Convergence of Fates - Gladiusx - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

2nd of May, 1998

Harry lay face down on the carpet, his mind racing madly. He thought he would see the secret to victory in that pensive. And he did, just not in the way he'd expected.

The dreams of creating his own cosy little family and his plan to travel the world and see its wonders were dust in the wind. He would never enjoy the taste of treacle tart or feel the wind blowing on his face as he rode a broom ever again.

Because Harry Potter was never supposed to survive.

What did he work and fight so hard for? What of his years of relentless training and studying had been in hopes of becoming a powerful wizard and avenging his parents? And now, as one of the final two anchors tethering Voldemort to the mortal plane, Harry had to die. His heart was thundering like a drum, and even the air tasted bitter on his tongue.

He had never contemplated death much. His will to live was always way greater than his fear of death. Yet now, faced with the inevitability of death, Harry could feel all his joys and sorrows slipping away like water from a sieve. He tried to lift himself from the floor, but his shaking, tired limbs buckled. It felt as though the weight of the world was crushing him to the floor, and Harry remained on the floor, feeling defeated without even a fight.

The headmaster's betrayal stung the hardest. Was his purpose always to just perish before he even got to live? It was never about him or the prophecy, but just ending Tom Riddle, he realised. Were all those words of wisdom and advice just given to prepare Harry for that final leap better? Was the grandfatherly demeanour just a masterful facade crafted for the sole intention of deceiving him?

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

The words of the headmaster rang in his head. Burning fury welled up in his gut.

Howdarehe?!

HowdareDumbledore have the nerve to tell him straight-faced and standing tall, staring him down without a care in the world, when his mind swam with the knowledge that Harry was going to die?!

But the headmaster never truly hurt anyone. And would Harry even be here if it wasn't for his meddling mentor? His rage subsided. No, Dumbledore was not bad, nor was he evil.

He felt just as foolish as he was angry. Was it a betrayal to spare a child from the knowledge that he had to die? Would he do otherwise if he was in Dumbledore's shoes?

A sigh rolled from his dry throat, and Harry deflated like a balloon. The headmaster gave him the task of hunting down the Horcruxes, and, at the finish line, he was supposed to die to complete it. Why waste other people's lives when Harry's was already forfeit? Dumbledore had observed him over the years and knew he would not back down, even if it meant death. And the damned headmaster was right. Harry would not turn away when he had gotten so far.

But, he had failed. Not only would he have to die, but by the end of it, Voldemort would remain immortal. The snake was still alive. For good or for bad, Dumbledore had encouraged him to tell Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes, and now he knew why.

His friends could finish the task should Harry fall before he managed to complete his quest.

He half-heartedly attempted to lift himself from the carpet. But, his trembling limbs betrayed him once again. They felt as though they were made of lead. Harry was tired. It was a weariness that ran deep into his bones, mind, and soul. Especially after a year on the run, surrounded by cold and hunger, worry and fear with no hope in sight. Just this day alone had already been full of fighting and death, and the final grain of hope Harry had so desperately clung to had died the moment he had dived into the pensive.

A thought wormed itself into his head. If only he could stay here and fade out of existence.

But the thought of giving up alone infuriated Harry. Harry angrily gritted his teeth; he would not just give up. No more running. He was not a coward.

Yes, Harry would die, but he would face death the way he lived – bravely, with a wand in hand. Even if he had to face death today, he would not go quietly into the night.

His friends, his teachers, even his rivals - they would know. Harry Potter might fall today, whether through the Killing Curse or by Fiendyre, Cutting Curse or explosion, but they would know his name.

He slapped himself hard, and the slivers of pain gave him just the jolt he needed. With tremendous effort, Harry stood up despite his shaky legs. He took deep, slow breaths, and as determination filled him once again, so did the strength in his limbs return.

A glance at the battered golden watch he had received from Mrs Weasley for his seventeenth birthday told Harry half of his allotted hour had run out. Harry wondered how Mrs Weasley would feel after he died but quickly stopped himself. If he thought about the people he cared about, it would make his decision all the more difficult.

The descent down the floors was easy, with his invisibility cloak wrapped around his body. The sight of students carrying the corpses of people he knew made his insides twist with anger and guilt. Thinking about Ron and Hermione made him feel even heavier. How could he even tell them that he had to die? Were they even alive anymore? Harry banished the morbid thought quickly. Ron and Hermione always survived, no matter what. Yet they would not allow Harry to walk straight into his death.

But if Voldemort won here, all the resistance against him would be gone. His death had to come now, and there was no use delaying it; Harry could only pray someone would succeed in slaying Nagini. Otherwise, the immortal Dark Lord would eventually breach Hogwarts and slaughter its defenders. Riddle never forgave those who opposed him. Harry knew that if he tried to say goodbye to his friends, he would lose what little determination he had mustered. So, he trudged on, trying not to look at the grim yet familiar faces surrounding him.

As he passed Hagrid's hut, he couldn't help but remember all those visits to the jolly half-giant. Yet the windows were dark - the jolly half-giant was not here.

The ghastly chill of the dementors covered Harry like a carpet as soon as he stepped into the Forbidden Forest. His limbs started to tremble again, and he knew he could not summon happy enough memories or feelings to create a corporeal Patronus. It seemed that the foul wraiths had not yet noticed him, though. It was weird, especially since they had always been drawn to him. But, he would not look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not now. As he was trudging onward, Harry remembered the snitch Dumbledore had willed to him and the motto 'I open at close'.

It was his first snitch, the one he caught with his mouth.

Harry halted midstep then and gazed at the golden ball.

Could it be?

With some trepidation, he brought the snitch to his mouth. The moment his lips touched the gold, it broke open, revealing the destroyed ring Horcrux encrusted with the chilly dark stone. The Resurrection Stone.

The tale of the Cadmus Peverell was fresh in his mind - the man had taken his own life after speaking to the ghost of his deceased lover.

Harry snorted bitterly; it felt like a nudge from Dumbledore from beyond the grave. A reminder that he had to die. His gaze settled onto the gem-like stone, and a thousand questions ran through his mind - he could see his parents or even Sirius again.

And yet, it did not matter. Harry would meet all of them soon enough. Harry dropped it to the ground and soldiered on.

"Someone's there," a rough whisper was heard nearby. "He's got an invisibility cloak. Could it be?"

Harry stilled as two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree. As their wands lit up, he recognised Dolohov and Yaxley, and his grip on Malfoy's wand tightened. If he would die anyway, he might as well help those who still lived on after his death.

"Definitely heard something," said Yaxley. "Animal, I reckon?"

The duo were less than two metres from Harry and were facing away from him. Filled with decisiveness, he brandished his wand.

Pumping his magic through Draco's wand, he extended it from the invisibility cloak. Harry mustered his fury and aimed at Dolohov first, as he was the more dangerous opponent.

'Ignis Sectum'

He jabbed twice, casting two angry, searing red crescents from the tip of his wand. Dolohov tried ducking and turning, but the spell hit him just beneath the eyes. Harry felt bile rising in his throat as the Death Eater crumbled on the ground, with his brain, skull, and blood splattering on the nearby leaves and tree roots. For a short moment, Harry watched with morbid fascination as the freezing evening air was quickly filled with rising smoke from the remains on the ground. That moment of hesitation almost cost him, though, as Yaxley had managed to dodge the second spell and raise his wand.

Harry swished his wand, and the warning sparks were snuffed out before they could be launched into the sky. With a flick, he transfigured the nearby roots to hold Yaxley's legs, who, in return, sent a sickly yellow spell his way. Harry sidestepped it and angrily retaliated with another cutter.

With his legs bound, Harry's opponent panicked and barely managed to put up a Protego in time. The crimson crescent hissed through the air and tore through the shield as if it were paper, and Yaxley's head rolled down near Dolohov's mangled corpse.

Harry was heaving. His heart beat like a drum, and he felt his limbs go heavy as the adrenaline wore off. He almost made a fatal mistake. If one of them had shouted, or if the sparks had been shot in the air successfully, his location would have been exposed. He slowly looked around as he tried to regain his bearing.

The aftermath made his stomach churn. He tried holding it in but couldn't. Harry ended up kneeling and emptying his stomach right next to the corpses. Channelling his rage into the spells always made him feel emptiness afterwards, and the feeling of hollowness exacerbated his nausea. Could he truly kill more people in such a way?

He vividly recalled the corpses of his fellow students being carried in the Great Hall. It was not a sight he could ever forget, as it was seared deep into his mind. It took him a few moments to get up again and steel himself once more. Every Death Eater he killed now was one Death Eater less for his friends to face. He couldn't help but admire his spell's brutal power. A spell he had spent a few months creating while on the run. Admittedly, more magic was channelled than necessary, but not only had his cutting curse cleaved through bone and flesh effortlessly, but it had cleanly sliced through a third of the thick tree trunk behind.

His cloak had fallen off in the scuffle, so Harry gingerly covered himself again and headed in the direction the Death Eaters had come from. A few minutes later, he finally saw a light. Harry sneaked into a clearing with a bonfire in the middle; Voldemort and his followers had gathered around the roaring flames.

Most wore their masks, while some had discarded them. Two giants could be seen on the outskirts of the group. Nagini was coiled near the Dark Lord's feet. But Harry doubted he could take her out without going through Voldemort first. He might as well try, though; it was not as if he had anything to lose.

Everyone was deathly silent in the clearing, and only the fire crackling could be heard. Faces were filled with apprehension, anger, and even anticipation.

"Dolohov and Yaxley should have returned by now," Bellatrix's voice rasped in Harry's ears and made his insides twist with fury. Even two years after his godfather's death, he could only feel uncontrollable anger when seeing her. All his plans had been forgotten.

His wand slipped outside the cloak, and he channelled all his rage into a silentIgnis Sectum. Voldemort instantly raised the Elder wand, and Bellatrix was simply pushed out of the way of the spell that would have cleaved her in two. Harry inwardly fumed at this missed chance. He started moving around erratically, holding the cloak in one hand. With the other, he was flinging cutting and piercing curses as fast as he could into Voldemort's followers. Some of his spells hit their marks as screams of pain could be heard. He tried hitting Nagini, but the snake slithered away too fast, and he could not aim properly.

"He's here under that invisibility cloak of his!" a furious voice yelled while people were ducking around, casting blindly in retaliation and panic. Chaos engulfed the clearing, and spellfire was flying all over the place. As he kept moving, a few spells came close to Harry, but most of them harmlessly sailed past him or even hit some of their casters' comrades.

"Accio cloak." Voldemort's cold voice sent shivers down his spine. Harry gripped his cloak with both hands, but no pull ever came.

The dark lord frowned and twisted the Death Stick, causing a tidal wave of water to erupt from its gnarly tip in every direction. While Harry was invisible, the droplets of water now covering his cloak were not.

With another flick of Voldemort's wrist, a smouldering sickly red flame in the form of a basilisk formed quickly and lunged directly towards Harry's location. He tried to run from it, but his limbs felt like lead, and the fire was fast approaching. He gritted his teeth and willed his heavy hand to raise once more.

"Protego Maxima!"

Harry poured everything into the shield. For a quick moment, he regretted not putting in the time to create his defensive spell, not that it would have done much against fiendfyre. The translucent shield held for little more than two heartbeats before it broke.

The last thing he saw was the fiery maw rapidly closing in on him, and then searing darkness took him.

"Get up, boy! Breakfast is ready!" Harry groaned at the shrill voice, which he was not supposed to hear again.

Did he somehow end up in hell? Was he going to be tormented by his relatives even in the afterlife?

He groggily reached for his glasses. There was a taste of ash in his mouth, and moving his limbs felt incredibly awkward and tiresome. After listlessly rubbing his face, Harry placed his glasses on and opened his eyes, only to be met with one giant botched blur.

"Bloody hell," he muttered and took his glasses off. Just as he was about to clean them with the hem of his shirt, he realised everything was crystal clear. Harry blinked a few times. Confused, he pinched his hand and then promptly froze.

In disbelief, he looked down at his thin and small arm. His mind felt muddled. As if in a dream, he automatically put on some of the oversized clothes he found in the small drawer in the corner, and his feet walked him to the bathroom.

A small, scrawny boy with unruly hair and piercing green eyes blinked from the mirror above the sink. Dread began to twist his insides, and he felt bile rising. Did he have to go through all of it over again just to die in the end? Was this some sort of cruel punishment for failing to defeat the Dark lord?

Just as despair overtook him, he noticed something was not quite right with his reflection. Where was his scar? He leaned closer and carefully inspected his face but found it completely clear of blemishes. After squinting his eyes for half a minute, he barely saw it. The lightning bolt was still there. But, it was so faded, small, and thin that even with his sharper vision, he would have missed it had he not looked for it carefully.

