two prospective squires forward.”

“If you would serve the House of Longbottom, I call to me Fred Fabian Weasley and George Gideon Weasley. Take a knee and prepare your hearts and your oaths.”

Fred and George separated from the group of red heads, moving in tandem to the end of the bed, then taking a knee in front of Neville. Each held up a hand, George his right, and Fred his left, to lay together palm to palm. Neville clasped both hands between his own. The ambient magic of the room snapped into place and swelled, centered on the trio.

“Are there any here to would object to these so named, to becoming squires of House Longbottom?” Neville asked the room at large.

Harry immediately looked to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster only stood stiffly, his lips thinned in what Harry believed to be anger. When the silence lasted for several seconds, Neville continued the ceremony.

“Do the parents of these children give their consent to see them squired to House Longbottom?”

A man and woman from the line of red heads stepped forward. The woman looked inordinately pleased and proud,

“Their mother and I give our consent,” Arthur said before urging Molly back into line. She had been walking on clouds since he told her about the twins being squired, and planning renovations to the Burrow.

“Speak now your oaths of fealty,” Neville said, looking from one twin to the other, perfectly serious and solemn. “Speak from the heart, and speak true, for Magic listens and knows the deepest secrets of all men.”

“Here I do swear by magic, mouth and wand,” both Fred and Geroge said in unison, “to be your man. To come and to go, do and say as you shall command until we break this bond, death takes me, magic dies, or I am permitted to elevate my own House. I and my descendants do swear fealty to House Longbottom. So say I. So mote it be.”

As they spoke, a glow began to form between Neville’s hands.

“For my part,” Neville took up his part of the oath, “I do swear to give you, your spouses and your offspring, support in goods and wisdom. To give protection to you, your spouses and your offspring. To support your causes and to be a worthy Liege Lord until we break this bond. House Longbottom accepts the fealty of Fred and George Weasley, and their descendants. So say I. So mote it be.”

Neville’s hands now also glowed with a bright nimbus, binding the three boys together.

“The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter,” Harry said, prompted to the right moment by the peaking surge of magic in the room, “bears witness to these oaths, and finds them good and true. What Magic has bound, may no man attempt to break, or forfeit all that Magic grants in Her ancient wisdom. So mote it be.”

At his final word, there was an audible, thunder like clap as the magic in the room suddenly dissipated. Harry’s hand found Draco’s under the cover of the blanket and squeezed. He was trying so hard to deny the call of his magic to finish what he had sworn to do, so he bit his lip while he watched Fred and George stand with wide grins. Their bearing had subtly altered. They now stood tall and proud. Taking position on either side of Neville, all three bowed to Harry, then turned to return to the group lined at the feet of the beds opposite, next to Augusta.

The red headed woman, Harry noticed, didn’t look quite so proud any more. In fact, she looked really angry and was glaring at Neville. Ron was whispering with a taller red head who wore a dragon tooth ear ring.

“What does it mean, though?”

Ron’s question, harshly whispered loud enough to catch his attention, made Harry’s magic flare. Watching Ron had been making him very uncomfortable, but the sound of his voice really set him off. The first year Ravenclaw actually hiccuped as he tried to suppress it again, but it was a losing battle. Weak as it was, his magic wouldn’t be denied.

“Ronald Billius Weasley, step forward,” came out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it, propelled to volume by his magic.

“Harry, no, not now.” Healer Davidson spun in his chair to confront his patient. “You can’t. You’re not strong enough.”

Sitting forward, Draco reached to stop the Healer from touching Harry with his free hand. “You can’t stop it now, Healer. He has to. His magic needs to do this.”

Between them, Harry seemed oblivious to the two, his gaze locked on Ron who was looking at his parents uncertainly. Goldleaf moved quickly to Davidson’s side, and handed the Healer a vial.

“Give him this, it will see him through.”

Looking at the vial, then at the boys, Davidson could tell that there wasn’t much he could do to dissuade Harry, so grudgingly gave up with a resigned sigh and a shake of his head. He uncorked the pepper up potion, and held it where Harry could see it.

“Take this Harry, it’s pepper up. I won’t try to stop you, but you need this if you want to see it done.”

With an effort of will, Harry focused on the vial, and reached for it. He drank it down as quickly as he could, passing the emptied vial absently back to the Healer, even as he felt the potion start to work and Draco’s magic try to join with his to give him some added support. The intense, internal draw eased enough to let him breathe freely again, and once the steam quit streaming from his ears, he turned his attention back to Ron.

“Ronald Billius Weasley, step forward,” Harry said again, though more controlled.

Ron gave his father’s stern look another glance, then walked to the foot of the bed Harry and Draco shared. He didn’t have any clue what this was about. Arthur and Septimus had decided to keep all knowledge from the boy, hoping it would shock him into realizing his mistakes. They didn’t even attempt to negotiate the form the Weregild would take, not that they would have been able with Harry sick. The two men were agreed that what Ron had tried to do, crossed a line. Ron himself hoped that he was about to get one of those squire things, like his brothers. That seemed like it could be something prestigious enough to lift him from the ignominy of being the sixth son of a large family.

“Who speaks for this child?” Harry asked. He had to follow the proper form, since Ron was under age. His research had been meticulous.

Again, the couple stepped forward, though Molly much more reluctantly than last time. She still thought her family had been cheated by the Longbottoms, since Neville only swore to support the twins, and not their entire family as tradition dictated. Stopping a step behind Ron’s right shoulder, Arthur gave Harry a bow.

“Arthur Weasly and Molly Weasley, speak for our son Ronald,” he said, squeezing his wife’s hand hard in warning when he heard her inhale to speak.

“Who heads the House of Weasley, that he might bear witness?” Harry asked after a moment’s study of the couple.

An older man stepped forward this time, stopping behind Ron’s left shoulder. “I, Septimus Billius Weasley, head the House of Weasley. I bear witness and submit to the justice of House Potter.”

“Justice?” Ron squeaked, turning to his father.

“Be quiet, Ron, and turn around,” Arthur returned sternly, not giving his son any choice but to look to his mother.

Molly may have tried to say something, if her outraged expression were any indication, but Arthur was incredibly quick with a silencing charm. Her outrage turned to opened mouthed shock as she stared at the angry and grim look on her husband’s face.

“Now see here, my boy,” Dumbledore finally spoke up, striding forward to stand beside Molly. “I think this has gone far enough, Harry.”

“You will be silent and stand back, Albus,” Harry said evenly, without taking his eyes off of Ron who had to be physically turned to face him by his father and grandfather. “This is a matter between Houses. You have no place here.”

Dumbledore bristled at the order. “You will show me respect, Harry, and…”

A spear point in front of his nose halted the Headmaster in mid rant. Two of Ragnok’s guard flanked him, each holding a spear.

“Mr. Potter does not require your counsel in this matter, Headmaster,” Davidson said from where he stood beside Harry’s bed, his wand drawn but still pointed to the floor at his side. “I strongly suggest you do as he requested, and stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”

With a huff of impatience, Professor MacGonagall stepped forward, and took Dumbledore’s arm to drag him back toward the line of infirmary visitors. The two goblins followed, keeping a careful guard of the Headmaster.

“Really Minerva, we can’t let him..” Dumbledore began to his deputy.

“Hush Albus, before you make a complete fool of yourself.” the head of Griffindor hissed at him. “This does not concern us, and you’d do well to stay clear of it.”

“Ronald Weasley,” Harry said into the ensuing silence of the large room. “You have been charged with the attempted murder of my Vassal, Neville Longbottom.”

A series of gasps sounded from the line of visitors. Dumbledore tried to step forward again, but was firmly held back by MacGonagall and the pair of spears still aimed at him.

“My investigation has proven that you are guilty, with malice and aforethought, of using blackmail to force Seamus Finnegan to add Stinging Nettles to Mr. Longbottom’s potion, causing an explosion that grievously harmed my Vassal. If not for the actions of Dean Thomas, my Vassal would likely have been killed. Knowing that Magic knows the deepest secrets of all hearts, what say you?”

“He’d best say the truth,” an outraged Augusta Longbottom said, staring holes through the now trembling boy.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ron said after a long look at his grandfather’s stern expression, “it was Seamus. It was his idea.”

At Ron’s denial, Harry’s magic whipped out with a crack, wrapped around Ron tight enough to make the boy cry out, then retreated.

“Magic knows the deepest secrets in all hearts,” Harry said quietly after Ron’s whimpers slowed. “What say you?”

“Okay, okay,” Ron panted, looking to his father repeatedly for help that the older man simply couldn’t give. “I did it, just like you said.”

“I will hear your reasons,” Harry said, squeezing Draco’s hand beneath the covers. His temporary feeling of strength had been sorely strained by that magical reminder to Ron to tell the truth.

Nearly in a panic, Ran looked for some avenue of escape, but all he found where accusatory eyes, except for his mother’s and the Headmaster. The infirmary doors were closed, and a goblin guard stood there. His father and grandfather continuously turned him back to face the Ravenclaws on the bed with a hand on each shoulder. His mother was still mute, and she looked like she couldn’t move from where she stood. Forced to face Harry yet again, Ron seemed to give up, his shoulders slumping in defeat even as his eyes burned with denied anger.

“You get everything, don’t you Potter?” Ron said in a low voice. “A couple of fancy titles, and you’re too good for the likes of me. Couldn’t be my friend, could you? But you could take my brothers away, easy enough, and steal my glory even though Scabbers was mine. You even lied to me on the train, pretending you wanted to be my friend and then setting me up to look the fool when you got yourself sorted into Ravenclaw. The Boy-Who-Lived? What a joke! You’re nothing but the Boy-Who-Lied, and you don’t deserve to have any friends at all, especially a Griffindor. And Griffindor didn’t need someone who’d be friends with you.”

Harry was crushed. Neville had been hurt solely because he was Harry’s friend? It was the worst possible answer, even though Harry had suspected it. Draco’s hand squeezed his under the blanket, even as Harry struggled to maintain his neutral expression. Squaring his shoulders, he soldiered on.

“You acted to harm another for selfish reasons, Ronald Weasley.” Harry said wearily. “In your efforts to hurt me for some perceived slight, you chose as your target my Vassal. I hold his life as more valuable than my own. In payment for your actions, I call a Weregild against the House of Weasley. What you cannot pay, any or all of your family and their descendants must pay, in order to satisfy the honour of your family line. Magic will compel you to obey, as a dept is owed.

Because of your selfishness, you chose not to question where the idea of becoming my friend came from. Because of your greed, you overlooked the real effort it takes to make friends, and expected it to be handed to you. Because of your inconsideration for others, you never saw how your actions hurt those around you, and your family. You see what others have and want it to the exclusion of all else, without giving a thought to what you already have. I would have given anything to have a loving family, Ron, something that you grew up with, but you would rather throw it away for the chance of being seen as the friend of a single boy. So be it, I will grant your wish.”

Harry paused to gather the last of his waning strength. The pepper up and Draco’s boost had been used up, and all Harry could think about was sleep, but he had to see this done. His magic was impatiently knocking within him. He used the moment to look at Arthur, who stood solemn and resigned, and Molly, who clutched her husband’s sleeve in a death grip and appeared to be furiously trying to get his attention. Septimus stood resolute, determined to hear Harry’s pronouncement and see that it was carried out. His family honour would allow him to do nothing else.

“This is the payment I demand to satisfy the Weregild,” Harry said. “If you had shown remorse, or proved that you are aware of how wrong your actions are, I would have demanded much less. For three weeks of each year, for the next eleven years, you will present yourself to an orphanage, muggle or magical. You will perform whatever task is set you. You will see to the needs of the children without complaint or temper. You will accept no payment for this service. Whatever money you have, be it gift or earnings, you will donate one third of to that orphanage for the entire period of your penance. The first eleven years of your life have taught you the folly of greed. I hope the next eleven will teach you the merits of compassion. So mote it be.”

Finally freed, Harry’s magic again whipped out to wrap around Ron, setting his punishment into the very fabric of his magic so the boy would have no choice but to obey. Harry slumped against the pillows once it was done, looking as grey and wrung out as Draco did.

Arthur gathered his shaking and stunned son, leading him and his still silently fuming wife out of the infirmary. Septimus bowed to Harry.

“Your punishment is just, and far less than I expected, Lord Potter. The House of Weasley thanks you for your mercy.” He turned, and slowly walked out of the infirmary after his son and grandson.

A young red haired girl ran to catch up with him, tears of incomprehension in her eyes. Percy only bowed to Harry, before he too, left.

Dumbledore stopped at the foot of the bed as he prepared to leave the infirmary as well, the goblin guards again stationed at Ragnok’s side. MacGonagall frowned at the Headmaster, but stopped as well.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Harry,” the Headmaster began in a sorrowful voice.

“Oh honestly, Albus,” Minerva exclaimed, pulling Dumbledore along in her wake as she briskly began to march him from the infirmary. “Can’t you leave the poor boy alone for a second? He did the right thing, and you know it.”

“But Minerva,” Harry heard the Headmaster as he was unceremoniously ushered out, “he’s forced Mr. Weasley into servitude….”

“He’s teaching the boy a lesson,” the Griffindor Head interrupted, “and it’s well deserved.”

Their voices faded down the corridor as Augusta and Neville approached the bed.

“I want to thank you, young man,” the Longbottom matriarch said, “for seeing to my grandson’s welfare. House Longbottom continues to prosper under House Potter.”

She, and the family grouped behind her, all bowed to Harry, then made their way out. Neville, with his twin shadows, gave Harry a smile, before he turned to follow.

“Get better quick, guys. Hermione is driving me mad with her letters,” he said before he ducked out, the twins laughing behind him.

Harry was relieved that most of the strangers had gone, though two red heads remained behind along with Professor Snape, and Sirius Black and the goblins. As Davidson was casting diagnostic spells on the two young Ravenclaws, the eldest Weasley children approached the bed. As Harry eyed them warily, they both bowed.

“I’m Bill Weasley, and this is my brother Charlie,” the taller of the two said. “We’d just like you to know, Mr. Potter, that if you ever need anything, you can call on us. We think that what you did was far less than Ron deserved for what he did. If the Weasleys can ever be of service, you can count on us.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied softly.

He had suspected that such an offer might come from one or another of the Weasleys. Calling a Weregild was no small matter, and often demanded a life for a life. Harry’s punishment for Ron was the bare minimum he could get away with, and still satisfy his magic and the terms of his commitment to Neville’s welfare. He knew that any Weasley with a conscience would offer to up the payment in any way they could. This open ended offer was the best they could do, since it was obvious Harry would demand nothing else, especially after the twins elevation in status. After a nod of understanding, the brothers left. Ragnok was especially pleased by the offer, since Bill worked for Gringotts. The young man’s show of honour would only serve him well.

Harry found himself watching Sirius Black, as the man was watching him be fussed over by a pair of healers. It was obvious the man wanted to step in, somehow, but was forced to hang back as the professionals took care of his godson. Blinking heavily, Harry shifted a little closer to Draco, who’s mother was now stroking the blonde’s hair comfortingly. Draco nearly purred inside, he was so happy. Fleetingly, Harry wished, then promptly squashed the desire to also enjoy a mother’s attention. It was something he’d never known, and never would. Wishing for it was futile. He let his eyes close as Davidson’s magic wrapped warm and comforting around him and Draco, preparing to carry them back to the isolation room.

He slept.

December 19, 1991

Professor Filius Flitwick always found exam time to be stimulating. He was busier than ever proctoring tests, helping his Ravenclaws study, marking completed exams and generally helping students through the chaos, but he enjoyed every moment. His door, just off the Ravenclaw common room, was always open during exam week. The occasional owl wasn’t too uncommon, but this was the first time that the distinctive snowy had been sent to him. Flitwick offered a treat to the bird, but she refused, tapping her foot on the desk to insist that he remove the note attached promptly. This was unusual. There were three notes. One to himself, and the others addressed to Professor Snape and Healer Davidson. With a sense of unease, since the snowy remained to bark at him impatiently, he unrolled the tiny scroll addressed to him. It took only a glance for him to shoot out of his chair and take the stairs up to the boys first year dormitory.

While small in stature, Flitwick was very quick to climb the stairs, and soon found himself opening the door to the dorm. A quick glance found both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in one bed, fast asleep. He crossed the room to them. He wasn’t a healer, but he could quickly tell there was something wrong with the boys. Both breathed with a thick rattle that he could hear as he approached the bed. Their flushed cheeks and a hand to the brow confirmed high fevers. These boys were definitely ill. He tried to rouse them, but neither responded.

Making a hasty decision, Flitwick quickly ran back down the stairs to his office, and floo called Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary. He asked her to floo Healer Davidson before coming to the tower, then he himself called Professor Snape to ask him to come as well. Mr. Potter’s clever owl watched from his desk with her yellow, intelligent eyes, then joined him as he made his way back up to the dormitory. She may have been charged to deliver three notes, but knew she needed to only deliver one to get help to the boys as quickly as possible.

It took a bit of magic to climb the many stairs once again, but Flitwick was soon back in the dormitory, doing his best to make the boys more comfortable to ease that painful sounding breathing. He propped them up with more pillows, and it seemed to help a little, but neither would wake. He charmed the brazier to emit more heat, hoping that would help as well. Hedwig watched intently from her post on the headboard above the boy’s heads. Taking more blankets from the adjoining beds, he was just smoothing the second one over the boys when Snape arrived.

Flitwick stood back a little as the Potions Master quickly moved in to examine the two Ravenclaws. His alarm only grew when Snape, with precise yet quick movements, retrieved two vials from his pockets and spelled the contents into the boys and bent over them again with his wand casting diagnostic spells. The charms Professor wrung his hands when two more potions were administered the same way. He wanted to ask after the boys, but didn’t want to disturb the Potions Master concentration either, so his feeling of helplessness only grew.

Madam Pomfrey, leading Healer Davidson, arrived just when Flitwick decided to take a chance and ask. He decided to remain silent and watch while the three conferred around the bed.

“I gave them pepper up and fever few to little effect,” Snape was saying. “Their breathing concerns be greatly, but without knowing the exact cause, I would be risking giving them an inappropriate potion.”

“I’ve never seen anyone’s magic act this way,” Pomfrey said. “It’s as though they’ve joined and are sharing the illness. I can’t even tell if they are both sick, or just one, and the other is mirroring the symptoms.”

“I suspect it’s Draco,” Davidson said with a frown of concentration. “His lung condition is a birth defect that Harry has gradually adopted in an effort to help heal him.”

Pomfrey gasped. “But that can only happen if..”

“They were soul mates, yes, I know.” Davidson straightened. “We’ll need to get them to the infirmary. We can’t control the environment here as efficiently. Harry’s magic is already struggling to support them both.”

“I’ll clear the way,” Flitwick finally spoke up, more than relieved to have something constructive to do to help the boys.

This sounded dire. How could the boys have become so ill, so quickly? They were both fine and eating well at lunch, if perhaps a little tired. Nearly all the students were tired during exams, due to studying and stress. While the boys were being levitated from the bed, Flitwick shooed their dorm mates back down the stairs. There was already a crowd of Ravenclaws on the stairs themselves, curious to see what was happening. Word had traveled quickly through the tower that something was up. It was hardly avoidable with Snape, then the medi-witch and her guest going through the common room.

As he reached the common room level, herding students before him and leading the three adults with their charges, there was a sudden commotion on the stairs behind him. He turned just as Harry cried out, struggling against the levitation charm. With his heart in his throat, Flitwick actually leaped forward, prepared to catch the boy if the spell failed. Draco also began to struggle, reaching out blindly. Neither boy looked conscious. With some maneuvering and concentration, Davidson and Snape managed to work their spells to bring the boys into contact. They immediately quieted, holding fast to each other, making Pomfrey gasp again, a hand over her mouth. It took only a look to Healer Davidson for the Charms Professor to know that haste was now urgent.

Calling for his prefects to quickly clear a path, he lead the group through the common room. He fully expected Miss. Granger to want to know what was happening, and he wasn’t disappointed when the first year girl trotted at his side, firing questions. He wasn’t able to answer, of course, and simply urged her to keep up as the group moved through the halls and down the stairs to the infirmary level. It was much quicker going, since they only passed a few students.

Once in the infirmary, the group passed straight through into the isolation ward. Flitwick, with Miss. Granger as a shadow, followed. The two stopped in the doorway of the third room, watching as the healer and Potions Master lowered the boys onto the bed that the medi-witch quickly prepared for them. Hedwig settled on the headboard, fussing with soft churrs and quiet barks.

Snape suddenly bent over Draco. “He’s not breathing.”

The three burst into action, and Flitwick had to pull Miss. Granger back, away from the doorway, when Madam Pomfrey began to accio vials of potions into the room. They were so busy, it was difficult to see the boys in the bed, and Miss. Granger stood with both hands over her mouth, eyes wide with fright. Flitwick lost all concept of time as he watched, honestly frightened for the boys. If one died…no, he couldn’t think about that possibility.

“Okay,” Davidson sighed as he straightened, his head bowed. At least twenty minutes must have passed. “That’s got it. They’re stable for now.”

“A poison,” Snape growled, his voice low and vicious. Flitwick had never heard that tone from the other Professor. Not once. If the past half hour hadn’t frightened him, that certainly did.

“It’s a good thing you had that beazor, Professor,” Madam Pomfrey said shakily. “I’m not even sure how you detected it.”

“It’s a very obscure potion, and difficult to make,” Severus intoned. “Were it not for the traces of angel’s trumpet still in Draco’s system, I wouldn’t have had a clue that he had ingested Angel’s Trumpet Drought. Only a slightly improperly brewed drought would leave such a trace.”

“It was so minute,” Pomfrey said, “I would likely have overlooked it. Thank Merlin for you, Severus.”

“Poppy,” Healer Davidson asked, “would you mind terribly flooing Gringotts and see if Healer Goldleaf is available? I think we’re going to need him. The boys are still suffering reduced lung capacity. I also think that Draco’s parents should be informed.”

“Of course, Healer. Right away.”

Flitwick made sure that Hermione was well out of the doorway as Pomfrey swept past them. The girl looked as though she wanted to ask questions, but the Charms Professor slightly shook his head, his attention again on the two in the isolation room.

“What do we know?” Davidson was asking Snape.

“Angel’s Trumpet works within two hours of ingestion,” the Potions Master informed him. “It restricts the air passages, then begins to break down lung tissue. It’s a rather specific form of poison, meant to mimic the symptoms of a respiratory ailment.”

“So it was aimed at Draco, and he would have had to have taken it at lunch?”

“That is my assumption and it would have been the most opportune time. It exactly fits the time line. They were in their potion exam directly after lunch.”

“Is there an antidote?”

“The beazor has neutralized the poison, but we will have to treat the damage as though it were gained through natural illness, now.”

Davidson sighed, rubbing his face. “So, that just leaves the question of who gave it to him. It would have to be someone who knew about his birth defect. That isn’t common knowledge. It isn’t even on record at St. Mungo’s. I know, I’ve checked.”

Flitwick looked at the wide eyed Miss. Granger. It didn’t take much thinking to prompt him to decide to gently usher the girl past the threshold of the isolation room. The feel of goblin wards surrounding him lent him a little more fortitude.

“Miss. Granger always sits with the boys. Perhaps she could offer some help?” he said.

The Potions Master and healer both looked at Hermione before Snape moved. In three strides, he was in front of the frightened girl, and took a knee.

“Think very carefully, Miss. Granger,” he said in low tones. It was as gentle as he could get. “Gather your memory of lunch and close your eyes. Picture it exactly.”

Taking a couple of deep breaths, as she did during her lessons with the potions master, Hermione tried to center herself and clear her mind, then closed her eyes. She nodded when she had the memory as clear as she could recall.

“Good,” Snape said. “Look carefully. Who is sitting next to Draco.”

“Harry is on Draco’s left,” the first year girl said immediately. “Lisa is sitting on his right. Lisa Turpin.”

Snape frowned, trying to remember for himself who he had seen sitting on the first year’s end of the Ravenclaw bench.

“No wait,” Hermione exclaimed suddenly. “Lisa got up to sit with Padma when we were nearly done eating. Then a second year boy sat beside Draco.”

“Who, Miss. Granger?” Severus asked, though he had a very strong suspicion he already knew. “Who was the second year boy?”

“Hugo?” Hermione frowned, “no, Hughes? Yes, it was Hughes. Derrek Hughes.”

“Derrek Hughes is a bright boy, but very quiet,” Flitwick offered. “His mother is an unmarried woman of a rather well off pure blood family. We’ve assumed his father must be muggle, since he lives with his mother and never mentioned anything about his father. There isn’t even a name on his school record of who his father is.”

Snape sighed, standing up again. “Thank you, Miss. Granger. That was very helpful.”

“Please, Professor,” Hermione plead, the tears she had been too frightened to show all this time now pooling in her eyes as she looked to the bed. “Are they going to be alright?”

“They’re getting the best possible care we can give them,” Davidson answered the young girl. “and more is on it’s way. Why don’t you sit with them for a bit, while I have a word with your Professors?”

Healer Davidson showed Hermione to the chair he pulled up to the side of the bed, then checked the boys once more. Both were in a bubble head charm, laying propped against pillows. Their breathing was labored, but even. A few spells determined that they were still stable for the moment, so he indicated that the other two men join him on the other side of the room. His gaze was intent on Snape.

“I have a feeling you know this boy, Professor?”

“Indeed,” Snape replied, his own gaze locked on the bed, and the blonde boy that lay on it.

He found he wasn’t as undecided as he might have expected. The knowledge he held in confidence was now vital to the survival of his godson. So far as he was concerned, Draco’s life took precedence. There was only one place that a second year Ravenclaw, no matter how clever with potions, would have gotten that specific poison. That source would also provide the exact motive needed to make the boy act. He turned back to Potter’s Healer and the Charms Master.

“For reasons I won’t go into right know, I’m convinced that Mr. Hughes is indeed responsible,” he answered the expectant Healer.

“Severus, you can’t mean that. He’s only a boy,” Flitwick was shocked.

“Filius,” Snape said, holding up a hand to forestall any other protest the diminutive Professor might have made. “I’ll have to ask you both to trust me, for the moment. I’ll explain after Mr. Malfoy’s parents arrive.”

That actually made sense to Flitwick. When the Malfoy’s arrived, Professor Snape would only need to explain himself once. The Charms Master nodded. He wasn’t happy to wait, but he would. This was very serious, and they needed to be certain of their facts before accusing the second year boy.

Goldleaf briskly entered the room, closely followed by the Chieftain Ragnok.

“Healer,” Davidson greeted the goblin, moving across the room back to the bed. “thank you for coming so quickly.”

“What is their condition?” Goldleaf asked while he set his case on the bedside table, opening it to reveal the stones inside.

“Black,” Snape said, staring at the door.

Davidson turned to see someone else hovering in the doorway.

“Snape,” Sirius Black replied. The two stared at each other for several moments, both neutral to the point of hostile.

“Now is not the time, wizards,” Ragnok broke the stalemate by getting both men to look at him. “Deal with your issues later, and preferably outside. In the snow. Very deep snow,’ he ended up muttering. He had little patience for posturing.

Sirius Black was known to Healer Davidson, although not extremely well, as he had treated the man after his release from Azkaban. He gave the Lord of House Black a nod, then turned back to Goldleaf to finish briefing the goblin. Black entered the room, and crossed to join Ragnok at the chairs and small table still set up in the far corner of the room, his dark eyes riveted on the two boys in the bed.

While the room was fairly large, it was already a little crowded, so Flitwick decided that he had best get Miss. Granger out before the Malfoys arrived. While the girl was exceedingly smart, that wouldn’t matter a whit to the Malfoy patriarch.

“Filius,” Snape stood close, speaking as privately as possible with the Charms Professor. “Perhaps it would be prudent to return Miss. Granger to the Ravenclaw tower.”

“I was just thinking the same, Severus,” Flitwick replied with a nod. “You’ll keep me up to date on the boy’s condition?”

“Of course,” the Potions Master replied, “but I would prefer if you would return with Mr. Hughes. The sooner that situation is resolved, the better.”

“I quite agree,” Filius replied with no small measure of relief. “I’ll return shortly.”

Flitwick exchanged a nod with Ragnok to show his defrence to the Chieftain, then made his way around the bed to Miss. Granger’s side. With a gentle word in her ear, that he could easily tell that she wanted to protest, he was only just able to get the young girl out of the isolation ward in time. He knew that she didn’t want to go. The three were thick as thieves, but it was for the best that he minimize her exposure to Draco’s father, in particular. Draco had proved to be a level headed and engaging boy. He didn’t want the girl’s illusions to be so drastically dashed against the stone wall of his father’s reality.

Flitwick couldn’t help but notice the goblin guards. Two stationed outside of the isolation room, another pair at the entrance to the isolation ward, and a third pair at the doors of the infirmary itself. As Hermione and Flilius were crossing the main ward of the infirmary toward the doors, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy strode in. They both ignored the pair and the goblins, and headed straight for Madam Pomfrey who was waiting near the fireplace. After a quiet word, she lead them into the isolation ward. With nothing left to see, Flitwick ushered Hermione out of the infirmary.

“When will I be able to come back and see them, Professor?” she asked as they made their way to the Aerie.

“I’ll be certain to let you know, as soon as I do,” Flitwick answered, since he had no idea himself. He only hoped that the boys were now out of danger, and would quickly mend. “I feel I must caution you to say nothing to Mr. Hughes at this point, Miss. Granger, and not a word of the poison to anyone else. You’re an exceedingly bright witch for your age, and I know that you have already sorted some things out.”

He waited for the girl’s nod before he continued. “Until Professor Snape has had a chance to speak with Mr. Malfoy’s parents, it’s vital that Mr. Hughes remain ignorant of our suspicions. We must deal with facts, and this is a very serious situation. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said with another nod, although it galled her to do so. She was terrified for the boys, and angry enough to spit nails at that second year boy.

“Good girl,” the Professor smiled at her. “I knew I could count on your discretion.”

As for himself, he had a second year to fetch. He wanted some answers perhaps even more urgently than the young girl he was escorting. To think that something as heinous as this could happen in his own House was unbearable.

…

Only moments after the Charms Professor lead the first year girl from the isolation room, the Malfoys arrived, led by Madam Pomfrey. Lucius Malfoy paused just inside the doorway to take in the room’s occupants and size up the situation, while his wife was focused solely on the still, blonde figure in the bed. Snape watched them both with close scrutiny. He could tell that Narcissa was only just barely restraining herself from going to her son. Her husband’s presence at her side was the only thing holding her back. Lucius, however, had betrayed a slight moment of surprise to see his son in the bed. Harry and Draco lay tightly side by side, hands still firmly clasped. They were both ashen and looked terribly tiny in the expanded bed. Their synchronized breathing in the bubble head charms still rasped audibly and was painful to listen to.

“What has happened to my son?” Lucius asked the room at large.

Since the Healers were still conferring, joined by Madam Pomfrey, in low tones next to the bed, Snape took it upon himself to step closer to the Malfoys.

“He and Mr. Potter have fallen gravely ill,” the Professor explained. “It was quite sudden. Directly after their final exam.”

“What sort of illness?” Narcissa asked, visibly straining against whatever held her back, her deeply concerned gaze locked on her son.

Snape took note of this, but watched Lucius intently. “A respiratory ailment.”

A shadow passed over the senior Malfoy’s face, his eyes narrowing slightly, even as Snape heard Narcissa’s soft gasp of “no”.

“And the other boy?” Lucius asked, his grey eyes passing back and forth between the two.

“From what we’ve been able to determine,” Snape explained, “both boys fell ill at precisely the same time, and share exactly the same symptoms.”

“But that’s not….” Lucius paused, seeming to catch himself, before he continued, “entirely unusual, is it? If there was an ailment making its way through the school?”

“Curiously,” Snape intoned slowly, his unnoticed scrutiny still searching Malfoy’s expressions, “there isn’t a single other child who is presently ill.”

“Lucius?” Nacissa suddenly spoke up, “What is that…. Healer.. doing to our son?”

Snape glanced over to the bed to find that both boys had their shirts opened, ties removed, and Goldleaf had placed glowing rune stones on their chests. The goblin healer was placing more, in a complicated pattern that lit each stone as it was placed, while Davidson held a diagnostic image hovering over the boys with his wand, from the opposite side of the bed.

Seemingly prompted by his wife’s question, Lucius stepped forward. “You will stop at once, and explain what you are doing.”

Madam Pomfrey turned from the tray table where she was arranging potion vials, a deep frown on her face, even as Snape spoke into the shocked silence.

“If you want Draco to survive, you will not interfere and allow the healers to continue.”

“Nonsense,” Lucius scoffed. “Stones won’t heal my son. Madam Pomfrey, I must insist that you take over sole care of my son, immediately.”

“Mr. Malfoy, are you mad?” Madam Pomfrey was shocked. “Your son’s condition is presently beyond my scope. Healers Davidson and Goldleaf are the very best, I can assure you. Your son and Mr. Potter could not be in better hands.”

“If you are unable to treat him,” Lucius drew himself up importantly, “then you leave me no recourse but to take my son to St. Mungo’s.”

“As the Chief Medi-wizard of St. Mungo’s,” Healer Davidson spoke up from Harry’s side of the bed, his eyes intent on the diagnostic image, “I would strongly advise against that action, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Surely you can do more for him there, Healer?” Narcissa asked, moving to stand beside her husband. She no longer tried to hide her deep worry for her offspring.

The silence following her question was strained, as Davidson was concentrating on what he and Goldleaf were doing. It was only after the gobin gave him a nod to release the spell was Davidson able to turn an angry visage to the couple.

“In case it’s escaped your notice, Mrs. Malfoy,” he spoke tightly, “there are two boys, critically ill, laying in this bed. If you attempt to move one, you’ll kill them both.”

Lucius scoffed with an inelegant sound. “That is one opinion, Healer. I will summon the Malfoy personal healer. We’ll soon see what charlatan magic you’re attempting here.”

“Lucius, please,” Narcissa hissed, a hand on the aristocrat’s arm, “that’s my son.”

Casting a disinterested eye to his wife, Lucius subsided with ill grace. “Very well. We’ll wait and see what this… unconventional treatment… will do.”

During it all, Snape had been watching Malfoy with intent. He did not fail to notice the calculating gleam of interest when Davidson mentioned killing the boys by moving one. This did not bode well, and mostly confirmed the Potions Master’s suspicions. Lucius Malfoy believed his own flesh and blood, his acknowledged heir, to be expendable. With both boys gone, Lucius would succeed in solving two of his future problems very neatly. It was entirely likely that his friend had been surprised to see Draco alive when he entered the room, much less in his current condition. Snape needed only one other confirmation before all the pieces would fall into place in the puzzle of the boy’s sudden illness.

“Cousin,” Sirius Black stood a few paces away, addressing Narcissa, “come and have some tea while the Healer’s see to the boys. They’ll tell us everything we need to know soon, I’m sure.”

Turning her attention to the voice, Narcissa Malfoy paused to blink in incomprehension for a moment, as though she couldn’t believe who she was seeing. She quickly recovered her wits however, and dipped a slight curtsey to her cousin.

“My Lord Black. Yes. Please. A cup will be just the thing. Lucius?”

Eying Sirius Black, Lucius silently escorted his wife to the grouping of chairs and table in the corner of the room where Chieftain Ragnok already sat. It wasn’t until his Lady was seated that he chose to speak.

“Askaban seems to have been not too terrible an ordeal for you, Lord Black,” he opened congenially enough. “We, of course, heard that you have claimed your title since your release.”

“I hope you weren’t too disappointed, Lord Malfoy,” Sirius smiled without much humor. “Hogwarts house elves still make the best scones in Britain. Join us.”

Much to Ragnok’s amusement, Malfoy chose the farthest seat he could from the goblin and still remain next to his wife. Unfortunately, this impeded her view of the bed. The woman turned her attention to her cup, stirring with uncommon attention as she listened as intently as she could to the healers. Severus Snape had to consciously restrain himself from muttering an ‘of course’ when he overheard this little bit of conversation. Yet another piece to the larger puzzle had just fallen into place for him. He wasn’t given any time to muse on the matter, however, as Davidson called him over to consult over some potential potions that they could use to help alleviate the boy’s symptoms, if not repair some of the damage in tandem with spell work. Harry and Draco lay oblivious to everything, watched over by the alert and extra attentive Hedwig.

The most pressing problem was their magic. Both were severely drained, and were expending more by the minute. Goldleaf was adamant that it was Harry’s magic that held Draco long enough for Snape’s quick thinking to work. Unfortunately, the boy’s shallow pool of reserves was already nearly depleted, since he was already supporting three bonds, one of which he fought continuously, and working constantly to heal both Draco and himself on a daily basis. What magic was left was barely enough to use during his lessons. The binding on his magic was proving to be a formidable block to the child’s well being. Draco, while gifted magically, had by this time devoted most of his reserves to supporting Harry, and had been just as quickly drained. Both spells and potions designed to boost and support a person’s magical core was the first order of business, before they could address the damage done by the poison.

“Burry,” Snape called the house elf who he had personally trained to help him in his potions lab. He gave the creature a list of potions to fetch from his own stores, urging the elf to be quick.

Meanwhile, Davidson, with the support of Madam Pomfrey, began to cast a series of spells to stabilize the boy’s magical cores. Goldleaf’s task was to ward the bed itself in a field designed to enhance magic, and began to carve the runes into the four support posts of the bed with his athame. It wasn’t until Snape had spelled a second potion into the two boys, that he noticed that Professor Flitwick had returned with the second year Ravenclaw, Derrek Hughes.

A quick glance confirmed that the Malfoys were occupied by Black, so the Potions Master quickly crossed to the doorway where Flitwick hovered. Stepping out of the room, he spoke quietly, eying the second year boy that he knew well.

“Thank you, Filius,” he said to the head of Ravenclaw. “There is tea available. Perhaps you should rest yourself and join the Chieftain.”

“Yes, a good idea Severus, thank you,” Flitwick was all too grateful to sit down for a few minutes. It had been a very busy hour and some.

When Flitwick had entered the room, Snape shifted slightly, enough for the boy to move until his back was against the wall of the hallway. He then held out his left hand expectantly.

“Your wand, Mr. Hughes.” It wasn’t a request.

“I’m sorry, Professor?” Derrek gaped up at the Professor. When it was obvious that the stern man would not relent, he fumbled in his robes, then reluctantly handed over his wand.

Snape tucked the wand into an inner pocket of his brewing robes, then again held out his hand. “The remainder of the Angel’s Trumpet Drought, if you please.”