Harry slowly ran a finger over where the shard of Voldemort's soul had resided and tormented him for the last few years. It did not feel any different from the rest of his face. There was no pain, itching, irritation, or even the slightest sense of discomfort.

Happiness filled him for a brief moment.

Terrible things happen to people who meddle with time.

At the oddly familiar voice, his joy was quickly replaced by terror. Harry had thought this was a second chance for him, a do-over, where he was not a Horcrux and got to live, really live. But when have good things ever happened to him?

Was this even time travel? He was not in his original body, and things were different. For one, he no longer needed glasses.

Harry gritted his teeth. No, things could not be worse than the last time. The only thing left to determine was how far back he was thrown in time.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he needed food. After splashing his face with cold water, he quickly headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Sitting at the head of the table, Vernon was already hidden behind the morning newspaper. Next to him, Petunia was sipping a cup of tea, lost in thought. Both looked younger and stiffer than he remembered. Harry quickly sat down on the nearest empty chair and discreetly looked at the date on the newspaper from the corner of his eye.

Twenty-fourth of July, 1991.

His cousin was loudly munching on the last pieces of bacon, lost in his own world. Three toasts were left on a big plate in the middle of the table, and a still very young and very fat Dudley quickly grabbed the bigger two, leaving the smallest one for Harry.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, so Harry quickly snatched the last and devoured it before his cousin decided to stuff himself some more. He had forgotten how young Dudley was so fat he looked like a big, human-sized ball. If either his aunt or uncle noticed the lack of glasses on his face, they did not say a word. And Dudley was not exactly the brightest tool in the shed.

Yet neither of the Dursleys even pretended Harry existed, which suited him just fine. Soon after breakfast, Dudley played with his new Smeltings stick. The click of the mail slot and the soft thud of the mail hitting the floor were heard.

Today was thatday, Harry realised.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Vernon grunted without averting eyes from his precious paper.

His cousin's round head looked around warily.

"I'll get it," Harry volunteered hastily. He quickly stood and headed towards the door without waiting for a response. He had no desire to trade barbs with his relatives. Not when he was weak, small and without a wand. Three things lay on the doormat. A postcard from Marge, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and a letter adorned by a familiar crest. Harry's heartbeat sped up, and remembering what had happened the last time he was supposed to receive that particular letter, he quickly folded it in two and shoved it inside his oversized pocket.

He handed the rest to Vernon and headed towards his room.

"Don't forget that you have to weed the garden today, boy!" his aunt's high-pitched voice followed him as he climbed the stairs.

Just as Harry entered the room, he stilled. Before the Hogwarts letter arrived, the Dursleys had been content to let him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, not in the spare room. Not that he would ever complain about not sleeping in the cupboard. Was this a result of accidentally messing up with time? If his accommodation in the Dursleys' house was different,what else had changed?

Shelving the matter for later, Harry carefully pulled out the letter from his pocket. Just as he was about to open the letter, he glanced at the address and froze.

Mr. H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

6 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Chapter 2: Divergence

Chapter Text

24th of July, 1991

He had no idea how long he was staring at the dark ink.

Privet Driver number six? Was his memory faulty? Or was this just another change? He remembered the Dursleys lived in Number Four Privet Drive, not Number Six.

He sighed and rummaged through a small drawer in the corner to find a pen and a piece of paper. What would he even write? He knew Vernon would not spare even a penny for him to visit London. Without a wand, Harry Potter was utterly helpless. During the last year on the run, he had grown used to using magic for everything - big and small.

Without a wand, Harry could not call the Knight Bus. And even if he did, he had nothing to pay for the ride. He could maybe try apparition without a wand, but he had never tried it before— not consciously, at least. It would be disastrous if he splinched himself, and even if he succeeded, he did not have his Gringotts key either.

Dear Ms McGonagall,

I'd love to attend Hogwarts! However, I have no money to pay for tuition or supplies, and I don't know where to purchase any of the books or items listed in the letter.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He carefully folded the letter, placed it in his pocket, and went to the garden. Thankfully, his uncle's car was gone, meaning he had already left for work, and his aunt was busy cleaning the house for probably the fifth time this week. After looking around, Harry saw a brown barn owl perched on a nearby tree, looking at him expectantly. After waving the owl over, it flew up and landed on the fence before him.

"Bring it to Professor McGonagall for me, please," he murmured as he handed the letter. The owl carefully grabbed it with her talons and gave him an expectant look.

"Sorry, but I don't have any treats for you," Harry shrugged apologetically. The owl gave him the sharpest glare possible and flew away.

He sighed and started weeding the garden under the rays of the summer sun. It was not as if he had anything better to do while waiting for a professor to come, and he did not want to have any confrontation with his relatives.

In truth, almost nobody cared for Harry Potter, but The Boy Who Lived was another story. Hopefully, the letter should raise enough alarm bells for someone to quickly show up because he had no desire to stay on Privet Drive longer than necessary.

After about two hours of toiling, he was finally finished.

After a quick shower to wash off, Harry was in his bed, staring at the grey ceiling of his room.

He wanted to begin planning, but would there be any point if things were different? And it was not like his plans so far had been very successful. The one for planning had always been Hermione. Was she the same? Did she even exist anymore? A sinking realisation slowly appeared in his gut.

His Ron and Hermione were gone.

Even if Ron and Hermione were here, they were not his friends but eleven-year-old children, young and without the experience of all the adventures and difficulties they had faced together.

How many times did the three of them have a close brush with death because of him? Was Harry selfish enough to put them through all of that again? They often survived or got out of trouble only because of pure luck. What if they were not lucky this time? Could he even be friends with children and their childish dreams and worries after all the death and horror he went through?

Was it fair to impose the expectations of the friends he remembered on two eleven-year-old children who had never met him?

The bitter feeling returned as Harry realised they would probably be better off without him. He was strong and more experienced now and would deal with whatever may come on his own without dragging others into mortal peril.

Feeling the drag on his consciousness, he closed his eyes and drifted into the darkness.

Crack!

The familiar sound of apparition woke him up. A loud knock on the front door was heard. Harry quickly got dressed in his cousin's oversized cast-offs and rushed downstairs.

"No, no! I won't have it. I won't have you and your… kind impose yourself on MY home again! You've done enough!" Petunia's shriek could be heard from the second floor. Thankfully, Vernon was at work, and Dudley was out with his friends.

At the front door, he saw his aunt facing the stern visage of Professor McGonagall. His Transfiguration Professor was dressed in the usual emerald robes and a pointy hat.

"You've done enough… you've done enough…" Petunia was visibly upset now and fled towards the kitchen, weeping.

Harry was left at the front door alone with an exasperated Deputy Headmistress. He opened his mouth to greet her but quickly stopped himself. At this point in time, Harry was not supposed to know what Minerva McGonagall even looked like. He was also supposed to behave like an eleven-year-old. How the bloody hell did an eleven-year-old act like, anyway?

"How can I help you, Ms…" he trailed slowly, settling on acting polite. Yes, eleven-year-olds were polite!

"Minerva McGonagall. I'm here for one Harry James Potter," she said.

"Err…that's me." His former… no, his future Transfiguration teacher's gaze slid towards his face where the barely visible lightning bolt scar was. "I'm Harry Potter. Are you really from… Hogwarts?"

"Yes. I am the current Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." McGonagall's piercing eyes did not move from his brow. "I'm here to help you acquire your supplies."

"I don't have any money to pay the tuition, let alone the supplies, though," he replied mechanically.

"Students don't need to pay tuition to attend Hogwarts, Mr Potter," her lips thinned. "Your parents left you more than enough to pay for simple school supplies."

"You knew my parents?" Were James and Lily Potter the same here?

A small yet genuine smile bloomed on Professor McGonagall's face. "Why yes! I taught them myself during their youth. Both were some of the most brilliant students ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts." Just as he was about to ask for more details or just stories about his parents, she took out a small ornate bronze watch from her robes. "Time's ticking, and I'm afraid we have to get going, Mr Potter. Grab my hand."

He gripped her outstretched arm and quickly braced himself. The world suddenly twisted. The feeling of being squeezed through a small tube was unpleasant, but less so than his first time, as he was not unprepared.

He still landed, slamming his legs on the ground unevenly, barely avoiding falling face-first on the pavement. As usual, the methods of wizarding transportation other than brooms did not agree with him. As Harry steadied himself, he saw they had landed in an empty alleyway.

"Quite good for the first-time apparition, most children tend to… lose their lunch," McGonagall finished with a brisk nod. It was not his first time, yet he still felt quite nauseous. "How much do you know about your… situation?"

"Err, the dark lord?" He muttered with trepidation.

"The very same that killed your parents," the older witch shuddered. "Good, I won't need to waste time explaining. Our trip would go faster should you remain incognito. As you can probably imagine, you're somewhat of a celebrity in the wizarding world."

"Alright," Harry agreed quickly. There went his dreams of being a nobody.

"Well then, follow me."

Professor McGonagall was already moving onwards. They quickly walked down the crowded Charing Cross Street and stopped at the tiny, grubby-looking pub that none of the people around could see. Harry remained silent, feeling he might throw up if he opened his mouth again. Maybe it was better to stay quiet. He wasn't sure he could act like a proper eleven-year-old.

"This is the Leaky Cauldron, entrance to Diagon Alley, the wizarding shopping district," she explained shortly before entering.

The inside was just as Harry remembered-dark and shabby and filled with a clamour of wizards and witches.

"Professor McGonagall, leading the muggle-born around again?" The barkeeper greeted them jovially.

"You can say so, Tom. We'll be going quickly," the Transfiguration mistress nodded and dragged Harry to the courtyard in the back.

For a short moment, his heart leapt in trepidation. But the expected attention never came. It took him a few moments, but he finally realised what was happening. Nobody seemed to recognise Harry without his scar and glasses easily. To people, he was just another young boy. He revelled that people's eyes passed over him; the feeling of being unnoticed felt thrilling. There were a few curious glances, but none lasted more than a second or two.

The Professor stopped straight in front of the trashcan and turned to him.

"Mr Potter, you will come here without me in the future, so you should memorise the combination necessary to open the entrance. Three bricks up from the bin and two across to your left. Observe," her wand appeared in her hand, slowly tracing along the wall with the tip and tapping on the final brick.

The brick in question shifted, and the whole wall soon turned into a wide archway. He looked in wonder as the rustic cobbled street was bustling and full of people again. The last time he visited in the summer before his sixth year, only a few hurried souls could be seen across the Alley then, and half the shops had been closed.

"And this is your vault key. Don't lose it. If you do, Gringotts will charge you a small fortune to make another one." McGonagall carefully handed him the familiar small golden key before leading him to Gringotts's silver doors.

As he remembered, the bank was a cold place lined with gold and marble. Both sides of the walkway were lined with tellers counting coins with almost fierce diligence. None of the goblins spared them a glance; all were busy with their sparse customers or shoved their pointed noses into a stack of parchments.

Harry's nausea finally receded just as they stopped before an empty counter.

McGonagall had to cough loudly to force the teller to tear away his gaze from his desk.

"How may Gringotts be of help?"

"I'd like to withdraw some gold," Harry said quietly, handing the key to the goblin, who carefully inspected it with a magnifying glass.

The teller seemed to find the golden key to his satisfaction, nodding curtly and leaning over to look at Harry. "I will get someone to take you to the vault. Rognot!"

"Mr Potter, I'll wait for you outside at the entrance. Make sure you get at least fifteen Galleons to cover for your supplies." Before Harry could reply, McGonagall turned around and headed for the entrance, leaving the stunned boy behind.

Another goblin, probably Rognot, ushered the flabbergasted Harry towards one of the many doors leading off the hall. They entered a familiar narrow stone passageway. Rognot whistled, and a cart quickly zoomed up the rails before suddenly stopping in front of them.

When they got on the cart and flew wildly through the dimly lit tunnels, Harry realised Professor McGonagall was probably not a fan of the speedy cart ride. Even his mind refused to conjure the stern Transfiguration mistress riding on the crazy cart

Looking at the dark depths, he idly wondered how many dragons the goblins had imprisoned down there, never to see the light of the sun ever again. But he quickly banished that thought from his head. What was Harry going to do? The world was not fair, and if he tried to make it so, he'd never get a moment of rest.

The cart stopped, breaking him out of his dark thoughts. The goblin quickly unlocked the vault with his key; it was just as full as he remembered it. Harry looked around in fascination before grabbing a handful of galleons. He stopped, realising he had nowhere else to put the gold coins but in his pockets. Something that he would not want to do, as the galleons would weigh his pants down big time, and he could not go around like that.

"Mr Rognot, do you provide any bags?"

"Five galleons for a normal bag and seventy-five for a mokeskin pouch," Rognot, eyes alight with greed, replied with a toothy smile.

"I'll take the pouch," Harry begrudgingly decided, missing the useful pouch that Hagrid had gifted him for his 17th birthday. Judging by the goblin's greedy smile, he was probably being ripped off one way or another, but Harry had no desire to carry a lot of coins in his pocket nor return to the bank multiple times.

After handing two handfuls of galleons, he got his mokeskin bag and filled it with gold and silver. A few minutes later, he had made a visible dent in one of the mounds of gold coins. Harry had poured what felt like a thousand galleons and a few hundred sickles before being satisfied. The memory of Griphook's betrayal was still fresh in his mind, and he would avoid dealing with the treacherous little buggers as much as possible.

One wild cart ride later, Harry was back outside the bank, where McGonagall was waiting in the sun. She quickly led him to a familiar narrow and shabby shopfront. Harry looked nostalgically at the peeling gold letters on top of the door that read 'Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B. C.'

"Mr Potter, you go get your wand, and I'll get your books and other supplies."

"Are you not going to come in with me, professor?"

"No, Mr Potter, picking a wand is very personal to every wizard. Besides, it can take a lot of time. If you're done early, wait for me outside," the Professor hurriedly strode towards Flourish and Blotts.

Harry shrugged and entered the wand shop. Just as he passed through the doorway, his skin tingled, and the hairs on his neck stood up.

The store was seemingly empty, but Harry knew better. After a few seconds, he quickly spun around and stood face-to-face with Mr Ollivander. His unusually pale, unblinking eyes stared at him with surprise.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted evenly.

"Good afternoon indeed, Mr… Potter?" The boy confirmed with a nod as wandmaker quickly regained his bearings. "Ah, you have your mother's eyes. It seemed only yesterday when she was here for her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. A great wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to him, and Harry finally took a good look at him. His last memory of the wandmaker was when he was just rescued from Malfoy Manor and looked gaunt and tired. Yet now he was full of energy, and his eyes were no longer as dull.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Harry wondered what had happened to his parents' wands. Were they destroyed during that night? Did the ministry have them? Or did they stay on display in Godric's Hollow? He realised he had zoned out and shook his head, focusing on Ollivander's quiet voice.

"...Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful wand and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do…"

The wandmaker pulled a familiar long-measure tape with silver markings out of his pocket.

"Which is your wand arm, Mr Potter?"

"My right hand."

Ollivander quickly started measuring him with the tape. "Every wand I make has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. I use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two dragons, unicorns, or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get such a good result with another wizard's wand."

The familiar words brought him an odd sense of relief. Soon, the wandmaker went around the shelves while the tape was still measuring on its own.

"That will do," Ollivander said, and the tape crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Maple and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Supple."

Harry picked up the wand and waved, making a vase on the side burst into pieces.

"No, not this one," the wandmaker quickly snatched the wand from his hand. "Beechwood and unicorn hair. Seven inches and three quarters, swishy."

Just as he picked up the wand and was about to wave it, it was snatched out of his hand. "Not this one either."

"Aspen and phoenix feather. Ten inches, fairly bendy…"

"Blackthorn and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches, whippy…"

"Cedar and unicorn hair. Nine inches and a quarter, slightly yielding…"

"Elm and unicorn hair. Ten inches and a half, brittle…"

Harry's annoyance grew alongside the stack of wands and boxes on the counter, yet Ollivander seemed thrilled at the challenge. With that said, he still had not brought out his trusty holly wand for testing.

At least two dozen wands later, it was finally here.

"Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple," as soon as the wandmaker placed the elongated box on the counter, Harry grabbed the wand and gave it a wave expectantly. To his dread, his trusty companion felt dead and cold in his hand, and nothing happened. Harry gaped at his holly wand, but Ollivander quickly snatched it from his grasp.

"Not this one either, eh?" The wandmaker looked excited, yet Harry could not muster anything but a feeling of devastation and defeat. "Try this. Cherry and dragon heartstring. Thirteen inches, unyielding…"

"...No? How about ash and unicorn hair...?"

Harry numbly tried every wand placed in his hand, but all felt cold and unresponsive. The pile of tried wands on the counter grew until it became a small hill. Ollivander's excitement slowly disappeared, and his face turned pensive.

"Curious, how very curious. This is a first." The wandmaker paused at the sight of all the discarded wands on the counter. He quickly disappeared in the back of the shop before bringing a big, heavy-looking blue case.

"Ever since I started using unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix tail feathers, I have been able to match a wand to every wizard that walked into my shop. But it seems that those cores are fit for you, Mr Potter. Hmm, this will require a different core and a more personal touch." He opened the case, revealing an array of feathers, small bones, scales, and hairs of different colours and sizes. "Personalised wands have been proven fickle or ineffective before, but it might just be what you need."

"I thought the wand chose the wizard?" Harry found himself asking with trepidation.

"That is most certainly true, Mr Potter. During my father's time, however, almost every wand was custom-made. Wizards and witches often brought their magical core, or their parents would, for the young Hogwarts students. Usually, a token they had a close connection to, like whiskers from their favourite kneazle or a mane of a kelpie that a witch had met on holiday. Needless to say, such wands did work, but not as well. They were not as balanced or easy to use as my current wands. Or so I thought until now," Ollivander muttered thoughtfully and scratched his stubby chin before motioning towards the open case. "Here is my collection of interesting cores from when I travelled in my youth. Hold your hand above each one, and tell me where you feel the strongest connection."

As soon as his arm was over the case, he felt a strong pull almost immediately. His hand was drawn to a pitch-black silky hair.

"This one."

"Goodness gracious! I'm surprised that you can even see it. Though, considering your...experience, you should indeed be capable of seeing and maybe even wielding it." Ollivander rubbed his chin again and glanced at his faded scar.

"What exactly is it...?" Harry tried his best to suppress his trepidation; he just wanted this day to end.

"This, Mr Potter, is thestral hair." A tired groan escaped Harry's throat; he wasn't even surprised. Yet, Ollivander looked like a child with a shiny new toy. "I see you're not unfamiliar. The core of the legendary Elder Wand is said to be thestral hair plucked by Death itself! Every wandmaker, even I, have attempted to make a wand with it but with no success. Thestral hair is fickle and volatile, making any wands made with it unwieldy. The story goes that only those who have truly accepted death can master it!"

"Mr Ollivander, if thestral hair is so… troublesome, will I even get a working wand?" The image of Ron trying to wrangle with his brother's wand back in the second year appeared in his mind.

"Fret not, Mr. Potter. It is a worthy challenge, one that I would be glad to undertake. The strong connection to the core would undoubtedly help you." The wandmaker closed the heavy case and carried it to one of the back rooms. Soon, he returned and arrayed a couple of dozen elongated and slender wooden blocks on the remaining space on the counter. "These are different types of woods. Tell me if one of them draws you in."

Harry ran his hand through the blocks. There was no pull this time, but a particularly pale piece felt warm compared to the others.

"This one," he carefully tapped it.

Ollivander was silent for a moment. "...Yew. Wands made of such trees are said to have the power of life and death. I harvested this particular piece from the ancient Fortingall Yew."

Harry gulped. Voldemort's wand was made of the same stuff.

"But this could be said for all wands," the wandmaker continued, talking more to himself than anyone else. "Yew wands do retain a fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and curses, and for a good reason. However, that does not mean that you're destined to walk a dark road in the future. I have found that users of yew wands could also prove to be fierce protectors of others."

Ollivander quickly collected all the wooden blocks and rushed into the back room.

"Oh, yes. This will take me quite some time. Come back in an hour to collect your wand," the wandmaker's muffled voice was barely heard from the opened door. Tired, Harry turned around and left the store.

"What took you so long, Mr Potter? You've been inside for more than an hour! And where is your wand?" An exasperated Professor McGonagall asked as soon as he stepped outside.

"Err, none of Mr Ollivander's wands chose me, Professor. He is making me one right now. It will be ready in over an hour," Harry mumbled, feeling a touch of guilt for making her wait outside for so long.

"Come, let's get you your robes." The older witch sighed, leading him towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The insides of the store were just as he remembered.

"Minerva, another first year?" a familiar squat witch asked merrily.

"Yes. However, this one seems to be quite picky. He was stuck in Ollivander's for over an hour."

"No doubt making him ecstatic. The old wandmaker loves a challenge," Madam Malkin snorted and turned towards Harry. "Come, dear. A young lady is getting fitted for Hogwarts in the back."

She quickly led him to the back of the shop, where a girl his age was standing on a stool, getting her robes measured by a second witch. There was something oddly familiar about the girl, and Harry tried to jog his memory but did not recognise the face. She was tall and tall with frosty blue eyes, long and curly raven locks, and aristocratic cheekbones. Or taller than him, which did not mean much, considering he was pretty short for his age right now.

Was she one of the upper years? But Harry simply couldn't recall seeing her face before, despite the familiarity.

He obediently stepped on a second footstool, and Madam Malkin slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the correct length. Harry only grew more curious about the girl and wanted to say something. However, the cold and haughty look she threw at him before facing away quickly made him reconsider, and he kept silent. She was probably another one of those pureblood snobs.

After a few moments, he realised he was still wearing Dudley's old and oversized cast-offs and looked ridiculous. This time, he would get clothes of his own, everything else be damned.

"You're done, dear," After a few minutes of silence, Madam Malkin finally finished her work and sent him back to the shopfront, where McGonagall was waiting.

"Come, Mr Potter," she urged. Thankfully, the proprietress had not returned to the counter, and nobody heard his name. He had no desire to be crowded and followed by an overenthusiastic mob for something he did not do. Why almost everyone believed a fifteen-month-old toddler could vanquish a notorious Dark Lord was baffling. Even Voldemort himself had said it was something his mother had done.

"Where next, professor?"

"We have some time before your wand gets ready, and I know just the place to go. There's an ice cream shop right across the street." There was a hungry glint in McGonagall's eye as she looked at the ice cream parlour. Harry scarcely believed his eyes, as he never took his stern Transfiguration professor as a fan of iced desserts. Yet the prospect of indulging in Fortescue filled him with energy and chased the drowsiness away.

Things would not be the same this time, but Harry had no idea how different everything would end up being.

Chapter 3: Renewed Resolve

Chapter Text

Time ticked by as he enjoyed his ice cream and carefully listened to his Transfiguration professor. His gaze wandered to the street, searching for young, familiar faces. He recognised quite a few, but there were plenty of unfamiliar ones. That didn't mean much, though. Now that he looked back on it, he did not know many Hogwarts students.

"Your father and his friends gave me a lot of my grey hairs," Minerva concluded with a forlorn sigh as she finished her pistachio and strawberry ice cream with relish. Harry was somewhat relieved; for good or bad, his parents seemed to have been the same people. "Let's go pick up your wand, Mr Potter. We've been talking for an hour, and it's getting rather late."

The sun had already begun to approach the western horizon, and the crowds had thinned, leaving the cobbled streets of the alley empty.

"Three hundred galleons for a simple enchanted necklace? Bonkers, the lot of them," a man muttered furiously after quickly leaving a small yet posh-looking jewellery store Harry had not noticed before.

After a five-minute walk, they arrived at the shabby shop front again.

"I shall wait for you outside while you receive your wand, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded to McGonagall, then entered through the door, feeling the tingling of magic on his skin again.

"Greetings once again, Mr Potter. I just finished," the wandmaker greeted him and motioned to the counter.

A lone, elongated box ominously stood there. It was plain and ordinary, no different from the others, but he couldn't feel a sense of foreboding.

What if this wand, too, rejected him? Things had a tendency to take a turn for the worse when he was involved. Harry opened it with trepidation and picked up the pale wand.

The air immediately thickened, and he felt searing heat in his fingers. As he swished, the dusty air was drowned by a tidal wave of black and white sparks. For a short, fleeting moment, he felt full of power, as if he could take on the whole world and win.

But it went as quickly as it came.

It took him a few moments to push aside the vague emptiness in his chest. Stars had appeared in his eyes, and Harry had to blink a few times to chase them away. A parchment on his desk had been set on fire, but the wandmaker extinguished it with a flick of his wand.

"Extraordinary, Mr Potter!" A soft, genuine smile graced Ollivander's face, who seemed unperturbed by his singed eyebrows. "Twelve inches and three quarters, Yew and Thestral hair, reasonably supple. One of my finest creations to date… I myself tried it and received a rather dull yet volatile response. I suspect this would be the case for anyone else attempting to use it, but it matches you perfectly!"

"Thank you, sir," Harry responded after swallowing heavily. "How much?"

"That would be seven galleons, Mr Potter," the wandmaker hummed.

He placed the coins on the counter and paused for a moment. That was quite a paltry sum for something as valuable as a fitted wand, yet he had never considered it. He vaguely remembered unicorn tail hair being sold for ten galleons a piece.