The boy’s nervous gulp was audible in the silent hallway. Snape had to give the boy credit, however. His expression never changed, and barely gave away his guilt with the barest blink and flinch. He waited, relying heavily on his reputation as the Bat of the Dungeons and the Head of Slytherin House to intimidate the child. It didn’t hurt that Lucius Malfoy had introduced the boy to him personally, the year before, with instructions to seek out the Potons Master if he ever needed aid. It didn’t take long for Hughes to relent. Reaching into an inner pocket of his own, his hand emerged with the distinctively marked, tiny bottle.

With the damming evidence in hand, Snape revealed his wand that he had held ready, unseen, at his side. “Knowing what you now face, I am surprised that you chose to come with Professor Flitwick so willingly, Mr. Hughes.”

The second year looked up at his potion Professor, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features before he decided on his answer. “I knew that if he wanted me, then it wouldn’t matter if Draco were alive or dead. I was already caught. Cooperation was the only logical choice.”

“It’s a shame you couldn’t apply that intelligence to a better plan,” Snape finally said, having been taken aback a little by the boy’s demeanor.

Hughes half shrugged. “It was a risk, but it would have been worth it if it had worked.”

“Calculation worthy of a Slytherin,” the Professor mused. “The muggles have a saying, Mr. Hughes. ‘Be careful what  you wish for.’ If you knew Lucius Malfoy better, you would understand it. Perhaps there is one last lesson I can teach you. Burry.”

When the house elf appeared, Snape was direct. “Fetch the Headmaster and Professor MacGonagall. Bring them directly here. Tell them only that the matter is urgent.”

“Yes, sir, Professor, sir,” the house elf popped away.

The elf returned moments later with Professor MacGonagall and popped away again, leaving Snape to hold a finger to his lips to forestall the woman’s questions. A moment later, the Headmaster also appeared with the elf, who again departed.

“Severus? What’s happening?” Dumbledore asked.

“If you’ll follow me, all will be explained, Headmaster.”

Snape motioned the boy to precede him past the goblin guards and into the isolation room with a flick of his wand. After a moment’s hesitation, Hughes complied. He directed the second year to take a position against the wall, well to the left of the doorway, where he could keep an eye on him, then looked to Davidson while Dumbledore and MacGonagall took positions to the right of the doorway.

“The boys?” he asked with the barest of nods to the bed.

“Stable, for the moment,” Davidson answered, casting a curious look to Hughes being held at wand point.

The others in the room had also taken note of the situation, and had come to their feet.

“What’s the meaning of this, Severus?” Lucius asked.

For the start of his answer, Snape tossed the small bottle to Davidson, who examined the unique markings with a grim expression. “Angel’s Trumpet Drought.”

“What is it?” Narcissa asked, looking from the healers, to Hughes, then to the bed.

“Allow me to explain,” Snape began, keeping a weather eye on the senior Malfoy. “This is Derrek Hughes, a second year Ravenclaw. Today at lunch, Mr. Hughes added some Angel’s Trumpet Drought to Mr. Malfoy’s beverage. I suspect pumpkin juice, as I know it’s Draco’s favorite. The first, obvious, question is ‘why?’ Why poison a house mate? Why this particular house mate, and why this particular poison? Would you care to enlighten us, Lucius?”

“What?” Malfoy senior sputtered, looking at the people who croweded the room. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lucius?” Narcissa asked, taking a step back from her husband. “What do you know of this poison?”

The lack of an answer gave Snape the prompt he needed.

“Do correct me if I get anything wrong, Lucius,” he invited the Malfoy patriarch. “Mr. Hughes was given the drought with instructions to use it on his half brother. Being perceived as weak and no longer suitable, because of Draco’s growing friendship with Mr. Potter, in addition to some undesirable personality traits, Malfoy senior deemed it prudent to rid himself of one heir, and replace him with the illegitimate offspring of a dalliance. This decision was put into motion by the news that Lord Black had claimed his title. Since Draco no longer stood to inherit the Black title, and hence the Black fortune, any time soon, if at all, the boy was useless for any future plans. His replacement would certainly prove to be more suitable in temperament, if nothing else.

“Angel’s Trumpet Drought was specifically chosen because it mimics a respiratory ailment. At this time of year, such an illness is not uncommon, and Draco is particularly prone to them thanks to a birth defect, which left his lungs underdeveloped. This is a closely guarded family secret. I doubt if Mr. Hughes knew of that particular detail. The drought, when properly brewed, is undetectable. Fortunately for us all, there are only three Potions Masters in the world who would be capable of doing so perfectly, myself included. The sample used by Mr. Hughes proved to be inferior. Seeing both boys in the bed, suffering from exactly the same symptoms, likely lead you, Lucius, to believe that your elder son had successfully poisoned them both. This would be an added bonus for you, as you could then claim responsibility for the death of Mr. Potter should the Dark Lord ever return, thus guaranteeing you a high place at his side. If he didn’t kill you for denying him the pleasure of killing the boy himself, of course. Have I missed anything?”

“This is outrageous!” Lucius fumed furiously, taking a few steps toward Snape and drawing his wand from the head of his ornate cane. “How dare you accuse me of plotting to kill my own son!”

With a flick of his wrist, Lucius began casting silent stunners through the room in quick succession. Hughes was hit first and went down like a sack of potatoes. Snape dodged the spell aimed for him, while MacGonagall and Dumbledore both erected shields. Black also cast a shield to cover Narcissa and himself. Davidson cast a shield over the bed, while Pomfrey tried to bodily shield Goldleaf who ducked against the side table. With a growl, Ragnok drew a blade from behind Flitwick’s shield and started for the casting wizard, but Lucius was already in motion. While the others were distracted, he quickly took the remaining steps to the bed, and snatched up Draco, turning for the now cleared doorway.

The moment the boy’s hands separated, the bubble head charms ended with a pop, and Draco and Harry arched sharply, screaming in agony. It was all Lucius could to to hold onto his son as he tried to flee the room. Before he could reach the doorway, however, it was filled with a wall of flame. Flinching back from the intense heat, Lucius was grabbed from behind by Snape, who held him still while Davidson pulled a screaming Draco from his father’s grasp. Still armed, however, Lucius began to fight in earnest, casting around him randomly as he tried to break free of the hold while still trying to draw back from the heat of flames blocking the doorway. A stunner from MacGonagall finally connected, and Lucius went limp in Snape’s grasp.

Davidson hurried back to the bed, laying Draco next to Harry as close as he could. He banished their clothes into a corner and Goldleaf helped to make sure the two were touching skin to skin as much as possible. The screams quieted as the two turned face to face and wrapped each other tightly together, looking as though they wanted to merge into a single being. They both shook with the stress of being parted for less than a minute, all the hard work of the healers completely undone. Davidson frantically cast diagnostics while Goldleaf tried to reestablish the rune stones that had kept their breathing somewhat stable. They were growing desperate, however, when Draco began to shake in earnest, then convulse.

“No no no no no, hold on, hold on Draco!”

Behind Davidson, in the midst of the flames blocking the doorway, a figure began to emerge. Hovering in the center of the wall of flame, the bird shape took form, then broke free to fly with a ringing note of song to the bed. The flames dropped from the doorway, and Davidson and Goldleaf were forced back by the heat the bird emitted as he landed lightly on the arm Harry had wrapped around the violently shaking Draco. Singing loudly enough to make their ears ring, even as the joyous song soothed, the phoenix dipped his head, crying copiously over the faces of the boys until their mouths opened to accept the tears. First Draco, then Harry, were both fed tears by the phoenix, who’s song quieted as the boys did. Finally, after several minutes, both boys slept peacefully and Fawkes hopped up to join Hedwig on the head rail of the bed.

The sudden silence in the room rang even louder than the phoenix’s song had. Everyone was breathing heavily with adrenalin and shock, trying to grasp what had just happened.

“Draco,” Narcissa rushed forward to sit on the side of the bed next to her son. She bent over him, stroking his hair and attempting to pull the blankets up to cover his nakedness. The fact that she was also covering Harry seemed incidental.

Davidson and Pomfrey began their diagnostics again, while Dumbledore stared at the phoenix calmly preening himself next to the snowy owl. It was left to MacGonagall, Flitwick and Snape to take charge of Lucius Malfoy and Derrek Hughes, with the help of Black who stood guard over the pair with drawn wand, and Ragnok who called in the two guards just outside of the room. The two had stood ready to intercept Lucius if he had managed to leave the room, then found themselves unable to get in and help when the wall of flames had gone up. After a brief talk over the unconscious pair, Snape turned to Dumbledore.

“Headmaster, shall we call the Aurors to take charge of these two?”

Shaking himself from some apparently deep thoughts, Dumbledore turned to his potion Professor. “I’m sorry, Severus, what was that?”

“As Chief Warlock, would you like to take charge of the prisoners and call the Aurors?”

Dumbledore contemplated Lucius Malfoy and Derrek Hughes with a sigh. “I’m no longer Chief Warlock, Severus. I resigned my post in the Wizengamot. Are you certain of the facts? Is Mr. Hughes really as guilty as you say? He’s only a boy, after all.”

“He is guilty,” Snape assured the elder man, “and completely unrepentant. He was presented with the opportunity to become the Malfoy heir, and took it without remorse.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Most unfortunate. Most unfortunate. I trust your good judgement, Severus.”

The elder man shuffled out of the room, only pausing long enough to cast another glance at the phoenix, who continued to ignore him. MacGonagall and Snape exchanged a speaking look.

“Do you think he might be suffering some form of dementia?” Flitwick asked, equally confused by the Headmaster’s lack of performance.

“We’ll have to look into that later, Filius,” MacGonagall said, turning to Chieftain Ragnok. “Chieftain, as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, it falls to me to see to this situation. If I might impose upon the goblin nation, could you take charge of these prisoners until I can inform Madam Bones of what has happened here?”

Ragnok was certainly agreeable. “I’ll have them taken to Gringott’s, Professor MacGonagall. They will be secure there. Since Scion Potter is nominally under the protection of the Goblin Nation, I will see to the details of turning the prisoners over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A threat to Scion Malfoy, is an equal threat to Scion Potter.”

“Indeed?” MacGonagall asked, though no answer was forthcoming. She was forced to fill the silence herself. “Thank you, Chieftain Ragnok. I’ll leave it to you.”

She turned then back to the bed, where the Healers were all moving efficiently and with far less urgency.

“How are Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, Poppy?” she asked Madam Pomfrey.

The medi-witch stepped away from the bed, the Deputy following her. “They’re out of danger, thank Merlin, though they’re both very weak both physically and magically. It’ll be days before they wake, I fear, even with the restoratives we can give them.”

“It was that close?” MacGonagall asked with a frown of concern.

“Absolutely,” Poppy replied with certainty. “They nearly died twice, Minerva. Once from the poison and just now….”

MacGonagall frowned even more deeply when the medi-witch trailed off. “Just now, from what? I know what I saw, but I don’t understand it. What happened, Poppy?”

Pomfrey looked to the others gathered at the bed, and more specifically at Davidson. With a look to Mrs. Malfoy, then to the others in the room, Davidson shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that,” he said. “I’ve sworn to keep Harry’s secrets.”

“We took a vow, Minerva,” Snape intervened. “Ask no more questions in that vein, if you please.”

“Very well,” she wasn’t happy about it, but the Transfiguration Professor accepted the answer. She really didn’t have much choice. “So they’ll be unc

onscious for a few days, you said?”

“Yes, at least three, perhaps four.”

“Thank you,” she said, “please keep me informed. Meanwhile, I need to floo call the DMLE. If you’ll excuse me.”

MacGonagall left the room behind the group of three goblins who were transporting Lucius Malfoy and Derrek Hughes to the floo fireplace in the main infirmary. Those left in the isolation room finally allowed themselves to begin to relax. Poppy helped Goldleaf gather his scattered rune stones, using accio to summon them from under and around the bed or under the sheets and blankets. Black sank onto one of the chairs, staring blankly at the tea service laid out on the low table, rubbing a hand still holding his wand over his brow. Ragnok joined him, pouring himself a fresh cup of hot chocolate from the urn the elves had provided to keep the beverage hot. Narcissa refused to move from the bed, and instead helped Healer Davidson to make the entwined boys more comfortable.

“Can’t we separate them?” she finally asked, once they were settled.

“No,” Davidson replied, “you saw what happened when your husband tried that.”

“He isn’t going to be my husband for long,” her lips had thinned, and she cast a quick glance toward Ragnok, already planning her next steps to separate herself from the man who not only sired a child with another woman, but planned to murder his own heir.

“Is it so distasteful to you, Lady Malfoy?” Davidson asked, contemplating the woman sitting on the bed.

Narcissa looked up at him with a frown. “Of course it is. No father should plan to kill their own child in such a heartless fashion. Even a man as ruthless as my .. former.. husband.”

“You misunderstood me,” Davidson said with a slight shake of head. “I meant the boys. Is it so distasteful for you to see them like this? You’ve spoken of little else besides separating them since you arrived.”

She drew herself up in indignation. “They’re naked, Healer, and in the same bed. What would you have me think?”

Davidson lifted a brow. “That they were innocent children who share something unique and precious?”

The woman frowned at him, then looked down at the intertwined boys.

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” Davidson got up and went to join those seated around the table. He was in dire need of a cup of tea.

The vigil began.

Six days later, it took the better part of two hours for Flitwick and Davidson to tell the boys the entire story.

Christmas Eve

The prospect of spending Christmas stuck in bed brought Harry’s mood even lower. Draco was confused, angry and upset with his father, with very good reason. He even had an older brother that he knew nothing about, which didn’t help matters as the older boy was also gone without any hope of strengthening family ties. Draco had always wanted siblings. To find out that he had one who had tried to kill him was a crushing blow. Harry was brought down farther by the knowledge that for the first time in his life, he was able to celebrate Christmas but was unable to so much as get his bond mate a gift thanks to being unconscious for the past week and stuck in the infirmary isolation ward. The two boys shared their very low spirits and clung to each other even closer because of it. They had each other, and for Harry it was gift enough.

After dinner, and after Madam Pomfrey let Hedwig out to hunt, Narcissa bustled into the room carrying a stack of parchments and magazines. She was on a mission to cheer the two boys as much as she could. Laying her burden on the foot of the bed, she pulled a nearby chair closer and sat to begin sorting what she had brought. Draco half sat up to watch her with a frown of confusion.

“Mother? What are you doing?”

“It’s Yule, my dragon,” she explained without looking up, “and I believe that two young boys need something much more pleasant to think about.”

She passed Draco, and then Harry, two magazines. They accepted them, looked at each other in confusion, then to Narcissa.

“Don’t look at me, boys,” she said with a huff. “You’ll never find gifts for your friends if you’re looking at me. Open those up and start searching.”

The boys looked at each other again, then Draco grinned and sat up properly to start flipping pages. Harry was more than a little confused.

“Excuse me, Lady Malfoy?”

“Please call me Narcissa, Harry,” the woman said absently while flipping the pages of a magazine herself. Over the past day she had been making more efforts to include Harry in her interactions with Draco, beginning to accept the boy as a permanent fixture in her son’s life. It wasn’t exactly a hardship. In addition to being uncommonly bright, the boy had impeccable manners and was able to balance Draco beautifully in every way, from what she could tell. He was entirely likable in his own right, once she allowed herself to view him objectively. The ceremonies of the day before went a long way to opening her eyes.

“Narcissa,” Harry complied hesitantly, “um.. what are we to do, exactly?”

Narcissa paused to look up at the brunette with a soft frown creasing her brow. “Have you never owl order shopped before, Harry?”

The boy shook his head. This made Narcissa lift an eyebrow. Harry was obviously a well bred boy, and someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to educate the orphan in proper etiquette and his place in their world, so this turn of events was surprising. She was beginning to realize that as much as she knew about the boy, there was a great deal more she needed to learn.

“These booklets are from various shops,” she explained, “and detail goods that they have for sale. You need only look through them and make your selections for gifts for your friends and family, and order the items by owl. The gifts will also be wrapped for you, if you specify that you wish that service. With your family seal included with the order, your vaults at Gringotts will be automatically billed for the purchases.”

Harry’s eyes lit up and he sat forward. “Really?”

How ridiculously easy it was to please the boy, Narcissa thought to herself. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Really.”

“Will they be in time for Christmas, though? It’s tomorrow.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course they will, silly. Won’t they, mother?”

The blonde wasn’t really sure himself, but wanted to reassure Harry and needed his mother to agree with him. She nodded with a smile.

“Of course they will, Harry,” she assured the boys.

Harry grinned, and began to look through the magazine in his lap in earnest. The expression completely transformed the normally solemn and far too serious child. It was moments like this that gave her glimpses of the child he was supposed to be, rather than the near adult he usually presented himself as. It was part of the reason she found it so compelling to interact with him. She found herself wanting to see the child more and more often. She made sure that each of the boys had a parchment and quill to write down their choices on, and watched them search the booklets, one after the other.

She found herself smiling as Harry grew more animated, discussing various choices with Draco. Was this one good enough for Hermione, did Draco think Neville would like that? Even the owl currently sleeping over the boy’s heads was going to be spoiled. His conversation with her son was filled with consideration for others, and never once indicated anything that he might have liked for himself. It was a little frustrating, she had to admit, as she still needed to chose a gift for her son’s bond mate. Narcissa was nothing if not practical. The fact that her only child had a soul mate was glaringly obvious from the instant she heard him screaming in pain when the two were violently separated. It may have taken her a day or so to accept the fact, but she was ready to embrace it, and Harry, if only to keep her son close to her. The fact that she was increasingly finding the boy likable and even suitable was entirely a bonus.

Narcissa was making her own list of things that Draco indicated that he liked, but that was ridiculously easy. She already knew from her talks with the Black Lord that Sirius had planned on getting Harry a new broom. Apparently Harry had told his healer how much he liked to fly, who then shared that knowledge with the boy’s godfather. She had even learned that the Hogwarts half giant was getting the child a gift, or making one, or some such. The man had stuffed himself into the room only that morning to see for himself that Harry was well on the mend, having just returned from some task the Headmaster had set him. Narcissa would have to admit, if pressed, that she hadn’t really paid that much attention at the time.

She had just decided on a lovely lap desk with personalized stationary for Harry when the child himself broke her from her thoughts. She looked up a little absently. “Yes, Harry?”

“I was wondering how I add my seal to the order?” the boy asked.

Nacissa blinked. “You don’t have it with you? No, of course you don’t. Let me call an elf and he can fetch it for you from your trunk.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Harry said hesitantly. “You see, I don’t have a seal.”

“Oh, I see,” Narcissa glanced to the child’s hands. No ring. The Scion and last surviving member of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter hadn’t claimed his title. That just wouldn’t do at all. “House elf.”

One of the Hogwarts creatures appeared at her side with a nearly silent pop. “How can Tuttles help Mistress?”

“Please go to the Great Hall and inform Lord Black and Chieftain Ragnok that they are needed in the isolation ward,” she instructed the elf, who gave her a bow and disappeared with another near silent pop.

So efficient, these Hogwarts house elves. Oh, that gave her another idea for a gift, and she made a quick notation on her list before addressing the boys.

“Now then, Harry, we’ll just wait for Lord Black and the goblin to arrive. We’ll soon have you sorted,” she smiled.

Harry looked at Draco in confusion, hoping for an explanation. The blonde could only shrug helplessly. He didn’t have any idea what his mother had in mind. When no explanation was forthcoming, the boys returned to their shopping, forced to wait.

The door opened some four minutes later to admit Sirius Black with his wand drawn, Chieftain Ragnok with a dagger in hand and Healer Goldleaf. All of them were out of breath.

“What’s happened?” Sirius asked immediately, looking to the boys to make sure they were alright. He found them buried in parchments and colourful booklets, blinking back at him in confusion.

“Merlin,” Narcissa exclaimed at the state of them, “did you run all the way?”

“Of course we… did,” Sirius frowned, bracing his hands on his knees and speaking between panting breaths. “We thought…. something… happened to the boys.”

“Well, I’m glad you arrived so promptly,” she said briskly, closing the booklet in her lap to give the males her complete attention. “Mr. Potter has been sorely neglected, and I will see the situation resolved immediately.”

“Situation?” Sirius frowned, straightening, “what situation?”

“Mr. Potter has not claimed his title,” Narcissa explained, looking to Ragnok, “I blame you, Chieftain. Surely you would have informed the child of his rights.”

The goblin grinned. Not an inspiring or cheerful sight.

“I could do so only if asked directly by Scion Potter,” the goblin explained. “By wizard law, I’m not permitted to volunteer the information.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Foolish oversight, I’m sure.”

Harry knew an invitation when he heard one, and spoke up. “Chieftain Ragnok, a word if you please?”

If anything, the menacing grin on the goblin grew as he moved around to Harry’s side of the bed. Narcissa forced herself to look away. She knew the goblin wouldn’t dare harm the child, but all of those pointed teeth was more than a little disconcerting.

“What can I do for you, Scion Potter?” Ragnok asked in anticipation.

“Would you please inform me of all of my rights, as you know them?” Harry asked. He hadn’t known before now that he could, or even should, ask about this. He found himself giving Draco a reassuring grin at his bond mates mixed feelings of chagrin and pride.

“With great pleasure, Scion Potter,” Ragnok replied. This moment is what he had been waiting for, for months. “In the presence of a Peer, or your magical guardian to act as witness, you may claim your title as Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter as early as age eleven. Because you are under the age of magical maturity, which is seventeen, this will grant you the rights and privileges of an adult Peer, under the guidance of a magical guardian. You will have control of all of the Potter vaults, estates and holdings, since you are the last surviving member of your House, and make decisions, with the guidance of your guardian and accounts manager, concerning all of your assets. This essentially means that you become emancipated.

“You can claim your seat at the Wizengamot and legally vote, or chose a proxy who will vote for you, according to your wishes. Even with a proxy, you can initiate changes in the law or propose new laws for debate on the floor. You can accept, reject, change or initiate marriage and business contracts, even if they involve you personally. Your situation is somewhat unique, as you are the last member of your family line and must therefore speak for yourself rather than go through an adviser or Head of House. You are, of course, free to consult whomever you wish. The trace which restricts the use of underage magic will automatically be removed from your wand the moment you accept your title, and you can even apply for your apparation license, or register an animagus form, if you have the ability. If you are bonded or contract betrothed, your future spouse will enjoy the same rights and privileges in accordance with their station.”

Harry’s eyes had grown wider and wider as he listened raptly. This is exactly what he had been looking for, for months! Accepting his title would mean that he would be free of the Dursleys forever! He would never need to go back. Not ever. He wouldn’t have to see them, or even think about them, ever again. This was absolutely, without a doubt, the most spectacular Christmas he had ever had in his entire life! Even if everything else turned out to be so much smoke, never having to see the Dursleys again was the gift of a lifetime.

“How do I do it?” Harry whispered breathlessly, as though asking any louder would break the spell of this perfect gift. “How do I claim my title, right now?”

“If Lord Black will agree to act at your witness, you need only repeat the words I will give you,” Ragnok explained, his own excitement boosted by what he could easily read in Harry’s eyes. “If the Potter family magic accepts you, then the family ring will present itself to you. Then, you need only put on the ring and repeat the family vow to seal your place as Head of House.”

Harry absorbed every word with rigid attention. The instant Ragnok finished his instructions, he whipped himself around to face Sirius, standing beside Narcissa’s chair, on Draco’s side of the bed.

“Lord Black, will you act as my witness?” he asked in a breathless rush, his cheeks flushed with suppressed excitement and the words ‘if the family magic accepts you’ ringing in his ears. Nothing had ever been more important to him, except Draco. Nothing.

“Of course, Harry.” Black answered immediately, the very heart of him struck by the desperate plea.

If the sight of Harry’s anticipation made the back of Narcissa’s eyes sting, then the beaming smile the boy had just gifted his godfather should have made her sob aloud if she hadn’t firmly suppressed it. Never had she encountered a child so suffused with desperate hope until she had seen the expression on Harry’s face when he had first turned toward them. It was enough to break even her occasionally chilly heart. Exactly what had this child already endured? She would find out, or her name wasn’t Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.

Draco hugged Harry tightly even as the boy turned back to Ragnok with his wide smile.

“What do I need to say, Chieftain?”

The goblin’s grin was completely feral as he instructed the child. “Hold out your wand hand, palm up, then repeat after me.”

Harry did as instructed, his hand shaking slightly even as his other hand clutched Draco’s arm where it was wrapped around his chest.

“I, Harry James Potter,” Ragnok began, waiting for Harry to repeat it before he continued.

“I, Harry James Potter,” Harry dutifully repeated the words as he heard them, after taking a calming breath, trying to contain himself. “before a witness of my Peers, do hereby claim my place as Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. May magic guide me and keep me. So mote it be.”

There was a tingling heat in the center of Harry’s palm, then the cool weight of a signet ring when it appeared.

“It worked,” Harry breathed, barely able to believe his eyes. “Oh my god Draco, I mean Merlin, I mean… it worked! It accepted me. My family accepted me!”

Draco was bouncing in place, squeezing Harry tight even as the brunette burst into tears, clutching the ring to his chest with both hands. Narcissa leaped from her chair.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” she asked in alarm, moving to the bed to wrap her arms around both boys.

If Sirius could have managed it, he would have climbed onto the bed as well. Too overwhelmed, Harry was unable to answer. With tears rolling down his cheeks, Draco turned his smile to Narcissa.

“It’s alright mother, he’s happy,” the blonde explained. “All he’s ever wanted was his family, and they just accepted him. He’s never wanted anything else his whole life.”

Tears, this time, were unavoidable. Not because of any silly, sympathetic reaction to Harry’s tears. No, that would make her entirely too emotional. Narcissa cried because instead of clutching a flesh and blood family member, Harry’s happiest moment of his young life was represented entirely by a tiny circle of impersonal metal, that he held in a death grip. Narcissa suddenly knew, to the very depths of her soul, that the child had never once allowed himself to hope for even that much acceptance. All the wealth, prestige and respect that went along with the title, the woman suddenly realized, meant less than nothing to the small child her son clutched. They were merely tools that would help him achieve his goals. The only thing of value, was the fact that the ring had come to him at all, signifying his place in his family, and in his world. It was the only thing that held meaning for the child. It was his whole world. The only tangible connection to his family that the boy had.

That realization went farther to helping Narcissa understand her son’s bond mate than any explanations or stories could do. So, she silently cried. She cried for the desperately lonely child who had finally found his place.

Narcissa conjured handkerchiefs for the boys and herself, and accepted more from Lord Black, before everyone had composed themselves. If she had ever heard the muggle saying ‘there wasn’t a dry eye in the house’, she would have found it entirely appropriate.

“It’s time to finish, Lord Potter,” she smiled to Harry after he had blown his nose. She banished the soiled handkerchiefs then slipped from the bed to stand beside Lord Black.

Harry used the last clean handkerchief to wipe his eyes again, then blew out a deep breath. Slowly, he opened his hand, his palm and fingers marked and dented from the shape of the ring he had held so tightly. As though he couldn’t believe it was still there, he beamed another smile, a lone tear trailing his cheek.

“My father wore this, didn’t he?” he whispered to Ragnok.

“Until the day he died protecting you,” the goblin replied quietly. “When he was gone, the ring returned itself to the family vault, to wait until you were ready.”

Harry blew out another slow breath, then looked up at the goblin expectantly, once again focused and all business. “What do I do?”

“Put the ring on the middle finger of your left hand, then repeat the vow.”

Harry did as instructed, the ring loose and far too large for his small finger. It hung nearly empty, with room enough for nearly two more fingers to fit the loop. Harry indulged in a moment of imagining his father’s hand, wearing this ring, and actually got the briefest flash of a memory of such hands reaching for him. It made him smile again.

Again, the boy repeated word for word what Ragnok said, never taking his eyes from the ring. “As head of the Potter line, I vow upon my magic to uphold the values, morals and motto of the Potter family. I vow to treat my vassals with care and respect. I vow to treat my family members with love and devotion. I vow to do my best to use the Potter name for the betterment of all wizards. Decessus est necessarius et amiculus. Death is our kinsman and friend. I am Lord Harry James Potter.”

As he spoke, the ring grew warmer and warmer, than began to glow. As he said his name, the ring shrank to fit his finger exactly, settling into place on his hand, and the family coat of arms appeared on it’s surface. Something inside of him clicked into place as well, and the boy was suffused with the most contentment and sense of belonging he had ever known. He could almost feel the generations of Potters who had once worn the ring surround him with their acceptance and love. He had found his place.

“Welcome, Lord Potter,” Ragnok said, quickly followed by Sirius, Goldleaf, Draco and Narcissa, each in turn. “The ring can be used as a seal. Simply press the surface against parchment to leave your mark. I will have the family seal set also sent to you from the vaults. I am your accounts manager, and have been overseeing your assets with Gringotts. If you have any questions about your accounts, you come to me, Lord Potter. You also have a magical guardian, but he wished to surprise you for Yule. I hope you can act surprised. The man has been insufferable for the past week.”

“Um.. sure, I guess,” Harry said hesitantly, glancing toward Sirius.

His godfather quickly held up his hands, shaking his head. Confused, Harry frowned. If his guardian wasn’t Lord Black, then who was it?

“Don’t worry about it now, Harry,” Draco interrupted his thoughts with a grin, turning back to the piles of booklets and parchment. “If we don’t get these done now, they’ll be too late. Come on.”

It was that easy to distract the much happier eleven year old and get him back to work on his shopping. With a smile, Narcissa sat once more to finish her own selections. That was one gift she had managed to arrange for the boy, and she counted it as a job well done.

“Run along now, gentlemen,” she said briskly to the goblins and Lord Black. “Thank you for your help, but we have shopping to finish. Do send in Hedwig when she returns, and a few school owls as well. Much to do, much to do.”

Bemused at being so summarily dismissed, Sirius held the door for Ragnok and Goldleaf, then followed the two out. Besides, he had just realized he had a few last minute things to order, himself.

…

Hedwig woke her wizard at their usual time, their bond telling her that he was well enough now to again enjoy their private time first thing in the morning. Gentle nips and crooning brought him awake with his usual smile and perfect pets and scratches. The owl enjoyed this time just as much as her wizard did. For the first time since he fell ill, Harry looked inward.

His core shone with renewed health, bright and prismatic. It felt stronger, somehow, or maybe it was just a little different, with this new feeling of family he had gained the evening before. It was still his magic, but… more. He didn’t know how to describe the difference. Harry went first to his bond with Hedwig, spending a long time stroking and strengthening the already thick thread, communing with his familiar. He could feel her practically purring her contentment, and laughed a little since he knew she’d be offended to be compared to a cat.

He next checked the dark thread, worried how his so carefully built wall had weathered the illness. It turned out that it didn’t. It would need to be built all over again. Harry drooped in disappointment. It had been so hard to make, and now he had to start over. The thread itself, however, was different. Was it really thinner? It had been a long time since he had seen the thread itself, so he could be wrong. He dared to get a little closer. The feeling of evil wrongness was definitely weaker. He checked the roots, where it attached to his core, and was convinced that they were fewer and shallower. What had happened to make this change? Was it his family magic that helped? He honestly hoped so. He was so tired of fighting alone. This was one thing Draco couldn’t really help him with.

He decided to start rebuilding the wall the next day, and went instead to Draco’s thread. The spring green and silver, wrapped in rainbow hues, made his spirits sing. It was nearly as thick and strong as Hedwig’s bond, and it would only grow stronger. He spent some time here too, stroking and simply feeling the living presence of his bond mate. He knew the instant Draco slid from dream to waking, and smiled as he surfaced to greet the other boy.

He blinked his eyes open to see Hedwig nested between them, and Draco just opening his eyes with a smile already in place.

“Good morning,” he whispered to the blond.

“Happy Yule, Harry,” the blond whispered back.

The boys grinned at each other, before Draco closed his eyes to do his own morning’s explorations. Harry stroked Hedwig while he waited, content to let the peaceful quiet continue. The owl churred happily, eyes half lidded in pleasure, and he could feel the echoes of her content while Draco interacted with his own fledgling bond with the bird. It was something young Malfoy had discovered once he was able to more clearly visualize his core, and he was thrilled to bits over it.

When Draco opened his eyes, he stretched and yawned. Harry gave the top of Hedwig’s head a kiss, then let the bird get up to stretch as well, before she flew up to the railing at the head of the bed. Suddenly Draco sat up, then scrambled to the foot of the bed.

“Come on, Harry,” he exclaimed. “Stockings!”

“What?” Harry sat up, then blinked at the gigantic stocking Draco held up with a smug smile. It was bulging, it was stuffed so full and easily half as long as Draco was tall. “Stocking?”

“From St. Nicholas, of course,” Draco was saying, already pulling things from the giant stocking. “You have one too. Don’t you see it?”

He had seen it alright, and rubbed his eyes to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. A stocking. For him. It was for him, on Christmas morning. A stocking. His first Christmas stocking. Harry stared at it, just grinning.

“Are you trying a wandless accio, Harry?” Draco laughed. “Come on, already.”

Draco wiggled his bare toes happily as he unpacked all the little wrapped goods and sweets from his stocking and created a pile beside his knee. Doing a little scrambling himself, Harry finally worked his way out from under the warm covers and crawled to the foot of the bed to pick up his stocking. It was real. It was heavy! Throwing Draco a grin, he settled indian style on the bed and started pulling wrapped packages and little boxes out of the stocking as well. He had briefly wondered why Draco simply hadn’t upended the stocking, but quickly discovered the reason for himself. It was incredibly fun just to pick out each item, give it a shake or a feel and try to guess what was inside, and watch the pile grow beside his knee.

“You have to get right down into the toe,” Draco was explaining, his entire arm enveloped by the massive stocking as he dug toward the bottom. “There’s often something tiny and great right at the very end.”

That tempted Harry to hurry, but he restrained himself. He wanted to enjoy every moment of this, so he continued at his own pace.

“Wow,” Draco whispered, making Harry look over.

The boy was bent over something small in his hands, the emptied sock draped over his lap. While he watched, Draco held it up for Harry to see.

“It looks just like Hedwig,” the blonde said, showing Harry.

Sure enough, the tiny pendant did indeed look exactly like the snowy owl. Even the markings were the same, and Harry could see the magic imbedded in the tiny necklace.

“Wow,” Harry remarked, “I really hope I get one too.”

The boys grinned at each other. Draco put the necklace on, then started unwrapping the first of his pile. Harry dug deeper into his stocking, pulling out one oddly shaped package after another, until he was convinced there was nothing left. Just on the off chance, however, he worked his fingers right into the very toe of the stocking, and felt something slide past his fingers. Feeling around more, his arm buried to the shoulder and stocking stuffed into his armpit, he finally caught hold of the elusive item. With a triumphant grin, he pulled his arm out.

“Oh,” he whispered. He had gotten a pendant as well, and again it looked exactly like Hedwig, but this one felt different. Where Draco’s felt like the blonde, this one felt exactly suited to him. The urge to put it on was immediate, and he could feel the protections imbedded in the feel of the magic.

“Oh, you got one too, Harry. That’s great.” Draco grinned, admiring the piece his bond mate held. “Now we’ll match.”

Who could argue with that? Harry slipped the chain over his head, and felt it shorten to fit him exactly so the pendant rested just under the hallow of his throat. It felt just like Hedwig. Watchful and protective. He grinned, then started to explore the packages he had gotten. Unlike Draco’s rip and tear method, Harry carefully opened each one, appreciating the brightly coloured and patterned papers as much as the little gifts and sweets themselves. There were puzzles and games, and tiny figures that he gradually began to realize created the white pieces of a wizarding chess set. Draco’s figures were the corresponding black pieces. Eventually, he unwrapped a small wooden, checkerboard box that the pieces fit into exactly. Harry then discovered that the box could be unfolded, and laid flat to create half of a chess board, while Draco’s was the other half. When the two were placed together, they joined into the complete board. It was perfect.

Healer Davidson found the boys laying on their bellies in the middle of their bed, deeply involved in a game of chess, and surrounded by piles of sweets, games, puzzles and wrapping paper. It was exactly what he had hoped to find this morning. Harry being a normal kid on Yule morning. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face.

“Ready for breakfast, boys?” he asked.

Surprised by the intrusion, both boys looked up, and Harry beamed at the man. “Healer!”

Scrambling to his feet, Harry ran to the end of the bed and jumped. Davidson was so surprised that he caught the boy purely out of reflex, and held him close while Harry wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Happy Yule, Healer,” the boy said and kissed his cheek. “I missed you yesterday.”

Laughing, Davidson squeezed the boy closer. “I missed you too.”

Still grinning, Harry allowed himself to be returned to the end of the bed, though Davidson was reluctant to let him go. For the first time in five months, since he had known the child, Harry had initiated contact without a flinch. It was a red letter day, that was for sure. The healer was determined to make the day as normal as possible however, and clapped his hands together.

“Come on then, lazy bones. Get dressed,” he said. “Breakfast is in the Hall today.”

“You mean we can leave the infirmary?” Draco sat up excitedly.

“You are both officially released from the infirmary,” Davidson confirmed. “You’ll even sleep in the dorm tonight.”

“Wahooo!” Draco rolled off the bed and began searching the bedside table and chairs for clothes.

Laughing, Harry watched him, then climbed down to run to the seating area in the corner. He had spotted piles of clothes on the low table there. “Here they are, Draco.”

“I bet I still beat you,” Draco yelled as he ran to join his bond mate.

Davidson laughed, watching the boys make a competition out of stripping off their pajamas and pulling on clothes as fast as they could. Harry won, but only just, since he had opted to sit on the floor to pull on socks and Draco had ended up falling over as he tried to do it while standing. Davidson called it a draw, since neither had put on shoes yet. When they were ready, Davidson explained that the house elves would take their things up to the dorm for them. The three made their way down to the Hall, Hedwig again proudly riding Harry’s shoulder, the boys barely containing their enthusiasm for finally being out of the infirmary. It didn’t exactly feel like they had been there a week, since they had slept through most of it, but even three days felt like two too many.

The Great Hall was beautifully decorated like a winter wonderland. Full of snow, ice, blues and whites, and tiny, multicoloured lights everywhere. No less than three Christmas trees stood fully decorated, the largest one behind the head table. Everyone gathered for breakfast greeted the boys, happy to see them up and around after their ‘illness’. The staff were seated at the head table end of the Griffindor table, while the students had gathered at the Ravenclaw table. Draco was relieved to see his mother toward the middle of the Ravenclaw table, seated opposite of Lord Black with Professor Snape beside her. He really didn’t want to sit with all of the Professors.

Harry noticed that there were a few Professors missing. Dumbledore was notable by his absence, as was Professor Quirrell. There were a few other faces missing, that he didn’t really know the names of because he didn’t take any of their classes. Hagrid, however, was front and center in the aisle between the tables, and Harry gave him a beaming smile as he was scooped up in the big man’s arms for a crushing hug. Hedwig quickly retreated to an amused Draco, who pet her while he watched Harry.

“Blimey Harry, it’s good to see ya, lad.” the grounds keeper rumbled.

The thick, bushy beard tickled Harry’s face and made him giggle as he tried to hug Hagrid back. He tried to answer, but ended up laughing his questions. “Happy Yule, Hagrid. It’s good to see you, too. I got a present for you. Did you open it? Did it come in time?”

“Aye, I got it,” Hagrid said with a smile parting his beard as he let the boy down again. “It’s perfect, Harry. And Fang thanks ye for the treats, as well.”

“I know it wasn’t a dragon’s egg,” Harry smiled up at the big man, “but I thought you’d like a play dragon just as well. It looked really mean and active in the pictures. Can I come see it sometime?”

“Course you can, Harry. Just as soon as you like.” Hagrid grinned, glad to have his little friend resume his visits to his hut. “Go on, then, and get some breakfast. I know you’ll be wanting your presents soon.”

Harry laughed. “But I already got them, Hagrid. I got a whole stocking full when I woke up. And Draco and I got a really brilliant chess set.”

“Oy, Harry,” Draco exclaimed, “you don’t think that’s all, do you?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, a little uncertain. “Well, I expect we might get some from Hermione and maybe Neville.”

Draco laughed, his grey eyes silver with his amusement. He decided he’d let Harry think as he liked for now. It would make the surprise that much better. “I expect we will. Come on, I’m hungry.”

Grinning, Harry rolled his eyes at Hagrid. “There he goes, bossing me around again.”

“Oh, come on you prat,” Draco laughed along with everyone in hearing distance, and pulled Harry along to the Ravenclaw table where the brunette was firmly planted next to Narcissa.

“Happy Yule, Mother,” Draco greeted his mother with a happy kiss to her cheek. “Happy Yule, Severus.”

“Happy Yule, my dragon,” Narcissa smiled, “and to you as well, Harry.”

“Happy Yule, Narcissa,” Harry smiled with a slight blush.

Everyone exchanged good mornings and Happy Yule, Davidson settling beside Sirius Black, opposite Harry and Draco. Harry quickly drank the nutrient potion that Davidson passed across the table, then loaded his plate with all of his favorite breakfast foods. He was starving as well, and nothing had tasted so good as that Christmas breakfast. Both boys shared select pieces of bacon with Hedwig as they ate. The general mood in the Hall was festive, and Harry found it easy to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. He asked Davidson how the previous day at St. Mungo’s had gone. The healer had spent the day there, catching up on patients and allowing other medi-wizards to have the day off while he covered their shifts. It was a long day for the healer, but well worth it for being able to spend Yule with Harry, and he made sure the boy knew it.

It wasn’t a small group that made their way to Ravenclaw tower after a leisurely breakfast. Harry, Draco, Narcissa Malfoy, Healer Davidson, Sirius Black, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick and three older Ravenclaw students who were staying in the castle over the holidays. The long climb up the stairs proved to be tiring for the two youngest of the group, but the others never let them feel as though they were holding the group back. They simply climbed along at a pace the boys were comfortable with. They may have been released, but they were far from well. No one wanted to spoil the festive mood by mentioning it or rushing them.

Harry was relieved when they finally entered the common room, and he was nearly to his and Draco’s favorite set of chairs when he noticed the room itself. He stopped cold in his tracks, and slowly turned a full circle with his mouth agape. If he thought the Great Hall as a winter wonderland, then the Aerie was a winter palace. Every surface looked to be made of ice in varying shades of blue, white and even glacial green. The walls, floors, the frosted over windows and window frames and fireplaces had all been transformed as though carved from solid ice. Even the furniture had an icy look to it, and the enchanted ceiling showed snow falling from a star studded sky, in the middle of the morning. The tree set up by one of the fireplaces looked like growing, living ice. It was fully decorated with delicate, glinting bulbs and tiny colourful lights. Hedwig flew around the room, barking and churring at the changes, before she settled in her usual perch near the fireplace.

“Wow,” Draco exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Harry agreed.

“Come on, Harry and Draco,” one of the other students urged. “There’s your presents under the tree.”

“Yeah,” said another, a fifth year. “We’ve already opened ours.”

Both boys turned back to the tree, the pile of presents that hid the base finally registering. With a whoop, Draco ran toward it, while Harry stood and stared. He watched while the blonde went to his knees, reaching for the nearest box and reading the label. With a grin cast over his shoulder to Harry, the box was set aside and other one selected. Apparently satisfied, he started to rip the wrapping paper from it. A warm hand settled on Harry’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to open your presents, Harry?” Healer Davidson asked the stunned boy.

“We get more?” Harry looked up at the healer, still stunned.

“Plenty more,” the healer assured with a smile. “There’s some mixed in there for the rest of us. We saved the gifts from you boys to open with you. There are quite a few people who wanted to give you a gift this year. Come on.”

The healer squeezed Harry’s shoulder in reassurance, even as he gently urged the boy toward the tree. The other adults and the three students had all made themselves comfortable on the chairs and couches in front of the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate appearing on the tables for them.

“Come on, Harry, here’s one for you.” Draco called.

It was the last bit of urging the brunette needed, and he soon found himself kneeling next to his bond mate, carefully opening the paper covered in snitches that zoomed all over the wrapping paper. The tag read from ‘your godfather, Sirius‘. He really, really wanted to save this paper. The long package turned out to be a box, wooden and beautifully carved with a Quidditch pitch, complete with players on brooms. He touched the image of the snitch, and the box expanded until it as longer than he was tall. He snatched his hand back with a gasp, wide eyes looking up and down the long, narrow box. Hesitantly, he reached for the clasps, flipped them open, then lifted the lid. Supported on a bed of sapphire velvet, lay the most beautiful broom he had ever seen. The very end of the handle read Nimbus 1992 in silver lettering, and next to where his hands would rest, while flying, was carved Harry Potter.

“Merlin’s pants, Harry,” Draco whispered reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

“Show us, Harry,” a house mate called.

“Let’s see,” another said.

Self consciously, Harry bit his lip and lifted the broom from the box, turning so the others could see it clearly. Every student exclaimed, moving to the floor next to the boys to get a closer look. “Beautiful. The fastest one yet. Can we have a go, Harry?”

Laughing, Harry agreed to let them each have a turn on the broom, after he and Draco had tried it out. He returned the broom to the box and closed it, touching the snitch again to find the box would shrink just as easily. He grinned, and turned to Sirius sitting in a chair.

“Thank you, Sirius. I can’t believe it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, pup,” Sirius smiled. “I can’t wait to see you have a go.”

“Me too,” Draco exclaimed, even as he passed another package to his bond mate. “Here, open this one. It’s heavy.”

“What about everyone else?” Harry asked while getting the heavy package to the floor in front of him. “Healer said there were some for them, too.”

“Yeah, there are. Just a second, and I’ll pass them out.”

Draco gathered up the various packages, passing them to the adults named on the tags. He paused over one with a frown. “Chuck?”

“Oi, that’s me,” the fifth year laughed, reaching for it. “Must have missed one. Thanks Draco.”

Between Harry and Draco, all the remaining presents were divided up, the two boys definitely with the lion’s share since they had barely got started. The older students were lamenting on how they should have waited to open theirs, though Chuck was smugly waiting until everyone else was ready. Draco gave a countdown, then everyone tore into a gift. Harry threw caution to the winds, and actually tore his open as well. He couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. The next half hour was chaotic fun for Harry and Draco as they opened present after present. Even Hedwig got to tear open her own package of owl treats and another of preserved mice and voles. The adults got more enjoyment out of watching them, though each was honestly touched and impressed with the gifts the boys had selected for them.

Hagrid gave Harry toy Aurors, dragons, hippogryphs, and even a sphinx, all of which really moved and interacted. He had carved them himself, and Professor MacGonagall had spelled them to animate. Harry got a pensieve from Madam Bones, and a fully formal set of dress robes complete with the Potter family crest from Narcissa. Healer gave him and Draco both a silver bracelet, that connected with his, and allowed them to communicate with him. The spell work was entirely due to Sirius and Professor Flitwick, and Sirius confessed that he once made a set of mirrors for communication that he and James shared, using the same principles.

Harry also got an advanced potions set up from Professor Snape, along with a potions book that he could eventually add to as he wanted. Professor MacGonagall gave each of the boys their own grimoire for spells, which Harry was especially glad to get. He had loads of notes to transfer. Professor Flitwick had given the boys tickets that they could use for dueling lessons, something they both found very cool, since it was well known that the Professor had once been a professional dueler, and a Grand Champion at that.

Hermione had sent a complete set of books on wizarding law, and Harry had to wonder where she had found them, since he had never seen them before. He was also positive that she had read them herself, before sending them. He reminded himself again to send her another letter, since his first one since waking had prompted a ten page reply that he received the day before. Neville sent Harry a photo album filled with pictures of their parents together. It was bittersweet torture to slowly flip the pages and gaze at picture after picture. He had never seen his parents before, and now he could, whenever he wanted to. There was plenty of room for more pictures, and Sirius promised to bring him a whole mitt-full on his next visit. He cried again. Meanwhile the twins sent a selection of Zonko’s products.

Harry got even more pleasure out of watching the adults open the presents he had selected for them, and seeing that they were so well received. When all the gifts were open, Davidson called Harry to him and sat the boy on the arm of his chair. The healer looked very nervous.

“Harry, back in August I did something that I never told you about,” he began after clearing his throat. “I know that I told you that I wouldn’t keep any secrets from you, but this one was kind of big, and I wanted to save it as a surprise. I really hope you don’t mind.”

Harry watched the healer carefully, giving him a nod when the man paused with nerves. Thanks to Ragnok, he now had a very good idea of what the healer was about to say.

“I went to the Ministry, and looked up a few things. I found out that you didn’t have a magical guardian, so I went ahead and registered myself as your guardian. I wanted to have a way of keeping you safe, and I needed to make sure that I could have a say in how you were raised.” He cupped Harry’s cheek, looking deeply into the boy’s green eyes, which were filling with tears. “I really wanted to adopt you, but I couldn’t do that. I’m sorry. You would be my son by choice, and I need you to know that. No child should ever have to suffer what you did, Harry, and I mean to make sure that you never have to face it again, even if you have claimed your title. You’re a boy, and you need to be a boy. Do you understand?”

Harry had no words. All he could do was nod, his throat closed tight, and tears again streaking his cheeks. On impulse, Harry again threw himself at the healer, trusting the man to catch him as he wrapped his arms around Davidson’s neck and squeezed very tight. His whisper was nearly lost, it was so quiet. “I love you, Healer.”

Davidson made a sobbed sound, and crushed Harry close to this chest.

“I love you too, son,” he brokenly whispered back.

An impact against their sides announced Draco’s arrival, and Davidson adjusted his grip to slide an arm around the other boy, holding them both close.

“Best Christmas ever,” Harry whispered, snug between his two most favorite people on the planet.

Harry had never known a day like it. Complete leisure. No pressures, little worries once he and Draco were able to ignore the things that waited to impact their lives, ample and delicious foods, and all the positive attention from adults that he could ever hope to have. Admittedly, he had never really allowed himself to hope, but if he had, this day paid it all in full, in spades. If he had ever been asked to describe the perfect Christmas day, then this one was it in every way imaginable.

He and Draco spent the largest part of the day simply playing. Harry had never really played before. Nothing like this. Laying on the thick rugs in front of the fireplace, playing with their figures, or puzzles, or chess, while the adults watched and talked amongst themselves. Lunch was served in the common room, and there were snacks available throughout the afternoon. Even the elder Ravens joined the first years in a few games of gobstones or exploding snap. At one point, Chuck brought down his own figures, and spent a solid hour making zooming or animal noises while he played with the boys, much to Harry and Draco’s amusement. Harry was so content, he even fell asleep for an hour, basking in the warmth of the fire, while in the middle of a three dimensional puzzle. Davidson woke him for the group to head down to the Great Hall for Yule dinner.

The meal was more like a banquet. Every holiday specialty seemed to be on the table, from golden roast turkey, to goose and candied yams. Harry and Draco ate so much, they were both fit to burst long before the pudding course appeared. Harry again noticed that Dumbledore and Quirrel were absent, but he wondered about it only in passing, determined not to worry about anything on the most perfect day he’d ever known. Tomorrow was time enough to worry. Besides, not having to deal with a painful scar since his protections were so weak, only made the day better, in his opinion.

It was past 8:30 before they finally left the Great Hall. Harry was tired, even though he had done little more than laze about all day in front of the fire. He and Draco made their way up to the dorm room as soon as they were in the tower, finding that the house elves had brought up all of the gifts they had received that day. Each had a pile either on their beds, or on or piled around their trunks. With a grin of sudden inspiration, Harry decided to give Draco another gift, besides the owl ordered set of animated dragons that the blonde had spent most of the day playing with.

With his wand, Harry tapped the top of his trunk six times, then touched the glowing stone where the lock should be. He then had Draco do the same, the blonde getting a prick on his finger from the unseen needle that took a tiny drop of blood. Harry then urged Draco to tap the trunk twice with his wand, and open the lid.

“Merlin’s shiny white hat, Harry,” Draco whispered while staring in shock down on the well-furnished living room inside the trunk.

Harry laughed at Draco’s reaction.

“It’s a dimensional trunk,” he explained. “It has six rooms. The living room, a library, a potions lab, the kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. I had another section added to look like a normal trunk, for when all the guys are in the dorm.”

“Wow,” Draco still couldn’t believe his eyes, then he halfheartedly smacked Harry on the arm. “You prat. How come it took you so long to show me this?”

Feeling guilty, because it had taken him a long time to make up his mind about it, Harry could only shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I.. well you see… I mean, I didn’t want..”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco interrupted with a bemused smile when his bond mate seemed speechless. “I get it. It just takes you a long time to trust somebody so much. Even me.”

Wincing, Harry knelt down beside Draco beside the trunk to bring their eyes even. “Sort of. I think I trusted you from the day I first met you, but I didn’t know why. I guess I just had some trouble trying to figure out if I could trust that feeling. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Draco nodded with a soft smile. “It does.”

“If it helps,” Harry said hesitantly, “you’re the only other person keyed to the trunk, besides me. You can go in any time you want.”

“Now that helps loads,” Draco grinned. “Can we go in now?”

“Only if you help me carry all this stuff down,” Harry laughed.

Draco wrinkled his nose, looking over the piles of gifts. “I suppose,” he allowed, “If I must.”

“Yes, you must,” Harry said while carefully picking up the pensieve. He knew it wouldn’t spill, but it looked like a dish full of liquid, so was still careful. “I’ll show you all the other rooms, while we’re down there.”

“Brilliant,” Draco agreed.

He picked up an arm load of gifts, and followed Harry down the stairs into the depths of the trunk. Once past the point where he could see into the dorm, it looked to be just another room. A bit on the small side, but spacious enough. A fire burned in the fireplace, and the furniture looked very comfortable. Harry had the blonde put his burden down on the couch, while he placed the pensieve down on the coffee table. The two spent four trips each to carry everything down. On the last trip, Draco handed Harry a simply wrapped package, tied with string.

“This was on your bed, Harry. There’s no tag.”

Joining Draco, he plunked himself on the rug in front of the fire, frowning at the mysterious package. He turned it over and over in his hands, not finding any form of tag or address. “Are you sure it’s for me?”

Draco nodded. “It was on your pillows.”

Still mystified, Harry tore open the plain wrapping after removing the string. A length of shimmering cloth spilled out and over his lap. It was so lightweight, Harry could barely feel the texture of the material in his fingers. While laying the wrapping aside, a note fluttered out, and he picked it up.

This was left with me by your father when he died.

It’s time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

Frowning, Harry turned the note over, then back again. “There’s no signature.”

He passed the note to Draco to read, then lifted a section of the material to get a better look. “What is it?”

Looking up from the mysterious note, Draco shrugged. “It looks kind of like a cloak. Try it on.”

Finding an edge to the material, Harry stood. Much of its length still pooled on the floor, it was so long. Turning the edge in his hands, he finally found a section that looked like a wide hood, so he gripped either side of it and twirled the cloak over his shoulders. He looked at Draco when the other boy gasped, scrambling to his feet.

“It’s an invisibility cloak!” Draco was staring at Harry’s mid-section. “Merlin, Harry, I’ve never seen one like it.”

Following Draco’s look, Harry looked down at himself to find that where the cloak covered him, was gone. He closed the cloak, and his body disappeared completely. Heart hammering, he looked at Draco.

“You’ve seen one before, Draco?”

The other boy nodded, while he reached out to touch Harry’s invisible shoulder. “Father had one, but it was all black. Not this shimmering material. This one looks like it’s made of stars caught in acromantula web. Put the hood up, Harry.”

Doing as instructed, he watched Draco’s eyes widen. While Harry could see through the material, which was much like a shimmering veil, Draco seemed to look right through him.

“You’re completely gone,” the blonde was saying. “When father wore his, I could sometimes see his outline, just a little bit, where it went funny, and only if I knew exactly where he was. It would make the flames look funny if he were standing in front of the fireplace, too. But you.. I can’t see anything.”

“Do you really think this belonged to my father?” Harry asked, trying to get a look at his arm. He could see it inside the cloak, but not from the outside.

Draco’s eyes turned to the sound of his voice, but his eyes never really focused on him. Harry found it both funny and a little disconcerting.

“Anything is possible,” Draco shrugged. “I wonder where he would have got it?”

“Me too,” Harry nodded, unseen. “I also wonder who sent it to me.”

“That’s probably easier to figure out,” Draco said, looking at the note he still held. “This is handwritten. We could match the hand writing. Who would have had something of your father’s when he died?”

Harry shrugged again, removing the cloak to fold it neatly. “Anybody, I suppose. If it was Sirius, he probably would have just given it to me. None of this mystery stuff.”

That, however, sparked an idea, and Harry frowned at the thought. “Wait a second. Who’s always been really mysterious with me? Telling me stuff without really saying anything?”

“Dumbledore,” Draco said with convinced realization. “It probably wouldn’t be too hard to confirm that this is his handwriting, too. I’ll just ask my godfather.”

“We’ll ask him tomorrow,” Harry nodded, still frowning over the now small square of cloth. He found that it could fold up to a much smaller size than the original package had indicated. He could probably even stuff it into a back pocket, if he didn’t mind the bulge too much.

Draco suddenly laughed. “Best not let the twins know you have that, Harry. They’d go spare trying to figure out pranks to use it for.”

Picturing the twin Weasleys, hunched over the cloak and writing a long list, made Harry laugh too. “Best keep this out of sight, then,” he agreed.

He put it on the couch, where Draco added the note, and the two spent some time exploring the different rooms of the trunk. One of the modifications Harry had done, was having the rooms interconnected by a series of dimensional doors. He could pass from one room to another, but always had to remember to close the door behind him or he couldn’t move on to the next room. It was a glitch, but one that wasn’t too much bother. Harry could already see himself getting another, more advanced trunk, however. He’d probably go through a series of them before finally settling on a model.

Draco pronounced the potions lab as his favorite, and they spent the most time in there.

“Now I know where you disappeared to, those few times I couldn’t find you,” he observed while they explored the bedroom.

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t really come down much during school,” he explained. “Mostly for some potion work, or to fetch a book or something. I didn’t like leaving you for that long.”

“I didn’t like that bit, either,” Draco grinned suddenly. “We could really get ahead in potions now. Hermione will be so jealous.”

“She’ll drive herself barmy trying to figure out how we’re doing it,” Harry agreed.

“Harry?” Davidson’s voice interrupted their laughter, and Harry found himself looking around until he remembered the silver bracelet.

“Healer?” he asked, when he had brought his left wrist up to his mouth.

“Where are you? You’re not in your dorm,” the healer’s voice made Harry wince guiltily.

“We’ll be right up,” Harry said, looking to Draco. “I guess the secret will be out.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” Draco sighed with a scowl. “But, it’s not like you need to key him into the trunk, Harry. I mean, he might find out that you have one, but he’ll probably be alright about it since he’ll know where you are and can call you any time.”

Since freeing himself from the overbearing thumb of the Dursley’s, Harry had been completely independent. Having someone to answer to again was not only something that grated on him, a little, but seemed foreign and strange. He didn’t want to go back to that kind of scrutiny.

“I guess,” he replied without much commitment. “Let’s go back up. I’ll help you put your presents away.”

A few minutes later, the boys climbed out of the trunk to face a clearly surprised Healer Davidson and Narcissa Malfoy.

“How did… is that a dimensional trunk?” Davidson asked, moving closer to have a look at the trunk the boys had just climbed out of.

Harry obligingly opened the lid again, to reveal the living room. Both Davidson and Narcissa had to have a look.

“We were just putting Harry’s presents away,” Draco explained, looking to his mother.

“I can see that,” Narcissa replied, easily able to see the gifts piled on the couch below. “They should be entirely safe down there.”

Draco smiled reassuringly at Harry. His mother wasn’t the least bit upset, likely because they had promptly appeared when called.

“I wish I had one of these when I was in school,” Davidson was grinning. “Very nice, Harry.”

Harry tentatively smiled back. He had expected to get into trouble for not being where he was expected to be, but Davidson’s wink left little room for doubt that the man was alright with the trunk.

Truthfully, Davidson was actually relieved. Harry had a safe place that he could retreat to, if he needed, and the cagey boy had ensured that no matter where he was, he would have somewhere secure to sleep. The healer was actually impressed with the ingenuity Harry demonstrated, even as he cursed the reasons behind it. Not for the first time, Davidson thought that perhaps this summer was a good time to have the boy start speaking with a mind healer. For now, all he could do was allow Harry to feel as secure and in control of his own environment as possible.

“Come along, boys,” Narcissa interrupted in her brisk way. “It’s getting late. Let’s get the rest of these things tidied up, and you two into pajamas and bed. The healer and I insist on tucking you in.”

“Mother,” Draco protested with a mock scowl, even as he moved to start putting his own presents away. “We’re eleven, not five.”

Harry quickly went to help his bond mate, even as Hedwig barked her own form of scolding at the boys from her perch. She knew how tired the boys actually were, even as the adults had to make an educated guess.

“None the less, you’ve had a very full day.” Narcissa was saying, ignoring the heart of her son’s protest as any mother would.

Davidson only watched with amusement as the woman bustled about, helping the boys and fetching Draco’s pajamas and necessities kit, instructing Harry to do the same. She soon had them off to the dorm bathroom to shower and brush their teeth before getting changed. Narcissa looked a little nonplussed when the boys chose their own beds without any form of prompting. She had grown used to them being in the same bed, but she recovered quickly. While she tucked in Draco, Davidson did the same for Harry.

The healer used a charm to dry Harry’s hair for him, then pulled the covers up with a smile while Harry’s hands explored his head wonderingly.

“Can you teach me that spell?” the first year asked, making Davidson laugh.

“In the morning,” he insisted, urging Harry to lay back while he made sure the boy was snugly covered. He bent forward, planting a kiss on Harry’s forehead, inwardly glad to note the always wary child didn’t even flinch.

“Healer?” Harry had never been tucked in before, and he found he rather liked it. He wanted to prolong the experience. At Davidson’s eyebrow of inquiry, he continued his question. “What’s your first name?”

“You don’t know?” The healer was surprised. All this time, and Harry didn’t know his first name? The boy shook his head against the crisp pillowcase. “It’s Willis, but my family calls me Will.”

“Are your parents still alive?” the boy next asked, hungry for information on the man who had chosen to become a father figure to him. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Davidson patiently answered. “My father is still alive. His name is Ben. My mother passed about eight years ago. I have one older brother, and a younger sister, both married. Harold has two kids, Jeremy who’s nineteen, and Doug who’s seventeen. He’s a seventh year in Hufflepuff. Anise has one girl, Denise. She’s a fourth year Hufflepuff.”

“Wow,” Harry remarked, his eyes wide. “That’s a big family. Didn’t you want to spend Yule with your family?”

Smiling, Davidson cupped Harry’s cheek, looking him in the eye. “I did spend Yule with my family, Harry.”

“Oh,” was all that would make it past Harry’s suddenly tight throat. He blinked back tears, determined not to cry again. He was turning into a big cry baby. He wasn’t above a hug, however, and the skin hungry child sat up to tightly hug the healer around the chest. Strong arms held him close, and Harry realized that he could learn to love that feeling. “I did, too.”

“Good,” Davidson whispered back, rubbing Harry’s back before urging him to lay down again.

“Harry,” Narcissa called from Draco’s bed. Davidson and Harry both looked over. “Draco and I have one more gift for you. Go ahead, my dragon.”

“Dobby,” Draco said firmly from where he was propped against his pillows. A house elf promptly appeared next to the bed.

“Young Master Draco, sir. How can Dobby helps young Master?”

“Dobby, has my father called you in the past week?” Draco asked, after getting a reassuring nod from his mother.

“Dobby hears the Master, but Dobby no longer needs to obey. Should Dobby punish himself, sir?” the elf trembled, wringing bandaged hands.

Narcissa let out a breath of relief, even as Draco was shaking his head at the house elf. “No, you don’t need to punish yourself, Dobby. I’m going to give you to someone else while my father can’t call you. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes, sir, please, sir, Dobby not like to be Master’s elf. He be’s a bad wizard. Many dark secrets.” The elf promptly clapped his hands over his mouth, and looked around frantically. Taking a few running steps, he banged his head against the sturdy, wooden side dresser.

“Dobby, stop at once!” Draco yelled, relaxing only when the elf complied. “You do not need to punish yourself anymore, Dobby. You no longer serve my father. Here.”

Dobby’s over large eyes blinked at the white shirt Draco held out to him.

“I’m giving you clothes to free you from Malfoy service,” Draco said firmly to the elf. “Take it, and go to the next bed where you’ll find Harry Potter. He will be your new master.”

“Master Draco free Dobby?” the elf asked in disbelief, hesitantly taking the shirt dangling in front of him. Once the shirt was in his hands, the little elf clutched it to his chest and breathed deep, his eyes closed. “Dobby be free!”

Harry watched all of this with wide eyed fascination, intrigued by the elf’s magic flare when he accepted the shirt. He was more than a little alarmed when Draco pronounced him the elf’s new master, however, and sat up again.

“But I don’t want to be anybody’s master, Draco,” he exclaimed to his bond mate.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Draco was quick to reassure his mate. “I know that Dobby has wanted to be free forever. He wants to be a paid elf. He’s altogether too strange for a house elf, but he works hard, and he worships your name.”

“The Great Harry Potter, sir,” the elf in question had moved up to Harry’s bed while the boys had talked, and now gazed up at Harry with adoration.

Leaning back a little, Harry shook his head. “I don’t want someone worshiping my name, Draco. How do I make him stop?”

Davidson hastily covered a laugh with his fist, trying to make it sound like a cough.

“Harry,” Narcissa was equally unsuccessful in hiding her amusement, but sobered quickly. “Dobby is a special house elf. He’s been sorely used by my husband, and deserves a new master. I know you would treat him kindly, and remove him from the possibility of having to serve my husband again. While he is still a Malfoy house elf, there’s always the chance he’ll be forced to respond if my husband calls for him. Dobby was his majordomo.”

Uncertain, Harry looked from Narcissa to the elf, studying the creature closely. “Is that all true?” he asked Dobby.

“um humm,” the elf nodded, his protruding eyes wide and frightened looking, as though Lucius could appear at any moment and reclaim his property. “Dobby is always treated like vermin.”

“Dobby was bound to the Malfoy house, rather than my husband personally,” Narcissa went on to explain, “but I can’t take the chance that he’ll be able to successfully call the elf to him. However much he might want to be free, Dobby is a house elf, and their magic depends on a bond. I’m afraid he won’t live very long without one. A year, at the most.”

“I don’t know that Harry’s magic can hold another one, Narcissa,” Davidson interjected with concern. He glanced at Harry with a question in his eyes.

After a moment’s thought, Harry nodded his permission. He knew what the healer needed to tell Draco’s mother. Davidson turned back to Narcissa.

“Harry’s magic has been bound,” he said, and Narcissa gasped, reaching blindly beside her to grip Draco’s hand. “After his familiar bond, and the one he has with Draco, Harry has barely enough reserves left to allow him to do daily magic. Even then, he does little more magic than he has to for his classes.”

“Who would dare do such a thing to a child?” Narcissa hissed, coldly furious on Harry’s behalf. “Can’t you remove it?”

“We can,” Davidson nodded, “but it’s a powerful binding, placed when he was an infant. Goldleaf and I are waiting until the end of last term, so he’ll have plenty of time to recover during the summer. Draco will need to be there as well. When Harry’s magic is released, Draco’s will surge to match him.”

“So it’s true then,” Narcissa said, looking from her son to Harry. “You’re soul bound?”

Both boys nodded, but it was Davidson who spoke.

“We’ll need you to take a vow not to reveal that, Narcissa. It’s a close secret. As of now, there are only five people who know. Myself, Healer Goldleaf, Chieftain Ragnok, Professor Snape, and now you.”

“I hadn’t realized,” Narcissa whispered, then looked over to Harry. “The poison. The goblin healer said that your magic kept Draco alive long enough for them to neutralize the poison.”

“It was Draco’s magic, actually,” Davidson corrected the woman gently. “Harry used up his own reserves almost immediately, while they were unconscious here in the dorm, I suspect. The rest of the raw… power, I guess you could say, came from Draco. Harry’s magic was only able to direct it at that point.”

“Through the soul bond,” Narcissa added softly with a nod of understanding. “And that would be the real reason they both nearly died, not directly as a result of the soul bond. They both drained themselves.”

Davidson nodded, and Narcissa gently stroked Draco’s hair. She looked to Harry. “No matter how it was done, Lord Potter, you saved my son’s life. I owe you a dept for that.”

“No you don’t, Lady Narcissa,” Harry responded immediately. “Saving Draco is the same as saving myself. There can’t be any dept owed for that, can there?”

Narcissa laughed ruefully. “You’re quite right, Harry. It’s been so long since there has been a truly soul bound pair. I keep thinking in the more conventional terms. This isn’t a bond you chose for yourselves, but one that Magic herself gave you before you were both born. I have to remember that.”

She drew her wand, and it’s tip glowed as she made her vow. “I, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, Lady of the House of Malfoy, do hereby swear upon my magic to keep the secrets of Lord Harry James Potter, and his bond made, my son, Scion Draco Lucius Malfoy, for as long as it may be required, or until I have the permission of either to speak. So mote it be.”

The magic settled around Narcissa, but to Harry it looked like she had been freed of a burden as she gave both boys a smile.

“Dobby swears to keep the secrets of the Great Harry Potter, too,” the house elf piped up. Harry had nearly forgotten the elf was there. “Dobby can waits until Master Harry’s magic be free, if Master Harry will want a vermin house elf.”

“Please don’t call me master,” Harry pleaded with the elf. “I really don’t want to be anybody’s master. Just call me Harry, please.”

The elf’s protuberant eyes welled with tears. “Does Harry Potter, sir, not want an elf, then?”

Harry rubbed his face with both hands, grateful for the warm weight of Davidson’s hand on his shoulder. He sighed heavily, then looked at the elf who was trying his best to keep from bawling all over the dorm. “When my magic is free, I’ll be glad to accept a house elf named Dobby. But only if Dobby never calls me master, and my elves will all be paid a good wage.”

Nodding hard enough to make his ears flap, Dobby broke out into a wide smile. “Dobby will work hard for Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will starts right away.”

Harry looked helplessly to Davidson. “What do I do with him now, Heal..I mean, Will?”

Looking around the tidy dorm room, Davidson frowned, then spotted the trunk. “Why not have him clean up your trunk? He can do things for you in there, and pop in and out as needed, without you having to open it for him. He only needs to see inside once.”

Harry worried his lip, thinking about it. “Does he need a key?”

“A standard key, no, but if it’s a blood key, he might.” Davidson answered matter-of-factly.

Harry climbed out of bed. “Come with me, Dobby.”

The elf followed him, while putting on the shirt and buttoning it up. It was one of Draco’s old ones, and much too small for the eleven year old. It was still a little large on the elf. Harry knelt next to his trunk.

“This is a special lock, Dobby, that needs some blood to let anyone in. Will it need your blood?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Harry thought. The adults already knew about the trunk, so he didn’t see any point in not letting them know about the blood lock. It certainly wasn’t the only form of security on the trunk. At the elf’s nod, and after a look to Draco who gave a smiling nod, Harry again initiated the keying sequence, then added Dobby to the wards. He then lifted the lid so Dobby could see inside.

“Oh, Dobby likes this secret manor,” the elf exclaimed with his head stuck into the trunk far enough to make his words echo.

He pulled out fast enough to surprise Harry into falling back onto his bum, and the trunk lid to slam closed again.

“Harry Potter, sir, needs his rest. Gets back into beds with you. Dobby will make the mini Potter secret manor all nice and clean.”

Helping Harry to his feet amid everyone’s laughter, the elf bustled Harry back into bed, then let Davidson take over tucking the boy in, while Dobby popped away. Presumably to the inside of the trunk. Harry didn’t even bother to try and hide his yawn when Davidson again kissed his forehead good night. He exchanged good nights with Narcissa and Draco, then was asleep before the healer and Narcissa left the dorm room.

…

He had never known a fortnight like it. Cold, hunger, the most uncomfortable stone bench to sleep on, when he could manage sleep. Every call went unanswered. He knew it wouldn’t do any good, but he tried none the less. His visitors always came with veritaserum, and he told them everything they wanted to know. He had no defenses against the truth potion, especially one brewed by Potions Master Severus Snape. He didn’t even have the comfort of knowing that he would be moved to the Ministry holding cells. He’d remain a guest of Gringotts until his trial. To minimize the chance that he would escape, he was told. It was to minimize his chance of talking Fudge into freeing him, he knew.

The Minister had visited him only once, with Madam Bones and surrounded by Aurors and goblins. The meeting had been brief and not very informative, except to tell him the date of his trial. January 13th. He wished the goblins would use physical torture. It would be better then Ragnok’s hobby of dropping by to tell him of yet another vault that had been seized, or a parcel of property that had been frozen for his second son’s inheritance. They were finding every bolt hole he had managed to create over the years. Found them all, and seized them in the name of Scion Malfoy, heir of Malfoy. His weak, sorry excuse for a son would get it all, every knut. The Minister,  or any other high placed Ministry official, would receive no more bribes or gifts in exchange for his ‘counsel’, or even his freedom.

Once Lucius Malfoy had been assured that he was a pauper in every way, and his wife and her son stood to inherit it all after his trial, the infuriating goblin would stop by for little chats about his first son’s fate. Derrek had gone to trial on December 27th. Because he was still a minor, his guilty verdict held a different punishment then the one Lucius faced. His wand had been snapped, and his magic bound. The Obliviators had modified the boy’s memories so he would be unable to make his way to Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Ministry or any other magical place he knew of at the time of his arrest. So far as Derrek Hughes was concerned, he was a muggle orphan living with a foster family in Wales, his family the victim of a devastating automobile accident that he had only just recovered from. So far as his mother, Gillian Hughes, was concerned, her son was dead. Actually, once she had been told what her son had done, she disowned him on the spot, cursing Lucius’s name. The senior Malfoy was given every detail.

Ragnok’s current form of entertainment, to ring in the new year, or so he said, was to regale Lucius with tales of what the Aurors were finding in his home, and on his property. Dark artifacts of many descriptions were seized for either study by the Unspeakables, or destruction by the goblins. Ragnok was particularly pleased to tell him about a very dark diary that had been found in Malfoy manor. One that had once belonged to one Tom Marvolo Riddle. It was Lucius’s prized possession, given into his safe keeping by the Dark Lord, himself. It was gone. Destroyed by the goblins. Using what they were finding in Malfoy manor as a shining example of what a former, redemptive Death Eater would do, Ragnok had gained permission to search the vaults of all convicted Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. The grin Lucius had been given then, was blood thirsty. The Malfoy vaults would be the first ones searched.

It was the worst Yule holidays Lucius Malfoy could ever remember. He had lost everything. His family, his wealth, and soon, his freedom. If he wasn’t kissed outright, he would spend the rest of his days in Azkaban.

…

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore did not enjoy his Yule holidays at all. One of the many, many penances he had to pay in order to stay out of Azkaban, was to play the role of St. Nicholas for children not only in St. Mungo’s, but muggle hospitals and orphanges as well. Every day since the end of term was spent with a room full of different children and a huge, bottomless red sack of wrapped gifts, marked magically for a boy or girl. The only robes he was permitted to wear, were red with white fur trim. He didn’t mind the color so much as the heat. They were heavy and grew uncomfortably hot no matter how many cooling charms he cast. He had to use Legilimency to greet each and every child by name, and determine if they had been naughty or nice.

This would be his task every Yule for the foreseeable future. It was hell.

After the day itself, he had to go out to Stonehenge. He was required to magically cleanse the circle to prepare it for the new year’s dedication rituals, as well as physically pick up any garbage or debris that was laying about. By hand. Without magic. By himself. Once finished there, he was required to do the same at each major power circle in the Isles, in descending order of importance. If he finished all of those before the next school term was due to begin, he was required to present himself to Azkaban, where he would recast the muggle repelling wards and perform any other magical upkeep the prison required. If that was done before school started, he was required to do the same for Diagon Alley, Hogsmead, and any other magical community that needed the task done. Any that were missed, had to be reported to the Ministry so others could be sent out to perform the annual task.

As labor intensive as these tasks were, it was only the beginning of what he was required to do in order to keep himself out of the tiny cell portion of the prison. The one and only bright spot of the entire holiday, was the knowledge that he had convinced Hagrid to move the unicorn herd to another enchanted forest in Ireland, where they would be safe from whatever had been killing them. The fact that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had survived a poisoning attempt was a more dubious pleasure. He still hadn’t made up his mind about the suitability of the boy to be the wizarding world’s savior. He could far too easily be seduced by the Dark Arts, as another boy he had known had been. The only thing saving them from the rise of another Dark Lord, should the Potter boy succumb, was the fact that Dumbledore had bound the boy’s magic when he was an infant. It was all he could do to ensure that all that potential didn’t cause the same havoc and ruin as Voldemort had. It was for the greater good.

If only that Healer hadn’t found the compulsion potion. By the turn of the new year, the Potter boy would be malleable and willing to do whatever it took to save wizard kind from the threat of Voldemort’s return. He could then be shaped into the hero that was needed, and willingly sacrifice himself when the time came. That was something that Dumbledore was sure would have to happen, regardless.

Thinking about these, and other ways he could save the magical world, helped make the tasks Dumbledore had to perform a little easier. As it turned out, he was willing to do just about anything to stay out of Azkaban, and be in position to come to the aid of the wizarding world should the need arise. Indulging himself, however, did not make picking up trash any more pleasant.