"Mr Ollivander, do you mind if I ask you a question?" After receiving a nod in confirmation, Harry hesitantly continued, "Are all your wands so inexpensive?"

"An interesting query for one so young." The wandmaker rubbed his chin thoughtfully as his pale eyes settled on Harry with interest. "Usually, most children care little about costs, especially after paying. But to answer your question, only the first wands of children under seventeen cost seven galleons. That alone is far from inexpensive. Everyone else has to pay forty-nine galleons to get a wand from me."

"First wand? Does that mean I can take a second?"

"No, Mr Potter. The ministry requires the registration of every spare wand lest the owner face a heavy penalty. And despite not being truly sentient, wands have a sliver of pride. It's nearly impossible for a second wand to choose an already bonded wizard. My creations are not easy to break, but it does happen that a wizard manages to lose their wands or even destroy them," Ollivander's voice was tinged with disapproval, and then his face turned grim. "Of course, there are very rare cases in which the wizard or witch in question manages to change so irrevocably, so drastically, that their original wand no longer responds, and they need to procure a new one."

Harry wondered if that was what happened to make him lose the connection to his Holly Wand. His death? This odd, unexplainable form of time travel? Or maybe even the lack of Horcrux in his scar? He couldn't help but grimace. What if his original wand had only chosen him because of the piece of soul in his head? But no, housing the soul of the Dark Lord did not compare to being tossed back in time to a different dimension.

He shook his head and grabbed his wand. Harry had no way of knowing, and he had spent far too much time dwelling on 'what-ifs'.

His hand mechanically moved towards his back pocket.

Don't put your wand there, boy! Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know...

Moody's warning rang in his head, and his right hand froze just as it was about to place the wand in his oversized jeans. The retired auror might have been paranoid, but he had a point. Did he want to risk it?

No, Harry liked his buttocks the way they were, thank you very much.

"Do you have anything… to hold my wand in, Mr Ollivander?"

"I do sell wand holsters, Mr Potter. Anything from simple leather to dragon hide or enchanted bicorn skin," the wandmaker said in his usual soft voice.

"Enchanted how, sir?" He had no memory of wand holsters in his previous world. Was this something unique here, or was he simply ignorant after being raised in a muggle household?

"A notice-me-not, a charm to prevent breaking, protection against misfiring, and more. Invisible to nearly everyone else after you strap it to your leg or forearm, and just by willing it, your wand will appear in your hand immediately," was the quick response.

This sounded darn bloody useful. Why wasn't everyone using wand holsters?

"What's the difference between bicorn leather and dragon hide?"

"Dragonhide is extremely magic resistant, and any enchantments placed on it wouldn't hold for too long if you managed to enchant it. On the other hand, bicorn leather is somewhat physically tough and a great conductor of magic!"

"How much for your finest enchanted holster?" Harry asked as he spun his wand between his fingers absent-mindedly.

"Two hundred and seventy galleons." The amused response had the boy gaping like a fish. So that's why… he had plenty of money, but… this was quite a lot! "My best is made out of the finest bicorn hide, which is incredibly resilient. The enchantments were painstakingly done in a way that would last without fail for many decades, unlike the… cheaper versions made out of inferior materials. A normal leather wand holster with no enchantments costs two galleons."

Harry felt indecisive for a moment. He had more than enough gold, and his vault was overflowing. But if he started spending freely like this, he could quickly end up with nearly nothing. Yet Ollivander would not dupe him.

"I'll take it," he declared as his throat went dry. Harry quickly piled golden coins next to the seven gold coins on the counter.

A few minutes later, the wandmaker looked at the pile of gold before him with exasperation. Harry graciously received a sleek black holster with intricate silver lining and was just about to strap it to his hip.

"From a particularly vicious Bicorn. This one is best worn on your forearm, though you can place it above the knee, be it under or over your clothes, Mr Potter." Seeing his confused expression, the wandmaker quickly elaborated. "The insides are bigger than they look."

Harry quickly attached it to his forearm instead. It felt completely weightless, and he would not even know it was there if he didn't see it with his own eyes. The yew wand, which was longer than his forearm, effortlessly disappeared inside. He cautiously moved his limb; it did not stick out or impair the movement in any way, nor could he feel any additional weight.

With a simple thought, his new wand was instantly back in his hand; it was easier than calling a broom. A smile bloomed on his face as he holstered his wand back in; this was worth every galleon. Harry felt foolish spending seven years without this.

"Do you sell wand-care kits?"

"I do. Oh no, the kit will be on me. Consider it a gift," Ollivander hurriedly said as Harry reached for his mokeskin bag again.

"Thank you, sir."

After handing him a small, varnished box, the wandmaker's face turned deathly serious, and his pale eyes bore into him like a pair of drills.

"There is not a single shred of doubt in my mind that you're destined for great things, Mr Potter. Do not make me regret crafting this wand."

Harry gulped and left the store with mixed feelings and an emptier purse. Deep down, he still yearned to be a normal boy, but it was not meant to be in this life either. He had not started the first year yet, but he already possessed a unique wand with a legendary core, second only to the Death Stick.

As soon as he came outside, the Transfiguration professor asked, "Did you get your wand, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry absentmindedly nodded.

"It's time to return you home. Hold on tight." McGonagall grasped his hand before Harry could say anything; he was being squeezed through a straw. He shakily landed on his feet, and the professor handed him a standard school trunk. "All your books and the ticket for Hogwarts Express are in here. It leaves at 11 AM sharp, so be there on time."

A loud crack echoed, and a dazed Harry was standing alone with his trunk on the front lawn of Privet Drive Number Six. For a short moment, he realised that his future professor had not told him how to get to platform nine and three-quarters again and sighed heavily.

Harry tiredly looked at the house in front of him and frowned. While it was not the same house as the one in his previous life, it was similar. Way too similar. The only true difference was the address.

Unpleasant memories from his previous life came to the forefront of his mind. Harry had already taken his goodbyes with the Dursleys and intended never to see them again. Hell, even living in a magical tent as a fugitive was preferable to staying in the tender care of his relatives.

A million questions ran through his mind, and Harry was confused and desperately needed rest and quiet. There was this nagging feeling in the corner of his mind that he had forgotten something. His head felt too muddled to come up with any profound plans, but there was a quite simple and obvious solution that his tired mind quickly provided.

Turning around to face the street, the yew wand appeared in his grasp, and Harry raised his arm first to the road and then towards the skies.

26th of July, 1991

His stomach grumbled and angrily twisted in hunger, forcing Harry to open his eyes. He looked blearily at the rustic wooden ceiling and scowled. All he wanted to do was lie down and fall asleep, but his guts' persistent and noisy protests prevented him from returning to the sweet embrace of nothingness. Sleeping without any nightmares or visions was simply blissful.

His hand mechanically wandered towards the oaken nightstand and froze. A small measure of joy rose within him when he remembered that he no longer needed glasses.

Harry forced his stiff limbs to move, got up, and went to freshen up in the bathroom. The cold water jolted him fully awake, and his eyes wandered towards the mirror again. He looked small, scrawny, and pale. A weird sight, especially without the round glasses, but at least he could see properly now. The small details in the lavatory, the faint, barely noticeable scar on the middle of his brow, or every single tear in his crumpled, oversized shirt. Usually, he would be celebrating, but…

He wanted to think this was all a dream, but the pain of pinching his arm was real enough, and the alternative was… being dead. Why him? Why always him? He faced so many perils, fought so hard, only to die, and now he had to do it all over again?!

Anger bubbled up within him, and he wanted to scream and shout and rage against the injustice, but he found himself gritting his teeth, shaking his head, and squashing it all down. Harry knew well enough that being angry solved nothing and that the world was unfair. Crying or sulking about it would only waste your time.

He was already a deft hand at being in a crappy situation and could only accept it as it was and force himself to keep going.

As Harry sluggishly put on his robe and wand holster, an errant thought made him halt. Maybe this was the real world, and he had been having strange dreams from another life altogether.

This made his heart skip a bit, but he realised it was something easily checked. Harry carefully strapped his holster to his forearm, and the pale wand appeared in his grasp again and froze.

He was underage again, and the pesky Trace was probably applied to his wand. But…was it? He had no idea how it worked. He vividly remembered Dobby getting him into trouble in the summer after the first year. Hell, didn't Dumbledore explain that the ministry had no way of tracking who cast the spell, just the location? If he used magic here and now, could the Ministry know that he was the one to cast it and not…one of the adult wizards and witches in the Leaky Cauldron below?

With a grin, Harry pointed the wand at the small candlestick on his nightstand. Swish and flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry felt a small pull in his gut, and the candlestick uneasily floated up as he slowly raised his wand. The spell felt choppy, clumsy, and taxing, but it worked well enough.

Casting with this wand felt… odd and different in a way he could not put his finger on, but not unpleasant. It didn't matter. A small yet genuine smile bloomed on his face; his memories were most definitely not a product of his imagination but something he did live through. He stopped the channelling, and the candlestick fell sharply with a loudthunk.

Minutes ticked as he tensely looked at the window… but no ministry owl with a letter appeared. Only the morning sun was shyly peaking over a handful of clouds to the east. All this time…he could have avoided the Dursleys and cast magic freely just by staying in Diagon Alley.

Harry let out a self-deprecating chuckle; he had not felt so foolish in quite a while. At least he had made the right decision to come here.

Yet there was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind; wand aside, spells and magic itself feltdifferent.

His gaze settled on the pale yew in his hand. Harry carefully spun it between his fingers, but it felt awkward as it was longer than his former Holly wand, and his fingers were smaller. Harry grasped it strongly before gently jabbing while twisting the tip of his wand.

"Ignis Sectum!"

His insides lurched, and his wand belched out a small, misshapen streak of fire that fizzled out harmlessly in the air half a second later. Harry, however, fell on the ground, heaving heavily. Large beads of sweat had formed upon his brow, and his heart was beating like a drum, making him feel as if he had been running for hours. His stomach twisted painfully before grumbling loudly in protest.

'Bloody f*cking hell!'He cursed inwardly for a few seconds more as he gasped for breath while facing the wooden floor up close.

Nearly seven years of effort gone just like that. Wasted. Harry angrily slammed his fist on the floor, and the sharp pain in his hand jolted his weary mind.

It was not necessarily for nought. All the knowledge he had accumulated from his studies was still there; now, he just had to practice again. And having the ability to cast magic during the summer would help him along even further. But it was not enough. He vividly remembered Voldemort demolishing him as if it were child's play. The memory of Dumbledore's fight against the Dark Lord in the ministry was even more sobering. He had a long road ahead of him.

Shaking his head, Harry forced his weary limbs to get up; he had no idea what to do now. His guts painfully twisted in hunger again, reminding him that he did not remember the last time he had a decent meal. With a thought, the yew wand was returned to the holster; Harry stumbled out of the room and headed down the wooden staircase.

Tom nodded at him as soon as he entered the pub proper. Aside from a pair of old wizards playing chess in a dark corner, the Leaky was empty. Harry approached a table near the fireplace and waved the barman over.

"Mr Creevy," Tom greeted with a toothless smile, and Harry stared in incomprehension for a moment. Right, he had completely forgotten that he had introduced himself as Evans Creevy. "How was yer sleep, lad?"

"Very good, sir," Harry replied, only for his stomach to rumble loudly in hunger, making his cheeks redden slightly. "What's for breakfast?"

"Bacon 'n eggs and shepherd's pie," Tom chortled with amusem*nt.

"I'll take a large portion of both."

As he watched the man move towards the kitchen, the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something appeared again in the back of his head, but nothing came to his mind, no matter how hard he tried to remember.

Voldemort was on the cusp of victory.

But on All Hallow's Eve in 1981, the Dark Lord attacked the Potters in their cottage in Godric's Hollow. James and Lily Potter were easily killed, but when the Dark Lord attempted to slay their son, a fifteen-month-old baby, something went wrong. Nobody knows what or how, and there have been many speculations ever since. The only certain thing was that Harry James Potter survived the Killing Curse, and the Dark Lord was defeated.

He slammed 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' shut.

Lily! Take Harry and go! It's him! Run! I'll hold him off!

Crack!

The sharp sound brought him back to reality. He stared at the nearby vase, which was covered in fissures. His breathing was laboured, and he became acutely aware of the pain in his right hand. It was painfully balled in a fist, and his nails were digging into his flesh, drawing blood. Harry slowly unclenched his hand and carefully looked around to check if someone had noticed his outburst of accidental magic. Thankfully, nobody had seen, so he carefully grasped his wand and spun the tip.

"Reparo!"

Some of the cracks disappeared, but a large portion mockingly stayed. Harry had to cast two more times before the vase looked… unbroken. Even then, when he approached, there were faint lines where the cracks used to be.