…

He couldn’t remember the last time he had honestly enjoyed himself. In fact, he didn’t remember the last time he had a free thought, much less a pleasant one. He knew he must have, once, but he had lost the ability to call up a memory that was anything but pain or causing pain. His passenger, however, had no such trouble. Pain was his pleasure, and he inflicted just as much as he could just to feel the thrill of Quirrel’s disgust and fear. It wasn’t right that such a pure creature as a unicorn should suffer so much before finally being given the mercy of death so the Master could drink.

It didn’t matter that Hagrid had moved the herd. Quirrel had simply offered to help, so knew exactly where to find them. He had even offered to stay and watch over them, until school started again, to make sure the herd was safe. His Master needed the unicorn blood to continue to live, and he needed the pleasure that inflicting pain and torture brought him, in order to feel alive. If even for a little while. Quirrel had long ago stopped trying to fight his passenger’s influence. He was now nothing more than Voldemort’s fleshy skin, a pack animal that the Master used as he saw fit. Quirrel knew that he was dying, and his only thought now, when he was allowed to have one, was that he hoped it was soon.

The weekend before January 13 was cold and blustery in Scotland. The grounds around Hogwarts was layered with deep snow, through which paths had been cut. Much of the snow immediately around the castle was well trod by students who spent some of their free time building snow forts and having snowball fights. Neither Harry or Draco really regretted being unable to join them. They were able to watch their year mates from a window, and even sent strategy pointers in the form of notes sent with Hedwig. As a result, the most successful team consisted of Hermione, Neville, the twins and notes from Harry and Draco. The Griffindors often called it cheating when they would see the snowy owl make a delivery. The Slytherins called it good strategy, having a well placed pair of lookouts. It was obviously harder to best the Slytherins.

London was more slush than snow. The streets and walkways had been largely cleared, and only dirty lines of snow remained to mark where it had been piled up against the side of the roadways or sidewalks. There wasn’t nearly as much of it, either. Healer Davidson side along apparated the boys to London, where they met Narcissa outside of the Ministry. They went in together. It looked largely the same as Harry remembered, from when he had visited with Hagrid, except this time he was escorted onto one of the lifts after their wands had all been checked. They all went down to the courtrooms, where the trial was to be held, though the elevator ride was the strangest Harry had ever had.

Walking into the court room, Harry took everything in with wide eyes while allowing the healer to lead him toward a seat. Dobby had somehow managed to find him a new robe in dark blue with the Potter family crest embroidered on it, and Draco was likewise turned out with his family crest on a dark grey robe. The eleven year old wanted to turn and leave the large room when he noticed that the ambient noise had become silent. Harry looked at all the seated people staring back at him, and even though it made him uncomfortable, it also made him angry. Why were they staring? Hadn’t they seen a boy before? Frowning, he continued to the seat Davidson guided him to, and sat stiffly beside Draco with his hands clasped in his lap. Almost defiantly, he returned several stares pointedly, until the individuals turned away to whisper to a neighbor or lowered their eyes.

The trial itself was less a determination of justice so much as a platform for the DMLE to initiate sweeping changes. Thanks to the recorded, extensive questioning of Lucius Malfoy, Director Amelia Bones had several names of other Death Eaters who had already been taken into custody, along with a list of their past and more recent transgressions. Without the Malfoy coffers to line the Minster’s pockets, Fudge had no choice but to allow the proceedings, and approve the detainment of prominent figures until their status as a Death Eater was proven. More good had been accomplished for the whole of the wizarding world in the past three weeks than had occurred in the entire ten years since Lord Voldemort’s defeat by the Boy-Who-Lived. January 13, 1992 marked the day the final Death Eaters were named and ousted from the ranks of the Wizengamot itself, the proof prominently branded on their left forearms. Only after the final man had been escorted from the chamber by Aurors to face his own detainment and questioning, was Lucius Malfoy brought into the court room.

Harry felt Draco stiffen beside him at the sight of his father. Being held by the goblins had not been a pleasant experience for the aristocrat. To say he was filthy was an understatement. He was uninjured, but the indignity of being held captive for so long was stamped on the proud man. Shoulders slumped and his white blonde hair loose and limp with grease, Malfoy shuffled in his chains between two Auror escorts to the stone chair in the center of the floor. His fashionable robes had been replaced by near rags that barely maintained whatever remained of his dignity. He sat hunched and shivering in the cold chair, while the enchanted chains slithered over him to hold him in place.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Amelia Bones began from the podium, “you have been charged with the attempted murder of your son and legal heir, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and the attempted manslaughter of Harry James Potter.”

At mention of the boy’s names, the dirty blonde head rose, and Malfoy’s grey eyes unerringly found the pair sitting in the front row of those observing, as though he had known where they sat the entire time. Without expression, he continued to stare while Bones spoke, barely blinking.

“You have confessed your guilt, which has been viewed by this body in pensieve. Your accomplice has already been tried and sentence carried out. Due to the extreme nature of your crime, and your expressed lack of remorse, the Wizengamot has determined that your sentence shall be the Dementor’s Kiss, to be administered immediately. Further, you are to be stripped of all titles and assets, which will be conferred immediately to your sole legal heir, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Have you any final words?”

Bones watched the senior Malfoy expectantly, even as the man continued to silently stare at the two boys sitting in the stands. Draco shifted in his seat, which prompted the only expression Lucius had made thus far. With a twisted smirk on his lips, Malfoy finally looked toward Bones.

“My weak issue is welcome to the title, for all the good it will do him.” Lucius croaked even as Narcissa hissed in a breath in reaction. “He’ll break quick enough when the Dark Lord returns to claim what is his.”

Whispers broke out amid the spectators, which were quickly hushed by the sparks issued from the Chief Warlock’s wand. The man returned his wand to it’s cradle on the desk in front of him once silence had been restored. He nodded to Bones to continue.

“Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Bones addressed the boy evenly, “as the intended victim, have you anything to say to the condemned before sentence is carried out?”

Draco had been warned that he would be asked to make a statement, and he had told his mother that he wouldn’t. He had worked hard within himself to overcome the grief and confusion that his father’s actions had inspired. He didn’t know that he would ever really get over the bone deep betrayal he felt. The knowledge that his own father never loved him was wounding enough, but to be so heartlessly cast aside as he nearly was, killed like so much chattel, was devastating. However, now that the moment was upon him, the youngster found he had things to say to his father after all. Taking a deep breath, Draco stood, much to his mother’s confusion. Harry simply looked up at him expectantly. He could feel his bond mate gather his courage and wear it like a shield.

“From the time I was old enough to understand what you wanted in a son, I had tried hard to please you. I had striven to be the son I thought you wanted, even when I felt it was wrong. It took a single, chance meeting in Diagon Alley to show me that the Malfoy line would be better served if I were true to myself.”

Draco paused to take a deep breath. Not for more courage, but because he wanted a moment to savor the burst of deep pride he felt from Harry along their bond.

“Now I really understand, Father,” Draco continued, his voice clear and unbroken in the silent cavern of a room. “You were always the weak one. Never me. You bent a knee to evil. Not I. You continue to serve evil, in your heart. I never will. You sullied the Malfoy name. Not I. I will bring strength and honor back to our family. I can only hope that from wherever you end up, you’ll see it, and come to fully understand, as I do, just how weak you really are.”

Draco sat back down, his hands reached for both his mother, on one side, and Harry, on the other, and squeezed hard. He wouldn’t allow himself a single tear or even a tremble to betray how he really felt. The chamber was silent as a tomb, and throughout Draco’s entire speech, Lucius had only looked dispassionately at Director Bones. Loathe to break the silence herself, Bones turned to give the Aurors guarding the Dementor in it’s cage a single nod.

As one, the pair crossed the floor of the court room to the stone chair, and released Malfoy from the chains. With a firm grip on either side of the man, they walked him toward the cage. Malfoy senior tried to present a dignified and brave front, which promptly crumbled the instant he crossed the threshold of the ward line providing the shield that held the Dementor’s influence from affecting those in the court. He went rapidly white with fear and his knees sagged, forcing the Aurors to drag the man the final steps toward the bars where the eager creature waited. Malfoy’s mouth opened on a wail that no one could hear, as the area around the Dementor was also silenced. The Aurors tossed Malfoy the final couple of feet to the bars, where the Dementor latched hold of the former aristocrat’s rags and dragged the struggling man closer.

Both Draco and Harry turned away and toward each other, neither one wanting to watch while Lucius Malfoy had his soul sucked out. It seemed to take forever, yet no time at all, before Harry felt Davidson’s hand gently squeeze his shoulder. It was over.

The two adults herded the children out of the courtroom as quickly as they could. Neither Narcissa or Will wanted to be held up by the exiting crowd of spectators, or the journalists who were were sure to have far too many, probing questions for the stricken boys. Ideally, neither wanted Harry and Draco to witness the Kiss, but the boys had decided for themselves that they wanted the closure. Draco more especially. He wanted the assurance that he would be safe from his father’s influence and plans. Draco found the sense of relief to be liberating. It had been horrible, but for the first time in his life, he honestly felt a freedom he had never known before, even when he started his first day at Hogwarts. He had been more or less feeling out the part of an independent spirit under Harry’s engaging influence, the sense of fear of his father always in the background. Now that influence was gone, and he could begin to live his life in earnest. With is mother’s approval and Harry’s support, Draco felt he could take on a dragon single handed.

The quartet left the Ministry as quickly as they could manage while skirting journalists and curiosity seekers. From there, they went to Diagon Alley, and to Gringotts. They were ushered immediately into a comfortable conference room, much to the speculation of those in the bank, where they sat and Narcissa finally allowed herself a moment of reaction. As angry as she was at the man who had tried to have her son murdered, he was her husband, and she had loved him once. Now, for all intents and purposes, that man was dead. With a trembling hand over her mouth, Narcissa moved to the far wall of the room, and stood silent and alone with her grief while Davidson sought to distract the boys and give her some time.

This proved somewhat easy to do, as the goblins served them a light lunch and the boys were subdued and almost eager for the distraction. It was nearly a half hour before Narcissa had gathered herself enough to join them. After the remnants of the meal had been cleared away, Ragnok joined them. As the last of the Potters, Harry’s position had been rather unique, allowing him to take on the mantle of Lord at such a young age. Draco still had living relatives in France. He would remain Scion until he could legally take up the Lordship when he turned fourteen. In the meantime, he could learn how to manage the vast estates and wealth of the Malfoys, and his education began that afternoon.

It was a tired group that returned to Hogwarts that evening, and both Harry and Draco went to bed early.

Life at school resumed, and the routine of classes and homework gradually took the edge off of the bitter memories of the Yule events and it’s aftermath. Both boys healed and grew stronger, as well as closer. If they were inseparable before, they were a single unit as winter gradually gave way to spring. Neville and Hermione became an even tighter part of the small group, and the four spent every spare moment they could together. Harry was never able to completely repair the mental shields he had built around the dark thread at his core. He therefore found Defense Against the Dark Arts his most trying subject. Quirrel continued to decline, and was often absent, forcing the students to take a study period. Harry lived for those days.

By the time the student body was preparing for spring break, Harry was looking forward to spending even less time in the absent professor’s company. If he had to, the first year would spend the entire break sequestered in the Aerie. He’d spend the entire week in his trunk, and happily. There was certainly enough to keep him busy and entertained. Between reviewing things for the Potter estate, research and brewing, Harry could easily let a few weeks pass without ever having to leave the tiny home he had made for himself. Especially now that he had Dobby to bring him meals and look after him.

Draco was unable to dissuade Narcissa from taking him home for the week. Davidson had assured her that their bond was strong and stable enough to allow for the separation, no matter how distressed the idea made the two boys. She wanted her son home for a little while. Harry watched Draco leave the school along with the other students, trying his hardest not to let the niggling anxiety show in his expression. He didn’t want that to be the last thing Draco saw as he was leaving. He knew in his head it would be alright, but he had grown so used to having Draco beside him, that the coming week loomed bleak and empty at the thought of the other boy’s absence. He remained on the front steps of the school long after the last carriage had gone out of sight through Hogwart’s gates, and certainly long after the train would have left Hogsmead. With his face turned up to the spring sun and eyes closed, Harry concentrated on his connection to his bond mate. He hoped that Draco would find some small measure of enjoyment with his brief holiday home. Draco was upset for a long time, but gradually his mood evened out and Harry began to feel a bit better about the separation. Just a little bit.

Harry went back into the nearly empty school. There were even fewer staying than there were for Yule, and the corridors were deserted as he started up the main staircase. Davidson had to work at St. Mungo’s, or he would have insisted that Harry spend the holiday with him, or so he had told the boy on his last visit. Harry didn’t really mind. He knew the healer was busy. Besides, he still hadn’t got used to the guardianship business. More to the point, he hadn’t let himself think about it much. It was a subject that was all too easy to set aside while he was busy with school. He found it distinctly odd to walk up to the Aerie without Draco beside him, but he could still feel the other boy. Inside, where it counted most.

Preoccupied, he nearly bumped into someone as he turned the last corner on the corridor to the Ravenclaw common room entrance. Looking up, Harry found himself face to face with Professor Quirrell. Before Harry could do more than suck in a shocked breath, there was a wand tip pointed at his nose, and Quirrell had demanded his wand. With great reluctance, Harry passed it over to the professor. He hadn’t seen the man in two days, and the professor looked horrid. Grey and seemingly ravaged by illness, red rimmed eyes glared down at him madly. There was no sign of a stutter as the man ordered the elven year old to turn around, and march back to the stairs. The image of Quirrell’s dry cracked face and grey, blood spotted lips was burned into Harry’s brain. Even the effort of talking seemed like it should be painful for the man, but it didn’t stop Quirrell from droning on behind him in that eerie, croaked voice he had taken to adopting.

“Harry Potter. Alone at last. Soon we’ll see which of us is really the stronger,” Quirrell was saying as they took the corridor back to the stairs. “You will help me retrieve the Sorcerer’s Stone, and then we shall see. Once I have the Elixir, I’ll be able to shed this useless body and finish you once and for all.”

Harry looked up and down the giant well of stairs, but he could see no one. With a sharp prod of the wand to his shoulder, the boy was directed down the stairs and across to another which lead the pair to the third floor corridor. As he climbed, Harry was growing desperate while Quirrell continued to ramble insanely about what he had planned for the boy behind him. He tried frantically to think of a way to slip past the man and make his escape, while his fingers stroked the bracelet Healer had given him, for comfort. He could feel Draco’s sharp concern pulling at their bond, but was helpless to tell the blonde exactly why he was so scared and uncertain.

“Harry!” The shout echoed in the open cavern where the stairs played their changing game, and Harry looked over the railing to see Healer Davidson on the fourth floor balcony.

“Healer! Help..”

“REDUCTO!”

A jet of red spell fire struck the balcony, and it exploded with stone shrapnel flying in every direction. Flailing for balance, Davidson windmilled his arms, then toppled as the stone gave way from beneath his feet. With a panicked yell, he plummeted into the emptiness of the huge stairwell.

“NOOOOOO!” Harry’s wail of anguish echoed sharply and he reached toward the falling body as though he might be able to do something to stop it. His magic surged, directionless and heavy in his gut, until the Healer was out of sight and Quirrell had kicked the boy into moving up the stairs again.

Helpless tears blurred Harry’s vision as he stumbled up the last few steps and onto the third floor. His breath hitched painfully tight in his chest, unable to draw a complete breath between sobs. The image of Healer falling replayed over and over again in Harry’s mind’s eye. It was all he could see. That yell, all he could hear, as he was prodded and pushed down the corridor to the locked door that he and Draco had once foolishly opened. A loud screech and a flurry of white was all the warning Harry had as Hedwig appeared from no where and flew over his head into Quirrell’s face. The man yelled, trying to bat the bird aside while her talons raked his head and snagged the turban, pulling it off. The unraveling material only confounded the issue as Hedwig used her wings to keep the man off balance and blinded, while she drew blood again and again with sharp claws. Harry’s scar flared painfully, adding to the boy’s anguish.

Chaos filled the narrow corridor. Harry was aware of shouts, but he had had enough. He used Hedwig’s distraction to run into Quirrell, knocking the man further off balance then off his feet completely. The boy swarmed up the struggling body until he could add his own hands to the attack on Quirrell’s face, slapping and hitting blindly.

“You killed him,” the boy sobbed over and over again from his perch on the professor’s chest. “You killed him, you killed him.”

Tears made Harry’s vision swim, and he grew dimly aware of the man’s struggles slowing while dust began to choke the first year. Suddenly, a black mass erupted from under Harry’s hands. Shouts filled his ears as the rolling thing gathered itself in front of the boy, then barreled straight through him like an icy wind tainted with the overwhelming stench of death and rot. It knocked Harry from his perch, and then there was only darkness.

Harry didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t want to hear the breathing beside the bed. He didn’t want to know he was in the infirmary. Again. He didn’t want to know what he knew to be true. Turning, he buried his face in Draco’s chest or back or whatever and tried to will himself back into oblivion. It didn’t work. He tried not to think about the Healer. That didn’t work either.

“Harry,” the breathing beside the bed turned out to be Dumbledore.

Harry burrowed closer to Draco, who wordlessly held him tighter.

“Harry, I know you’re awake.”

Harry mutely shook his head, refusing to open his eyes. He was having a dream. A terrible one, but it was only a dream. He was going to go back to sleep and have a better one, any moment now.

“Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you could let us talk?”

“No, sir,” Draco’s voice was thick with the emotions that Harry was unable, or unwilling, to express, as well as his own defiance. “He needs me. I’m not moving.”

There was a long sigh, then the rustle of clothing before fading footsteps. Draco stroked Harry’s hair, whispering to him softly.

“He’s gone. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let him talk to you. He doesn’t understand anything.”

“Professor Quirrell,” Harry whispered back.

“He’s dead, Harry. I heard them talking.”

Harry knew that, somehow. “Voldemort was in him.”

Draco sucked in a breath before he whispered just as quietly. “Are you sure, Harry?”

Harry nodded, feeling the silk of Draco’s shirt against his forehead. He pressed closer. “I saw him. Is Hedwig okay?”

“She’s sleeping on the headboard.” Draco stroked Harry’s hair, his other arm holding the boy tight.

Harry’s heart twisted cruelly, the image of the man falling again tormenting him. Tears leaked between his tightly clenched eyelids. He was only a baby when his parents were killed, so their deaths were remote and didn’t hurt nearly as much as this did. Healer Davidson was different. Very different. Harry had allowed himself to feel. He had allowed the man in, and it hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced to know that the man was gone. He needed something. He wanted Healer back, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Dead was dead. Wasn’t it? He had to be sure. He wanted to see him.

Harry whispered brokenly into Draco’s shirt. “Can I say good bye to Healer?”

Draco’s hand stalled, then resumed the slow stroking. When he spoke, it was with a confused tone to his voice. “I’ll go wake him up.”

“What?” Harry shifted back and opened his eyes. The infirmary was dark, but he could make out Draco’s white hair reflecting the light of a single candle which glowed on the bedside table.

“He just went to sleep, but I can wake him up if you want, Harry.”

“But,” Harry sat up, confused and over anxious. He looked around the infirmary, and found only empty beds and the partitions that Madame Pomfrey was so fond of. “I saw him fall. Voldemort killed him.”

Draco was shaking his head, whispering earnestly. “When I felt you get so scared, I called him on our bracelet, because I was still on the train. He said that right after I talked to him, Fawkes appeared and brought him to Hogwarts. Then Fawkes caught him when he fell off the balcony. He tried to help you, but by the time he got to the third floor, Quirrell was on the floor and you and Hedwig were beating him up.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he listened, and he hurriedly wiped his eyes with both hands before he whispered back. “That’s how he got here so fast. But how did Fawkes know?”

“That’s the exciting part,” Draco nearly bounced on the bed, so eager to be the first to tell his bond mate. “Healer Davidson said that Fawkes is forming a bond with him. He wants to be his familiar.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. With a flurry of frantic movements, Harry tossed the covers aside and slid out of the bed, already running as soon as his feet hit the stone floor. Draco wasted no time in following, unhindered by the sheets as Harry had been. Davidson was in the very next bed, already sitting up and knuckling sleep from his eye. Fawkes perched above the man’s head, watching with an amused tilt of his scarlet head. Harry stopped at the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of a living, breathing Healer. Only knowing that Draco was with him when he woke, felt  even remotely as good as this moment.

“Harry?” Davidson sat up fully with a frown, folding the light blanket that had covered him aside. He didn’t appear to mind in the least that he had only managed about ten minutes of sleep so far. “What are you doing out of bed? You need your rest.”

“Healer,” Harry whispered with a half choked sob, and flung himself at his guardian.

Shocked, Davidson held the trembling boy close to his chest. From the beginning, Harry had respectfully called him ‘Healer’. It had subtly changed over time, into more of an affectionate name that he cherished, because he could feel the growing connection Harry was forming with him in the way the boy said it. For the first time, however, what he heard was so much different. Since Yule, whenever Harry called him ‘Healer’, he really meant ‘Father’, and Will heard it this time, for the first time, loud as a shout.

Will held the silently crying boy tight, and looked to a clearly happy Draco who had seated himself at the foot of the bed to watch with a quiet smile.

“He thought you were dead,” the nearly twelve year old said while folding his arms and adopting a very stern visage. “You’re not allowed to die, you know. He’d be miserable for years, and I don’t deserve a miserable mate.”

Surprised into a bark of laughter, Will rubbed Harry’s back. “Your wish is my command, Lord Malfoy.”

Lifting his nose in a clear sign of imperious amusement, Draco merely huffed his acceptance of the pledge. “So mote it be.”

Harry chose that moment to lift his head from Will’s robe, his fists tightly clutching the material. “Can you take us home now? I don’t want to stay here anymore, Healer. I really don’t. I .. I want to go home.”

Looking into Harry’s wet, green eyes, Davidson found himself honestly torn. There was little he’d refuse the boy. Next to nothing, in fact. “There’s still seven weeks of school after the break, Harry. Are you sure you want to miss that? Miss that time with Hermione and Neville? I’ll take you all home right now, if that’s what you really want. I swear, Harry.”

The green eyes clouded with indecision. Harry knew he had obligations and responsibilities. He hadn’t been joking at all when he once told Draco that he had no clue what it was like to be a normal kid. He dropped his eyes, feeling Draco move closer to them on the bed.

“I just want to be with you,” he whispered finally. The fact that Davidson was home to the first year, was clear to the Healer.

“Why don’t you sleep on it, Harry.” Davidson advised softly, rubbing Harry’s back. “It’s a big decision, but I’ll do whatever you need. If you want to leave school early, we’ll have something worked out before the end of break. I promise.”

With a long sigh, Harry gave the advice some thought. What he wanted was selfish and cowardly, in many ways, and he knew it. Wasn’t he allowed to be the tiniest bit selfish? According to Draco, he was allowed to be loads selfish, but Harry preferred to show the other boy a more balanced way of thinking. At least, he hoped it was balanced.

“Okay,” Harry finally decided. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good boy,” Will said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead, not far from his scar. “Come on, you and Draco can sleep here. You still need your rest, and I know that Draco is tired. He’s had a stressful day too.”

“I know,” Harry said, wiping his eyes and allowing himself to be tucked into the Healer’s already warmed bed. “He saved my life today, I think.”

“I did no such thing,” Draco returned immediately, incised even as he discarded his robe and kicked off his shoes to crawl under the covers with his bond mate. “You take that back, Harry James Potter.”

“Yes you did,” Harry insisted, settling against the pillows even as Davidson expanded the bed with a swish of his wand. “You called Healer and that got him to me in time.”

“But you were already beating up that useless defense teacher before the Healer even got onto the third floor. I don’t see how that helped.”

“Oh, thanks Draco.” Will intoned, even as he was amused by the bickering. Hedwig chose that moment to fly over the partition and settle beside the phoenix with a disgruntled bark aimed at the boys. Ruffling herself, she soon tucked her head under a wing and went back to sleep.

“No offense meant, of course, Healer.” Draco was quick to reassure the man, before he turned back to Harry. “Besides, the portraits told Dumbledore who told my mother that it was Hedwig who saved you. I just worried. A LOT.”

Harry flinched a little at the pointed reminder, and reached to give his bond mate a hug. “I’m sorry I made you worry, Draco.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Draco relented reluctantly. “I’m far too young for horrible, disfiguring wrinkles.”

Davidson snorted his amusement as he settled himself beside the boys with the light blanket he had been using. “Good night, gentlemen.”

“Good night, Healer,” both boys said as one.

Decisions for the remainder of the break were made by the end of breakfast the next morning. Davidson still had extended shifts at St. Mungos, so Narcissa took both Draco and Harry to Malfoy manor. It was what Draco had lobbied for from the beginning, and he couldn’t bring himself to understand that his mother wanted just a little more time to enjoy her son alone before the rest of his life was spent devoted to Harry. He felt he finally made his point when he patiently explained to her that she wasn’t losing her son, but gaining another one through Harry, and wasn’t that just the most special thing ever? Hadn’t she wanted to give him siblings as she had often claimed when it was just the two of them? He knew he had won when he saw the light of understanding finally enter her eyes. Instead of losing Draco to Harry’s influence, she was gaining another son to spoil and devote herself to. Any reservations she had tried so hard to suppress were finally put to rest, and her acceptance of Harry during Yule paled in comparison to how she embraced him during spring break.

Davidson made it a point to visit the manor as often as possible between shifts at the wizarding hospital. Lady Malfoy had even gone so far as to instruct the house elves to prepare a previously closed wing of the manor for the Healer, so he would be comfortable whenever he was there. The boys had the run of the mansion, and for the first time in his life Harry got a true taste of what it was like to live as a child in a privileged home, complete with surrogate parents. It was the happiest, most carefree week of his life.

On the Saturday before they were due to return to Hogwarts, Davidson sat down with Narcissa and the boys, and the four made some very difficult decisions. None of them left the parlor until they had discussed everything they needed to, and had made all the decisions required to the satisfaction of all involved. Davidson had even brought a very unique offer to the discussions, which would have far reaching ramifications for the wizarding world at large. For the immediate future, Harry and Draco would return to Hogwarts and finish the year. Draco had pointed out, and Harry agreed, that there was little point in wasting what they had already learned by failing to complete the year. Besides, Hermione would likely scold them into deafness through howlers if they didn’t go back. She could be a harridan of the highest order with proper motivation. Both boys shuddered at the thought.

Both Hermione and Neville were pleasantly surprised to find Harry with Draco at the train station, and the four, along with the twins, chatted animatedly all the way to Hogwarts. They shared stories of their break, and they discussed the fact that Professor Quirrell was dead. The official story was that the professor had succumbed to a protracted illness that he had contracted while in Albania. The death had been reported in the Daily Profit, with Fudge’s paranoia heavily editing any mention of Lord Voldemort being in any way involved. Harry was still angry over that. He had written to Director Bones himself, the day the story had ran in the paper, and explained what had really happened on the third floor corridor. The two had maintained a correspondence since. Privately, Davidson and Narcissa agreed that Dumbledore seemed all too willing to allow the suppression of any mention of Voldemort. It was worrying, to say the least. The wizarding world needed to be informed and prepared, if that Dark Wizard was still able to function and influence their world. Burying their collective heads in the sands served no purpose other than readying them all for slaughter or slavery under Voldemort’s rule.

Harry and Draco told their friends the truth, of course. The train compartment was silent after Harry had told his story, until Hermione changed the subject to their final exams. They all were only too glad to let the subject of Voldemort drop, and the twins ended up teaching the first years a new spell that they had only just mastered in their Transfiguration class.

The rest of the school year was a headlong rush to finals. Dumbledore had managed to get an Auror to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts the remainder of the year, though the poor man was challenged by the lack of much actual teaching that had been done the entire year. Having read the text book cover to cover, Harry knew that the Auror had reverted to using it exclusively in order to finish the year, and assigned heavy reading from the text by way of revision. He assigned quizzes each week from the previous chapters, just to make sure that students were hopefully absorbing enough to make it through the finals. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. At least this way the children actually had a hope of passing.

Hermione set up a schedule of revision that challenged anything she had come up with for the mid term exams, and she was relentless. She had even prepared one for the twins, who had learned well enough that they ought to follow it, or else. Obtaining excellent grades was one goal that Draco and Harry couldn’t mellow the girl on, and if push came to shove, they really wanted to do well anyway. They could pride themselves in successfully showing the female of their small group the merits of having fun and good friends, at least. They had managed to blunt Hermione’s sharp edges through the course of the year. Knowledge for it’s own sake had taken second place for the girl, and she was better for it.

Neville was actually looking forward to the exams. He had steadily improved over the year, even in potions which he admitted was his worst subject because he was afraid of Professor Snape. Draco had gone out of his way since, to tell stories designed to make Neville laugh, each one featuring his stoic godfather. Since the children often spent time with the Potions Master, Neville had gradually turned the fear into respect, and it showed in his performance in the classroom. In spite of everything that had happened to him, Harry felt remarkably well prepared for exams in the final weeks of school.

June 5, however, was the day that Harry was really looking forward to. Thanks to Narcissa and Dobby, Harry was well prepared a week in advance, and nearly vibrated with excitement as the date neared. That Friday, Harry woke Draco with breakfast in bed. All of his favorites that Dobby had prepared personally. He well remembered his former master’s preferences. The lap tray included a card that Harry made himself, using as steady a hand as he knew how to write Happy Birthday Draco. With the help of the twins, he had got the letters to alternate in colour from deep Slytherin green to metallic silver. Inside, he had drawn a picture of the two of them with Hedwig, Narcissa and Will. It was a little crude, but he had managed to catch a passable resemblance to all of them. The inscription read The day you were born, Magic decided to make me just for you. The day we met, is the day I was really born. Harry.

Harry blushed profusely while Draco silently read the card. The now twelve year old didn’t need to say a word. Harry could feel how much the card had moved him. Draco cast an obscurus on the card so that only he and Harry could read it, and placed it prominently on his night stand. It had instantly become his most prized possession. The two shared the large breakfast, then dressed for school.

Harry had arranged the day perfectly. Between classes, Draco got a birthday present. The first was from Hermione. It was a modified rememberall. She had enlisted the help of Professor Flitwick to modify the charms on the glass sphere so that it would store important dates and events, then remind Draco of them when they came due. It could store up to eight dates at a time, before it needed to be cleared and recharmed. She included the instructions of how to charm the sphere himself.

At lunch, the twins gave Draco their present. It was a selection of sweets they were working on for the joke shop they planned to open one day. They had all been tested and deemed safe by the Potions Master himself, and included such effects as making someone sound like varying animals or turning the eater into a giant canary.

In the time between their afternoon classes, Neville gave Draco his gift. It was an elegant walking stick that featured a gem eyed dragon at the head. The gems would change colour to match whatever Draco was wearing at the time, and the shaft was charmed to grow longer as Draco grew taller. It also sheathed a rapier of goblin wrought steel. Neville was a little nervous about giving Draco the gift, as it would be a reminder of the one his father always carried, but Draco was so enthused over it that he quickly relaxed.

During dinner, which featured many of Draco’s favorite dishes, it was Harry’s turn. With Narcissa’s permission, Harry had Dobby appear carrying a long, gaily wrapped box that he placed on the table then disappeared. Draco read the tag and grinned at Harry before he opened it, then stared dumbfounded at the contents. Harry had gotten him a new Firebolt to match the one he himself had got at Yule, complete with an especially carved box. It was even engraved with Draco’s name, as Harry’s was. Draco got more presents during dinner from a few friends he had kept in Slytherin. Blaize Zambini and Millicent Bullstrode each approached the table to wish Draco a happy birthday and leave a gift, and the Malfoy eagle owl delivered Narcissa’s gifts to the blonde. Other first years in Ravenclaw also gave Draco gifts of sweets and trinkets. Another owl delivered a gift from Healer Davidson, and still another arrived bearing a gift from Sirius Black. Hermione even went so far as to give Draco a second gift, and suspended revisions for the evening so they could all celebrate the day in the common room. By the time he went to bed, Draco declared his birthday perfect in every respect.

The final weeks of school went quickly. Before they knew it, the first years were in the middle of final exams. It all went entirely too smoothly. Harry felt confident about each test he wrote, but he was increasingly agitated about something. He was expecting something to happen, but had no idea what it could be. By the time he finished his last exam, he was near the point of wanting to look over his shoulder all the time. While Draco didn’t exactly share his paranoia, he did try to help alleviate it. He even suggested that it might be because they had gotten sick right after their exams last time. Harry allowed how that could be true, but it didn’t do much to dent the sensation that he was being stalked, somehow.

Proof that he wasn’t going insane showed up on the final day of school, during the Leaving Feast. The doors of the Great Hall banged open, and in marched none other than the Minister of Magic himself, along with a contingent of Aurors. The group wasn’t even half way across the floor before Dumbledore rose from his seat.

“Minister. What an unexpected surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Fudge stopped in the middle of the Hall and surveyed the silent, attentive children. He cleared his throat, then faced Dumbledore. “Headmaster, I’ve come to take Lord Potter into protective custody. I’m afraid he won’t be taking the train in the morning with his classmates.”

Harry was utterly stunned for the three seconds it took for Fudge to survey the children once again, actively searching this time. He did note that Dumbledore’s expression of surprise was rather slow, even as the students collectively gasped and started to murmur among themselves.

“Lord Potter?” Fudge was asking, looking around him at the students seated at their tables. “Where are you, son?”

It was the son that did it. Only one man got to call him that, and Fudge wasn’t even a distant relation to one of Healer’s toenails. Harry angrily gave his bracelet a purposeful stroke to activate it, then stood. Draco quickly followed suit, Hedwig perched on his shoulder.

“Minister Fudge,” Harry waited until the Minister had turned to him with an ingratiating smile, and he gathered as much formality as he had learned from Draco, before he continued. “By what right would you detain a Peer? Am I to be charged with a crime?”

“No, no of course not, my boy,” the Minister hastily assured the first year. “It’s for your protection.”

“It’s Lord Potter, Minister. My protection?” Harry asked reasonably, tilting his head curiously. He used every ounce of misdirection he had learned living with the Dursleys. “From what, Minister?”

That seemed to set the Minister back a pace, as he cast a glance toward Dumbledore and then to the Aurors before he could formulate a reply. It was apparent that he hadn’t expected to be questioned. He certainly didn’t want it to become common knowledge that there was a chance that Voldemort could return. Harry was curious as to what excuse the Minister had come prepared with.

“Well, as you must know, er, Lord Potter, there have been several arrests of Death Eaters,” Fudge nervously licked his lips, then smiled his politician’s smile again. “We wouldn’t want any of those we’ve missed to get any ideas now, would we?”

Harry studied the Minister shrewdly, considering his options. “I’m aware of the law, Minister. Since accepting my title, I’m responsible for myself. As I’m emancipated, I’m under no obligation to go with you now, nor any other time.”

“Come now, my… Lord Potter. Surely you must see the need for protection. I can assure you that my personal guard are the very best the Ministry can provide. You’ll be perfectly safe at all times this summer.”

“And under your influence,” Harry continued for the man. “A position I don’t think I want to find myself in. Thank you, but I can arrange for my own security.”

“Now see here, boy,” the Minister’s visage had darkened into anger, and he shook a finger at Harry, “that’s no way to speak to your Minister.”

“The last thing I am, Minister,” Harry interrupted before Fudge could really get into a rant, allowing his own anger to show a little, “is your boy. You will show me the same courtesy I’m affording you, and address me properly. Since I have declined your gracious offer, I believe our business is done. I would like to return to my dinner.”

“Very well, Lord Potter,” Fudge ground out, “since you refuse to see reason, you leave me no choice. Aurors, take Lord Potter into custody.”

The group of Aurors had taken all of three steps before Harry held up a hand. “Hold.”

He glared at the six, making sure to memorize each of their faces in turn. He covered his surprise that they obeyed him by taking his time to look each one in the eye.

“I know my rights, gentlemen. They do not include being taken by Aurors for no defensible reason. I’ve already stated that I can provide my own security. Is it your job to obey the Minister’s every command, or to uphold the law of Wizarding Britain?”

Harry felt Draco relax completely beside him, and his question was answered by a new voice.

“It is the job of the Auror Corps to uphold and enforce the laws of Wizarding Britain, Lord Potter.” Amelia Bones stated from the doors of the Great Hall. Healer Davidson stood at her side. “A fact that the former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is well aware of. Isn’t that right, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore sank back into his seat, looking quite pale.

“Has the Wizengamot passed a new law, Minister? One that allows the kidnapping of Peers and children without due cause or process?” Bones questioned Fudge as she entered the Hall. “If it has, I wasn’t made aware of it. Do enlighten me.”

Davidson moved to join Draco and Harry at the Ravenclaw table, standing behind the boys in a show of support.

When the silence stretched long enough, Bones turned to the six Aurors. “All of you are dismissed. Report to my office in the morning for assessment and reassignment.”

“Director, honestly,” Fudge tried to protest, but Bones merely shook her head at him.

“That will do, Minister. My Aurors have been cherry picked long enough to provide your security detail. I’ll do the choosing from now on, and for as long as I’m Director of the DMLE.”

Fudge could only watch as his security detail filed out of the Great Hall. He didn’t have a leg to stand on, and he knew it. He had tried to take Harry through bluster and force, both of which had failed. Casting a glare toward Dumbledore, Fudge stalked out of the Hall. Bones approached the head table.

“Headmaster, I believe you and I need to have a discussion. I believe your office will suffice.”

“Yes, of course, Amelia.”

“Director Bones, if you please, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore stared at her a moment, then inclined his head. “Director. If you’ll follow me.”

Getting up, the Headmaster lead Bones out of the Hall through the teacher’s entrance. The moment the door closed behind them, the Hall erupted with the student’s observations and speculations of what they had just witnessed. Harry, for his part, was merely relieved, and he allowed himself a moment to lean against Davidson before he straightened again.

“Does this mean we can’t ride the train tomorrow, Healer?” he asked a little despondently. He had been looking forward to those final hours with his friends.

“You’ll ride the train, Harry,” Will assured the boy, giving the top of his head a single stroke. “Narcissa and I will meet you both at the platform.”

Draco and Harry shared a relieved grin.

“Thanks for letting me know what was going on,” Davidson continued. “Do you need anything else? I have a few words for the Headmaster, myself.”

“No, sir, we’re good.” Harry stated with a nod.

“Good,” Davidson said with a smile. “Finish your supper, boys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The pair returned to their seats, though they both watched Davidson leave the Hall through the same door the Headmaster had taken. Both wanted to be a fly on the Headmaster’s office wall in that moment. They were pleased to find that their supper was still hot, and they tucked in while fielding questions from Hermione and the other first years. Questions that they largely had no answers to.

…

“… last time, Dumbledore, did you have anything to do with Fudge being here tonight?”

Davidson walked into the office just as Bones was asking that, and he looked to the Headmaster expectantly.