He shook his head, wiped the beads of sweat that had formed upon his brow, returned the wand to his holster, and went back to the book. Compared to what he was used to, he got tired too quickly when casting simple magic. Hopefully, this would be easily fixed with enough practice.

It took him a few minutes, but he finally found the entry he sought.

On the third of November, 1981, Sirius Black, the notorious right-hand of the Dark Lord, was apprehended after killing twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew, of whom only a single finger was left. He has also been rumoured to be the Secret Keeper to the Potters and the man who betrayed their location to the Dark Lord. He resides in the high-security wing of Azkaban Prison, along with the Dark Lord's most dangerous followers.

It seemed that some things did not change. His faint scar was a dead giveaway, but he had secretly hoped things were different. Now, he had to somehow free his godfather from prison in a way that did not involve breaking him out of Azkaban. And that would probably require him to capture Peter Pettigrew. Harry grimaced at the yellow pages, closed the book, and returned it to the shelf. He was unsure if he could be so merciful to the rat again this time. But he had no idea where to start. Was Pettigrew even still at the Weasleys?

He sighed tiredly; another problem for later.

Harry had looked over his school books earlier, and things looked mostly the same. He did not truly remember many details from the first-year material, but nothing seemed different. Last time, he had studied religiously and practised hard for seven years, but in the end, Voldemort was still way out of his league. He could fight his death eaters just fine, but the Dark Lord easily toyed with him. Maybe Voldemort never made Horcruxes here?

'As if I'd ever be so lucky,'he snorted inwardly.

Knowing his luck, Tom Riddle was still alive, after his head, and probably more powerful than in his world. Harry had to consciously fight off the desire to return to his bed and fall asleep or run away from Britain altogether. Ignoring that Harry had never gone outside Britain before, pretending that his problems didn't exist or running away from them did not make them go away. He had ample experience in this regard. Not that he could successfully escape from Voldemort even if he wanted to. Not with the prophecy hanging ominously over his head.

The Dark Lord believed it enough to go and kill a fifteen-month-old baby personally.

Maybe Harry could run away. But where? He had never been outside Britain before and knew no other languages. He could maybe learn, but that would take time, and he had no idea where to start. And, even if he went to America and somehow enrolled in Ilvermorny, there was no guarantee that Voldemort would let him go. Did Harry want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the Dark Lord or his followers?

No! He was not a coward and was done running away!

And the only way to deter Voldemort was strength. The Dark Lord avoided confronting Dumbledore. Harry also remembered that Voldemort seemed just as monstrously powerful despite his training and efforts. Thankfully, the Dark Lord was probably still a shade right now.

Or maybe possessing the DADA teacher…

It would be great if Harry could get rid of Voldemort before he regained his body, but he doubted it. The Horcruxes were hidden behind deadly protections if they were even in the same items and locations as before. The last time, it was mostly luck that Harry destroyed anything.

But what if his luck ran out this time? He would not drag a young Ron and Hermione into this whole mess. Not to mention that his spells all felt shoddy right now.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of going to the Headmaster and securing his assistance. Surely, Dumbledore could do something more with Harry's knowledge from his previous life. Surely, the Headmaster could deal with all the problems on his own?

A strangled scoff escaped his throat, and Harry tiredly ran his hand through his unruly black hair. A few days ago, he would have gladly done it. But now… now he simply did not trust the Headmaster. He wanted to; he truly wanted to have faith in Albus Dumbledore, but… he simply couldn't anymore.

Perhaps he could pretend he was a normal kid, enjoy school, and try and make friends with the eleven-year-old children whose greatest problems were detentions with the teachers. Harry's gaze slid towards a young boy his age who was animatedly trying to convince his mother to buy him 'Quidditch Through the Ages'.

Could he forget the spiral of desperation and terror he had experienced in the last three years? For a short moment, he imagined himself sitting there, trying to convince Lily Potter to buy him his favourite book…

But such a thing would never come to pass.

Harry Potter would never see his mother and father because they gave their lives so he could live.

Magic is Might!

A forlorn sigh tore from his lips, and he shook his head. Harry grimaced and looked at the vast shelves laden heavy with all sorts of books. Doing what he did last time would not cut it. If the standard books of spells were enough to defeat the Dark Lord, he would have been apprehended by a pair of Aurors. His self-made spell was all well and good, but Voldemort had simply stepped out of the way. Harry needed something different. Something more.

Nearly two hours later, Harry left Flourish and Blots with a loaded trunk. He had forced himself to fork out another three hundred galleons for an enchanted trunk with a vast library space that could fit hundreds of tomes and another two hundred galleons to buy every book that seemed remotely useful.

It was early afternoon outside, and the cobbled streets were brimming with people. Harry walked slowly and relished in the hubbub as nobody even spared him more than a glance. In front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, he even saw a young man, probably just out of Hogwarts, fully dressed in black leather and surrounded by a group of swooning witches. He was quite pretty, better looking than the fraud Lockheart even. Then, the man's hair lengthened and changed from black to silvery, and if you asked Harry later, he would deny gaping like a fish out of water.

"Eros, marry me!" A red-haired witch shouted, and Harry almost choked while the other witches went crazy.

The man simply smiled, pulled the redhead and kissed her deeply, eliciting sighs and squeals from the crowd.

It took him a few moments, but Harry quickly rushed away, unwilling to watch this… show any further. And who the hell would name their son Eros?

A few moments later, the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important appeared again. He had his wand and his ticket for the Hogwarts Express. Harry had carefully checked his trunk earlier; McGonagall had purchased all his necessary school supplies, from pewter cauldrons to dragonhide gloves.

So if he had everything, what in the bloody hell was he missing?

A moment later, Harry froze on the spot, face rapidly paling. He spun around and rushed towards the Eeylops Owl Emporium. How the bloody hell could he have forgotten about Hedwig?!

Chapter 4: Search

Chapter Text

How in Merlin's saggy pants could he have forgotten about Hedwig?!

Harry rushed towards Eeylops Owl Emporium, or at least tried to, with his heavy trunk slowing him down, despite it being charmed to be lighter. It worked well enough; otherwise, he would not have been able to lift it with the number of books he had purchased.

A few older witches looked at him as if he was crazy as he lugged his trunk with his scrawny frame while trying to rush with it. By the time he reached his destination, he was sweating and gasping for breath. While the Dursleys did not keep him hungry, they didn't bother feeding him much either. After all, withholding food was one of their staple punishments. Unsurprisingly, Harry did not shoot up in height until he reached Hogwarts. He had forgotten how weak and quick to tire he was as a child before he could eat freely or survive the torturous Quidditch training.

The owl shop had its windows darkened, and almost nothing could be seen inside. A chime rang as Harry passed the rustic wooden door. The first thing that greeted him was the rancid smell of owl droppings and a few weary hoots. Most of the owls were asleep in the dark room, but a select few were glaring at him with their beady yellow eyes.

"Welcome to Eeyelops Owl Emporium," a bored voice greeted him from the counter. "How may I help you?"

The shopkeeper was a middle-aged witch with a feathery hat and bright orange robe that was jarring to the eyes.

"I am here to purchase an owl, ma'am," Harry replied uncertainly as he looked around, searching for Hedwig.

"We have tawny owls, screech owls, barn owls, and brown owls," the shopkeeper lady waved around the shop as he felt dread setting inside his stomach.

That...certainly explained why he had not seen his fateful companion.

"Don't you also sell snowy owls? The shop sign outside said so..."

"We used to sell them before," the woman admitted, finally straightening up. "But not anymore. They are far more expensive yet no better than other owls. We scarcely sold one last year, so we simply stopped ordering more."

Harry dazedly left the shop and mechanically walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron without even responding to the following pitch sale of tawny owls.

Did he really need a pet owl? The truth was ... he did not. He spent a year on the run without Hedwig well enough. Hell, Harry had nobody to send letters to!

But Hedwig... Hedwig was far more than a simple owl or a pet. She had been a loyal companion who often helped him tide through the miserable summers in Surrey and faithfully. She had given her life, defending him from a Killing Curse even!

At that moment, he felt guilty. He never truly had the chance to mourn. Moody had also died that night, and... his death was a far bigger tragedy for the Order than that of a single snowy owl. After that, it was the hurried wedding preparation and the desperate time on the run...

He was already climbing the wooden staircase in the Cauldron when he remembered that there was one more pet shop in Diagon. When Harry visited the Magical Menagerie after the Second Year, there were no owls. Or at least none that he could remember.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, he quickly left the library trunk in his room and rushed to the pet store.

The Magical Menagerie was just like he remembered - smelly, noisy, and cramped. He carefully inspected his surroundings while an unfamiliar blond boy his age spoke with the proprietress, trying to choose between three cats... or maybe they were kneazles?

Harry looked around, his gaze only glancing over the enormous purple toads, steelers, and a particularly vicious-looking fire crab. There were a couple of rafters full of eggs of various sizes and colours, none of which Harry could recognise. His gaze, however, settled onto a cage of cawing ravens. He was filled with jubilation for a moment as he spotted a sleeping snowy owl in the cage above them. But it was quickly replaced with disappointment as he approached and saw that it had a few brown feathers on its chest and was smaller than Hedwig.

"Another ssstupid two-legsss,"Harry froze at the low, hissing voice, and he could swear he heard a soft cracking sound.

He slowly turned towards it, only to be faced with a bright-yellow horned viper, rearing angrily at him from within a small vivarium amidst a rafter full of sleeping snakes. His hand subconsciously reached for his faded scar while taking a step back. He almost slammed into the rafter with the eggs while his finger ran along his brow. Once again, he only found a very thin, small line.

Was he still a Horcrux?

There was no burning pain, no headaches, and he felt far too... light, far too unfettered. He had lived with the cursed scar for as long as Harry could remember, and it never felt so... free.

No, he knew it in his bones. The sliver of Voldemort's soul was no longer there.

But then, why could he still understand snakes?!

He desperately wanted to say something to the snake and see if he could still speak Parseltongue... but now was not the time or the place. The bell rang, and he spun to see the blond boy from earlier happily leave the store with an ash-coloured kneazle in hand. Harry swallowed heavily as he forced his drumming heart to calm down and turned towards the witch on the counter.

"Excuse me," his voice came out raspy, and his throat felt very dry, but he forced himself to continue speaking. "Are these owls," he motioned his hand towards the cages with the birds, "all you have here?"

"Yes, dearie," she answered, gently nudging the heavy black spectacles upon her nose. "Eeyloops Owl Emporium has a far bigger selection of owls, but any other-"

At that moment, he had to face the hard truth. Hedwig... was not here. Maybe, someone else bought her before. Or his snowy old did not ever arrive in Diagon Alley if she existed in the first place...

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry politely interrupted the sales pitch of purple toads while trying to keep his tone impassive and left the store.

His feet carried him back to the Leaky as Harry slowly tried to come to terms. As the years went by, he lost many things. His parents were gone too early, but could you truly lose something you didn't remember having? Cedric was just a face he had known, but he was directly responsible for his death. Sirius... his only hope of a family, a father figure, died because of Harry's folly. And Dumbledore...

At some point, he suspected that he'd never get away alive from the war but pushed those thoughts deep inside lest he was tempted to give up. In the end, Harry voluntarily walked to his death. All that struggle, sacrifice, death, and suffering and for what?

He never really had the chance to mourn Hedwig properly, especially when everything became a downward spiral of struggle, desperation, and agony, and death and misery slowly became commonplace.

So, why...whydid it hurtsomuch?!

He entered his room, locked it again, and threw himself on the bed, feeling like a stranger in a world filled with familiar faces.

At that moment, something cold tickled his wrist, making him jump.

"Cold,"a small, barely noticeable, pitiful, weak hissing came from his covers. Harry stood there, too stunned to do anything, as a tiny, pitch-black serpentine head popped out of the crumpled bedding, looking at him, and quickly made its way towards his hand and coiled around his wrist.

27th of July

A young child's magic is uncontrollable. No two children are the same, but at the age of eleven, it generally settles down enough for children to begin their magical education in earnest.

A young wizard, however, will still struggle to cast more complex magics, even if they are powerful. Magic takes time and extensive practice to fully mature and settle. This process continues while the witch or wizard has not yet come of age. Although it's important to note that there are too many factors here, there are methods to help speed along the process and increase a young witch or wizard's control.

Magic is internal to wizards. There have been many theories and speculations about where or how exactly it is stored; the only decisive conclusion is that it is "inside" the body. The more you use magic, the bigger your capacity gets. But this phenomenon seems to be true only for those who have not yet reached the age of majority. After a wizard becomes an adult, any increases in the amount of magic through practice is marginal at best.

Well, that definitely explained why he was struggling with spells so much. After all, he was not even eleven yet and had never consciously used magic. And this other bit about magic stored inside the body was completely new. Harry had not delved deep into the basics in his old world, but he was quite sure things were different. Something along the lines of magic being external, and wizards would get tired after they channelled more than their body or mind was used to. It didn't matter, though; this certainly worked in his favour. The harder he practised, the more results he would get.

Harry quickly skimmed through the recommended methods for gaining a greater grasp on your magic. All of them were basic spells that required great control, precision or visualisation from the caster. He closed "On Magic"and placed it on the table.

At that moment, the snake slithered out of his sleeve and looked at him with warm, dark eyes. He gently ran his finger under its mouth, and it hissed happily, bringing a small smile to his face. Harry debated returning it to the Menagerie, where it probably had escaped but decided against it. He had no idea how to explain the snake's presence to the proprietress; frankly, he did not want to part with it.

Still, keeping it would be wrong. Harry was not a thief, after all.

"Come,"he urged the snake back into his right sleeve, coiling around his forearm. "And stay hidden."

At first, it had been a rather foreign sensation, but after two days, it felt…nice. His new pet, or at least would-be-pet until Harry paid for him, could only speak a few simple words. Most of the time, it stayed silent and just slept. It didn't even eat, which was also worrisome.

It took him five minutes to get back to the Magical Menagerie. Thankfully, there were no other customers this time.

"Ah, you again? Finally decided on a pet?"

"Err, sort of," he coughed, running his left hand through his messy hair. "Have you lost one of your snakes lately?"

"No, nothing is missing," the proprietress muttered after thinking for a few seconds. "Why?"

"I found a small snake in my robes sometime after I left the shop," he replied as vaguely as possible as he pushed down his embarrassment. "Are you sure it's not one of yours?"

"I don't think so, but it won't hurt to look. Do you have it with you?"

He gently pulled the snake out of his sleeve and held it up with his palm. Its small head rose in the air and looked around warily.

"Maybe he hatched from one of the eggs," Harry nodded towards one colourful rafter full of eggs as the hatchling hissed in displeasure in his hand.

"Unlikely, we have special incubators for those, and hatching most eggs requires specific conditions," she explained and donned a pair of dragonhide gloves. "Bring it here, and be careful not to be bitten."

He carefully placed the snake on the counter, but it panicked and instantly tried to hide behind one of the books nearby. Harry carefully took it in his hand again and ran a finger beneath its jaw, making it close its eyes in contentment.

The witch looked at him with wide eyes full of surprise behind her heavy spectacles.

"I don't think it will bite me," he explained half-heartedly as he gently placed his hand with his new pet on the counter.

She nodded gingerly, cautiously approached the now still snake, and observed for a few seconds. Harry tensed as she took out her wand and waved it several times over his new companion.

"Well, this is certainly interesting!" she exclaimed, putting the wand back into her robes.

"What is interesting?"

"What you have here is some sort of weird hybrid. It looks similar to a black mamba, but the colour is too dark and has horns like a viper. There is also a faint dark-green zig-zag pattern on its back that is common to adders. Snakes like this can fetch a pretty knut at potion masters. I am certainly interested in purchasing it," the witch proposed thoughtfully.

"I've grown rather attached to it," he declined immediately and quickly returned his distressed companion to his sleeve.

"I'd be more careful if I were you, young man," she admonished him. "While the common adder is not too dangerous, both the black mamba and the horned viper are extremely venomous. One bite in your sleep, and you'll never wake again. If you insist on keeping it, I suggest you buy a bezoar from the apothecary. It can protect you from most poisons and slow the stronger ones. You should also consider buying a vivarium so it does not wander around and bite someone."

"I'll take one," he agreed after mulling for a few moments. It was not a bad idea since he was going to keep the snake. "Any idea why he doesn't eat at all, though?"

"Hmm, I'd wager it's because it's too young," the proprietor hummed thoughtfully. "Young snakes take up to a few weeks to start eating, so don't worry."

1st of August

Since yesterday, he was officially eleven again. It was a short, private celebration involving a generous amount of treacle tart. Now though, he was back to his routine.

Harry finished his control exercises and sprawled on the wooden floor panting for breath as his new pet lazily watched him from the desk near the window as she basked under the sun. These exercises did not only push his magic but his intent and visualisation as well. It was tiring but effective. In less than five days, he had managed to see quite an improvement. His magic still felt unruly and odd, but he was still getting used to it. Silent casting and the more complex magic continued to evade him, no matter the attempts.

When he pushed himself, he began to become physically tired as well. Harry always took care to stop immediately as soon as he felt sluggish, as completely emptying yourself from magic supposedly caused magical exhaustion, as opposed to the old world when you used too much too fast. The result was similar; if you overdid it, you would be out of commission for a few days, if not weeks.

It took him a minute to get his breathing under control. Harry got up from the floor and dragged himself to the small bathroom for a quick shower.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on the desk feeling refreshed and browsing through his new collection of books.

Most wizards never bother training their bodies. But while you can do almost everything with magic, I've found that having a trained body is essential for a hit-wizard. Not only does training your body improve your control of magic to a lesser degree, but it could be a decisive factor when fighting an opponent of a similar calibre. While duelling has etiquette and rules to follow, that is not the case for fighting. There is no such thing as honour or rules in combat; anything goes, and the most ruthless wizard wins!

To truly rise as a capable hit-wizard, you must hone not only your magic but your body and mind to the utmost limit.

Did his spellwork improve after joining the Quidditch team in his first year? Harry vaguely remembered struggling hard with magic at the start, but it was no longer such an issue after a certain period. Nyx slithered into view and nudged his hand. He quickly placed 'Hardwin's Hitwizard Guide to Practical Combat'on the small table.

"Food!"

He gave her a few flies he had caught in a jar. Letting her out to hunt for herself in the middle of the city was too risky, so Harry had to find her food. Luckily, she was small and easy to feed. He watched as his new…pet happily gobbled up her meal.

Yeah, it was a she. Harry had attempted a few male names, only to get angry hisses in response. Of all the feminine names, his new companion liked Nyx the most.

Having a snake was odd. Harry was well aware of their terrible reputation, but Nyx was just a sweet little hatchling. Harry had bought the glass container for her, but she didn't like it too much, despite it being enchanted to always stay warm. Since Nyx always seemed to listen to him, he gingerly allowed her free rein around the room.

That last passage made him think hard. He was already working hard on his magic; maybe it was time to work on his body and mind. There was a public park close enough. Harry could jog there but had to get sporty clothes instead of Dudley's oversized rags.

But how could one hone their mind?

After a few minutes of contemplating, Harry scowled when he reached a realisation. The only thing he knew could be classified as mind magic was Obliviation, Occlumency, and Legilimency, and he seriously didn't want to dabble with something like obliviation, lest he ended up like that fraud Lockheart.

Harry didn't like practising Occlumency, especially after the torture that Snape had the gall to call lessons. Still, he had to admit it was a helpful skill, especially against powerful Legilimens like Voldemort. And most of all, Harry hated the idea that certain people like Snape could read his mind.

With his mind made up, he quickly stood up and headed for the door.

"Take,"a panicked hiss quickly made him turn around and present his sleeve. Nyx slithered in and coiled around his forearm again. Harry finally left his room, locked his door, and headed towards Gringotts.

He couldn't help but wonder how big Nyx would get. What if she grew to the size of that boa constrictor from the zoo? He would no longer be able to stealthily carry her around on his arm. The image of a giant snake hanging over his body while he tried to go to the store made him chuckle softly. Only time could tell how big Nyx would get since she seemed unique. He would deal with problems like this when they came; there were more important things to worry about now.

Harry entered the bank and warily looked around. Thankfully, there were few customers, and less than a third of the desks were taken. He quickly walked over to one of the desks in one of the corners, away from the other wizards.

"Can I exchange galleons for muggle currency here?" He quietly inquired the teller.

"Yes, one Galleon for forty Pounds," the goblin nodded, and his eyes gleamed with interest.

Wait, didn't that mean he had much more money than he thought?

"I'd like to exchange fifty galleons," Harry replied after thinking for half a minute and counting the gold coins on the counter.

Two thousand pounds would be more than enough to buy himself decent muggle clothes for the next few years.

The goblin counted the Galleons again and handed over forty banknotes of fifty pounds each.

"Anything else I can help you with?" The teller asked with a toothy smile, far friendlier than before.

"I would like to withdraw from my vault," Harry hesitantly requested.

He had spent a lot of money in the last week, so refilling his pouch would be prudent. He was already in Gringotts and had no intention of returning anytime soon if he could help it.

"Name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied quietly and looked around warily. Nobody else seemed to have heard.

"And does Mr Potter have his key?" The goblin asked curiously as his eyes inspected his forehead.

Harry wordlessly handed the little golden key. The teller grunted and beckoned to follow him into a side hallway.

A wild cart ride later, he was again faced with vault 687, where all his wealth stayed.

"Err, is it possible for Gringotts to tell me how much money I have here?" he couldn't help but ask.

"It will cost you two galleons, Mr Potter," the goblin unhelpfully replied. Harry swore inwardly at the greedy little buggers and tossed the creature two gold coins from the pile. The goblin deftly grabbed it and vanished somewhere in the darkness for a moment before returning. "There are 33,789 Galleons, 13,651 sickles, and 7,893 knuts inside, Mr Potter."

Harry returned another book to the shelf and ran a hand through his unruly hair. It had been a few hours, and the most he had found was the barest mention of Occlumency. It seemed that it was indeed a very obscure study. He looked around at the endless rows of shelves stacked to the ceiling and finally conceded defeat with a tired sigh.

Having no choice, Harry approached the proprietor, who was intently reading a book.

"Excuse me, sir, where can I find books on Occlumency?

He finally saw the book's name and could barely suppress his snort.

"Occlumency? You'll find no books on the Mind Arts here, young man," the wizard quietly replied, placing 'Felix Fawley's Fabulous Adventures'down on the counter.

"Do you know if any other shops sell them?"

"It is rare to see someone so young be interested in something like this," the man muttered thoughtfully, scratched his chin, and curiously looked at Harry. "But I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you; the Ministry has banned the sale of books on the subject. If you truly wish to learn, you'll have to find someone willing to teach you."

Harry thanked the man while trying to cover his grimace and left the shop. It looked like the Ministry was as useless a nuisance in this world as it was in his own. His stomach rumbled in hunger again, forcing him to head back to the Leaky and order a serving of bacon, meat pie, and a small slice of treacle tart. Ever since he returned, his appetite had been quite large.

The only practitioners of Occlumency he knew of were Dumbledore, Snape, and Voldemort, and it would be a cold day in hell before he gave any of them access to his mind. The problem was that the only thing he knew about the art was 'clear your mind', and a certain miserable potion professor never bothered to teach him anything beyond while brutally battering his mind.

'What a load of bloody bollocks!'

Harry wished he didn't have to bother at that moment, but leaving his mind unprotected with his memories was too dangerous.

What would he do now? Avoid the eyes of certain people, try to clear his mind, and hope for the best?

Just as he finished devouring the last pieces of his meal, an… idea appeared in his mind.

Harry left three sickles on the table to pay for the food and returned to the Alley. Before approaching the corner where Knockturn Alley's entrance was, he pulled the hood to cover his face so only his mouth was visible and walked inside, trying to look confident. A pity that his short stature would probably give him away.

He was already getting curious looks from a few hags around the corner of a shop selling ominous-looking junk. His hand twitched, and he had to restrain himself from not pulling the yew wand out. The only real offensive spell he could cast right now was the severing charm. But it was weak and shaky and probably would not truly do anything beyond break the skin. The dilapidated Alley was too dangerous for an eleven-year-old wizard, but Harry had no choice. Every advantage mattered, and doing things like the last time would produce poor results. This is the only place where he could hope to find anything on Occlumency.

Borgin and Burkeslooked just as creepy on the outside as on the inside, with its dark, weathered facade adorned with windows through which you could not see anything but darkness. He steeled himself and pushed the dilapidated door open, making a bell ring ominously. His skin tingled as soon as Harry stepped inside the dimly lit shop, but he paid it no heed and headed directly towards the counter. There was no point in browsing through the severed limbs, human bones, or the assortment of cursed items in the store.

"Do you have any books on Occlumency?" Harry inquired quietly.

Borgin leaned over to take a better look at him and gave an oily smile. The man was missing a tooth, and his breath stank worse than a troll, making Harry gag.

"My boy, selling books about the Mind Arts is illegal," the proprietor's voice was as greasy as his sparse hair. "This is a reputable establishment I run here!"

Harry barely managed to cover his snort with a cough as he glanced at a few human-like skulls in a jar filled with sickly-yellow fluid.