“That’s the very question I’d like to have answered, myself,” he stated.

Dumbledore looked between them, and sighed. He carefully removed his half moon glasses, taking several moments to clean the lenses with the sleeve of his robe. Davidson saw it as the stalling tactic it was, and so did Bones if her crossed arms and tapping foot were any indication.

“It’s possible that the Minister had the impression that Harry was vulnerable, after I spoke with him yesterday,” Dumbledore finally said, perching the glasses back on his nose. “He expressed great concern for the boy’s well being.”

Bones frowned around her manacle. “What exactly did you say to the Minister, Headmaster?”

“Oh, nothing of great consequence, I assure you, Director,” Dumbledore said. “Only that I had no idea what Harry’s plans were for the summer, or where he might be living.”

Davidson shook his head, turning to leave the office. He stopped at the door to look back at Dumbledore, his hand on the doorknob. “One day, Headmaster, we’re going to revisit our conversation about that little question of ‘why’. Please keep that in mind.”

He left, closing the door gently behind him.

…

Harry and Draco waited until they were all on the train, and well on their way back to London, before they broke the news to their friends.

“What do you mean, you’re not going back to Hogwarts?” Hermione nearly screeched. “You have to go back to school. What about your Owls, or your Newts?”

“We’ll be going to school,” Harry said, wincing a little, “only not at Hogwarts. We.. well, we got a better offer.”

“We’re going to visit you all, though. Loads of times,” Draco offered, trying to make their friends feel better. “We’ll be able to practically spend the whole summer together, and the holidays.”

“It won’t be the same,” Herminone huffed. She crossed her arms and sullenly slumped in her seat.

“Can’t we go to the same school as you?” Neville asked, more than a little wide eyed.

“Yeah, we could use,”

“a little change of scenery,” the twins put in, both of them wearing an identical frown.

Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry guys, but it just isn’t possible. We’re not going to a regular wizard school. I wish we could tell you more, but we can’t.”

Hermione’s lower lip trembled, and her eyes held huge tears that she refused to shed. “You’ll be together though, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll be together, Mione,” Draco assured her with a small smile.

“And you’ll write every day?” she insisted.

The boys shared a quick look, before Harry answered. “Well, we’ll try, but I can’t promise every day, Mione.”

“We’ll get to spend summers and holidays together?” Neville asked earnestly. “You promise?”

“Of course we do, Nev,” Harry answered, “and if you ever need anything, you just let us know and we’ll be there. Upon my honor as your Lord.”

That seemed to satisfy Neville and the twins, but Hermione wiped her eyes, refusing to be solaced.

“It’s just not fair,” she whispered. “You’re the best friends I ever had, and now you’re going away.”

Harry scooted along the bench to be closer to her, putting an awkward arm around her shoulders. “It won’t be forever, Mione. It’s only till seventh year, and we’ll see each other loads. You’ll hardly have a chance to miss us, because you’ll be too busy being smart at school.”

“Yeah,” Draco put in from Harry’s other side. “Besides, you’ll still have Neville and these two reprobates to boss around. Exactly how many minions do you want, anyway?”

Hermione giggled in spite of herself, wiping her eyes with her fingers until she accepted a handkerchief from Harry. “At least a dozen.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” Draco said, leaning back in his seat and starting to tick off fingers. “There’s Terry, Mandy and Lisa. They’ll make good minions. Then there’s Padma and Michael. Especially smart. They can help make charts. Then there’s Anthony. I suppose you could let him clear a path down the corridors for you.”

“Oh, stop it, Draco,” Hermione laughed along with the others, then sobered with a long sigh. “I’m going to miss you two, so much.”

“We’re going to miss you too,” Harry said, patting her shoulder, “but we’ll still see each other lots. I promise.”

Hermione smiled. “And a Potter always keeps his promises.”

“Always,” Harry smiled back.

The train’s whistle blew, and the engine chugged it’s way toward London.

…

END

 

Polished Stone – Arc 1

Polished Stone

by Original Tempus

Prologue

Harry Potter’s day was different from every other day. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be just as oppressive and miserable as all the rest he could remember. It actually was, really. It certainly started out the same. His aunt woke him early, he started breakfast, and when his uncle and cousin sat down to eat, Harry fetched the mail and morning paper. This morning was a little different. Only a little, but it had a huge impact on the ten year old. This morning, for the first time in his life, Harry Potter got a letter. It was enough to make him stop hoping that someone would leave something on their plate. For a full minute, at any rate.

He nearly stood at the front door too long, in his shock. Hastily, he turned on his heel to go back to the kitchen. It wouldn’t do to keep uncle waiting. He had a Routine. Uncle Vernon hated everything that disturbed his Routine. Uncle Vernon especially hated it when Harry disturbed his Routine. Harry got some of his worse beatings that way.

Passing his cupboard door, Harry slipped the envelope bearing his name into the dark line of space between the ajar door and his ‘home’ of the last ten years. Hurriedly sorting the mail the way uncle liked it while he continued into the kitchen, Harry finally lay the pile to the left of uncle’s plate. The placement was careful and deliberate. It had to be in exactly the right spot, or uncle would be quick to correct him with a swift, large hand.

Turning back to the stove to fetch uncle’s second cup of morning coffee, Harry made certain his exhale of relief was unheard when no such blow followed him. He had been quick enough, and correct. Hopefully, his pause at the door went completely unnoticed. The rest of breakfast went on like every other in his memory, including the fact that the family of three left nothing of the huge meal Harry had prepared. Not even a crust of toast for the mop-haired child to slowly savor while doing the dishes. Aunt Petunia was just as vigilant as every other morning to make sure her nephew didn’t try any “funny business.”

Harry never could understand why having something to eat would count as “funny business”, but apparently it did. According to uncle, at any rate. Harry wasn’t brave enough to try and test that piece of logic, or any other pearls of wisdom that uncle liked to pass along. He would wait, and hope that there would be something left from lunch, or that aunt would make a little too much as she sometimes did. Aunt made lunch. Harry made breakfast and dinner. If uncle was having Important Company, then Harry would start dinner, and aunt would finish it while he was as quiet as he could possibly be in his cupboard.

After the kitchen met aunt’s exacting standards, Harry was allowed exactly three minutes to change into something appropriate for his chores outdoors. It was overcast today, and could possibly rain, but the summer shower would feel good. Harry decided to change into a very over-sized t-shirt and light trousers. He tied the rope belt especially tight to quiet his growly stomach. The hand movement that shifted the envelope from the floor of his cupboard to under his thin crib mattress was so swift, he barely noticed it himself. Another few precious seconds were spent making sure his little ‘room’ was neat and tidy, before he closed the door of the cupboard. He had learned the hard way that everything had a place, and there was a place for everything.

Uncle went to work. Cousin Dudley went out the front door to meet up with his friends for whatever fun they had during the summer. Aunt went upstairs to do whatever she did. Harry went out the back door and to the shed at the back of the garden. He had a long list of chores to complete, and no amount of anticipation or excitement about that envelope would help him get it done. It was best to completely forget about it while he worked. Uncle wouldn’t be best pleased if the list wasn’t done when he got home.

By the time aunt called him in for a cup of water after cousin had finished his lunch, Harry had made good progress. The lawn had been mowed, both front and back. The front flower beds had been weeded and mulched. The shrubs had been pruned. Harry felt like he had been rewarded when aunt allowed him to finish the half of ham and cheese sandwich that cousin hadn’t eaten. It was delicious. The boy sat on the top of the back steps, slowly chewing the sandwich and sipping cool tap water from ‘his’ cup. He saved the very last sip until aunt opened the door to take the cup back from him until dinner. She passed him an apple that had a bite out of it.

“For when the back garden is finished” she said with her usual, clipped tone. The screen door slammed shut again. “I’ll be watching, boy.”

Smiling, Harry shoved the apple into his pocket and got up to continue his chores. It really was a beautiful, summer’s day.

By the time uncle got home, the chores had been finished and Harry was in the kitchen with a nearly completed dinner surrounding him on the counters. The apple was long gone, and the smells coming from the roast chicken in the oven were making his stomach all growly again. He was used to it, though, and could wait. He knew for sure and certain he would have something to eat. They always let him have something from dinner. Uncle didn’t appear to like it much, but he allowed Harry to eat. Unless he was having Important Company, of course. In that case, Harry had to wait until the Important Company had gone before he was allowed out of his cupboard for a small plate of food. Harry never minded that it was cold.

Aunt set the table while Harry finished putting the meal on serving platters and in bowls. He was never allowed to serve. Aunt did that. Harry went to the stairs, and sat there while the others ate. He would get his share once they were finished, of course. Harry spent the time wondering what chores uncle would set for him tomorrow. He knew the shed could use a coat of paint, so that would likely be one thing. Perhaps he would have to clean out the car port. That needed doing since last autumn when cousin and his friends decided they needed to build soap box racers and messed up all the tools. Harry was only ever allowed in the car port when he was cleaning it up. It never really mattered what the chores were. There was a long list every day he wasn’t in school. Harry only made a game out of it in his head, to see how often he was right or wrong about which chores he would get.

Finally it was Harry’s turn to eat while uncle and cousin spent the evening in front of the tele. Aunt stayed in the kitchen with him, watching him while he ate quickly and neatly at the counter. She put all the left overs away in the fridge while Harry ate, then left the dishes for her nephew. Aunt only ever did the lunch dishes, which were few, or made of show of starting the dinner dishes for Important Company.

Only after aunt inspected the kitchen and pronounced it clean enough to suit her, was Harry allowed upstairs for his whole half hour alone in the toilet. He was allowed a bath of tepid water and to brush his teeth. He dressed into his far too large pajamas, and went back downstairs to his cupboard. He would be allowed another half hour with his door open for light to do whatever he wished, provided he was quiet and did nothing to disturb uncle or cousin. He decided to read one of his old text books from school. It was still light outside when his cupboard door was closed and locked for the night, and Harry settled on his thin mattress to listen to the broadcast on the tele until the others all went to bed.

He hadn’t been struck once, all day. It really, truly was a perfect summer’s day, even if he did get rained on in the afternoon.

Harry waited and waited, until the entire house was still and quiet. He then waited even longer, until he couldn’t hear a single car out on the street, nor a dog barking in the neighborhood. He even waited until the crickets had mostly stopped singing, and uncle’s snoring was a constant buzz from somewhere upstairs. Only then did he dare pull out the envelope from under his mattress. Holding the paper tight over his heart, Harry scrunched his eyes closed really tight and wished with all he had, every scrap of happiness the perfect summer’s day had given him, for a little light. It worked, sometimes. If he wished hard enough. He could feel a little tickle inside, from under his hands, and squinted an eye open. Smiling, he sat up. There, hovering just in front of his nose, was a tiny ball of blue light. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see by.

Eagerly, Harry inspected the envelope.

Mr. Harry Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Little Whinging, Surrey

There was no stamp or postage mark. There was no code or other markings like on other envelopes that came in the mail. He looked at the back, and found what appeared to be wax pressed with a stamp. Running a curious finger over it, he decided that it must be wax holding the envelope closed. It felt a lot like a crayon that cousin had left outside in the sun to melt on the drive. Five year old Harry had been blamed, of course, and had to clean it up. Above the red blob was a coloured version of the stamp that looked like a coat of arms, and bore the word Hogwarts. Tilting the envelope a little closer to the tiny ball of light, he could make out some animals on the design. A lion, a bird, a snake and a badger.

This was a very special envelope. Harry couldn’t bear the thought of breaking the wax to open it, so he searched his tiny shelf of treasures until he found the slim piece of metal that had broken off one of cousin’s toys. It’s shape had reminded Harry of a little sword that his tiny, one armed army man could use. Harry used it now to carefully slit open the top of the envelope after working it into one side of the sealed flap. Harry replaced the sword on his shelf and paused to listen very, very carefully. Everything still seemed very quiet and still. Deeming it safe enough, he slowly opened the letter.

The enveloped turned out to not be an envelope at all, but a cleverly folded piece of parchment. Two of them. Harry’s heart pounded. There again was the crest, in full colour, and larger than the previous image. Under it read something honestly amazing.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chief Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

There was a second page, and Harry scanned it quickly while his tiny orb of light dimmed, then finally went out. In the dark, his heart racing, Harry carefully folded his very precious letter and hid it behind the loose board under the third stair riser.

Laying down, his thoughts raced. He had a place. He had a place that wanted him. A school. He could go to a school that wanted him. Could he? Wait, would uncle allow him to go to a new school? Where was it? Was it expensive? Uncle wouldn’t pay for a school for him. Certainly not a fancy school of .. why was there a school of witchcraft and wizardry? Were witches real? Did it have anything to do with “funny business”?

Uncle wouldn’t allow him to do any “funny business”. He certainly wouldn’t pay for anything that would teach Harry more “funny business”. Harry had to be grateful for every penny used for the things he ate, or the clothes he wore, or the room he had. Everything strange that happened around Harry was “funny business”, and uncle couldn’t abide “funny business” of any kind. Harry was always, always beaten the very worst for the slightest bit of “funny business.” The last time “funny business” had happened was last Christmas.

Cousin had decided that the last present he wanted was a bit of Harry Hunting upstairs in his room. On the pretext of inviting Harry up to pick out something from cousin’s second bedroom to keep for his own, Harry soon found himself running for the stairs, cousin in close pursuit. At the top of the stairs, cousin had given Harry an almighty shove. Suddenly terrified, knowing he would fall, Harry’s arms windmilled and his chest tingled sharply and he found himself flying backward hard enough to knock cousin into the wall of the upstairs hallway. Uncle had seen the entire thing.

Harry spent the remainder of Christmas locked in his cupboard without Christmas dinner, and nursing a broken arm and severely bruised ribs. His head ached horribly too, from hitting cousin so hard, and his vision was more blurry than normal after uncle was finished striking him. Harry had been shaken then beaten for his bit of “funny business” that had given cousin a bit of a bloody nose and goose egg on the back of his head from striking the wall. It was nearly a week before Harry’s vision cleared. Two before his ribs stopped aching enough to allow him to do his chores easily, and three before his arm finally seemed to be healed enough to use.

Cousin, of course, was fine before going to bed Christmas night, fussed over and pampered the entire day.

Harry wasn’t sure he could take any more “funny business”, himself. Uncle would never allow it, anyway. It was probably best to forget about the letter, and the school that had a place for him. A place just for him, Harry Potter. The freak, the boy, the burden on a perfectly normal family. Harry slept fitfully.

It was a bleary eyed, tousled headed boy that stumbled from the cupboard the next morning after aunt’s insistent knocking while she unlocked his door. Breakfast was a horror. He burned himself twice. Once while flipping the rasher of bacon in the pan, then again after uncle smacked the back of his head for being slow with his first coffee. To top things off, the morning mail contained yet another letter addressed to him from Hogwarts. This time, however, Harry was too slow to notice it before cousin did. The envelope was snatched out of the pile and brandished under uncle’s nose before Harry could utter a word about it.

After looking over the envelope, aunt and uncle looked meaningfully at each other. With a cruel smirk sent Harry’s way, uncle tore the envelope into tiny little pieces, then tossed them in the rubbish bin. Harry’s heart sank. It was just as he thought. Uncle would never allow him to leave. Without a word, enduring cousin’s endless comments and snide remarks about idiot’s who wrote letters to bigger idiots, Harry finished preparing breakfast.

The rest of the week was more of the same. More and more letters, dozens at a time, and more each day. Longer lists of chores, many repeated day after day, to teach Harry the folly of hope, and the foolishness of “funny business” uncle said. More letters, louder uncle denouncing Harry ever leaving, ever being able to attend this school of “funny business”. Finally it was Sunday, a day without post, and Harry allowed himself a breath of ease for the short respite while he prepared tea. It was short lived. A flood of letters emerged from the fireplace in the middle of tea, shooting all over the room and sending uncle into a rage. Harry tried to make himself as small as possible in the fluttering storm of paper, but it didn’t really do much good. It didn’t matter that he never tried to grab one of the letters. Uncle was determined to punish the cause of all this disturbance of his Routine. The letters were for Harry, so Harry was the cause.

He had no idea how long the punishment took. There was only yelling, and pain and more pain, and then the back of the car then blackness. When Harry next woke, he was cold and hurt everywhere. He found himself laying on a dust covered, stone floor in front of a cold fireplace. The sounds of a storm blew all around him, echoed by the sound of waves crashing nearby and rain pounding on a surface high overhead. He was near a large body of water, it was dark, and thunder rolled almost nonstop. Flashes of lightening showed him the sparsely furnished ground floor and the stairs leading up. Presumably, uncle and the others were up there. Harry sat up carefully and took stock.

His glasses were broken, again. His nose had some dried blood under it, but felt straight and right enough under exploring fingers. His lower lip was sore and swollen, but he couldn’t feel a split. Harry’s left pinky finger was broken, and sucking in a deep breath, the boy pulled on it sharply to set it. The pain was instant and bright, but quickly faded once the bones aligned. He never uttered a sound. Nothing else appeared to be broken, but the bruises were many and dark, covering his torso, arms and upper legs. The clothes he had been wearing sported drops of blood and a few tears, but he might be able to mend them if aunt allowed him to use a needle and thread.

Suddenly, the door burst open on a massive gust of wind, making Harry jump to his feet with a uncustomary squawk of surprise. The next flash of lightening showed the outline of an enormous man in the doorway. Fear propelled him behind the stone of the fireplace, and Harry wedged his slim body into the scant space provided even as he heard uncle’s booming footsteps from overhead.

“What are you up to now, you little freak?” uncle bellowed from the stairs. In the light of the candle aunt held, Harry could see the couple as they tromped down the rickety steps. “I won’t have any more of your funny business.”

Harry held his breath. Uncle had a gun. Where had he gotten a gun? The boy pressed himself even more firmly into the narrow shadow beside the fireplace, his heart racing and green eyes widely fixed on the long barrel of the rifle. He could barely feel the way the rough stone pressed into his bruises.

“Dry up, Dursley” a new voice interrupted uncle before he could really get going. “Blimey, I haven’t been little in a long time. Sorry about the door.”

Harry could hear scraping noises then a thump, the sounds of the storm once again muffled. The floorboards creaked with unfamiliar footsteps, and Harry did his best to both keep one eye on uncle and another on what seemed to be approaching the fireplace. A muffled whump, and the room was flooded with the warm light of a fire. Harry could now see that cousin had followed his parents to the base of the stairs, and cowered behind his mother’s nightdress.

“Who are you?” uncle demanded, brandishing the shotgun. “Get out. We won’t have you here.”

“You ought to be careful with that” the new voice interrupted uncle again. A large hand appeared in Harry’s line of sight, and neatly turned the end of the gun back on itself as though it were modeling clay. “There now. We wouldn’t want any accidents, now, would we?”

A soft groan and the protest of a squeaky spring in the couch indicated this stranger had sat down. Uncle was still gaping at the end of his now useless gun.

“I’m Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” the stranger continued, and Harry dared to take a swift peek at the man.

He was enormous, and seemed covered head to toe in fur. From his hiding spot, Harry blinked and tried to sort out what the brief glance had told him. The man’s black hair was longer and wild looking from the storm outside, and his beard was thick and bushy, blending nearly completely with the furry coat the man, Hagrid, wore. The boy had never seen a person so huge in his entire life. Even uncle seemed tiny by comparison.

“Well come on then Harry, let’s have a look at you, now. Don’t be shy” Hagrid sounded jolly enough, but Harry’s heart still gave a lurch and pounded madly in his thin chest. “Look at you, all growed. Much more along round the middle then when you was a baby.”

“I.. I.. I’m not Harry” cousin’s voice sounded squeaky and unsure. Harry hazarded another peek, careful to stay in the shadows.

“He’ll not be going” uncle found his courage enough to start bellowing again. “We won’t have any of that funny business and freakishness around our family.”

“Not Harry? Not be going?” the stranger, Hagrid, looked confused. “Codswallop. Harry’s had his name down since he was born. His parents wanted him to go, so Dumbledore said, and who’s to stop him? A great muggle like you, I suppose?”

Hagrid had known Harry’s parents? Perhaps it had been Dumbledore. How long had Dumbledore been Headmaster? It must have been ages. What was a muggle?

“I won’t pay for it” uncle had truly found his courage. “Not a penny. He won’t be learning those freakish ways. He won’t be going.”

Harry had already known that uncle wouldn’t allow him to go, but to hear it so baldly stated was still a blow to the ten year old. The bitter taste of disappointment was all too familiar.

“Nonsense” Hagrid was saying. “It’s already paid for. Harry’s parents saw to that. Where is the lad? Call him down, would you?”

“No” this time it was aunt, and Harry hastily started to do what he could to clean himself up by licking his fingers and scrubbing at the crust of blood beneath his nose. “It’s bad enough, all we’ve had to put up with since he was left at our door. We won’t have him learning to do more of his unnatural things.”

“Took him in, we did” uncle continued. “Like good Christians. Fed and clothed him, and all the ungrateful wretch did in return was give us grief. Things flying about the house, my Dudley thrown into a wall. I won’t have it, you hear? I won’t.”

Uncle’s gun now looked more like a club, the way it was being held. Swallowing his fear the best he could, Harry decided he had better try and do something to defuse all this. If there was even the tiniest chance that he could get away from the Dursleys, shouldn’t he do all he could to take it? Harry eased himself out of the shadows. Just a little. It seemed to be enough to catch the giant man’s attention. Hagrid had been frowning, and looked about ready to really have a go at uncle. The bearded face cleared right up once he saw Harry, however, and even smiled.

“There you are” Hagrid beamed. “The very image of James, you are.”

That startled Harry. James? Was that his father? Harry’s widened eyes could only stare up at the giant of a man in confusion and a tiny bit of awe. Hagrid had known his father. Enough to know what he looked like, even.

“Before I forget, I got something here for you, Harry.” Hagrid was searching  his pockets, an umbrella being passed hand to hand, until the groundskeeper produced a box tied with a string, and passed it to the stunned boy. “Baked it myself, words and all. Could be a mite squished. Might have sat on it at one point.”

Harry looked from the box in his hands up to Hagrid, and flicked quick glances at his glowering aunt and uncle. Cousin only looked ravenously at the box.

“Go on then, open it” urged the enormous man in gentle tones of anticipation.

Hesitantly, Harry reached for the string while trying to gauge the reactions of uncle from the corner of his eye. Uncle seemed content enough to glare from across the room, perhaps too afraid to get closer to Hagrid. When the string fell away, Harry lifted the slightly crumpled lid of the cardboard box. Inside was a cake that bore the inscription Happee Birthday Harry.

It was his birthday? Harry hadn’t been keeping track of the date at all. Without school to keep the days straight, one simply ran into the other in an endless parade of chores, especially after this long and hellish week. He was eleven now.

Harry offered Hagrid a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

It was his very first birthday cake. It was also his very first birthday present.

Harry admired the cake again, his stomach starting to get all growly and his mouth watering a little at imagining what it must taste like. He hadn’t a clue. It would be sweet, he knew that much. Cousin always had huge helpings of his own cakes, so it must be especially good.

“Fine” uncle blustered “you gave it to him, not off you get. You’re not welcome here.”

“Hold onto yer knickers, Dursley. We’re almost done” Hagrid growled back, coaxing Harry closer to the couch by the lure of a pristine, white envelope the boy recognized immediately. “This is for you, Harry.”

Harry exchanged the box, reluctantly, for the envelope and this time, he broke the wax seal. He could feel a tingle from the parchment the instant he did, and he paused with a soft gasp.

“Felt that, did ye?” Hagrid beamed. “It’s the magic of the seal. It tells the Headmaster when a boy or girl has got their letter, see?”

Harry nodded, his fingertips still tingling. That explained the flood of letters since the first one. “Magic?”

“Of course” Hagrid enthused. “Blimey Harry, didn’t you never wonder where you got it from, or where your parents learned it all? You’re a wizard, Harry.”

The boy could only blink, dumbfounded, up at the bushy beard in front of him, topped by dancing dark eyes. “A wizard? Me? But.. but I’m just.. Harry” Harry whispered.

He had been about to say ‘freak’, but didn’t think the giant man would like to hear that too much.

“Is magic real?” Harry couldn’t help himself. He simply had to know. “My parents were wizards?”

“Of course magic is real” Hagrid beamed again. “Hadn’t you ever made something happen, when you were angry or upset? You’re a wizard, just like your folks, and a thumping good one, I’d wager.”

Harry was nodding, just a little, because things had happened when he was especially frightened or upset. All sorts of freakish things happened around Harry.

“Couldn’t magic have saved my parents from the car crash?” Harry nearly wasn’t brave enough to ask that one. It was the single most important question of his young life. He had always wondered. The crash had given him the scar on his forehead, aunt had said. If freakish things happened around him, couldn’t he have prevented the car crash? He certainly didn’t want to believe aunt when she said he had caused it. That didn’t bear thinking about.

“Car crash?” Hagrid looked very confused and turned toward uncle and aunt. “Car crash? Lily and James Potter killed in a car crash? What have you muggles been telling the boy?”

Harry’s “Muggles?” slipped out even as uncle drew himself up importantly.

“Now see here, you..” that was as far as uncle got, as he found himself staring at an umbrella tip just before his nose.

“Non magic folk” Hagrid deemed it more important to answer Harry before dealing with uncle. “you look, Dursley. Harry here will be going to the greatest school of magic in the world, and he will be learning under the finest Headmaster Howarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore. There won’t be any more of this nonsense about car crashes or funny business, see?”

Aunt and uncle cowered together, leaning as far way from the giant man as the staircase allowed. Cousin seemed more intent on trying to reach the cake box that had been abandoned on the couch seat, until Hagrid’s large hand slapped down on it. In a fit if pique, the umbrella was turned on cousin, and a spark of light struck the fleeing boy in the backside. A curly, piggish tail seemed to sprout from cousin’s pajama bottoms, and cousin was squealing into aunt’s protective arms.

“Shouldn’t have done that” Hagrid whispered under his breath, then looked at Harry. “Best not to mention that. Strictly speaking, I’m not allowed to do magic.”

Harry could only nod. That was magic. Real magic. Hagrid was a wizard too. Hope blossomed in the boy’s heart and he leaned closer to the bushy man to whisper his wish so very quietly while aunt was fussing and uncle was bellowing. “Can you take me with you?”

Like a co conspirator, Hagrid leaned in as well, also whispering. “Don’t forget yer cake, lad.”

The two beamed at each other, and Harry gathered up the box and followed the over sized man out into the calming storm. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere would be a vast improvement over life with the Dursleys. Even the life of a wizard.

Diagon Alley

Hagrid had a motorcycle. A flying motorcycle. Harry wasn’t sure of the wisdom of flying during a storm, but the experience of sitting in the side car was exhilarating. He didn’t even get wet, even though it was raining sheets and buckets. On the motorbike it was warm and dry and even quiet enough to talk with the giant man without shouting too much. Of course Harry had gotten wet before he climbed into the side car. He had been just a little shocked to discover that uncle had taken them to an island, of all places. A desolate, lonely island that sported only a lighthouse, which they had just exited. Even though it was a little cold, Harry didn’t mind getting wet too much.

The roar of the engine when Hagrid started it up was exciting, but a couple of button presses later and the bike was quieter, as was the storm, and Harry began to warm up. His slim, shivering frame luxuriated in the warmth. Magic was wonderful. Perhaps Harry wasn’t quite done with ‘funny business’ after all. Harry had no idea how Hagrid intended to drive off an island, but the bike flung itself into the air after only a few feet, making Harry’s stomach swoop and dive in the most exciting way, that had the boy tempted to whoop with delight even as he gripped the sides of the little side car with a death grip, the cake box in his lap. He didn’t, of course, but his grin was large, making Hagrid laugh outright. The ride over the storm tossed ocean was just about everything Harry dreamed that flying could be like, and the boy vowed to himself that he would find out just how much more flying he could get up to. He loved it!

Once the initial excitement was waning and the dark line of the coast was approaching, Harry’s mind began to function again. He knew it probably wasn’t the smartest choice, leaving with a stranger without knowing what Hagrid was really like, but he used the opportunity to escape uncle. For the first time in his young life, he was out from under the oppressive weight of the little family. It was a heady feeling, but Harry knew it was time to be practical. He didn’t want to go back, and he had to discover ways of making sure he would never have to.

“Hagrid” Harry ventured while watching the distant lights of some sea side village pass underneath, “how did you find us on that little island?”

“That was the easy part” Hagrid boasted, sitting up straighter. “I just followed the tracking charm, see?”

Now Harry was a little confused. There was a great deal he had to learn about magic, it seemed, and as quickly as possible. “Tracking charm?”

“Of course,” Hagrid nodded while watching their flight path. “Dumbledore placed it on ye when you were just a wee babe. When he left you with your aunt and uncle. I was right sorry to leave you there, but the Headmaster said it was for the best that you grow up with your family.”

That gave Harry a little to think about. His letter had been addressed to him rather specifically. To the cupboard under the stairs. That implied that the Headmaster knew which room he stayed in. Hagrid was able to find him with a spell that told the Headmaster where Harry was at all times.

“So, the Headmaster left me with aunt and uncle?” Harry asked, while he organized his whirling thoughts.

“Saw to it himself, he did.” Hagrid beamed at the boy. “I was there that night, brought you to him on this very bike, the night after yer folks were killed, all the way to Surrey. You fell asleep somewhere over Bristol, but I could tell you liked the flying. You was laughing and smiling.”

Harry smiled at Hagrid’s remembrance, even while he was given even more to think about. Why would the Headmaster of a school take it upon himself to see to the placement of an orphan? If it wasn’t a car crash, what had happened to his parents?

“Course, Professor McGonagall didn’t want to be leavin you there, but the Headmaster said you’d be safest with family.” Hagrid continued, “Struck up a right fuss, she did, but Dumbledore soon set her to rights and convinced her that you’d be well looked after. Least wise, she never said more about it after getting back to the castle.”

Since Hagrid seemed so informative while distracted by piloting the motorcycle, Harry decided to learn all that he could, and sort it out later when he had time to think.

“Why did the Headmaster think I needed to be so safe, Hagrid?” Harry did his best to make the question sound innocent and naive.

“Because of the Death Eaters, of course.” Hagrid looked down at the boy, seeing the confusion in Harry’s expression. “The followers of You Know Who. Them was dark times, Harry, dark times. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where we’d be today.”

This appeared to unsettle the large man, so Harry changed topics even while his list of questions grew. This You Know Who must have had something to do with his parents, Harry could feel it. Somehow, Harry also figured largely in the events surrounding his parent’s deaths. He would have to find out more, but he needed to be careful about it, Harry could sense.

“Did the Headmaster ever come to see me?” Harry couldn’t remember anyone ever coming to uncle’s to see Harry, specifically. It was always uncle’s Important Company.

“Oh, I’m sure he must a kept an eye on you growing up,” Hagrid asserted while turning the bike toward the glow of what had to be the lights of a rather large city. “Or he sent someone along to see about you over the years, I’m sure. I would have done it, and gladly, but it gets busy at the castle and Dumbledore never asked me to.”

Harry mentally chewed on all this information even while he tried to determine where they were. He finally concluded that the approaching city had to be London. It was just so large, sprawling on either side of a river he could now make out in the darkness. The dark haired boy remained quietly thinking even as he watched the glow of lights resolve themselves into city streets and dark blocks of buildings. He idly wondered how it is that no one could see them, but determined that there must have been more magic involved. It simply wouldn’t do for there to be reports of a flying motorcycle in the morning paper, he decided.

Hagrid piloted the bike to a specific section of the city, and they soon touched down on a quiet street lit only by the street lamps. After another block, Hagrid pulled over and stopped, shutting off the bike. The storm had resolved itself into a light drizzle by this time, so Harry didn’t get too wet when the sound of the engine died. He climbed out, cradling his cake box, and looked around. They seemed to be on a somewhat run down street. A few shop fronts appeared to be boarded up, but there was light coming from the windows of a pub, the Leaky Cauldron, only a few doors away.

“Here we are, then” Hagrid smiled at him as he joined Harry on the sidewalk. “We’ll be staying at the Cauldron tonight, then go shopping for your school things in the morning.”

“What time is it, Hagrid?” Harry asked while allowing himself to be guided to the pub’s entrance. It had been dark when he woke, and the flight must have taken a good hour or so.

“Long past time that young lads should be in bed,” Hagrid stated, opening the door. “We’ll need to be up early in the morning.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. Following Hagrid into the pub, he stopped dead in his tracks when what he was seeing finally registered. A chair had just flipped itself onto a tabletop. Even as Harry watched, more chairs hopped into the air, flipped themselves over and settled seat first on top of tables, all over the pub. Harry grinned in delight while forcing his feet to continue in Hagrid’s wake.

“Oi Tom, I’ll be needin a room for the night, if you please.” That boisterous voice was easy to follow, even as Harry walked backwards to watch the chairs. “Be needing two beds as well. I got me a guest, here.”

Harry turned himself around to face the barkeep and smiled shyly at the man who must have been Tom. Tom smiled back, then seemed to freeze, his eyes locked on Harry’s forehead.

“Blessed be” the man whispered, apparently shocked. “Harry Potter.”

“Right enough,” Hagrid agreed, smiling down at a puzzled Harry, a giant hand gently warming the top of Harry’s damp head. “Best be keeping that quiet, though, Tom. You know how folks can get.”

Tom only nodded, still in shock, apparently, and handed a key over to Hagrid. Before he knew it, Harry found himself herded up a lopsided set of stairs and into a narrow corridor. The room he was lead into was large enough, and sported two beds on either side of a window. Another door lead to the toilet. Harry placed the cake box on the nightstand under the window and covered a sudden yawn.

“I haven’t any pajamas, Hagrid” Harry suddenly realized, aloud.

“It’s no problem, Harry. Just say pajamas to the wardrobe, and open the door” Hagrid answered while taking off his huge furry coat to hang on a peg on the back of the room’s door.

Turning again, Harry found the wardrobe on the wall opposite the door to the toilet. He must be tired if he missed seeing that six foot tall monstrosity covered in carvings of dancing fauns and satyrs. Following instructions, Harry soon had a set of pinstriped pajamas in hand. They even looked to be just his size. Magic was amazing.

“Take your time, Harry, but get yerself into bed soon. You’ll be wanting your sleep.” Hagrid had the room’s door open again. “I’ll just be downstairs with Tom for a wee bit before he locks up for the night.”

“Alright, Hagrid” Harry nodded with a smile, and after Hagrid had closed the door behind himself, he ventured into the toilet.

There was a huge tub. A marvelously large, claw footed tub. Harry grinned to himself, and immediately turned the taps. There were more than two, and some experimentation soon  had the tub filling with steamy hot, fragrant, bubble filled water. Harry’s heart pounded in excited anticipation. He was about to have his first ever hot bubble bath. Harry undressed and relieved himself, then had a drink of water from the sink tap using the glass provided. It was icy cold and perfect. He then inspected himself closely in the large mirror on the back of the toilet’s door.

Harry first looked for whatever it was that had so arrested Tom’s attention. He quickly realized that it could only have been his scar. That jagged, lightening shaped mark on his forehead. It was well known enough to instantly identify him? How had that happened? Why would a barkeep know his name? These questions were added to the already large list in Harry’s mind. For as long as he didn’t know anything about wizards, magic or this new world, Harry was at a distinct disadvantage. He would have to find ways to cope until he could get caught up. He then turned his attention to examining the damage from uncle’s latest lesson. The bruises were many, huge and vibrant in a rainbow of colours from deep purple to fading yellow. The ones on his upper arms were clearly in the shape of uncle’s fingers, and Harry touched those gingerly with a questing finger.

He made himself a new promise while staring into his reflection’s green eyes. A vow that he would do his utmost to keep. “Uncle will never touch me again. I swear it.”

Harry’s chest, deep inside, tingled, and there seemed to be a faint glow surrounding the image in the mirror, that quickly faded. He didn’t know what it meant, but it seemed to cement Harry’s determination to never be victimized by uncle again. For now, he was content with that.

Yawning again, Harry turned to the tub and climbed into blissful heaven after shutting off the taps. He probably spent far too long luxuriating in the bath, but the water never seemed to cool and playing with the bubbles was far too tempting. He found himself nodding, however, and reluctantly climbed out to pull the plug and dry himself off. Dressed in his new pajamas, Harry placed his glasses next to the cake box, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over himself. A real bed. All to himself. It felt like a cloud.

That was his last thought before sleep took him.

Breakfast was marvelous. Harry didn’t have to cook it, for starters, and he could eat as much as he wanted.

Hagrid was true to his word. He woke Harry nearly as early as aunt woke him most mornings. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the now eleven year old was surprised to find his clothes clean, mended and neatly folded on the foot of his bed. Even the over sized and ratty trainers seemed to have gotten a cleaning and some repair. Harry dressed quickly in the toilet, making sure his fringe covered his scar, and hurried after Hagrid downstairs to the pub for breakfast.

Tom seemed to fall all over himself in his efforts to please the boy, but Harry knew from experience that he wouldn’t be able to eat that much, no matter how much he wanted to. He kept it simple with a soft boiled egg, some toast and some bacon, along with a tea. Hagrid ate enough for three men, anyway. Harry couldn’t help but oggle the amount of food the large man put away. It was funny. He ate even more than uncle and cousin put together.

Harry remained rather quiet during the meal, allowing Hagrid to carry the bulk of any conversation while he thought about things he had learned the night before. The biggest thing Harry had learned was that there was a lot to learn, and he best be getting about it quick. Hopefully this shopping trip would provide the means. In spite of his school performance, which had to be kept low due to cousin’s deficiencies, Harry was actually very smart and knew it. He absorbed information like a sponge, even though his practical work never revealed that. He remembered everything he read. He’d had to, or earn himself a lesson over showing up cousin in marks. Uncle wouldn’t tolerate his son being second best to a freak. That was no longer a concern, however. This new school would allow him to stretch himself, Harry hoped.

It was still early when Hagrid finally finished eating, freeing Harry from his patient stalling with the last few sips of tea, and led the intently curious boy toward the back of the filling pub. Harry avoided the eyes of the other patrons, and on the sly made sure his scar was still covered. He didn’t see any sense in giving strangers the advantage of knowing who he was the way Tom had so quickly identified him. Besides, he didn’t need the deferential treatment that was sure to follow, if Tom’s actions were anything to go by. He still needed to learn why all the fuss.

At a wall outside the back door of the pub, Hagrid stopped, and Harry watched as the umbrella was used to tap a specific sequence of bricks on the wall. Harry noted those, carefully committing them to memory, even as his eyes widened at what happened next. Starting with the ones that had been tapped, the entire wall seemed to fold in on itself until an archway was revealed. Beyond the arch, was a whole new street, filled with shops, people, birds and animals, sounds and colours. Harry marveled.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Harry.” Hagrid said quietly.