"Surely, you havesomething, if not a book," he took ten galleons from his pouch and placed them on the counter next to a bloodstained bone. "I'm willing to pay."

The man's beady eyes shone with greed, and the gold coins were pocketed in the blink of an eye.

"Now that you mention it, maybe I can find something." Borgin gave him a wide, sleazy smile and disappeared behind an inconspicuous dark door next to a rafter full of malignant-looking daggers.

Harry's gaze wandered around while waiting. There was a myriad of creepy or… wrongly-looking items, such as preserved eyeballs, red fleshy strings, ominous books bound in black leather, and iron instruments that one could easily imagine in a medieval torture room. But the Vanishing Cabinet allowed Draco to smuggle the Death Eaters inside Hogwarts at the end of the Sixth Year was not here. Or maybe he just couldn't find it?

At that moment, the proprietor returned with a rather small book bound in creepy pale leather under his elbow and slammed it on the counter.

'Illegal, my arse!'

"How much?" Harry asked warily.

"A thousand galleons," Borgin declared.

A small fortune for a book? Did he look like a bloody fool?!

"Do you think me mad?! Fifty," Harry countered.

"Boy, there's more than Mind Magic in this diary," the man's oily expression was replaced with caution. "Nine hundred."

Borgin was too damn insistent, but he couldn't say if the man was trying to swindle him or if the value of the so-called diary was truly that high.

"Let me see what's inside first."

"That won't do," the proprietor shook his head vigorously. "If you open the diary, you'd have to buy it!"

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance. For some reason, he couldn't shake away the feeling that he was being tricked. And it was bloody annoying. Worst-case scenario, he'd sneak around the Forbidden Section and hope to find something on Occlumency there.

"A hundred galleons, or I'm leaving!" He gave his final offer.

"Eight hundred and fifty! Surely you understand I'm taking a big risk here-"The regretful expression on Borgin's face froze. The man's eyes widened in horror, and he took a shaky step back.

"Ugly,"an annoyed hiss came from his sleeve, and he saw Nyx poking her small, pitch-black head out and glaring at Borgin.

Harry groaned inwardly. He wanted to chide her, but doing so would expose him as a Parselmouth. He tried to place her back into the sleeve, but the snake slid out of his fingers and coiled around the fabric while continuing to glare at the rapidly paling proprietor.

"Nyx,"the warning slipped out of his mouth, and she finally turned to look at him.A moment later, Harry realised that he had spoken in Parseltongue, and dread filled him.

"Ah… errr," the proprietor coughed a few times as his face was as white as chalk now, and Harry could feel the terror in his voice. "A-A h-hundred galleons will do just f-fine."

Unsure what to do, he stood still like a statue while his heart beat like a drum, and Borgin whimpered in fear. It seemed that he couldn't help but hiss in the language of the snakes when looking at one. Maybe he could get this under control with practice? His free hand checked if his hood was still in place. Relief flooded him when he found the fabric obscuring most of his face.

"Back into the sleeve,"Harry ordered, and Nyx finally slithered back and coiled around his forearm.

He wanted to be mad at the snake but couldn't. The serpent was barely a hatchling and… just helped him save a few hundred galleons. Borgin, however, looked like death had walked over not once but twice.

Screw it!

Harry quickly counted the gold coins, and once he had placed enough, he grabbed the book, shoved it in his inner pocket, and left the store, unwilling to stay even a second longer.

It took a whole minute for his erratic heart to calm down while his legs slowly led him out of Knockturn. Bloody hell, that was too close for comfort. He really needed to get that Parseltongue under control. Although it looked like it could be very useful for intimidation if nothing else.

He cautiously looked around in case someone dodgy decided to make trouble with him. A street vendor selling poisonously-looking candles gave him a creepy toothless smile and made Harry hasten his step. He had seen far worse during the war but had no desire to test his luck.

Red letters above a dingy door grabbed his attention and halted him mid-stride. 'Mallone's Malicious Monsters'. Harry hesitantly approached a fogged window that had not been cleaned in at least half a decade and carefully looked inside the dark interior.

Cages of various shapes and sizes were chaotically spread all over the place with no sign of order. A small three-headed dog was munching on a bloody piece of raw meat in each maw, and next to it was a small ghoul throwing bones at the wooden wall. There was also a pot with what suspiciously looked like a devil's snare. But Harry's eyes were instantly glued to a rusty cage that housed a familiar snowy owl.

Chapter 5: A New Beginning

Chapter Text

1st of September

Harry's shirt was soaked, beads of sweat ran down his brow, and if someone looked at him, they would have thought that he had swum with his clothes on. His mouth stayed shut, the yew wand in his hand swished and flicked, and he tried to push all his intent and focus into levitating the book before him.

It did not work.

He tried again and again until he was gasping for breath as if he had run a marathon. In all honesty, it was not far off since he had gone for a long and exhausting jog at the crack of dawn and has been relentlessly trying to get a grasp on his chantless casting since.

Sadly, it was even harder than before. First and Second-year magic came easily enough to him, but most of the Third-year curriculum was beyond him now, and the spells he could do were finicky and often failed, but less so with more practice. He had never had problems like this before, but then again, he did not get to focus heavily on study and practice until the Second Year.

His magic was too unruly, and, according toOn Magic,it would take time and extensive practice for it to settle down. After perusingHitwizard's Guide to Practical Combatand some other books he had bought, Harry came to the conclusion that to entirely discard incantations and wand motions, you had to have a nearly perfect grasp on will, intent, and control, coupled with a mind-numbing amount of practice, similar to what he knew before. So, once he hit a bottleneck in the spells he could cast, he focused on control, increasing his magical reserves and the mind-numbing amount of exercise. While retraining his mastery of silent casting seemed to be a titanic endeavour because of his young age and growing magic, it was simply an advantage Harry could not afford to discard.

A beeping sound disrupted his focus, making him stop and glance at his watch atop the table. He had bought a water-proof one this time, lest it stopped working again after a dip in the great lake. A tired sigh tore from his mouth; it was half past eight, and it was time to get ready.

He went to the small bathroom, placed his wand and holster to the side, discarded his damp and sweaty clothes in the basket, and entered the small tub. The warm water soothed his sore body and left him feeling invigorated. The first days of his routine were hell and always left him tired and sluggish, but the results finally started to show halfway into August. The feeling of weakness was gone, and he was no longer as quickly tired, both in body and magic, despite pushing himself harder and harder.

There was little time to dally, so Harry quickly scrubbed himself squeaky clean. As he left the tub, his eyes settled on the foggy mirror. While his body was still thin, it was no longer skinny but wiry and tough. He had filled in some - Harry could no longer count his ribs as easily. The daily jogging and walks outside had given his formerly pasty skin a light bronze hue on his arms and face.

"Looking hot, boy!" his reflection in the mirror threw him a wink, making Harry groan.

Once he dried his hands on the towel, he grabbed his wand and dried his body before washing, cleaning, and drying his dirty clothes with a few nifty household charms. In one of his walks through the Alley, he bought 'Helicent's Household Charms'to expand his repertoire, which had proved invaluable, especially since he could freely use magic to deal with the usually annoying daily chores.

Despite the initial harshness of the self-imposed routine, Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so calm and peaceful. While many issues were looming on the horizon, he freely walked in Diagon Alley and muggle London without being gawked at or recognised, much to his relief. Without the glasses and the scar, his appearance did not garner more than a few wayward glances. It felt liberating to be just another face in the crowd.

As he returned to his room, Hedwig flew in through the open window, a sizeable rat in her claws. Its carcass was red with blood, and a significant chunk was missing from its neck. His snowy owl hooted in a challenge at Nyx, who ignored her and continued lazily basking in the morning sun without a care.

Harry sighed at those two. Hedwig was still the same as before, albeit more savage and proud. Far more vicious, making him… suspect how she had ended in Malone's Malicious Monsters in Knockturn. While still friendly with him, her pecks would draw blood when the snowy owl got angry. Whenever she went hunting, she would bring back her heavily mauled prey to show off as a trophy. To Harry's chagrin, he had to stop Hedwig from eating Nyx when they first met until he somehow explained that the snake was not food but a companion. Suffice it to say, the black snake still held a grudge and had decided to pretend the feathery predator did not exist, but he could at least leave them alone in the room and be confident that he'll find both alive and well later.

He finished packing and looked at the watch. It was just passing nine o'clock, and Harry still had time to get a generous breakfast.

Hedwig had just finished devouring her bloody catch, so he waved his wand and muttered a scourgify to clean up the fresh blood, painting the bottom of her perch red. She flapped her wings, and Harry felt claws sinking into his flesh as Hedwig landed on his right shoulder.

Great, another shirt ruined.

"Sstupid white feathersss,"Nyx hissed from the side, eliciting a challenging hoot from Hedwig.

"Don't bicker!" Harry warned sharply, then turned to the snake. "No fighting."Thankfully they returned to ignoring each other again, so he looked at Hedwig. "Girl, do you want to fly to Hogwarts now or take the train with me?"

The owl stared at him with her yellow eyes, hooted, and flew out the window. Harry removed his ruined shirt and stared into the torn places with his yew wand in his grasp.

"Reparo."

It mended well enough, but he knew that using the repairing charm repeatedly would quickly wear down the fabric, and it was less effective with each subsequent use. Harry then looked to inspect his right shoulder and only saw a few deep marks where Hedwig's claws had landed. Thankfully, she had not drawn blood this time.

Suddenly remembering that there was no time to dally, he put his shirt back on, tossed a dark-blue sweater over his shoulder and turned to Nyx, looking at him attentively with her pitch-black eyes. His snake had barely grown an inch and a half last month.

He gently scratched the soft scales underneath her jaw, and she contentedly closed her eyes.

"Do you want to stay in the vivarium or sleep in the sleeve?"

"Ssssleeve!"Was the immediate reply, as the vivarium simply couldn't compare, despite being enchanted to be perfect for snakes.

"Is there anything wrong with the vivarium? Is it not warm enough?"He couldn't help but worry. According to 'How to raise your snake', a book from Flourish and Blotts, human skin was not warm enough to provide enough heat to snakes, yet Nyx's favourite resting place was his forearm.

"Warmth good,"she hissed as she coiled around his wrist. "But box tiny and your magic better!"

Nyx's reply left him stunned for a moment. But in hindsight, he should have expected this, as his new familiar was not a regular snake at all. He had to either buy a bigger vivarium or research into expansion charms, which were, unfortunately, heavily regulated if he remembered correctly. Not that he could cast something so complex while his magic was still unstable. A sigh tore out from his lips, and he looked at the watch before placing the vivarium into the expanded trunk. Almost half past nine, so there was still time for breakfast.

"Not a sound, or I'll leave you in the box,"he warned Nyx, who lightly squeezed his forearm in acknowledgement.

With a flick of his wrist, he murmured the featherweight charm on his two trunks. He shrunk his Hogwarts trunk and placed it in his pocket. On the other hand, his library trunk had an undetectable extension charm that greatly expanded the insides and could not be shrunken. Reducing the size of an object with extended space simply did not work for some reason. Harry locked the door after leaving the room and headed downstairs towards the pub proper, dragging his trunk behind.

"Hello, Tom," he greeted as he reached the counter and placed the key to his room on the polished, darkened bar. He had already paid for his stay long ago.

"It's time for ya to leave, eh, lad?" The old man sighed while he pocketed the key. "Want something solid to fill yer belly before departing for Hogwarts? I got some beef stew ready this mornin'."

His stomach greedily groaned when he recalled that you could only buy desserts on the Hogwarts Express.

"I'll take a double portion," Harry ordered before looking at the board on the wall behind the counter, where all the prices were written with white chalk.

He left two sickles on the counter as Tom disappeared behind a red door, where Harry suspected the kitchen was.

The pub was now rather bustling compared to the earlier morning, and half the tables seemed to be taken, so, after looking around, Harry headed towards the nearest empty table.

There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, regulars at the Leaky that Harry had seen before but did not know their names, aside from Mungundus Fletcher, the dodgy thief quietly speaking with a mangy-looking wizard at the darkest corner.

Shortly after he sat down, Tom brought two generous servings on a polished oaken platter. The hearty scent of beef and spices alluringly wafted out of the steaming bowls, making his stomach grumble with anticipation. But there were two round packages wrapped in brown paper above a simple bag and the stew.

"Here ya go, lad," the old man responded with his toothless smile.

"What's the package, Tom?" Harry asked warily.

"Made you some chicken and cheese sandwich for the train."

"Thank you," Harry smiled. "How much do I owe you for it?"

"Oh no, no, Mr Creevy. There's no need to pay; this one's on me," the old proprietor energetically waved away his concerns. "Ya've been a very good patron for nearly a month here, and it was a pleasure to have ya. Can't let a good strapping lad like ya stay hungry or stuff yourself with those sweets on the Express. 'Tis the least an old man like me can do."