Harry turned a grin up at the man, then followed the furry coat tails into a whole new world. Keeping close to the large man, for whom the early shoppers seemed to open a path, Harry did his very level best to take in everything at once. Each shop front was examined as they passed. He tried to see into open doors or front windows, catching glimpses of marvelous products for sale. Everything seemed to be in motion. There was so much to see.

“Where are we going first, Hagrid?” Harry asked, skipping a few quick steps to keep up with his elder’s longer stride.

“Gringotts, of course. You’ll be needing some money to do your shopping with.”

Of course, how could he have been so foolish? Harry frowned at himself for the blatant stupidity of not thinking that through. Of course he would need money to get his school supplies, but he hadn’t any.

“I can’t let you pay for me, Hagrid. That isn’t right. Where can I get some money?” Harry could feel a bit of panic setting in. If he couldn’t get supplies, then he couldn’t go to school. If he couldn’t go to school, then he couldn’t escape uncle. He had to find a solution.

As though sensing the way Harry was working himself up into a full panic, a large hand again found the top of Harry’s head. It was a curiously comforting gesture. “Don’t you worry yourself none, lad. It’s all took care of. You’ll see.”

Harry was sure that Hagrid’s smile was meant to be reassuring, but he wasn’t convinced. He only nodded and silently followed toward the large, white building with impressive columns. They walked up a few steps toward the ornate doors which were flanked by two gaurds holding pikes. These were unlike any guards Harry had ever seen before, however. Short, squat, fierce looking and dressed in what appeared to be leathery armour, the pair were certainly not human. Harry stopped, tugging a little at Hagrid’s coat with a firm grip.

“Hagrid, what are they?” he whispered as quietly as he could when the big man had bent toward him. Harry tried hard not to stare, as that wouldn’t be polite, and he didn’t want to have them hear his question.

“They’re goblins, Harry” Hagrid took a knee, seeming to know that this might take a while and Harry wanted to keep their conversation as private as possible. “The goblins run Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Ain’t no safer place for your gold.”

Harry nodded, licking his lip nervously. “So, they guard the money?”

“More than that. They invest it too, and see to magical contracts. Ain’t nothing a goblin likes more than a good profit.” Hagrid seemed to consider for a moment. “Unless it’s a good, bloody fight. They like those too. But it’s the gold you only need worry about. The goblins have kept it safe for centuries.”

Watching Hagrid closely, knowing this was important, Harry nodded again.

“You never want to insult a goblin” the groundskeeper continued. “If the insult is bad enough, it can get you killed if you’re inside the bank, and there ain’t nothing anyone could do about it. Remember that, Harry.”

Harry nodded again.

“Just be polite. The goblins like kids, really. Treat them right fair. You won’t have anything to worry about.” Hagrid smiled, getting up while patting Harry’s shoulder in reassurance. “Ready to go in?”

Harry looked to the guards again, allowing himself a moment to examine them a little more closely. When one of them locked eyes with him, he offered a shy smile and nodded just a bit. The goblin appeared slightly startled, but gave a slight nod back. This reassured Harry just a little more than Hagrid’s assertions, and he relaxed, looking up at the man.

“I’m not afraid. Let’s go in.”

“Good lad” Hagrid beamed, and lead the way inside.

The foyer was huge and built entirely from polished stone. The columns supporting the roof high overhead were massive and liberally veined blocks of carved marble. Down both sides, on the left and right, were desks, each with a goblin busy at work. Directly ahead were the tellers. Two large doorways flanked the teller’s stalls. Harry’s eyes took in everything, committing all he saw to memory as he followed Hagrid to one of the tellers.

“Harry Potter would like to make a withdrawl” Hagrid stated when the teller looked up at him.

The goblin looked down at Harry, who again offered a shy, close lipped smile and slight nod. The teller gave a slight nod back, then addressed Hagrid. “Does Harry Potter have his key?”

Wait. His key? He had a key? To what? Harry watched Hagrid pat down various pockets before finally producing a tiny gold key, which he passed to the teller.

Hagrid leaned closer to the teller, passing a sealed note while speaking more quietly. “I’ll also be needing to make a stop for Headmaster Dumbledore to fetch you know what, from vault you know which.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. Well, that was vague, but the goblin seemed to know what Hagrid was talking about as he had nodded once, quickly scanned the note, and then turned to another goblin who had approached. “To vaults 713 and 687.”

“Follow me, please” the goblin stated after accepting the key that Harry kept a very close watch on, then turned and lead the way through the large doorway to the right of the tellers.

They went down a short hallway, then down some steps, then some more steps, before Harry found himself in a large room with a rail and cars. They all climbed into the first car, and the goblin got it moving. The wild ride they had next was easily the funnest thing Harry had ever done, apart from riding Hagrid’s motorcycle the night before. It simply had to be what a rollarcoaster was like. The little car dipped and dove, climbed and turned on the rails, all the while passing levels of vaults within a massive cavern. Harry’s whoops of delight echoed in the massive space.

They finally stopped at a particular level, the goblin announcing vault 713 as he got out of the cart. Hagrid climbed out as well, followed by Harry. The boy couldn’t see exactly what the goblin did to the heavily fortified door, but after a series of clicks, clangs, thuds and scrape of metal on metal, the massive door opened. Harry blinked at the deceptively tiny space that massive door revealed. It looked like a cubby hole. At the goblin’s invitation, Hagrid reached in and snatched the small, dirty pouch from it’s small pedestal, secreting it in an unknown pocket. Once the door was secure again, they all piled back into the rail car and they were on their way once more.

Harry managed to contain himself this time, largely because the ride was much shorter with fewer stomach lifting dives. Finding himself standing in front of another fortified doorway, Harry swallowed a little nervously. Was this his? He watched as the goblin requested the key from Hagrid, then opened the door. The golden glow revealed nearly took Harry’s breath away. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It looked like a dragon’s horde. Piles and piles of coins. Collecting himself, Harry turned to the goblin.

“Is that all mine?”

Seemingly startled at being addressed, the goblin nodded. “Yes. It’s the Potter trust vault. Number 687. Established by James Potter in 1980 for his son, Harry James Potter.”

Harry had just learned two things. His middle name, and that the goblins knew quite a bit more than how to count their gold. He made an instant decision to learn a lot more about these goblins. “What is your name, please?”

Clearly startled this time, it took a moment for the goblin to answer while closely examining Harry. “My name is Griphook.”

“Thank you for answering my question, Griphook” some instinct prompted Harry’s next words, based on what he had learned so far. “I hope your own profits seem as overwhelming.”

Clearly pleased, Griphook gave Harry a half bow. “May your enemies tremble before you.”

Harry briefly smiled back at a clearly proudly beaming Hagrid before he stepped toward the door of the vault. He could feel something around the doorway, some field of energy that made him pause. Tentatively, he reached out a hand.

“You can feel the family magic?” Griphook asked from beside him.

“Is that what it is?” Harry’s fingers seemed to brush against something feathery and nearly insubstantial. He couldn’t see anything, but felt as though he aught to be able to.

“It’s actually a ward set to the Potter blood line. Only one of Potter blood can enter the vault.” Griphook replied.

“Do goblins know a lot about wards?” Harry asked curiously, seemingly fascinated with the play of magic through his fingers.

“Of course. Goblins are the finest warders in the world.”

Harry nodded. That was good to know. After another moment, Harry accepted a felt pouch from Griphook and finally entered the vault. The magic seemed to wash over him as he crossed the threshold, like a waterfall, making his whole body tingle pleasantly. It made him smile. He asked Griphook, who remained outside the doorway, to explain the wizarding monetary system while he filled the pouch with coins. Or, attempted to. No matter how much he put in, the bag never seemed to fill or get heavy. Griphook also explained that phenomenon when Harry looked deeply puzzled by the bag. The goblin was clearly amused.

Finshed inside, Harry left the vault. He was disappointed not to find anything of his parents inside. He watched Griphook seal the vault once more, then accepted the key which warmed to his touch, then went cool again. With a smile, Harry pocketed it with the pouch.

They rode back up to the main level of the bank, a thoughtful Harry much quieter, and emerged into the lobby lit by mid morning sun. Harry thanked Griphook for his help before following Hagrid from the bank.

“Well then, best to get started on your list, Harry. We have a full morning.” Hagrid grinned.

Full it was. They visited several shops in quick succession, collecting everything Harry needed for school. Potage’s Cauldron Shop, Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, Scribbulus Writing Instruments, Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment all supplied something Harry needed. Their next stop was Madam Malkin’s, for Harry’s school robes. Hagrid left him there, saying he’d be back after tending to a bit of business of his own, and dropping the packages they had so far at the Leaky. Harry was agreeable, and entered the shop on his own. By this time he had seen enough people wearing wizarding robes to know, somewhat, what to expect.

There was a blond haired boy getting measured and fitted, so Harry took a seat and waited, watching curiously. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the little shop besides the lady helping the boy. Soon enough, the blond noticed Harry’s reflection in one of the many mirrors surrounding him.

“Hello.”

Harry tilted his head a little to get a better look at the boy’s face in the mirror. “Hello.”

“I’m Draco. Will you be starting at Hogwarts this year too?”

Harry nodded ‘yes’ with a tentative smile. He really wasn’t all that used to interacting with other children. Cousin was very vigilant about that, both at school and in the neighborhood of Privet Drive. As a consequence, Harry felt a little out of his depth since he had learned to prefer his own company, but decided to brazen it out. It was a whole new world, after all, wasn’t it? Harry then locked eyes with the blonde’s reflection, and something very unusual happened. Deep inside, Harry felt like something connected. As though there had been a piece of himself missing, and suddenly it was just there, settling in perfect as you please.

“Do you know what house you want to be sorted into?” Draco continued, watching himself in the mirror now, and making Harry question that curious sensation that had lasted less than a heartbeat. “I’m sure to be Slytherin. All of the Malfoys have always been in Slytherin, so my father says.”

When the boy seemed to look toward Harry’s reflection, he could only shrug and shake his head, only half listening as he was still unsettled by that unfamiliar sensation. He absently rubbed his breastbone with a slight frown, then gave himself a shake, determined to pay attention.

“I doubt it’ll be Slytherin. My father says only the very best families get sorted there.” Draco went on after giving Harry’s reflection a closer inspection that didn’t seem to pass muster. “My father says that he hopes I won’t have to interact with too many mudbloods my first year. He says I need to cultivate the right kinds of friends. Because of my father’s position, I’m sure to meet the children of the best pureblood families.”

Harry found that he needn’t say a word, and simply let Draco talk himself out. This boy was starting to remind Harry of cousin just a little too much.

“Are you any good on a broom?” the blonde was asking. “My father insists that he won’t buy me the latest model this year, since first year’s can’t have a broom at school. I intend to make him change his mind, though. I want to play Quidditch. Which is your favorite Quidditch team? Mine is the Falmouth Falcons.”

When Draco paused, obviously expecting an answer, Harry could only offer the name of the only sports related team he could think of. “Puddlemere United.”

“Really?” Draco wrinkled his pointed nose a little, then appeared to think about it. “They’re not bad, I suppose. My father insists that the Falcons are the best, however.”

Before Draco could launch into another soliloquy, Harry decided to interject. “Draco, I’ve been learning quite a bit about your father, but wouldn’t you rather talk about yourself?”

This seemed to throw the blonde boy for a bit of a mental loop, as he lowered his arms and half turned on the stool he was standing on to blink at Harry. “I have been talking about myself. What do you mean?”

Madam Malkin managed to get Draco turned around again and Harry was forced to talk with the other boy’s reflection. “Well, I’ve heard loads about what your father says, or what he thinks, but I haven’t really heard much about what you think.”

There was a sound suspiciously like a tiny snort of amusement from Madam as she hemmed Draco’s robes, but Harry couldn’t swear to it.

“What do you think our teachers will be like?” Harry asked, as an example.

“Well, my father says..”

“Draco, I’m sure your father says all sorts of things,” Harry interrupted “but I’d really like to hear what you think. Which will be your hardest subject?”

While Draco appeared to think about how to answer, Madam Malkin motioned Harry over to the other stool, and began to drape fabrics over him. He hadn’t a clue what she was doing, but she seemed to know her trade and simply stood exactly as she wanted him to, when she wanted him to.

“I think my hardest subject will probably be Transfiguration.” Draco finally decided.

“What about your best?” Harry asked before Draco could turn the question around. He had no idea which subjects Hogwarts offered, so wouldn’t be able to answer. He hadn’t gotten his books yet.

“Potions” the blond answered with an immediate smile. “My godfather is a Potions Master, and the Professor.”

“Wow, that’s lucky” Harry opined, impressed. “Has he been teaching you already?”

“Of course.” Draco seemed in his element now, and smiled proudly while squaring his shoulders. “He says I have great potential to be a Master one day, myself.”

“Is that something you’d like to do?”

Draco appeared to think about it for a bit, then finally nodded. “Potion Masters earn a lot of respect. It would be a good career, I think. If I don’t go into the Ministry like Father, of course.”

“Well, that’s good, I suppose.” Harry stated slowly “but wouldn’t you rather do something that you love, rather than something you would be respected for?”

Draco turned to him with a slight frown. “Why?”

“Well,” Harry was thinking it out even as he spoke. “You’d be doing something you enjoy, so it wouldn’t feel so much like work. Did your godfather become a Potions Master for the respect, or because he loves potions?”

This made Draco think, and the blonde was quiet while Madam bustled him down from the stool and wrapped up the new robes she had prepared. Draco sat down with the package, watching Harry’s reflection when Madam returned to the tousle haired boy.

“I think,” Draco began, seeming to consider his words more carefully “that my godfather really loves making potions. He’s in his private potions lab all the time he isn’t at school, and he’s talked about articles he’s written for some potions periodicals.”

Harry nodded. “That sounds like something he loves to do, alright. What would you love to do?”

Draco frowned, looking down at his obviously expensive shoes, honestly giving the question some careful consideration. While he thought, Madam seemed to finish up, because she soon had Harry down from the stool and wrapped up his robes.

“I’ve prepared the usual three robes for you dear,” she said to Harry. “If you need more, just send me an owl with the numbers from the tag on the inside of the collar, and I’ll send them out to you straight away.”

“That’s great, Madam, thank you.” Harry offered the lady his best smile. “How much, please?”

“That’ll be three galleons each, love. Any replacements will only be two galleons, since you’ll soon outgrow them anyway.”

Harry paid her, adding owls to the already large research list in his head. He then turned to Draco who was now watching him curiously.

“I don’t know.” The blonde appeared lost.

“Excuse me?” Harry said, since he had lost the thread of the conversation a little.

“I don’t know what I’d love to do.”

Harry only smiled and shrugged. “There’s nothing that says you have to decide now. You’re only eleven. Have you got your books yet?”

Draco didn’t seem to know what to make of this new situation. It appeared as though he simply had to map out the entirety of his life now, and didn’t know what to do about this indecision. Maybe it was because his father had his life planned out for him already, and deciding for himself was completely new. Evidently, the blonde decided not to think about it, and took a deep breath before standing up.

“No, I haven’t got mine yet.” he said, “We could go to Flourish and Blotts together, if you want.”

“Sure,” Harry smiled with another shrug, turning back to a clearly amused Madam Malkin. “Do you know a Hagrid, from Hogwarts, Ma’am?”

“Of course.” she smiled back to Harry.

“Could you please tell him, if he comes looking for me here, that I’ve gone to the bookstore?”

“I’ll be sure to send him right along, love. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Harry lead the way out, only glancing back briefly at the door to see Madam with a hand over her mouth, clearly hiding laughter. He wasn’t sure what she found so funny, but he was glad he could cheer her up. She didn’t look very happy when he first entered the store.

Crossing the street to Flourish and Blotts, Draco appeared to want to ask Harry something, but never did. Once in the book store, they both pulled out their lists, and began looking for the books they would need. It didn’t take very long, since all the first year books had already been grouped together in the front part of the store. Harry, however, had a much more urgent list in his head. He paid for his books, getting them bagged, and noted that Draco only stated his name before the sales lady nodded and made a notation on a ledger.

“I need to look for more books, Draco. Did you want to join me?”

“I can’t” the blonde appeared disappointed, and a little embarrassed. “I made Father promise to get me ice cream at Fortescue’s.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Harry thought ice cream would beat books any time, even though he’d never tried any himself. The other boy was a little annoying, but Harry was reluctant to see him go already. “We’ll see each other at school, right?”

“Of course,” Draco asserted, even starting to smile. “Let’s meet up on the train. We’ll ride to Hogwarts together.”

And so Harry learned something else that he needed to learn about. His list was getting incredibly long. “Let’s do that then. Bye, Draco.”

“Bye.” Draco called as he ran from the shop with his bag of books and package of robes.

Harry watched him go, a little torn. He was tempted to follow the other boy, but he honestly had more important things to get done. Asking politely if the sales lady would store his own packages behind the counter until he was done, Harry made his way deeper into the store to start his search. He had no concept of the passage of time, and asked twice for help from an employee to get books on topics he was most interested in. With an agony of indecision, he finally decided on his choices. It wasn’t until he was paying for the books that he noticed Hagrid, which was a level of inattention the boy simply couldn’t excuse himself for. Who could miss Hagrid, for crying out loud?

The large man only smiled at Harry’s sheepish apology for taking so long, easily managing the bags of books while Harry took charge of the package of robes. “Not to fret, lad. I could see you were having a grand time, and I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

“Thanks, Hagrid.” Harry smiled back, and followed the groundskeeper from the store. “Where to next?”

“All that’s left is Olivander’s, and a surprise.” Hagrid said, already waking down the street toward their next destination.

Struck speechless at mention of a surprise, Harry could only follow as quickly as he could. He’d never gotten a surprise before. Well, in actual fact, he’d never gotten a good surprise before.

Olivander’s turned out to be a wand shop. Now this was something Harry had been looking forward to. All morning he had seen adults use their wands for little bits of magic, and he was more than eager to have a go himself. With an eager thump to his heartbeat, he followed Hagrid inside and approached the counter.

Hagrid turned his charge toward him, looking him right in the eye. “Now Harry, I’m just going to nip down the street a bit, so you stay here at Olivander’s till I get back. Alright?”

Perfectly agreeable, Harry nodded. “Alright, Hagrid. I’ll stay right here.” He set the package of robes on the counter to demonstrate his eagerness to obey.

Hagrid nodded, patted Harry on the head, and ambled out. Before Harry could turn back, there was a slidding thump, then a voice.

“Well, I was wondering when I would be seeing you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned to see a rather old man up on a ladder attatched to one of the myriad of shelves, all stacked with narrow boxes. The two studied each other, warily on Harry’s part, until the man began to climb down.

“It seems only yesterday that I had your mother and father in here, looking for their first wands.” Olivander said, then approached the far side of the counter.

“Did you know them as other than customers, Mr. Olivander?” Harry asked, both out of honest curiosity, and in part in an attempt to find out how the man had so easily recognized him. He knew his scar was hidden, and he had been turned away from the man.

Olivander’s bushy grey eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Indeed I did, Mr. Potter. Quite well, in fact.”

Harry considered the man, and his answer. He hadn’t expected to find a firsthand source of information about his parents. He hungered to learn anything he could about them, but didn’t know how to ask. There was Hagrid, of course, but Harry had a feeling that this man could tell him things that Harry would find not only entertaining, but completely useful as well. He could literally feel something emanating from the man that encouraged him to be all that he could be, to try his hardest to exceed his own expectations. It was something like the ward on his vault, only different.

All the while he considered how to proceed, Olivander had been studying Harry in turn, and reached a decision. “You must come and visit me as often as you can, Mr. Potter. I suspect we have much to talk about.”

Relieved, Harry could only nod his agreement. He’d like that very much. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Oh, no sirs here, young man.” Olivander chuckled “Call me Garrick.”

Harry instantly blushed. He could feel the heat flood his cheeks, something he had very rarely experienced. No adult had ever invited him to use their first name before, and the pleasant warmth that filled him with was nearly overwhelming. “O… okay” he whispered with a tentative smile “Garrick”

Olivander only gave him a nod and smile, then clapped his hands together. “Now then, let’s just see about your wand, shall we?”

Eagerly, Harry nodded, reminded of his earlier anticipation. Garrick searched his many shelves, giving wand after wand to Harry to try. The eleven year old could feel something from each of them, but for the most part it was mainly a feeling of not quite right or even outright wrongness. The latter he gave back immediately, but the few that felt a little right, he’d swish to usually disastrous results that Garrick would fix with a flick of his own wand.

Expressing his frustration, Olivander paused, considering Harry closely. “I wonder..” he finally muttered to himself, and turned back to the shelves.

He returned with yet another box, passing the revealed wand to Harry almost reverently. Oh! This.. this felt like a warm and comforting version of the tingle in his chest. Harry stared at the length of holly, unaware of the brief glow that had surrounded him.

“Curious.” Garrick said, watching Harry closely.

Harry looked up from the wand.

“It’s interesting that the phoenix that gave a feather for that wand, only gave one other, Harry.” Olivander looked almost sad. “That other feather is in the wand that gave you your scar.”

Harry’s green eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head. “I don’t want it.”

It nearly tore his heart out to do it, the loss was that keen, but Harry placed the wand on the counter and pulled his hand back. Olivander audibly gasped.

“Harry, the wand choses the wizard.”

Harry’s gaze met Garrick’s unflinchingly. “No one will tell me, Mr. Olivander, but I know deep inside that that other wand had something to do with my parent’s death. I don’t want anything to do with something that reminds me of that.”

Garrick’s eyes clearly telegraphed the older man’s understanding and sympathy. “Harry, if you knew a set of twins, and one committed murder, are both twins guilty?”

Harry could see immediately what Olivander was trying to say, and felt chastised. He studied the countertop sullenly, trying hard not to look at the wand that had chosen him. “No, sir.”

“If it helps,” Garrick offered kindly, “you could think of it this way. That other wand is an agent for darkness, while your wand is it’s exact opposite.”

Harry looked up hopefully. “An agent for … light?”

“Exactly.” Garrick nodded with a small, proud smile.

Harry considered that for a few moments, contemplating the wand and their discussion. Reaching a decision, Harry picked up the wand again. This time, having consciously chosen the wand that had chosen him, their introduction was quite a bit different. It was like flood gates had opened deep inside him, and for the first time in his life Harry could feel his magic rushing to connect with his wand. Gasping deeply, Harry closed his eyes and just experienced.

He could feel the full body warmth that flooded him, the swirl, ebb and flow of his magic throughout his whole body, the way it connected to his wand, and his wand to him. He could hear the most beautiful birdsong he’d ever heard, and this made his heart weep with the kind of joy he had only ever dared dream about. It was like how he imagined a loving hug from his mother would feel, and so much more.

He couldn’t see what Olivander could see. The nearly fully developed aura of magic surrounding this small boy impressed the wand maker to a remarkable degree. He had rarely seen it’s equal, especially in one so young. That Harry would be a powerful influence in the wizarding world was something that couldn’t be denied. There was a tangible wind, a strong glowing light that even a mundane would be able to see surrounding the lad. It seemed to last hours, and yet faded after only a few moments until his shop was calm again.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at Olivander. “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Potter.” Garrick replied,  his voice a little husky with emotion. He knew he could expect great things from Mr. Potter. Great things indeed.

The moment was broken by a tapping on the window. Both turned to see what it was, seeing Hagrid outside the shop, looking in and grinning. He was holding a large bird cage aloft. In the cage, was a beautiful snowy owl.

“Happy Birthday Harry.” the over large man exclaimed happily.

It was only then that Harry realized that he had forgotten to ask at the bank what the date was. At this rate, he would end up missing the first day of school entirely. Smiling somewhat ruefully at himself, and in fond exasperation at Hagrid, Harry paid for his new wand and gathered his robes before he joined the groundskeeper for their walk back to the Leaky Cauldron and a late lunch.

August

By the time Harry and Hagrid made it back to the Leaky Cauldron, it was mid-afternoon, nearly tea time. The large man immediately herded Harry toward a booth and sat the owl cage on the table, before sitting across from the boy. The bags of books, Harry could hear, were set gingerly on the floor under the table and Hagrid sighed a bit in apparent contentment as he settled into his seat.

“Time I got you fed, young man.” Hagrid was trying to look sternly at the confusion in Harry’s eyes, but he failed when he smiled. “Can’t believe I let you miss lunch.”

“We did have a busy morning, Hagrid” Harry smiled in understanding, setting the package of robes on the bench seat beside him. His stomach was a little growly.

Tom seemed to have teleported to their table, since he was suddenly right there. Hagrid wasted no time in ordering a pot of tea and some sandwiches. Harry allowed himself the time to review everything he had experienced so far that day. To say that it was far outside of his typical day was an immense understatement. Peeking under the table, he looked at the bags of books. He was very much looking forward to learning everything they had to offer. By the time he settled upright again, he found himself blinking at the table. It was that suddenly covered with a myriad of dishes, cups, a platter of sandwiches, another of scones and pots of jams and butter, and a steaming, large pot of tea. Hagrid was already happily reaching for the pot to pour for them both.

“Wow,” he couldn’t help exclaiming while he watched Hagrid place a sandwich on his plate. “How did Tom get everything here so fast?”

“House elves,” Hagrid explained while preparing his own plate with selections from everything on offer. Harry picked up his sandwich and started to eat while listening. “They have marvelous magic, they do, and always so eager to please.”

Chewing the delicious sandwich and his green eyes admiring the owl in it’s cage, Harry had wished he had known about house elves before the book store, so he could get yet another book for research purposes. “Why didn’t they bring breakfast? Tom brought it to us this morning.”

“It was really early, this morn,” Hagrid explained, sipping tea, “and it’s much busier now.”

Harry looked around the pub, noting that it was indeed quite a bit busier than the last time he had been in the large common room. The pub was nearly filled with patrons, with more arriving. The boy watched, fascinated and sandwich near forgotten in his hand as the green flames of the large fireplace spat out three people in quick succession.

“Wow” he whispered to Hagrid’s amusement.

The two sat, companionably talking and eating. Hagrid seemed to know loads about all sorts of cretures, and Harry took advantage to find out about how wizard’s used owls for mail and even as familiars. He said it was important that Harry come up with an appropriate name for the beautiful bird, and advised the eleven year old as to what to feed her when she didn’t hunt for herself and what treats were appropriate once the supply he had purchased with the bird ran out. He also learned more about house elves, and that there were even some at Hogwarts. He even learned that the pajamas that had magically appeared the night before had been provided by house elves, and that they were responsible for cleaning and mending his clothes.

Harry stuffed himself with two sandwiches, a scone coated in strawberry jam, which was utterly delicious, and two cups of tea before he sat back with a small groan of satisfaction. He had never in his life been so full, much to Hagrid’s amusement. Hagrid didn’t linger long, however, and soon had Harry helping him gather up their purchases and bustled up the stairs to their room.

Harry found himself shocked at exactly how much he had purchased that day. He had never had even a single, brand new item to call his own. Now, his bed was buried under the bags of everything he needed for school. With more than a little dismay, he wondered how he would get it all to Hogwarts. That’s when Harry learned about trunks.

“Can’t believe I forgot about that” Hagrid was saying with a perplexed frown. “You’ll be needing one, that’s for certain.”

“Couldn’t we just go back to Diagon Alley and get one?” Harry ventured, entirely unused to asking for things. “I still have plenty of money in my pouch.”

Hagrid sighed, shaking his head. “It’ll have to wait for the morning now, Harry.” Patting his pocket, Hagrid started ambling toward the door. “I’m late getting this to Professor Dumbledore as it is.”

Harry had completely forgotten about the mysterious little pouch the giant man had retrieved from the vault. He nodded in understanding, well used to being told no, so didn’t think more about it. Instead, he started to open bags and remove items into organized piles on his bed. He looked up when he hadn’t heard the door, a little puzzled to find Hagrid still there, and looking torn with indecision.

“What’s the matter, Hagrid?” he finally hazarded to ask.

“I don’t feel right leaving you,” the man explained, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I shouldn’t be long, only till dinner time maybe, but it don’t feel right. I shouldn’t be leaving you here alone.”

It was Harry’s turn to be reassuring, and he shrugged a little, holding one of his brand new books up. “I’ll be fine, Hagrid. I can start reading or something. I won’t even know you’re gone.”

“If you’re sure” Hagrid looked a bit hopeful, seeming to have forgotten all about the two times he had left Harry alone in the Alley.

“Sure I’m sure” Harry assured with a smile. “Best get going or the Headmaster will wonder if the goblins got you. Besides, the sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back.”

“Right. That’s true,” Hagrid smiled with relief, agreeing with Harry’s logic. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Don’t open the door for anyone, mind. If you need something, just call it out to the wardrobe. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, Hagrid.” Harry watched the door close, shrugged a little, and turned back to his buried bed.

It wasn’t like he had never been left alone before. Uncle would often leave him locked in his cupboard while the rest of them went out to dinner or to see a film or something. Harry was never included, nor treated as part of the family. He was more like an unpaid servant, unless you counted the scraps he received as food or clothes to be payment. For vacations, Harry was always left in the care of Mrs Figgs and her many millions of cats, from down the street. The pre-teen was left to his own devices all too often, with a list of chores of course, for him to give the matter another thought.

Once everything was out of their bags and laid out on the bed, Harry could readily see the immediate need for a trunk. He sighed to himself. He did remember seeing a shop that sold them. Surely he could go himself, and save Hagrid the trouble of escorting him in the morning. That would leave time for him to go shopping tomorrow for some clothes, something else he sorely needed. He would also need to convert some of the galleons he carried into pounds. So, he had two immediate needs; a visit to the bank again, and a trunk. And more books. Eyeing the owl in her cage, Harry shook a finger as he often saw aunt do.

“Don’t be telling Hagrid I went out, okay?”

The owl gave a warbling kind of chirp and bobbed her head. A bit surprised, Harry grinned, determined to spend plenty of time with the owl that evening so they could get used to each other.

His decision made, Harry determinedly headed for the door. He made his way downstairs, and gingerly began to cross the fairly full common room toward the doorway leading out to the Alley. There appeared to be a steady stream of people coming and going, so he skirted patrons until he was able to join the tail end of a large family of red heads through the archway. Being so small had it’s definite advantages. A boy of about his own age was loudly asking, over and over, if they could go to Quality Quiddach Supplies first. His mother appeared to be too busy to answer as she was apparently scolding a set of twins about something they had done to their sister. The girl in question was clinging to her mother’s skirt and smirking at the chastised pair. Harry started to feel bad for the twins. Making the girl’s hair curly didn’t sound so bad to him. Besides, it was straight now, so the problem had obviously been fixed easily enough.

As soon as they were all through the archway, the begging boy’s voice grating on Harry’s nerves, Harry parted from the family to head straight for Wiseacres. He remembered seeing trunks there. Upon entering the shop, he paused a moment to get his bearings. There were a few other people there, and he did his best to appear as though he knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there. The stack of trunks spotted, he made his way over to them and began to look them over. He had opened and examined three before a sales person came up beside him.

“Are you finding what you need, lad?” the older gentleman smiled down at  him. He looked friendly enough, and appeared to want to be  helpful. He towered over Harry like a slender stick man, all arms, legs and long torso topped with a neatly combed shock of wavy, white hair. Harry wondered if it was Mr Wiseacre himself.

“I’m not really sure what I’m looking for,” the brunette admitted after a moment. “I need a trunk for school, but I’d like something that will hold more than what’s on the list. I have a lot of books.”

“Ah, your first year at Hogwarts, is it?” the man asked with a twinkle in his eyes. Harry nodded an answering smile. “Well, these are all standard school trunks, but I can see that you’re a young man of discerning tastes.”

Harry didn’t feel as though he was anything of the sort, but he definitely had some specific needs. He gamely followed the man over to another set of trunks. These were a little more ornate looking, though they appeared to be about the same size as the others. Experimentally, Harry opened one, and gasped. The space inside looked to be six feet long by four feet wide. The bottom of the trunk appeared to be four feet down, and was lined with dozens of little drawer fronts on three sides. The forth side, one of the narrower ones, had a ladder so one could climb down inside and access all the drawers.

“This model is popular with the potions crowd. It’ll hold hundreds of potions ingredients.” Mr Wiseacre was saying.

“Wicked” Harry whispered, his green eyes widely taking in every detail. He looked up at the salesman. “Do you have one with a wardrobe and drawers for clothes and shelves for books?”

“Of course,” the man smiled, and turned to another trunk. Before he opened the lid, he turned back to Harry, bending closer and speaking quietly. “I’ve always wondered about something. You see, since I started selling dimensional trunks, I always wondered how brilliant it would be to go back in time to my school days, with one of these.”

Taking out his wand, the man taped the top of the trunk twice, and opened the lid. Harry stepped closer to look inside, and marveled. He was looking down at a comfortably furnished living room, complete with fireplace. Harry could barely breathe, he was so enraptured. The lid closed, and the man tapped the lid again with his wand before lifting the lid once more. This time, there was a library with a work table and desk, the shelves all standing bare and waiting to be filled.

“This is a four compartment trunk,” the man explained, closing the lid and tapping it three times before lifting it again to reveal a fully furnished bedroom, complete with dresser and wardrobe. “There’s the family room, the library, the bedroom and a storage area that can be converted to any room you might need, including a toilet or kitchen. Tapping the lid five times will shrink the trunk so you can easily carry it about. The same, while it’s shrunk, will restore it to proper size.”

Harry was speechless. He had never seen, or even imagined, anything so perfectly wonderful. The lid closed again.

“It has all the standard wards and charms against theft, fire and breakage. This spot on the lid can be keyed to a blood ward, allowing only the owner to be able to open the trunk, or to set a password for guests. You can even change it’s appearance, only once however, so it’s decorations can uniquely suit you.”

Harry was in complete awe. “It’s brilliant. It’s perfect. I’ll take it.”

The man laughed. Harry’s exuberance was apparently infectious. “Only if you promise to come back at the end of the school year, and tell me how you enjoyed the trunk.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed with a grin. He could envision so many wonderful uses for the trunk. It was literally a home of his own that he could carry with him wherever he went. It was the stuff of dreams.

With the requisite number of wand taps, the trunk was neatly shrunk to the size of a brick, and the salesman picked it up, then passed it to Harry. “Is there anything else you need, lad?”

Nearly overwhelmed by the possibilities still running through his head, Harry took a moment to gather this wits and start thinking again. He looked around a little, until he was able to remind himself of what else he needed. “A book bag.”

He turned back to the salesman. “I’ll need a bag that can hold plenty, but won’t weigh so much. I’m kind of small.”

The last was said a bit sheepishly, but he wasn’t above playing off of another’s sympathies if it could get him what he needed. He had in mind something that was like the Gringott’s money pouch. He hoped there was a school bag of similar design. If wizards could make trunks like this, surely magic was capable of anything he might need. He had had one, one of cousin’s old ones, for school the year before. He never learned what had ultimately happened to it, as cousin and his friends had taken it from him one of the few times they managed to catch him in the schoolyard.

With a smile and nod of understanding, the man turned and walked down the isle. “I have just the thing.”

Harry followed at an eager trot, cradling the small trunk in his hands. He was shown a collection of book bags, and ultimately chose one made of black leather. It indeed appeared bottomless, and Harry was assured that it had all the latest featherlight charms in addition to the same protections the trunk had. Minus the blood ward. He also decided to get a wand holster that he could wear on his forearm instead of simply sticking his wand up his sleeve, as he had done until then. At the counter, Harry was given written instructions for the dimensional trunk, which the salesman patiently went over with him to be sure that Harry understood everything he could do with his new purchase. The boy decided to take a slightly larger trunk that provided additional rooms, one of which became his own little potions lab, his conversation with Draco playing a large part in that decision. He also added a kitchen and restroom. The adjustments were made to the trunk, then shrunk again to be placed in his new school bag. After paying eighty two galleons for everything, Harry stepped back out onto Diagon Alley, the trunk and parchments in his new book bag which was slung crosswise over his shoulder, and his wand snug against the skin of his right arm. He couldn’t stop grinning in delight.

He headed next for Gringotts. By a stroke of luck, he got the same teller that Hagrid had spoken to that morning, even though the bank was quite a bit busier. Unable to comfortably see over the top of the tall desk, the goblin allowed Harry to come around to his side, and together the pair counted how much Harry had left in his pouch. There was four hundred and eight galleons, twelve sickles and twenty knuts. Harry converted enough to have two hundred pounds, which still left him with nearly three hundred galleons, since the exchange rate was in wizarding favour. He had no idea that morning of how much he had scooped into the pouch, but he knew for certain that he had barely depleted a single stack of coins. Just how much money did he have, anyway? He determined to find out another day, now feeling much more comfortable with the taciturn goblins. He did, however, make a point of asking after the date. It was August 5th. That meant that he had received his first Hogwarts letter, the one he’d hidden in his cupboard, on his birthday.

Back out in the Alley, Harry thought that perhaps he should head back to the Leaky Cauldron. The sun was well angled to the west, so it must be approaching dinner time. He would need to save the rest of his shopping for the next day. Near the top of the list was a watch. Passing the Magical Menagerie on his way to the archway, Harry found his steps slowing. In the window, Harry could see the animated cover of a book proclaiming itself to be “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”. Struck with an idea, Harry went inside. The shear variety of creatures inside was fascinating, especially the snakes in their terrariums. Their hissing little voices were a great lure, but Harry knew he shouldn’t linger. He’d come back to talk with them, as he had often chatted with the snakes he sometimes found in aunt’s garden. Finding more copies of the book near the counter, Harry chose one and quickly paid, then hurried to the pub after stowing the book in his new, leather bag which bumped delightfully against his hip as he walked.

Making sure his fringe still covered his scar, Harry slipped through the now crowded pub to the bar. There he hopped to see over the edge until Tom spotted him with a grin of amusement.

“Here now lad, what can I help you with?”

Harry did his best to look abashed. “I kind of locked myself out of our room, Tom, and Hagrid would be cross if he caught me out.”

“Ah, now there’s a pickle,” the barman agreed with a conspiratorial grin. “Need a key?”

“Yes, please” Harry nodded with a hopeful look. “I only wanted to see all the people. I forgot about the door.”

“Ah, no harm done.” Tom turned away for a moment, then back to Harry, passing a key over the counter to him with a wink. “You hold onto that, and it’ll be our secret.”

Harry grinned, clutching the key in his fist. “Thanks, Tom.”

Like an eel, Harry darted through the crowd to the stairs, then up to the room he shared with Hagrid. Using the key, he let himself in, then sighed in relief. No Hagrid, and the back of the door showed no coat, so hopefully the big man hadn’t made it back yet. Collapsing wearily on the corner of the end of his bed, the only room available on it, Harry puffed out a breath. It had been a very busy day, and he was tired. Looking about him, he knew his work wasn’t done, however.

Pulling the strap of the book bag over his head, Harry lifted the flap and reached inside. He pulled out the book first, which he sat gingerly on Hagrid’s bed, then the trunk. Placing the small rectangle on the floor at the foot of his bed, Harry drew his wand and stood back a little before he tapped it five times. The trunk grew, making him grin anew, and he tapped it again to open on the library. With a determined air, the boy set about transferring all of his purchases into the trunk, one room at a time.

By the time Hagrid returned, he found Harry lounging on his bed, propped up with all the pillows from both beds in a comfortable nest, with the snowy owl on his knee. The boy was talking with the bird, stroking her feathers, and getting affectionate nips on his fingers in return. The owl’s cage sat on the nightstand under the opened window. The room was spotlessly neat. A new trunk sat at the foot of Harry’s bed. It was a soothing, earthy brown leather, stamped with griffons and phoenixes, with brass accents. The handles were fashioned in the shape of snakes coiled back on themselves, and the trunk’s hasp resembled a starburst with a blood red stone set into it, but no lock. Harry grinned up at Hagrid when he entered the room and watched while the furry coat was hung on a peg on the back of the door.

“Hello, Hagrid” Harry greeted the groundskeeper cheerfully. “How was the Headmaster?”

“He’s fine,” Hagrid replied, a little distractedly. “Where’s all your things? Did Tom have a trunk you could use.”

A little embarrassed to be caught out so quickly, Harry blushed, his attention on the owl who demanded more stroking with quiet barks. Harry hoped he wouldn’t be in too much trouble, but Hagrid had never forbidden him from going back to the Alley, only to not open the door for strangers. His stomach churned a little in apprehension.

“No, it’s new” the boy admitted, unable to meet the giant man’s eyes. “After you left, I realized that I couldn’t keep everything all piled up on the floor, so I went back to Diagon Alley, to Wiseacres, and got a trunk.”

“You went by yourself?” Hagrid frowned at him. “I don’t think you ought to have done that, Harry. I’m supposed to be looking out for you. Professor Dumbledore said so.”

“I know, Hagrid,” Harry sighed, keeping a wary eye on the man’s extremely large hands, just in case. He wondered why the Headmaster’s instructions had been so specific about him. “but I was really quick, I promise. I just got a trunk and a book bag, then I changed some galleons for pounds, and got you a present and came right back. I swear.”

Hagrid didn’t appear to know what to do with Harry’s earnest confession, and sat down on his bed with a perplexed air. “You got me a present?”

Harry nodded, feeling a little hopeful that the bearded man could be so easily distracted from being angry with him. “Of course. I wanted to thank you for all the help you’ve given me so far. It’s there, on your bed.”

Harry pointed to the head of the man’s bed, where the pillows would normally be, at the book. Hagrid looked startled, and a little misty eyed, as he picked up the book. He looked over the cover, one hand lightly stroking the animated pictures cycling through images of dragons, cats, winged horses and other creatures.

“This is for me?”

Harry nodded, watching Hagrid closely. “It has loads of nice, big pictures in it. I checked. And it looks like it could teach you lots about different animals. I was going to ask you if I could borrow it sometime.”

“Of course you can, Harry” Hagrid assured, already engrossed in slowly turning the pages to admire the pictures. “Any time you want. You just come down to my hut and you can read it any time you like.”

Harry began to relax with a small smile, happy that Hagrid appeared to enjoy the book so much. It was a spur of the moment idea, but he was glad it worked out so well. He had also learned that Hagrid didn’t live in the castle itself, but somewhere on the grounds. He was glad he had decided to read “Hogwarts: A History” first, which currently sat on the bed beside him. He intended to start reading it tonight before sleeping.

Confident that Hagrid was well occupied with the book, Harry’s attention turned back to getting to know his owl. He had already discovered a few places she preferred to be stroked or scratched, and how hard or soft to touch her. He was still trying to decide on a name, even as he learned of all the sounds she made, and tried to determine what they meant. The fact that she was highly intelligent he had discovered right away. Her talons were rather sharp, he had also learned, and had a towel draped over his knee for added padding. The bird seemed to be extremely careful of how hard she gripped, however, after she had initially scratched his arm right through his jumper by accident. The sounds she had made while he examined his arm seemed completely mournful and apologetic, and she had softly clicked her beak over his arm. Harry had found it endearing.

“Hedwig” he finally decided with a soft whisper and fond smile into the owl’s brilliant, yellow eyes. “I think I’ll call you Hedwig.”

The owl bobbed her head, ruffling her wings then puffed up her chest proudly.

“What’s that, Harry?”

The boy looked up to find Hagrid blinking a bit owlishly at him, himself. With the thick, black bushy beard, the look made the boy laugh.

“I just decided on her name. Hedwig.”

“That’s a good name, lad.” Hagrid glanced out the open window, noting the sunset. “Blimey, is that the time? Come on then, let’s get some dinner.”

Nodding, Harry held his forearm for Hedwig to climb on, then scooted to the edge of the bed, setting the towel on the nightstand. He stood up, and lifted the bird to the top of her cage. She didn’t appear to want to move, however, and Harry truthfully didn’t want to leave her just yet.

“No, no, Harry.” Hagrid stopped him, having set his book aside and noticed what Harry was doing. “You keep her with you.”

“I didn’t think she’d be allowed downstairs” the youngster said, immediately drawing his arm back toward his chest so he could stroke Hedwig’s head again.

“You’ve started the bonding, and you’ll be wanting to keep her close for a couple days,” Hagrid explained. “Magical owls are right smart birds, and can become familiars if the bond is strong enough. She’s young enough to grow right attached to you, quick enough. I made sure of that.”

Harry was glad to be able to keep Hedwig close for longer. Now that Hagrid mentioned it, he could feel a connection to the bird, somewhat similar, though much dimmer, than what had happened with his wand. It was much closer to the feeling he’d had when he had connected eyes with the blond boy, Draco. The boy happily followed Hagrid downstairs, stroking the owl absently as he took in the fact that the pub didn’t appear to be nearly as crowded as it had been earlier. It was still fairly busy, though. Hedwig fluttered up to his shoulder after he sat down, and Harry found that he could easily reach up to feed her various tidbits from his plate of roast beef when he started eating.

Halfway through his meal, Hagrid got up to fetch another pint from the bar. While he was gone, a sudden, sharp stab of pain flared in Harry’s forehead. With a surprised gasp, Harry covered the area of his scar with a swift hand. His eyes watering, the boy scanned the pub to make sure no one had noticed his involuntary cry. He noticed Hagrid standing at the bar, talking with a man wearing a purple turban. With Hedwig making concerned chirring noises in his ear, softly nipping at his hair, Harry watched the two converse. His scar throbbed with a dull, burning pain. The turban wearer then proceeded past Hagrid, toward the back of the pub and the archway to Diagon Alley. Harry’s eyes followed his progress across the pub while the pain faded, then was gone completely when he lost sight of the man. By the time Hagrid sat down, Harry felt completely normal again, though considerably less hungry. What had happened? Why did he feel that pain in his head?

“Who was that man you were talking with, Hagrid?” It had taken a couple of minutes for Harry to be certain his voice would come out sounding normally inquisitive. The entire incident had unnerved him.

“That man?” Hagrid looked up from his meal curiously, before his expression cleared. “Oh, that was Professor Quirrel, Harry. He’ll be your teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry nodded, appearing interested while his fork toyed with the remainder of the meal on his plate.

“He’s been on sabbatical, he has. Just got back this week, so he says.” Hagrid continued, oblivious to Harry’s upset as he tucked back into his rather large helping. “Been all over Europe. Got himself in a spot of trouble a few months back, so Professor Dumbledore told me. Looks alright now.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Harry said without much enthusiasm. “Neat turban, though.”

“Aye, that bits new.” Hagrid was nodding, and stopped to chew before continuing. “Never had one before. Said he wears it to honor some bloke he’d met in Egypt, now.”

Harry feed some more beef to Hedwig, then sat back to pet the bird’s chest feathers while watching the other patrons. He didn’t much feel like he could eat anymore, his appetite gone. That was the first time he could remember ever feeling pain or discomfort in his scar, and he didn’t like the sensation one bit. Why did it happen? Why did the pain seem to fade as the Professor got farther away? Was there something actually strange or magical about his scar, if he’d gotten it from a wand like he suspected? If there was, why would it react to the Professor? Maybe it hadn’t. That could have been a coincidence. There were loads of people in the pub. Warily, the boy eyed Hagrid for several minutes, wondering if he should broach the subject of exactly how he had gotten his scar. He finally decided that it was too soon. Perhaps another day or two, for the man to grow used to him, before he tried to talk about his parents and the night they died. As eager as he was to know, he had to be careful. Living with uncle had taught him that.

“Hagrid,” Harry waited until the man had looked up. “I’m going to go back up to the room, if that’s okay. I’d like to read one of my books before bed, and I’m kind of tired.”

“Sure, Harry, sure.” Hagrid was nodding, then noticed his half finished plate. “Sure you had enough?”

Harry nodded, quite sure.

“Alright then, off you go. It’s been a long day for you. I’ll probably be an hour or so. Need to talk with a few folks here for Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry smiled, happy enough to get away for some more alone time. “Thanks, Hagrid. Good night.”

“Good night, Harry.”

With Hedwig perfectly balanced on his shoulder, Harry made his way upstairs back to their room. The owl stayed very close to him while he gathered his pajamas and bathed, returned Hagrid’s pillows, then climbed into bed. Once he was settled comfortably with his book, she nestled at his side, and tucked her head under a wing. Harry found himself absently patting her while he quietly read by the light of a couple of candles on the nightstand.

Harry woke the next morning with Hedwig softly chirring into his ear and nibbling his hair. He smiled even before opening his eyes, fingers automatically finding themselves in her warm feathers while he felt out the fledgling connection between them. He could feel the magic in him, deep inside that spot that often tingled for him, and spent these quiet moments just examining it internally, and feeling the connection to his wand and owl. He wanted to learn all he could about his magic. It was important, he knew, if he wanted to succeed in not only surviving in this new world, but staying out of his old one. It was like a deep, deceptive, rainbow coloured pool, he finally decided. It gently ebbed and flowed at the surface, suffusing his limbs with gentle warmth, but he could sense that it was very deep.

Last night, after his bath, he had noticed that most of his bruises had already faded considerably. Was it his magic that had done that? He remembered the ward at the bank vault. Could that have helped, at all? He had no answers, only more questions. He would have to start writing them down.Well used to the morning routine of self examination on days he woke before aunt pounded on his cupboard door, Harry sank a bit farther into himself. Thanks to uncle’s attentions, this had become a necessity to gauge how fit he was to do his chores on any given day. What he was currently doing was a little different, but not so much as to deter him. There certainly wasn’t anyone to tell him that he shouldn’t be able to examine his magical core in a meditative state at such a young age.

‘Looking’ a little more closely at the pool, he noticed a few areas that seem dull, or at least less vibrant than the rest. What did that mean? Was it something that he should try to fix, or did he need some sort of specialist? And what was this? There was a white band, that looked much like a sort of dam, that covered part of the pool. What was it? It didn’t seem to be hurting him, but he could get very little sense of what lay behind it. Retreating from that area a bit, adding to his list of questions, he continued his exploration. He found the thread that connected him to his wand. It was flame coloured, strong and thick, and vibrated with that beautiful birdsong he remembered when he touched it. It made him smile. Then there was the much slimmer, paler connection to Hedwig. It was made of his own rainbow colours and the yellow of Hedwig’s eyes, twined together. He could feel her a little, warm and vibrant, when he touched this thread. Experimenting a little, he willed a bit more of his magic into the thread, to strengthen it. He watched the strand swell a little, his sense of the owl growing with it. He wanted a nice, strong bond with the bird. He already loved her. The very first living creature of his own to love.

Thinking he was finished for now, he looked about and nearly retreated when he noticed one more thread. This one was much darker than the other two. Drawing closer, he could feel a definite feel of wrongness coming from this thread, much like the wands that had rejected him at Olivander’s, only much stronger. He couldn’t bring himself to get any closer to it, and noticed that it had attatched itself to the pool like the root system of a leech type plant. He didn’t like it. Not even a little, but didn’t know what to do. He quickly retreated and opened his eyes to Hedwig’s concerned crooning. Stroking the bird to calm her, he sat up, then yawned and stretched. Either Hagrid hadn’t made it back to the room the night before, or he got up awful early.

Harry got up himself, somewhat reluctant to leave the warmth of the soft bed, even on this summer’s day, but he had things to do. Hedwig refused to be more than two feet away from him, so he carried her into the toilet while he conducted his morning absolutions, vowing to get himself at least a toothbrush as soon as he could. Damp fingers made short work of his fringe, though there was little he could do with the rest of his tousled mop even with a comb. Dressed in his again cleaned clothes, and his book on the nightstand before trying to straighten his bed, Harry finally shouldered his book bag and made his way downstairs.

There were only a few people about, looking bleary over their morning cups, and Hagrid sitting at a table near the bar to more easily talk with Tom. Harry joined him with a smile, Hedwig transferring from his shoulder to the back of an empty chair at the table where Harry rested his book bag.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hagrid enthused. “Ready for some breakfast?”

“Good morning, Hagrid,” Harry nodded, his stomach steadily growled demandingly. “Yes I am. Can I have french toast and bacon, this morning?”

He felt like he could eat a mountain of toast, he was so hungry. Hagrid beamed, ordering up breakfast for them both. After the bulk of his hunger had been addressed with no less than three full pieces of french toast drenched in syrup, Harry ventured to offer some plans for the day.

“Hagrid, would it be alright for me to get some clothes, today?”

“Clothes?” Hagrid looked confused, then deeply apologetic after giving Harry a close look. “Blimey, we never brought any with us, did we? I just went and snatched you up without so much as a by your leave. What you must be thinking of me.”

Harry laughed a little, shaking his head. “It’s alright, Hagrid. I didn’t really have much to start with. Getting all new will be fun.”

Not to mention different, he added to himself.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Hagrid decided with a firm nod. “New clothes and things for the lad, it is. I didn’t think them Dursleys had bothered to bring much along with them to that little island. Do you think you have enough for that, though? Clothes can get right pricey, Harry.”

Harry shrugged a little, chewing and swallowing before he answered. “I still have quite a lot with me, and regular.. I mean muggle.. clothes shouldn’t be that expensive.”

Not at the rate aunt bought them for cousin, at any rate. Cousin had a complete new wardrobe every spring. Harry got a few pieces of the most worn and tattered of the old wardrobe that he had to mend himself, while the rest went to one charity or another.

Hagrid appeared to consider, finally flicking a glance toward Hedwig to whom Harry was feeding a bit of bacon, before making a decision.

“We’ll start in the Alley today, I think,” he said. “Hedwig will still want to stay close, and I don’t think it’ll do for muggles to see a boy with an owl. Sides, I doubt they’d much like to have her in their shops, but she’ll be right enough in the Alley.”

Harry hadn’t considered that, and nodded his agreement. “Okay. Whatever you think, Hagrid.”

They finished breakfast, and soon enough Harry was once again walking through the archway to Diagon Alley. It was much earlier, this time, so there were fewer people on the cobbled street. Hagrid lead the way to Madam Malkins, and stopped outside.

“If you can’t find what you need here, Harry,” he said “there’s a second hand shop just up from Olivander’s. I recon it has some nice things too.”

Harry nodded, taking a step toward the door when he noticed Hagrid wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming in too?”

“Nah, I don’t much like small spaces, and I tend to knock things about when I’m in there. You go on, never worry. I’ll just wait out here.”

Harry studied him a moment, reluctant to leave the man sitting out here like some kind of over sized and unwanted waif. “Are you sure?”

“Course I am. Madam’ll understand. Off you go now.” Hagrid smiled.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Harry wasn’t convinced, but opened the door anyway and stepped inside. He softly closed the door behind him to Hagrid’s reassuring smile.

Not wanting to make the man wait very long, Harry did his best to be decisive and discerning in his choices. Madam was all too happy to help him, and before long the boy had bought four pairs of trousers, that actually fit him without a rope belt, in subdued colours, along with eight shirts, short and long sleeved. New shoes, underwear, socks, pajamas and even a few handkerchiefs rounded out his purchase. Of course, Hedwig had helped in his choices, vocally barking her refusal at a bright red shirt at one point. Apparently she had no intention of perching on anything that colour. Before leaving the shop, Harry got directions of where he could purchase things like a comb and toothbrush, and where he could get his glasses updated. Madam told him that it was an eye healer he wanted, rather than an optician, and explained that in the wizarding world, doctors were called healers. Armed with this information, Harry went back outside. That wasn’t nearly as expensive as he thought it might be.

After a brief discussion, they decided to go to the eye healer next, and Hagrid would get Harry the toiletries he needed while the boy had his eyes examined and new glasses prepared. To his credit, Hagrid never asked why aunt hadn’t gotten Harry’s glasses fixed, though it was clear he wanted to. The eleven year old passed over some coin to Hagrid outside the eye healer’s, and went inside to meet his doom. He hated getting his eyes checked. Aunt always made such a rotten fuss about having to take him.

Twenty minutes later, Harry stood outside the shop door, blinking in the morning light, without glasses. He couldn’t believe it. A few simple spells, and he could see better than he ever had in his entire life. It was amazing! The healer had said that he would need to return next summer, and perhaps the next, while his optic nerve continued to grow, for fresh healing spells, but for the most part his vision should be just fine. It turned out that a few too many knocks to the head and malnutrition were contributing factors to his poor eyesight. The healer was nice about it, though, especially after discovering Harry’s scar. He even made a solemn oath, a wizarding oath, to keep Harry’s secret about what the examination had revealed. He strongly advised that Harry should see a general healer at St. Mungo’s, however, to address his other physical problems, before he got much older and they couldn’t so easily be corrected.

How was he to convince Hagrid without alarming him, though? Harry wanted the help, but he didn’t want to reveal too much about just how bad it was with uncle. He had a feeling that he might end up someplace worse. This would require a lot of thought. In the meantime, he happily told Hagrid about the eye healer casting spells to correct his vision, and no longer needing glasses. Hedwig bobbed on his shoulder, lending credence to his story. The new toiletries went into his bag with his new clothes, and Harry followed Hagrid down the Alley. He nearly bumped into the big man, lost in thought, when the furry coat suddenly stopped.

The next half hour marked another milestone for Harry. He not only got to taste ice cream for the very first time, but Hagrid informed him that it was the very best ice cream in the world. He was in such an agony of indecision over what flavour to try, that he insisted that Hagrid chose for him, blushing when he had to finally admit that he had never tried the confection before. Hagrid chose chocolate and raspberry with chopped walnuts, and the two sat outside, enjoying their treat in the morning sun. Harry had never tasted anything so fine in his life, and regretted not following Draco the day before. He might have been able to try it sooner.

Harry spent the rest of his day up in their room, communing with Hedwig and reading Hogwart’s: A history. Other than putting his purchases away in his new trunk, besides the toiletries, and a quick lunch in the pub, he found himself fascinated by the book. He was able to get through most of the book, even if it was somewhat dry reading, by dinner time. By this time, Harry believed he might have thought a way to get to the wizarding hospital without arousing Hagrid’s suspicions. Their dinner conversation centered largely around the things and people they had seen in the alley that morning, which lead right into what Harry wanted to ask.

“Are there other wizard areas in London, Hagrid?”

“Of course there are,” Hagrid smiled over his enormous shephard’s pie. “There’s the Ministry, of course, and St. Mungo’s hospital. Then there’s the pure blood district, where some families have town homes. There’s lots of wizards and witches what live in the city in little neighborhoods. The big houses are outside of the city, of course.”

Green eyes lighting up, Harry leaned forward over his more modest portion of shephard’s pie. “Can we visit any, Hagrid? I want to learn everything there is about being a wizard.”

He did his best to project eager earnestness, even as a part of him wondered if his parents had ever had a home in London, even one of the fancy town homes. That was a question for another day, however, while he focused on his more immediate goal.

“Sure, I suppose.” Hagrid allowed after a thoughtful moment. “We can go tomorrow, I reckon.”

Harry beamed a gusty sigh of relief. “Thanks, Hagrid, you’re the best.”

Harry was so happy, he was able to not only finish his meal, but dessert of apple cobbler as well. He spent the rest of the evening up in the room, finishing Hogwart’s: A History, while Hagrid remained in the pub until long after Harry had gone to bed. After dressing in new pajamas, Harry placed his old clothes and the borrowed pajamas in the wardrobe, saying he didn’t want them anymore. He hoped that was all it took to never see them again.

The next morning, Hedwig again woke him early enough to do his self examination. Their bond had grown considerably, the boy was able to notice, and appeared to be strong. He had a much clearer sense of the owl when he touched their thread. The dark one, however, he refused to go anywhere near. He really needed to learn more before even attempting to approach it. It was wrong, and foreign and he wanted it gone, but that was currently beyond his ability to accomplish.

After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, which he shared with Hedwig, Hagrid got them settled in the motorbike and started off down the street. Hedwig didn’t appear comfortable riding on Harry’s shoulder, and took to the air right after they started out. She paced their progress from roof to roof. Harry took careful note of their route, street names and major thoroughfares, wanting to be able to easily find his way around. He had a mental map of London, thanks to school, and he tracked their progress somewhat easily with major landmarks and more well known street names. After a while, Hagrid pulled over in front of an abandoned, red brick department store with large display windows lined with mannikins. On the door was a large sign that read “Closed for Refurbishment”. The pair met on the sidewalk, Harry intently curious about what they would find here, while he watched Hedwig land on the roof across the street and settle herself to wait.

Hagrid approached the first dummy in the window, which was dressed in old fashioned clothes. “Two visitors.”

“Please proceed” the dummy replied, much to Harry’s surprise.

Taking Harry’s hand, Hagrid winked, and led the boy straight through the glass. Harry was too shocked to do anything but follow. He had read about the barrier for the Express platform at King’s Cross Station, but reading about it and experiencing it were two different things. When he opened his eyes after an over long blink, Harry found himself in a waiting and reception area. A half dozen or so people sat in rickety chairs, apparently waiting to be seen by healers.

“This is St. Mungo’s Hopsital, Harry.” Hagrid was saying while leading him to a board. “Each floor does something different. There’s your spell damage ward, and where you’d get fixed up from magical artifacts and the like.”

Harry read the headers and purpose for each floor designation, looking for the one that would most likely help him. He finally decided that he would need to see someone on the ground floor, unless they sent him to another after he explained what he needed. Perhaps that was what the receptionist was for.

Harry was next led to a pair of large fireplaces on one wall. Harry had seen it enough times by now to know that people could travel through these, and wondered where Hagrid was taking him next.

“Since we don’t really need to visit anyone, Harry, we won’t be staying. We’ll just use the floo real quick.” Taking a bowl of powder from the mantel, Hagrid instructed Harry to take a sparse handful.

Taking one for himself, Hagrid entered the fireplace. “Now watch close.” Hagrid tossed the powder at his feet, calling out at the same time “Ministry of Magic”

The green flames leaped up to surround the man, and whisked him away. Taking a moment to swallow down nerves, Harry gingerly stepped into the floo, and took a deep breath. He tossed the powder at his feet before he could change his mind, and called out “Minstry of Magic”. A green flash, and a dizzying swirl of what looked like other fireplaces later, Harry stumbled out into a vast atrium. Large hands caught him up, and Hagrid set him on his feet, dusting him off.

“This is the Ministry for Magic, Harry. It’s the wizard government.” the large man said while leading Harry toward a large fountain in the middle of the space.

“Everything is underground here, the floors going down instead of up. Over there is the elevators to take you down. You have to be checked in first, of course, with that fellow there.” Hagrid pointed out everything he mentioned, while leading Harry on a small tour of the atrium.

While not something of immediate concern to the boy, Harry still found the information interesting, and lead to more topics for him to research. This is what he needed, to learn how to negotiate this world.

“The Wizengamot meets here. They’re the folks who make the laws. Professor Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock.” Hagrid continued proudly. “The Minister also has his office here. His name is Cornelius Fudge. There’s also the Aurors. They’re like muggle police. There’s all manner of different departments that folks work at. Arthur Weasley even works with Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. He tells the funniest stories about the things muggles use.”

Harry was soaking it all up, even as he laughed with his companion. After a complete circuit of the atrium, Hagrid led Harry back to the fireplaces, and the pair floo’d back to St. Mungo’s. After they were outside again, Harry looked up at his much taller guide of the day.

“Thanks, Hagrid, I really enjoyed that, and I learned loads.”

A large hand settled on top of his head, while Hagrid smiled fondly down at him. “Good. I want you to feel right coming to Hogwart’s, Harry. Come on, in you get.”

Harry agreeably climbed back into the side car, and Hagrid again started up the bike. They headed off in a new direction, more of a leisurely drive really, in the general direction of the Leaky Cauldron. At a park, Hagrid again pulled over and stopped the bike. Once amoung the trees, Hedwig landed lightly on Harry’s shoulder, being very careful with her talons, and greeted the boy with affectionate nips to his hair and ear. The pair found a bench and sat down at Hagrid’s insistance. Harry sensed there was something weighing on the large man’s mind, so remained quietly stroking the owl.

“There’s something you don’t know, Harry,” Hagrid finally began, and turned to the boy. “I think you should. Professor Dumbledore said not to say anything, but I want you to be ready when you meet the other kids and they learn who you are.”

Harry watched him curiously, not saying anything in encouragement for Hagrid to continue.

“See, it’s like this. You’re famous, Harry. Everybody in the wizarding world knows your name, and what you did back when you was a baby.”

Harry frowned. “What I did?”

Hagrid ran a hand over his face, and left it over his beard. “It was dark times, Harry, when you was born. Your mum and dad, they went into hiding, see, on Professor Dumbledore’s advice. There was a wizard. Dark as you can go, he was. He was after them.”

“Why?” Harry asked, sitting absolutely still and listening intently. This is what he ultimately wanted to know. What he needed to know. Why he was an orphan sentenced to life with aunt and uncle without love or a shred of caring.

“What?” The question appeared to surprise Hagrid.

“Why was he after my mum and dad?”

“I don’t rightly know, Harry. Professor Dumbledore never told me, but I once heard him talking, some years back, about a prophecy. Never heard what it was about.” Hagrid looked across the park. “Anyways, your mum and dad went into hiding, only You-Know-Who found out where they were. He wasn’t supposed to, but someone betrayed them.”

“Who?”

“Who betrayed them?” the man asked, looking back to Harry, who was frowning while shaking his head, then nodding.

“I meant, who is You-Know-Who?”

“Oh, that’s the dark wizard. We call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who.” Hagrid looked away again. “As to who betrayed your parents, well, some say it was your godfather, Sirius Black.”

“Wait, wait a minute Hagrid.” Harry rubbed his face, took a deep breath, then tried again. “Let’s take this one at a time. What was the wizard’s name? He had a name, didn’t he?”

Hagrid actually squirmed in his seat with a grimace. “We don’t say it, Harry.”

“Please try, Hagrid,” Harry plead quietly. “I have to know everything, now that you’ve started.”

With a deep sigh, Hagrid’s shoulders slumped. “Alright. It was.. it was Vol… Vol… Voldemort.”

Harry sighed. It was a silly name to be afraid of, but he wasn’t about to interrupt this story any more than he had to. “And my godfather?”

“He was your dad’s best friend. Since first year, really. They did everything together.” Hagrid sighed again. “I don’t believe it was him who gave them up, but Professor Dumbledore says the evidence speaks for itself. He must have been the secret keeper, for where the Potters were hiding, because he didn’t believe your dad trusted anybody else to pick. He was the only one who could betray them.”

“What if they did pick someone else to keep the secret?” Harry asked. He had no idea what exactly a secret keeper did. “I mean, if they were hiding, wouldn’t my dad’s best friend be the obvious choice? That would mean my godfather would have been a target, right? What if they picked someone else, to be really sneaky about it?”

Hagrid was looking at the boy intently by the time Harry finished, thinking hard. “Come to think on it, it might have been like you said. See, the night your folks was killed, Sirius was arrested for killing their other friend and a bunch of muggles a few miles away. Peter Pettigrew. All they found of him was a finger, mind. There was a big blast. Killed a bunch of folks.”

Hagrid paused, still thinking and looking far off, as though back in time. “But he was at the house in Goderic’s Hollow just before that. I saw him there. right upset, he was, too. He was there when I got there, right after the alarms went off and Professor Dumbledore sent me. Sirius handed you to me, told me to keep you safe till he got back, then said he was going to hunt him down and kill him. Then he was gone. I thought it meant that he was after all of them, the Marauders, but what if Peter was the secret keeper all along?”

“Professor Dumbledore should know,” the big man finally sighed, shaking his head. “He’s the one that cast the fidelius charm. He should have known who the secret keeper was. I can’t believe he’d lie about that.”

The two were quiet for several minutes, Harry stroking Hedwig for comfort, before he prompted Hagrid to continue the story. “What happened to me that night, Hagrid?”

“Well, You-Know-Who found out where they were, like I said. He went in, and he killed your dad first. Then he killed  your mum. We think it happened that way, but we’re not sure because there wasn’t anybody else there, see? So then he tried to kill you, only there was something about you that stumped him that night. He cast the killing curse on you, but it killed him instead. The Headmaster says that it bounced off you, and hit He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He says the curse left that scar on your forehead. It’s why everybody calls you The-Boy-Who-Lived. Nobody lives after getting hit with the killing curse. Nobody ever had, except you.”

Harry sat quietly frowning, watching Hedwig nip at his fingers while he processed everything Hagrid had just told him. So, he was famous because he lived where his parents had died. He was famous because the dark wizard had died instead of him. They had even given him a silly name for it, before kicking him out of the wizarding world. Something Hagrid had said niggled at him though, and he chased the feeling until a thought occurred to him.

“Hagrid, you said my godfather was there, and handed me to you. Then you said that nobody else was there when my mum and dad died. It can’t be both ways. I bet my godfather knows what really happened. Didn’t anyone ever ask him?”

Hagrid was about to answer, when he slumped back against the bench. “I don’t know.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Well, what about Voldemort? Where did he get buried?”

“Oh, they never buried him, Harry,” Hagrid was quick to reply. “There weren’t no body. Only his wand was found in the house, right by your crib and your mum.”

Harry frowned up at his friend. “Then how do you know that he’s really dead?”

“Well, Professor Dumbledore says he is.” Hagrid offered, as though it were the only evidence he needed, and yet didn’t quite believe that anymore.

“So, you believe Voldemort is dead,” Harry said, ignoring Hagrid’s wince at mention of the name, and started to get a little angry, “but there’s no body, and you believe that Peter Pettigrew is dead, even though there was only a finger. People can live without a finger. And you believe my godfather betrayed my parents even though nobody asked him about it. Where is he, anyway? Didn’t he say anything at his trial, if he was arrested?”

“Er.. well you see Harry, what you need to know about that is.. well, there really wasn’t a trial. He’s been in Askaban prison since that night.”

Now Harry was really angry. “Are you kidding me?”

Hagrid winced at the boy’s raised voice.

“He’s been in prison for ten years and he never had a trial? Can they do that? Is that part of the laws here? You said Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock. If he’s the boss, and knew for a fact that Sirius was the secret keeper, does he really have the right to throw a man in jail just like that?”

“Well no, not really. I don’t think anyways.” Hagrid tried to placate the boy, who sat back with a huff and stared sullenly at his owl.

For her part, Hedwig made cooing noises, nipping his fingers before walking up his arm a little to try and reach his chin to gently nip. Harry was furiously thinking. He had a lot to learn, and he now had a plan. He was determined to make things right, or at least find out what had happened all those years ago for once and for all. He’d get to the bottom of it, because his past had a huge impact on his present, and would affect his future. He had to take control of things.

“I need to go to Flourish and Blott’s, Hagrid.” Harry finally said. “I need books about the Wizengamot and everything else you talked about. I have to know how this world works.”

“Alright, Harry.” Hagrid agreed, getting up. “We’ll get you what  you need.”

The big man paused, looking guilty as sin and unable to meet Harry’s eyes when the boy also stood.

“Look,” the groundskeeper finally said, “I’m sorry I upset you, Harry. I know it wasn’t easy hearing about all that, but I figured you had a right to know.”

Harry sighed softly, his free hand finding Hagrid’s arm, which he lightly squeezed. “It’s okay Hagrid. I’m not angry at you. Honest. It just… I wondered for so long what happened to my parents, and now I’m confused and hurt. I need to know more. It’s not your fault. I think you did right to tell me.”

“Well, I thought I had to.” Dark eyes met green. “See, I’m not stupid. I saw the state of you when I finally got you into enough light. I heard things too, that Dursley said, and things you said. Something’s not right with your lot, lad. I never said anything, and I won’t never ask, but I just wanted to help, if I could. I figured the best way was to give you something you needed to know.”

Harry smiled, patting Hagrid’s arm. “You did good, Hagrid. Thank you.”

The big man smiled, gave a nod, and led the way back to the bike.

More August

Charing Cross Road, where the Leaky Cauldron was located on the west end of London, proved ready access to notebooks and pens for Harry. It wasn’t nearly as run down as he first thought when Hagrid brought him there, that first night. It was full of little shops and cultural artsy stores. Until he could teach himself to use quills and parchment, which Hogwarts:A History indicated was the most common writing implements at the school, he would use more muggle means for his note taking while he researched. A particular little shop provided pens, nibs and a book on calligraphy to help him get started with using quills.

His main focus of research was the Wizengamot, Magical Law, and goblins. Harry’s own history took the form of a few mentions in recent history books of magical Britian, peer family geneology books, and children’s story books. The latter was so much white wash and outright lies. He didn’t understand all of what he read, and tried to do more research on terms he didn’t understand. It was frustrating. So far as he could tell, the wizarding government was in a lot of trouble. There were so many contradictions, useless laws and greedy maneuvers that he wondered how anything got done. If Headmaster Dumbledore was the boss of all that, he didn’t inspire much confidence in Harry.

He did discover that the Potter family had a seat at the Wizengamot, though it hadn’t been used since his grandfather’s time. He could only assume that it was either inactive, or someone was using it as proxy. He couldn’t find out that information, however. It seemed that the more recent the history, the more secretive the government became. It wasn’t right.

As the month progressed, Harry saw less and less of Hagrid, as the large man had to attend to his duties at the school. This necessitated leaving Harry alone for longer and longer periods.The groundskeeper was increasingly nervous about that. On the sixteenth, Harry convinced Hagrid  and Tom to allow him to move to a single room for both more privacy and slightly better security. Although he never said it aloud, Harry had no intentions of returning to Privet Drive, either before school or after. The new room with bath was on the top floor, with only one other room on the same level, and Harry took to using his trunk library more and more often. He often ate in his room, thanks to the two house elves, so rarely saw anyone else unless he needed to go to the Alley or muggle London.

He expanded his studies to include the subjects he would be taking at school, and even went so far as to get the standard second year books, so he could have an idea of what the first year courses were aiming toward. He intended to be well prepared. Harry was so often tempted to try out spells he read, but knew from his first night reading A History that underage magic was not allowed. That too, was frustrating, and when it got to be a little too much, Harry would find himself at Olivanders, watching the wand maker create new wands, or listening to stories about wand cores and the creatures they came from, or of his parents.

Potions, on the other hand, were something that he could do outside of school. With a few supplemental books on ingredients, their preparations and their interactions, Harry soon found himself working his way through the first year potions book. He enjoyed it. Already an experienced cook, the making of potions was something he found somewhat easy once he had a grasp of the theories and why certain ingredients were used.

For all of his studying, however, Harry felt that he had far too much to learn in the scant amount of time left to him before school started. He couldn’t even find time to make his way to St. Mungo’s and find a healer that could help him. He considered asking someone for advice on the subject, but who? Harry didn’t trust anyone. Not really. With only a week left before the first of September, he took his courage in both hands and asked Hagrid during one of the man’s visits. If he came close to trusting anyone, it was Hagrid, although he was concerned about how close the large man seemed to be to the Headmaster. Dumbledore never struck him as a man who cared much for Harry’s overall welfare.

“I need to ask you something Hagrid,” Harry started while the groundskeeper was showing him how to trim Hedwig’s talons. “and I need for you to promise that you won’t tell anyone.”

Harry met the man’s eyes, his green ones earnest and very serious. “I mean it, Hagrid. You can’t tell anyone.”

Hagrid was frowning, considering Harry’s request just as seriously as the boy could hope. “It’s that serious, is it?”

Harry solemnly nodded.

Hagrid sat back from the table where Hedwig patiently stood, and drew the umbrella he carried everywhere. “I do solemnly swear upon my magic, to never reveal Harry Potter’s secrets, until I have his say so.”

Harry’s eyes went a little wide as the subtle glow of the vow settled around the bearded man. He hadn’t expected the man to make a wizard’s vow on it. He would have been content with a promise. Now that it was assured that his secret would be safe, Harry was even more nervous about telling it. He chewed on his lip, then finally took a deep breath and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t be able to see Hagrid’s reaction.

“You kind of know that uncle and aunt weren’t very good to me,” he waited for Hagrid’s grunt of acknowledgement before he continued. “Well, when I was at the eye healer’s, he told me that I need to see another healer. I have some things that need fixed if I want to grow up normal.”

When he only heard another non-accusing grunt from the man, Harry dared enough to open his eyes, though he only looked at Hedwig who was again getting her talons clipped by huge, gentle hands.

“So, I need to go to St. Mungo’s, and they might need to keep me there a few days. But I want to find a healer who won’t go blabbing all over that he treated Harry Potter and why. I need help, Hagrid.”

It took everything in him to say those three little words. ‘I need help.’ He had only ever asked for help once before, and the teacher had been fired and moved away the very next week. With not a little trepidation, Harry glanced up at Hagrid. The big man had tears unabashedly running into his beard, though his hands never stopped their task with the owl. Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to comfort Hagrid, yet wanted to be comforted himself. He could feel his own eyes filling with tears, and started blinking hard to will them away. He was frozen with indecision until the tools were set down and Hagrid simply reached across the table and lifted Harry from his seat and into his lap.

Harry had never been hugged before, and never like this. He was completely surrounded by Hagrid’s chest and arms and held tight until the big man could catch his breath.

“I want to thank you, Harry. Thank you for asking me to help with this,” Hagrid paused on a deep breath, giving Harry a squeeze and patting his back. “We’ll get you seen to, right enough, and we’ll find you the best healer St. Mungo’s has.”

Harry could only nod, fist handfuls of Hagrid’s shirt, and for the first time in his life let someone else’s arms carry his burden while he cried his years of torment. For just a little while, Harry allowed himself to just be a deeply hurt and miserable eleven year old kid. While he sat in Hagrid’s lap, he cried for his lost childhood and innocence, and he mourned the love he had lost with his parents. Harry cried until there was nothing left but hiccups and hitching breaths. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change the past, and it didn’t clarify the future. It didn’t remove the pain or heal the broken bones, but it did make it all just a little bit easier to bear. Especially since all the while, Hagrid simply held him, rubbed his back, and didn’t say a word.

After a little while, Harry climbed down and retreated to the toilet where he could blow his nose and wash his face. He hadn’t expected that to happen. While the ache was still there, it was lessened. Harry felt a little more able to get on with what needed to be done.

He went back out and found Hagrid still mopping his face with a square of linen he used for a handkerchief. Hedwig flew to him, and while perched on his arm, examined her charge with noisy beak clicks and churring vocals. Harry could feel her concern, and sent back calm and reassurance. He really did feel much better. Embarrassed, but better. When the owl had calmed, Harry took her to her perch. With the window left open, Harry knew that his owl would go out to hunt when she needed to while he was gone, and their bond would let her know that he was okay.

By mutual agreement, without having to say a word, Hagrid and he both knew Harry would go to the wizarding hospital that afternoon. They tidied the table and Harry put everything he had out, back in his trunk while Hagrid used the toilet. Not even Hagrid knew about the trunk. When the big man came out, Harry had his new jacket on, and was ready to go. The pair went down to the common room of the pub, and used the floo to St. Mungo’s.

It looked much the same as the last time Harry had been there, though there were different people waiting. He and Hagrid approached the Welcome Witch and the groundskeeper requested to see the senior healer on duty. They were forced to wait, sitting on rickety old chairs, for twenty minutes. The healer who approached him looked quite a lot like an actor Harry had seen on movie posters, the American one with the exploding skyscraper. Die something. He was trying so hard to remember the name of the movie, that he wasn’t paying attention to the quiet conversation Hagrid was having with the healer until his name was mentioned.

“So young Harry here needs to see someone in private before we can say why he’s here.” Hagrid was saying.

The healer regarded the eleven year old for a moment, then gave a nod. “Very well, come with me please.”

He turned and led the duo across the reception area and down a hallway. There were doors on either side of the hall, some covered with a white cloth, others were open to show the examination rooms. The healer led them into one of the empty rooms, and once the three were inside, he closed the curtain.

“We’ll be needing privacy charms, if you don’t mind Healer.” Hagrid insisted while Harry settled himself on one of the two chairs in the room.

They were set at a small desk which held various papers and unusual instruments. The bed he ignored for the time being. Hagrid moved to Harry’s side, one great hand resting on the boy’s shoulder.

The healer only lifted a brow, but gamely turned and cast three spells before looking back to see if Hagrid was satisfied. Harry could feel each layer of magic that had gone up over the doorway, and he relaxed a bit more with each one.

At Hagrid’s nod, the healer turned and regarded the pair. “So then, how can I help you today?”

“Well, we’ll be needing you to make a wizard’s oath, too.” Hagrid said, looking a little embarrassed this time. “To not talk to anyone about seeing young Harry, and why he’s here.”

“Surely my Healer’s Oath..” the healer begain, only to sputter out as Hagrid and Harry both were shaking their heads. The man frowned, then finally gave a tight lipped nod and held his wand against this heart. “Very well. I do solemnly swear upon my magic that I will never talk to anyone about treating Harry…. ”

At the healer’s expectant look, Harry immediately provided his name. “Harry Potter.”

The healer was dumbstruck. He stared at Harry, swallowed hard, and continued quite a bit more reverently, “about treating Harry Potter or the reason for his visit. So mote it be.”

Harry relaxed completely once the glow of the vow settled on the healer. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, son,” the now intensely curious healer replied while settling in the other chair. “What brings you to St. Mungo’s?”

Harry took a deep breath, shoved his shoulder a little deeper into Hagrid’s hand, and started talking. “The people who raised me starved and abused me, sir, and I would like to have some of the damage fixed before I start at Hogwarts next week.”

There, he couldn’t have said it any plainer than that. The fact that he said it aloud had his heart jack-hammering in his chest. He very much appreciated Hagrid’s gentle squeeze on his shoulder. The healer was already casting diagnostic spells, looking grimmer and grimmer with each one. Belatedly, he flicked his wand toward a clipboard with parchment and a quill, which rose from the desk and started scribbling away, before he continued with his examination. After several spells, the healer sat back almost wearily and rubbed his free hand over his face.

“Horrible,” he muttered to himself. He heaved a sigh, then looked Harry quite frankly in the eye. “I won’t lie to you, son, your condition is borerline chronic. It’s good that you came now, while you’re still so young. We’ll hopefully be able to reverse much of the damage. I’d like to see to your case personally, if you’ll allow it. I don’t practice privately anymore, but I’ll make an exception for you until you’re healthy again.”

“Okay, ” Harry nodded hestitantly. “What will that mean, exactly.”

“It’ll mean that I’ll be your personal healer, Mr. Potter. If something happens to you at school, where you need to spend time in the infirmary, I’ll be called before the Headmaster. If something happens to you at home, you call me. I’ll be taking care of all of your medical needs until we’re both agreed that you don’t need my help anymore. As my patient, I won’t discuss you with anyone else, except in general terms should I need to consult with a specialist or Potions Master. I won’t answer questions, I won’t even confirm that you’re a patient of mine. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

The wash of relief Harry felt brought fresh tears to his eyes and made his lower lip tremble, even while he nodded vigorously and managed to squeak out a “yes, sir.”

Hagrid squeezed his shoulder again, and sniffled loud enough to make Harry giggle a little while he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Let’s not start that again, Hagrid. We just got stopped.” Harry hiccuped, offering a tremulous smile up at the big man.

“Stop looking at me like that, then,” Hagrid complained good naturedly. He pulled out his huge handkerchief then cleared his throat. “Blimey, I’m a mess. Thank you, Healer Davidson. You took a right load off my mind, just now.”

“Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” Davidson stood up, prompting Harry to as well. “We’ll use this room. I’m going to keep you overnight, at least, Mr. Potter. The first thing I should really do is vanish a few bones and regrow them.”

Harry gaped a moment, then snapped his mouth shut. “You can do that?”

“That and more, son,” the healer confirmed. “Why don’t go you ahead and get changed into the pajamas you’ll find in the second drawer of the desk. You can put your clothes in there. I’ll go get what we’ll need to start.”

After a round of nods, the healer slipped out, leaving his privacy charms in place. Harry changed and got settled in the surprisingly comfortable bed, drawing the covers up to his waist, since the bed was currently set to allow him to sit up with support.

“You going to be alright there, Harry?” Hagrid asked, looking uncertain about everything all of a sudden.

“I’m nervous, Hagrid,” Harry admitted, watching his fingers twine in his lap. “I’m a little scared too, but I think the healer will be okay, and … I.. I have to do this.”

He looked up at his only friend. “I have to try and erase what they did, Hagrid. I’m allowed, right?”

“Course you are, Harry,” Hagrid’s hand again found the top of Harry’s head, rubbing gently. “Don’t you think on it. I just wish I could have taken you away sooner.”

Harry smiled a bit. “It’s soon enough, I guess. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault at all, so stop thinking that.”

Before Hagrid could answer, the healer returned pushing a cart that held several vials and bottles. Davidson set it up on the far side of the bed, then turned to Harry.

“Now, I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to explain everything I do, before I do it, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry,” the boy interrupted. “You can call me Harry.”

The healer smiled. “Harry, then.” He sat down on the bed beside Harry’s legs. “I’m going to give you two nutrient potions first. These will help fortify your system and better help your body recover from malnutrition. They provide balanced amounts of the things your body needs to get back on track. I picked the best flavours I could, but they still don’t taste that great.”

Still smiling from his little joke, he passed Harry two of the larger vials, which the boy drank obediently. They really didn’t taste that great at all, but they weren’t the worst thing he had ever tried.

“Next,” the healer continued, “I’ll give you a sleeping draught, then cast a sleeping charm on you to make sure you are nicely asleep. While you sleep, I’ll vanish a few bones, and give you ske-gro so you can grow them back. It’s a bit painful, so it’s best for you to be asleep during the bone growth.”

“Which bones, sir?” Harry was honestly curious to know.

The healer considered for a moment, before he answered. “Both of your collarbones, all the bones in your left hand. The ulna of both arms, your left shin, three ribs on your left side, two on your right, and I’ll be doing some very delicate work with the fractures you had received to your skull.”

“How long will it take?”

“The rest of today and all night.” the healer looked a little apologetic. “I’m afraid you’ll miss dinner, but the nutrient potions will help with that, and I’ll make sure you get a big breakfast.”

Harry blew out a deep breath, gave Hagrid a smile, then nodded. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Hagrid was allowed to remain with Harry until the skel-e-gro was spelled into Harry’s stomach, then he had to leave the healer alone to concentrate on the more delicate work he had planned for the fracture scars. Davidson explained that there were bone fragments loose under the boy’s skin, and even inside his skull, that he wanted to get rid of. He would be able to return the next day during normal visiting hours.

In total, Harry spent two days in the tiny room, being seen by no one other than Hagrid and Healer Davidson. His meals appeared on the bed’s tray table, and the empty plates vanished when he was done. He took a nutrient potion with every meal, and the healer wanted him to do so for the foreseeable future. A supply would be owled to him at school. In addition to his bones, Harry was either spelled or given potions to aid his kidneys, heart, lungs, liver, pancreas, thyroid, bone marrow and muscles. It was only the start of a regimen of treatment, however. Healer Davidson would need to visit Harry at the Leaky Cauldron the day before he caught the Express, then at the school once a month for a physical and to administer more potions and spells.

On the last day, Harry asked the healer if he could do anything about his scar. Davidson examined it closely, but would only say that he needed to do some research before he could say if he could do anything or not. Harry had to accept that.

When Hagrid arrived to pick him up, Harry was dressed and waiting, feeling better than he had in a very long time, and knowing that he would only continue to feel better still. He thanked Healer Davidson profusely, and returned to the Leaky Caludron, ready to tackle his next venture.

Hogwarts.

Hogwarts Express

Harry checked his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. He knew he was going to be very early, but he couldn’t help himself. He was actually excited to go to school. The tube slowed to a stop at another station, and Harry checked the map. Again. Just one more. The next stop would be King’s Cross Station.

Harry had quite a time of it, convincing Hagrid to allow him to ride the tube to the station. He knew the big man couldn’t see him off, as he had to be at Hogwarts. Harry could have taken a cab, if he really wanted to, but he wanted to learn more about getting around the city. Mental maps only took him so far. He needed to be practical. So did Hagrid. The groundskeeper had grown to become something of a mother hen, not that Harry minded too much, but he needed to realize that Harry had been more or less self-reliant for a very long time. The eleven year old needed to maintain his independence.

His meeting with Healer Davidson the day before was encouraging. His undersized body seemed to be responding well to the nutrient treatment, and his organs had the healer nodding and smiling, so that was encouraging. He still had a long way to go, but Davidson was optimistic. There wasn’t any news about his scar yet, but Davidson said that he had an appointment to meet with a goblin healer that he hoped would provide some information.

The tube car rocked a little, then slowed. Harry looked up, his heart tripping with excitement as he watched the station slide into position and the doors open. He was there! He got up, and joined the crowd working their way quickly out of the car and onto the station platform. The boy simply followed along, attempting to look as though he was with a woman who looked straight ahead and walked like a person with a mission. Harry took in everything around him with wide eyes, climbing the stairs nearly at a trot until he reached the main level of the station. He then looked for the signs he needed to follow toward the train platforms. Finding them quickly, he headed that way, and soon latched himself behind a young couple heading in the same direction.

Harry carried everything he owned, and everything he could possibly need, in his leather book bag, including his trunk and Hedwig’s cage which he had convinced Tom to shrink for him in such a way that Harry could restore it with a wand tap. He even had one of his school robes in there, separated and ready to don while on the train. He did know the spells to shrink and restore things himself, he had Tom teach him, but he couldn’t use them yet. At least not until the train, at the earliest. He actually hadn’t cast a single spell yet, and his entire being ached to start using his magic.

Counting off the platforms in spite of the signs over head, Harry finally reached nine and ten, and slowed his steps until he reached a wall halfway between platforms nine and ten. He leaned against the corner of the wall, watching the people hurry past in both directions, until there was a small gap in the flow. Turning, he slipped through the barrier. The wash of magic was just like at St. Mungo’s, and Harry found himself standing on another platform, with a magnificent steam engine in front of him. The Hogwart’s Express.

Tearing his eyes from the red engine, Harry checked the time again. Ten minutes before ten. He still had a whole hour before the train left the station. The boy looked around him, not seeing anyone, then shrugged a little before he approached the only door on the train that was open. He had no idea where he wanted to sit. He figured the forward cars would fill quickly, so he wanted to be toward the back, but he still wanted to be able to watch the people arriving on the platform. Boarding, Harry walked down the cars until he found a compartment far enough back to suit him, yet still afforded a good view of the platform. He opened the window, then chose to sit so he had a clear view. Settling in, he put his feet up, pulled out his Transfiguration text book and opened it to the marked page.

Ten minutes later, Hedwig glided through the open window, and landed on Harry’s knee. With a grin, the boy greeted the owl’s churring with strokes and light scratches in all of her favorite places. “Do you want your cage, girl, or do you think you can ride the luggage rack the whole way?”

The owl looked up, then fluttered up to the luggage rack. She seemed to be testing it out, walking up and down the metal rail and testing her grip, before she barked twice and fluttered back down to Harry. He could feel her satisfaction, so decided to leave the cage in his bag for now. If she wanted it, she’d let him know. When Hedwig tucked her head under a wing, Harry went back to his book, absently petting the owl as he read. It was their usual positions. They had grown incredibly close since that first night in the room over the Leaky Cauldron, their bond thick and strong. The pre-teen had no idea what having a familiar would feel like, but he was pretty sure Hedwig was it. He couldn’t imagine being without her, or his sense of her deep inside.

Some time later, voices from outside drew Harry’s attention. He looked out to watch the first of the arrivals on the platform. He couldn’t believe he was really the first one there, even if he had arrived an hour early.  Green eyes bright, Harry watched as parents brought their children through the barrier and tried to organize trunks and baggage even as they called out greetings to each other. Some adults would end up grouped together, talking earnestly, while their kids looked either bored or excited, depending on their ages. Older kids were quick to abandon their parents in favour of searching out friends in other, small groups. It was interesting to watch. Harry knew that many of these groupings of kids would reflect Houses, as well as friendships, and he began a guessing game of which House based on their actions.

He was unsure if he should call one particular group Ravenclaw or Griffindor, when a familiar shock of white blonde caught the corner of his eye. Shifting his attention, he found Draco and his parents. The other boy’s father absolutely had the look of an aristocrat, and he couldn’t blame Draco’s attitude on anything but that man’s influence. Harry himself would be hard pressed to have an original thought while under the thumb of someone like that. Even Draco’s mother appeared to be cool and distant, even as she was straightening Draco’s robe to make him look more presentable. The couple had chosen a position well away from the major groupings of people, as though they feared some sort of contamination. Harry found that sad and pitiable.

Checking his watch, Harry found there were fifteen minutes left until the train left for Hogwarts. Many kids had already boarded, and he could hear the white noise of their voices from farther up the train. Looking out again, Harry noticed a couple come through the barrier, each holding the hand of a busy haired girl and towing a trunk laden cart behind them. They must be muggles, Harry thought to himself. It was really nice of them to see their daughter off. His eye caught again by Draco, he watched the other boy approach the train. When Draco looked up to scan the windows, Harry waited until he was looking in his direction before he lifted his hand to wave. The blonde waved back, and tried to run for the closest door of the train while dragging his trunk.

Harry scanned the platform for Draco’s parents, and caught them just as they went back through the barrier. They hadn’t wanted to see the train off? This made Harry frown. He was about to sit back and give some serious consideration to helping Draco with his trunk when he noticed the family of red heads come running through the barrier. First the twins, then the mother with the little girl, then finally the boy. He recognized them easily from that day at the Alley entrance. This prompted him to gently lift Hedwig from his knee and place her in the corner where he had been sitting, then hurry out of the compartment. He really didn’t want that other boy to feel welcome in his compartment, and wanted to help Draco get to it more quickly.

He caught the blonde dragging his trunk down the aisle, so got behind him and picked up the tail end after a quick grin of greeting. Pushing a little from his side, he hurried Draco along until the door of the compartment was closed again. Harry was really tempted to try a locking charm his first go at magic, but decided to wait just a little longer. At least until the train got moving. Sharing fresh grins, the boys managed to get Draco’s trunk up on the overhead rack and the two made themselves comfortable. With Hedwig now awake and preening in his lap, and Draco sitting across from him, Harry hazard another look out the window before he closed it. The Reds were just boarding the train.

“Hi.” Harry started with another grin at the blonde.

“Hi,” Draco answered with a grin of his own. “What happened to your glasses?”

“I don’t need them anymore.” Harry smiled, petting Hedwig. “I saw an eye healer.”

With a long whistle blast, the entire train shuddered, then the car jerked forward once, twice, then again before the platform started to slide past the window. Harry’s heart leapt. They were finally on their way. Harry checked his watch. It was exactly eleven a.m. Draco looked as excited as he felt.

“What’s your owl’s name?” Draco asked.

“Hedwig,” Harry urged the snowy on his arm, and held her out for Draco to gingerly pet. “She’s my familiar. I got her for my birthday.”

“Really? Owls don’t often become familiars. You’re really lucky.” Draco pet the owl a little more then sat back. “I would have brought Zeus, but Father said he had to stay home. He’s just a mail owl, though.”

“So, you don’t have a familiar?” Harry sat back as well, stroking soft feathers much to Hedwig’s appreciation.

Draco shook his head then shrugged, looking out the window. Harry could tell he wanted to say something, but had changed his mind. Probably it was something about his father. Harry was sort of glad that the other boy was trying to censure himself, but he didn’t want to completely stifle himself either. He would just have to see how Draco handled it.

“I should really be cross with you, you know.” Draco finally said, frowning at Harry.

“Why?” Harry could thing of several reasons, really.

“For not telling me your name.” Draco said, crossing his arms. “I tried to tell Father about his neat boy I met in Madam Malkins, but I wasn’t able to tell him your name. It was embarrassing.”

“I didn’t?” Harry’s eyebrows went up and he tried really hard not to laugh. “I guess I didn’t. Maybe we could start over? We’ll introduce ourselves properly.”

Draco considered the idea while letting his silvery eyes roam over Harry briefly. “Okay.” He sat up straight, uncrossing his arms to hold out his right hand. “Hello. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Grinning, Harry sat up too, taking Draco’s hand in a handshake. He could feel an electric-like spark when skin met skin. “Hello. Nice to meet you, Draco. I’m Harry Potter.”

Draco’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

Still shaking the blonde’s hand, actually able to feel the play of magic beneath the warm skin, Harry shook his head. “Nope.”

“Wow.”

Harry frowned. “If you call me The-Boy-Who-Lived even once, I’ll deck you.”

The door of the compartment opened, and both boys let go of the other’s hand to turn to the one now standing in the doorway. The redhead cleared his throat, looking back and forth between them.

“Um.. do you mind if I sit in here?” he started, hesitantly. “Every place else is full.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Draco wrinkled his nose a bit, and Harry lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, raising his eyebrows curiously. Draco rolled his eyes, huffed a little, and gave a short nod. They turned back to the red headed boy in the doorway, the very one Harry had been hoping to avoid.

“Sure, might as well,” Harry said “I’m Harry, and this is Draco.”

The other boy had been trying to drag his trunk into the compartment, which he finally managed with a strained huff. He closed the door and collapsed on the bench seat next to Draco, much to the blonde’s discomfort.

“I’m Ron,” he finally puffed. “Ron Weasley.”

“Are you sure everyplace else was full,” Harry said, a little amused. “Or did you not want to drag your trunk any farther?”

Red had the grace to blush with a small smile. “I didn’t really want to, no. It’s  Charlie’s old one and weighs more than my brothers put together. I’ve got five of them.”

“Oh good,” Draco drawled, “You packed a Quiddach team. You do know your house provides those, right?”

Harry burst out laughing even as Ron looked chagrined.

“At least get it out of the way of the door,” Harry said, still highly amused at Draco’s comment, “in case anyone else can’t find a seat.”

Draco moved over to sit beside Harry while Ron shifted and grunted over the trunk. He gave Harry a disgusted look, to which Harry replied with a shrug and look of apology. The brunette was interested in making more friends, or at least getting to know some of the other kids. He could try to overlook first impressions. The two started a quiet conversation about Quiddach while Ron settled himself and then pulled a rat out of a pocket. Hedwig immediately looked interested in the rodent. Harry could feel her intent curiosity and faint stirrings of hunger, so he reached into his own pocket. He pulled out a treat to feed her, but even as she accepted it he could feel her emotions shifting into alarm. The Owl turned completely on his arm to better face Ron and his rat.

“This is Scabbers,” Ron was saying, “He used to be Percy’s rat, but I got him when he got his owl for making Prefect.”

Hedwig hissed, mantling a little, and Ron looked up at the owl in alarm, trying to hold onto the now fiercely squirming rat. Harry could feel Hedwig’s anger and her projections of ‘wrong, wrong, wrong’.

“Ow!” Ron exclaimed suddenly, “He bit me.”

Pandemonium broke out. The rat scampered down the seat toward the window and Hedwig launched herself from Harry’s arm like a white missile, screeching. She had the rat neatly caged to the seat cushion with her talons in under a second, then suddenly barked in alarm when her prey expanded within her grip. Even before Harry could snap his wand into his hand, a man sat huddled in the corner against the window and Ron and Draco were screaming. Hedwig flew up to the luggage rack above Harry’s head while the boy frantically searched his memory for spells. Just as he decided on one, the owl dove for the man, raking his arm with her sharp talons before veering away sharply to return to the rack. The man yelled out, cowering farther, a wand clattered to the floor of the compartment and Harry stood to cast the spell he had decided on.

“Stupefy!”

“Petrificus Totalus!” came from Harry’s left.

Both spells hit the man at the same time. He froze in place and went limp. Harry and Draco shared a swift glance, both standing and breathing hard, their wands trained on the man. Except for the panicked breathing of the boys and Hedwig’s drawn out vocals of agitation, it was quiet in the compartment.

“Ron,” Harry swallowed hard to work some moisture into his mouth, “you said your brother is a Prefect?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the unconscious man. The boy was shaking, his back pressed up against the door of the compartment. “Bloody hell. Bloody hell.”

“Go get him, would you? And any other Prefects you find.”

Nodding, Ron’s fingers scrabbled for the latch, then he was gone, the door sliding closed behind him. Harry flicked a glance to Draco on his left. The blond stood with his wand out and trained on the unknown man, the lost wand clutched in his other hand. His eyes were wide and a bit wild, but his wand tip never wavered. Both boys swayed with the motions of the train, trying to keep their balance.

“Who do you think he is?” Draco finally whispered.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, keeping a close eye on the stranger who had a decided rat like look about him.

If Percy had the rat before Ron, just how long had this man been a rat?

“One thing I do know, though,” the brunette said, finally catching his breath.

“What?” Draco inquired, seeming to be coming down from his adrenalin rush as well.

“Hedwig is brilliant.”

Both boys grinned, then jumped when the compartment door snapped open. Hedwig barked twice, puffed up her chest feathers, then went back to preening as though nothing had happened. A gasp from the doorway had both boys look to the taller red head standing there, gaping.

“Who’s this?” Percy said, “How did he get on the train?”

“I told you Perce,” Ron said from behind the older boy, “It’s Scabbers.”

There was a bit of a crowd starting to gather in the aisle outside the door. Harry stepped a bit closer to the man, his attention caught by something. Draco made a grab for him, but both hands were filled with a wand, so he only managed to hook a finger in the sleeve of Harry’s shirt. Harry tilted his head a little, then gasped.

“I know who this is!” he exclaimed. “It’s Peter Pettigrew. Look, he’s missing a finger.”

“I’ll have the conductor call for the Aurors,” a girl’s voice out in the hallway said.

“I’ll sit in here with the boys,” a male voice volunteered, and a much older boy squeezed his way past a dumbfounded Percy. The boy cast Incarcerous on the still stupefied man, causing ropes to sturdily wrap around him securely, then another Stupefy. “That should hold him, for now.”

Almost reluctantly, Harry relaxed his stance, then slid his wand back into his arm holster.

“Well lads, you have three choices,” the older boy said, regarding Harry, Draco and Ron who was now in the doorway, squeezed in beside Percy. “Budge up in another compartment with some other kids, stay here, or out in the aisle.”

Harry looked at Draco, who nodded.

“We’ll stay here,” he said to the other boy. “I’m Harry, this is Draco, and that’s Ron.”

“I’m David,” the other boy said, “the Head Boy this year. Marrietta, the Head Girl, went to have the Aurors called to hopefully meet the train in Hogsmeade.”

Harry nodded while retaking his seat. Draco sat heavily beside him. David sat himself next to the unconscious Pettigrew, while both Ron and Percy turned in the doorway to disperse the crowd of children who had gathered to see what was happening. The door was finally closed, and Ron sat on Draco’s other side, as far from Pettigrew as he could get. That left Percy with a seat next to David, nearly straddling Ron’s trunk. Meanwhile, Hedwig had again joined Harry, and was busy clicking her beak over her ‘chick’, making sure he was uninjured. While unsettled, Harry did his best to calm and reassure the owl.

“I suppose you should have this,” Draco said, holding out the unknown wand to the Head Boy. “He dropped it when Hedwig went for his arm. I think he might have tried to hex us.”

“Thanks,” David said, accepting the wand and tucking it inside his school robes. “That was nice work, by the way. Who stupified him?”

“I did,” Harry said, “but Draco put the body bind on him.”

“It was Hedwig who sussed him out,” Draco said proudly, as though the owl were his. “she started acting weird as soon as Ron pulled the rat out.”

Harry was nodding, patting the owl. “She seemed to know right away. I kept getting feelings of alarm and wrongness from her.”

“Then Scabbers bit me,” Ron picked up the story, examining his bloodied finger.

Draco leaned toward him for a look, then tsked. “You might lose that. Shame.”

Ron looked at the blonde in alarm, and Harry snickered. He really liked Draco’s dry humour.

“Shut it,” Ron mumbled without much heat, realizing Draco had been joking, and went back to examining his finger.

“I can’t believe it,” Percy said, staring at the bound man in the corner. “All this time….”

“How long did you have him?” Harry asked, curious.

“Over nine years,” Percy replied absently. “I found him in the garden when I was a boy. He seemed really smart for a rat, so I kept him. I only gave him to Ron over the summer, when I got my owl.”

“Ten years,” David reflected. “That’s a long time for a rat to live.”

“I thought he was a magical rat,” Percy said lamely as he flushed and looked toward the door of the compartment.

The door opened and a young woman with wavy, blonde hair looked in. “David, the Aurors will meet us at the station. We’re to stay on the train until they have him,” she nodded toward Pettigrew, ‘in custody. Will you be alright here on your own for a bit? I need to go settle some nervous first years.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine Marrieta,” David replied, “thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be back after lunch, most likely,” she said, then retreated and closed the door.

All the boys fell silent then, each lost in their own thoughts and watching the attempts of various students trying to look into the compartment through the window in the door. A conductor stood outside, ushering the kids along when they tried to stop and gawk. Eventually, Harry put his Transfiguration book away, and got out his robe to put on. He moved Hedwig up to the rack so he could help Draco get his robe out of his trunk, and Ron followed their example. After they were dressed, there was a knock on the compartment door, which Percy answered.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” an older witch asked the group, as though there wasn’t an unconscious man trussed up in the corner under the window.

David got up to make a purchase, and Ron pulled out a package of rather battered sandwiches, shaking his head with a grimace. Harry shook his head as well.

“Draco and I are fine,” he said while pulling a small, covered basket from his book bag.

Draco got up, however, and took his turn at the trolley, returning with some packages of chocolate frogs. Harry unshrunk the basket the Leaky Cauldron elves had prepared for him with a tap of his wand, and began to lay out a lunch for he and Draco on the seat between them. He had hoped to share with the other boy, so requested enough for two. There was a large thermos of tea, fried chicken, potato salad and a selection of carrot, celery, broccoli, little tomatoes, cauliflower and cheese. There were even two plates, forks and cups. Harry pulled the large vial of nutrient potion out last, and drank it first, before filling his plate.

“What was that?” Draco asked as Hedwig dropped onto Harry’s shoulder.

“A nutrient potion,” Harry answered, accepting three chocolate frog packages from the blonde with a grin of thanks. “I have to drink one with each meal.”

“How come?” Draco frowned while filling his own plate.

Harry shrugged his free shoulder, feeding a piece of chicken meat to Hedwig. “I didn’t eat so well, growing up.”

As though sensing that Harry didn’t really want to talk about it, Draco changed the topic to resume their earlier conversation about Quiddach while they ate. Ron attempted to add his own comments, but was hampered by either a mouthful of sandwich, or Draco’s back since the boy was half turned in his seat to better face Harry and the meal between them. David was able to give the boys some insights to the school teams, since he played chaser for Ravenclaw the year before.

There was exactly enough food for the two boys, Harry was happy to note. He was able to eat more, now, and even with sharing with Hedwig, he had managed his two pieces of chicken. Harry repacked the basket with the plates, cups, cutlery and empty thermos, then tapped it three times with his wand. The basket vanished, sent back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco smiled, opening one of his chocolate frogs, “that was good.”

“Anytime,” Harry smiled back, copying the blonde, “Kimmie makes the best potato salad.”

“It was really good,” Drago agreed. “Is she your elf?”

“Nope, the Leaky Caludron.” Harry said, catching his frog as it leapt from the package, making Hedwig bark and flap her wings for balance. “Sorry, Hedwig.”

“Really?” Draco said with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll have to get Father to take me there more often in the summers.”

“My mum makes the best potato salad,” Ron said from Draco’s other side. “She puts eggs in hers.”

“So does Kimmie,” Harry said, examining his card. Nicholas Flammel.

“I thought everyone did,” Draco observed, handing his card to Harry. “I’ve got that one. Who did you get?”

“Nicholas Flammel.”

“Oh, I’ve got two of him.”

“I don’t have much of a collection yet. These are both firsts, for me.”

The door slid open.

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has.. OH” The bushy haired girl in the doorway was frozen, staring with wide eyes at Pettigrew tied up in the corner beside David. She gulped. “Perhaps I’ll come back later?”

“That might be a good idea,” David said with a smile.

“I’ll help her look,” Percy said and got up to usher the girl out into the aisle, closing the door behind them.

Harry checked the time. “We still have nearly five hours before we get to Hogsmeade.”

“How do you know?” Ron asked with a frown, rubbing his finger.

“Because it’s just coming up on one, and our arrival time is six.” Harry answered, eying the red head’s hands. “Maybe you should go wash that?”

“Yeah, I think I should,” Ron agreed reluctantly, and got up to exit the compartment.

Draco waited until the door was closed before commenting with a frown, “I wonder if he got man spit or rat spit all over his hands?”

“What kills me,” David said, who settled deeper in his seat and twirled his wand in his fingers, “is that he didn’t wash before he ate.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other, then burst into laughter. David grinned.

Draco was telling Harry about Malfoy Manor when Ron returned, and the red head sat sullen and quiet in his corner of the bench seat, listening.He appeared angry, looking at his bit finger which he had wrapped in a bit of cloth, and got really red around the ears.

Marrieta joined them not long after, settling easily beside David with her wand out, and introducing herself to the three first years. She got the story of how a rat became a man, and complimented Harry and Draco on their quick thinking, and Hedwig for her vigilance. Ron got redder.

It was when he was on his way back from the loo that Harry discovered what Ron’s problem was. The red haired boy was waiting for him in the aisle outside the toilet, and started as soon as the door opened.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded.

Harry blinked, leaning back a moment, before he frowned and stepped out of the toilet, making sure the door closed behind him. “What are you on about, Ron?”

“You and that Malfoy,” Ron appeared to try to be placating, even patting his hands on air, “I admit I didn’t know at first who he was, but now that I do, it seems awful funny to me that you’d be so friendly with him.”

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Harry was starting to get angry, and he frowned at the other boy. “Why should it matter to you who I’m friends with? I don’t even know you.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Ron said, looking triumphant. “You should be friends with me. Everybody knows the Malfoys practice Dark Arts. He’s a dark wizard, and Harry Potter shouldn’t be associating with his sort.”

That surprised the brunette enough to quickly gather his wits and contain his anger. Harry stared hard into Ron’s eyes, slowly folding his arms over his chest and speaking quietly. “I don’t remember telling you my last name, Ron.”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?” Ron said, as though Harry was now being reasonable and listening to him. “Harry Potter is to start at Hogwarts this year, and I’ve seen pictures of your dad, so when I saw you and you said your name is Harry, I just knew who you were.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed a little, but the other boy wasn’t finished yet.

“Course it would have been easier if we could have got on the platform at the same time. Mum waited at the barrier forever for you to show up, so we could help you across. She said you didn’t know how to get on the platform.”

“Really? I wonder how she got that idea?” Harry said, tilting his head and doing his best to keep his tone neutral.

“I expect Professor Dumbledore told her. They talked for ages last Sunday after dinner,” Ron seemed relaxed now that he was getting Harry’s undivided attention.

“Yeah, adults will do that. They probably never even knew you were listening,” Harry observed, utterly still and focused even as he tried to coax more information from the red head.

Ron laughed, shaking his head. “They never pay attention to us kids if we’re being quiet. I heard Dumbledore say that you would need to have some special friends, and he’d be glad if you and I hit it off. He’d be right chuffed if you got sorted into Griffindor. I don’t think he should worry though. You’re sure to make Griffindor with me.”

“Sure, Ron,” Harry nodded, “it’s practically a done deal. Come on, let’s head back before the others come looking for us.”

“I’ll be right there, mate,” Ron said with a grin, sidling past Harry, “just going to use the loo.”

Harry nodded, and returned to his compartment as quickly as he could. He found Draco trying to calm Hedwig, who immediately flew to her wizard and started preening his hair, beak clicking constantly. Harry gave the watching David a half smile and sat down, pulling Draco closer so they could whisper.

“Whatever you do, get yourself sorted to Ravenclaw,” he said urgently.

Draco frowned. “Why? What was wrong with Hedwig?”

“I’ll explain later, I promise, just try for me Draco, okay?”

Slowly, Draco nodded. “Okay, I’ll try. I promise.”

Harry grinned, giving Draco’s hand a squeeze before sitting more properly in his seat to try and calm Hedwig.

“She’s your familiar, isn’t she?” David asked from across the compartment.

Harry looked up at the older boy and nodded.

“I hope whatever upset you works itself out,” was all David said just as the door opened to admit Ron. Marrieta looked a little bewildered between the boys, but didn’t say anything and went back to her magazine.

Ron settled in his seat, looking much happier with himself.

Pettigrew needed another stunner before they finally reached Hogsmeade, the sun quickly setting in the Scottish hillside. Harry could see other kids filing past their door as the train emptied, and outside they milled on the platform of Hogsmeade station before making their way toward a row of horseless carriages. In truth, these were literally carriages without any horses or anything else pulling them. Harry couldn’t see where the other first years were, but he did know that they arrived at the castle by different means.

His attention was drawn back to the door by the arrival of a conductor and three wizards dressed in muggle looking trench-coats and a woman wearing a monocle. She was the one who seemed in charge.

“Good evening, children. I’m Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” she said after stepping into the compartment. She examined each of them in turn. “Who would like to tell me what happened today?”

“Why don’t you tell it, Harry,” David said, “since you were here for the whole thing.”

Harry nodded with a sigh. Of course he’d have to tell the story. Again.

“It happened not long after the train left King’s Cross Station, ma’am,” he started. “Draco, Ron and I just got settled and started talking, when Ron took out his pet rat. My familiar, Hedwig, immediately knew there was something wrong with the rat, and she got upset. When the rat bit Ron and tried to run, she tried to catch it, but it turned into that man. We were all so surprised that I stunned him, and Draco cast a body bind on him. Then Ron went and got his brother, who’s a Prefect, and then David and Marrieta came to guard the man. They’re Head Boy and Head Girl.”

With a nod to Harry, Auror Bones turned to Ron. “You had no idea your rat was an animagus, child? How long have you had him?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t. I’ve only had Scabbers since the summer,” Ron said nervously, “my brother Percy had him for nine years before that, though.”

“I see,” Bones said, turning to Pettigrew to give him a full visual once over with a slight mue of distaste.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am,” Harry said. “I’m pretty sure it’s Peter Pettigrew. You see, I know about how Sirius Black was put in Askaban without a trial for killing him, and how there was only a finger found, and this man is missing a finger.”

Bones looked at Harry sharply as soon as “Pettigrew” left the boy’s lips. “I see. What was your name again, child?”

“Harry, ma’am,” Harry met her eyes unflinchingly. “Harry Potter.”

The woman blinked. Marrieta gasped and David gave a single nod, as though his suspicion had been confirmed. After a full half minute had passed, Bones sharply strode forward and yanked back the sleeve of the unconscious man’s left arm. There, plain as day, was a dark tattoo. A skull and snake. With a sound of disgust, she stepped back then faced Harry.

“Mr. Potter, you have my personal vow that the events of that night ten years ago, and Mr. Black’s current situation, will be thoroughly investigated.” she gave Harry a half bow. “I will personally see to it that justice is done.”

Harry gave the woman a deep nod in return. “You have my thanks, Auror Bones, and that of the Potter family.”

“You children run along now. We’ll take it from here.” Bones said, making sure the doorway was clear by simply looking at her men.

“Don’t worry about your trunks, guys,” David was saying as he shepherded the trio out. “The house elves will fetch them for you.”

Harry followed Ron and Draco off the train and onto the platform with a sigh of relief. He was glad that was over. He stroked Hedwig, who was riding his arm, and made sure his book bag was closed and secure over his shoulder as he looked around himself.

“First years, first years this way,” called a familiar voice.

Harry grinned, and immediately turned toward it, Draco sticking to his side and Ron trailing a little. He soon saw Hagrid standing with a line of boats at the edge of a lake. All but one carried children, and all had a lantern to provide light in the now deep gloom of late evening.

“Come along now, we’re behind schedule. Everybody find a boat,” Hagrid said. “Hello there Harry. Alright?”

“Yeah Hagrid, I’m fine now.” Harry smiled up at the big man, and led Draco to a boat holding only a heavy set boy. Ron had barely clambered in when the entire line of boats left shore with a little jerk, and headed off across the lake.

As the boats glided across the water around a little bend, Harry could finally see Hogwarts castle, standing on the opposite shore, her windows all lit and shining in the darkness like a personal welcome home. He smiled.

Next part