Harry stood there, stunned, as the old man hunched away with a smile. Words eluded him at that moment, but gratitude swelled in his heart. The gesture was so simple, yet it felt sowarm. Truth be told, nobody had helped him before out of the goodness of their heart. It had always been friends or close acquaintances. It was a foreign feeling, one that did not feel bad, and Harry would not forget.

His stomach grumbled hungrily at the alluring smell from the platter before him, tearing Harry away from his daze. The stew was thick and heavy, with a generous amount of meat and vegetables. After taking a small sip with his spoon to check if it was too hot to eat, he hungrily began to gobble it all down. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips at the taste, and his mind slowly wandered as he ate.

The last month had been intense. While Harry made significant progress in his personal training, nothing else of interest happened. At least the diary on Occlumency had proven useful, and for the first time in his life, he had made actual improvement in defending his mind without the need for pain as a catalyst.

He had missed the yearly Weasley shopping for school supplies long the chance to nab Pettigrew. After some contemplation, he realised that the Express would not be a good place to get the rat either, so he was content to wait for Hogwarts. His Godfather survived in Azkaban for nearly ten years; a few months more wouldn't hurt him. If he wanted to stay out of the accursed prison, he should have restrained himself instead of rushing headlong into vengeance with no plan.

Although Harry felt foolish criticising Sirius. He himself wasn't much better about rushing blindly into danger with little to no plans. This time would be different. He would be running into trouble, prepared with a plan or two!

Aside from that, he did see a handful of familiar but far too young faces. All of them were filled with youthful exuberance, wonder, hope, and excitement, a stark contrast to the doom and gloom he had last seen on the expressions of his fellow students after Voldemort's return.

That only strengthened his resolve to deal with things alone this time. Let his friends stay happy and innocent; he did not need to burden them with his woes, risking their lives and families in the process.

Once his spoon reached the bottom of the second bowl, he looked at his wristwatch. An hour was left before the Hogwarts Express would depart, and King Cross Station was about twenty minutes by cab. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be early and have a wide range of compartments to pick from instead of the last free one for once.

He nodded gratefully at Tom and walked out of the Leaky, entering the bustling Charing Cross Road. The sun was shyly peeking through a handful of white clouds. As he neared the cab stand, Harry felt jittery inside at attending Hogwarts, as if he was a young and wide-eyed First Year all over again.

Diana Rosemary Taylor groaned with embarrassment as her mother pulled her into a tight embrace and started ruffling her carefully combed hair.

"Mum, we're in the middle of the station!" She whined pitifully, and her mother finally released her from her grasp. Now her hair was probably a bird's nest, and her face was as red as a shrimp from all the embarrassment.

Although, even without that show of affection, they would have garnered plenty anyway. Diana's mother, Emilia, who always refused to look anything but lavish, wore a silver satin gown lined with sapphires on the rims that would not be out of place in a fashion show. Despite being rather short, Emilia was also beautiful enough with her dark eyes and flowing long hair reminiscent of burnished copper to shame most of the models in question. Her father, Henry, was wearing the most expensive black Armani suit money could buy and cut an imposing figure at 6'4 feet, especially with his sharp face and burly frame.

He crouched down to look directly at the eyes.

"Don't be mad at your mother, kitten," Henry sighed before planting a kiss on her forehead. "We can still send you to Roedean instead of that hocus-pocus frog school."

"It's Hogwarts, Dad," she sighed and looked around carefully. Thankfully, the onlookers weren't close enough to hear anything and were content to gawk from a distance, but she lowered her voice to nary a whisper, despite her excitement. "Who wouldn't want to learn magic?"

"Fine, Diana," he surrendered with a sigh as his amber eyes were filled with resignation for a moment before hardening. "But remember our promise. You will continue your normal school studies and attend exams in the summer. I will not have my daughter's education ruined for some childish fantasy. If your results are less than stellar, you can kiss goodbye to that Warts school!"

"Yes, yes, Father," she agreed dutifully, not bothering to correct him this time.

Challenging her father never ended well for her when he got serious. Regular school was laughably easy and boring; Diana had already covered half of the following year's curriculum in the past month with little effort. She had looked through her magical school books, which all looked exciting. Just the idea of doing magic felt thrilling.

Henry Taylor's stern expression finally softened, and he stood up. Emilia was two heads shorter than her husband, creating a rather comical sight when they were beside each other. Diana just hoped that she would inherit some of her father's height because remaining a midget seemed like a lame prospect.

"Did you have to wear those… clothes, Ana?" Her mother asked, distaste heavy in her voice as she motioned towards Diana's plain, ordinary jeans and blue shirt.

"Witches and wizards wear different clothes, Mom," she deflected.

Diana was done wearing posh clothes. The last time she thought she had made a friend, it turned out that the traitor Liz had just befriended her cause she fancied the clothes. Not that she'd ever tell her parents; they would worry too much!

"Plain robes and pointy hats," her mother scoffed with disdain. "You should have let me design you a fashionable robe to wear. Or at least wear something better than those rags you have on."

"Stop fretting, sweetheart; our kitten would look perfect in a burlap sack," her father chimed in and grabbed her mother's hand. "She has entered her rebellious years. If she's half as stubborn as you are, the more you push, the more she'll go the other way."

Diana's cheeks reddened again as her mother thoughtfully nodded.

"Hey, don't talk as if I'm not here!" Her father ignored her protests and instead pulled her mother into a deep, loud kiss, attracting even more attention from the surrounding crowd and making Diana cover her face with a palm. "You two are totally gross. Can't you do this in your own room?"

"You'll understand when you grow up, kitten," her father finally separated from her dazed mother and gave Diana an annoyingly patronising smile.

"I'll be going now," she declared, unwilling to stay with her disgustingly mushy parents any longer and turned to the solid brick barrier dividing platforms Nine and Ten, where Professor McGonagall had explained the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to be.

"There's still half an hour, Ana," her red-cheeked mother finally gathered her bearings and motioned towards the large clock on one of the pillars. "Why don't you stay with us some more?"

"Nuh-uh, I'll go get a good seat on the train," she declined. Diana definitely had enough of her parents' shenanigans. She could swear to god that they simply loved embarrassing her in public as much as possible.

"Diana, are you sure your teacher was not pulling your leg?" Her father asked hesitantly as he rubbed his dark stubble. "That's a solid brick wall if I've ever seen one."

"I'm sure," she lied, trying to cover her hesitation as she looked at the imposing piece of firm-looking masonry. At that moment, a young boy with a messy mop of black hair and casual clothes, even shorter than she was, dragging a large trunk made of polished oak, simply walked into the wall and disappeared.

"Oh my," her mother gaped at the sight, and Diana simply stared.

Oddly enough, nobody else seemed to have paid any attention to the boy, nor did anyone question how a child disappeared into a solid wall as if they had seen nothing. She shook her head and decided it was time to go. This time, she would make real friends. Others won't pretend to get close to her because she wore fancy clothes and had rich parents!

"Bye Mum, bye Dad!" She evaded her mother's attempt at a hug, cheekily waved at her parents, and dashed towards the wall, grabbing her fancy magical school trunk.

She held her breath and uttered a silent prayer as bricks rapidly approached. Just as she was about to crash into the solid barrier, her eyes instinctively closed, but thankfully, no collision followed. Diana gingerly opened her eyes, only to be met with a fantastic sight.

A scarlet steam locomotive that would perfectly fit the Victorian era stood imposingly. The platform was spacious and wide but less crowded than the rest of King Cross. The scarce crowd consisted of children of various ages and their parents, all dressed in the same queer manner she had encountered in Diagon Alley. Her eyes drank in the colourful array of robes, pointy hats, owls, cats, and even brooms.

The idea of flying on a broom excited and terrified her in equal measure. Everything was so new and exciting!

There was a problem, though.

She carefully looked around and realised she was the shortest person on the platform. Diana suppressed her rising annoyance and made her way through all the hubbub, which included hoots and mewls. Cats were great pets, but the wizard's obsession with owls was just odd. Surely there was a better way to deliver letters? They had magic!

A giant fireplace near the wall abruptly flared up with green flames making Diana jump, and a pair of older twin girls dressed in green and silver walked out of the fire, followed by greying old woman. It took her a few moments to stop staring, but nobody else on the platform seemed perturbed about the phenomena. Another fireplace flared up in green, and again, a family walked out of it.

Could she learn this flame-teleport thingy too?! This would be so cool!

"Hey, Wood! Did you make Quidditch Captain?" A loud cry sounded nearby, startling Diana out of her musing. She turned around only to gawp at an older black-skinned girl wearing an eye-catching bright red robe.

"That I did, Johnson!" A burly older student wearing dark, sporty clothing returned the yell from afar.

She finally reached the train. This time, Diana would not be the shortest kid in the year! That honour would go to the boy she had seen brave the wall. Maybe he'd want to be her friend?

Unfortunately, she was too short to see who was inside the train cars through the windows, so she had to enter the first car. Fortunately, her super expensive trunk was charmed featherlight and was effortless to lift up the stairs or drag around.

"-Puddlemore will win-"

"-My dad said Felix Fawley will retire-"

"-How was your trip to-"

She tuned out the conversations and quickly peered in every compartment to check.

The first few were almost full, the older students boarding the train and flocking towards them. The more she moved towards the back, the emptier it got.

The minutes ticked by, and there was no trace of the short, dark-haired boy, no matter how many compartments she checked. Doubt slowly began to gnaw at her. Were her eyes faulty? Did she miss him somehow? Or had she remembered wrongly?

She even contemplated joining some of the others who appeared to be her age. But there were few of those, and they didn't look particularly welcoming. An arrogant-looking blonde boy with two fat goons looked like too much trouble, so she skipped that compartment. Two doors later, a blonde girl with sky-blue eyes gave her a frosty glare before she even attempted to enter, dissuading Diana from joining the group of girls already wearing their black school robes.

Wizards and witches seemed to be far more prickly than even ordinary people!

Maybe she could try to go into one of the empty compartments and hope someone nice joined her?

At the very end of the train, Diana finally saw him, sitting peacefully alone whilst perusing an open book. She hesitated for a moment before decisively knocking softly and pushing the door open.

The tome instantly snapped closed, and she saw that his right hand twitched before freezing, and she found herself looking at a pair of bright yet haunted green eyes. His gaze held such an intensity that she couldn't help but gulp.

She stood there, hesitant under his intense scrutiny, earlier courage completely forgotten.

The silence stretched as the boy did not say a word either, and it felt like they stood there for ages until Diana finally managed to find her voice again.

"Sorry for intruding! Do you mind… if I sit here?"

Hesitation and apprehension were plainly written on his face, but just as Diana thought he would tell her off, he sighed.

"Be my guest," he said evenly, opened his book again, and resumed reading.

"Thank you. I'm Diana, Diana Taylor," she introduced herself before placing her trunk on the luggage rack above and sitting near the window, just across from the boy.

That seemed to grab his attention for a short moment, and she found herself on the receiving end of his intense gaze again.

"Name's Harry," he curtly replied before sighing and putting the book away. "There should still be plenty of empty compartments. Why choose mine?"

Diana froze for a moment. What to do? Does she lie or tell the truth? The option of lying was quickly discarded, as Harry seemed to be very sharp.

"Saw you on King's Cross and decided to find you. You seemed to be a muggle-born like me, wearing normal clothes. Hoped you wouldn't mind," the truth tumbled out of her mouth, making her feel bad for imposing on the boy's peace. What if he was waiting for other friends? "I can move elsewhere if you want?"

Thankfully she managed not to mention anything about height; that would just be rude!

He mulled for a few seconds, and just as her heart sank, his expression finally softened.

"No need. And I'm not exactly a muggle-born, only raised by my muggle aunt in the muggle world," he provided evenly, but she caught the sour note in his tone.

"What happened to your parents?" Diana found herself asking.

"Killed by a dark wizard when I was a baby," Harry replied with a shrug.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be," he interrupted. "It's not like you killed them."

She felt terrible for her insensitive question. Ugh, damn her and her curiosity… The boy was now gazing through the window at the bustling platform. A pity only a part could be seen from the final compartment.

Thankfully, Harry did not seem very bothered, but she decided not to further inquire about that. Her gaze moved towards the book placed on the side.Ancient Runes Made Easywere the large black letters gracing the front leather-bound cover. She didn't remember seeing that book on her school list.

Was the boy in front of her an older year? No, he was too short…

"Errr, what's the book about?" Diana timidly inquired.

"Introduction to the 'Ancient Runes'," he supplied. "The train ride is around nine hours, and it was either sleeping or reading."

"Nine hours!?" God, she had never travelled more than three hours before. This was going to be one long journey. "Ancient Runes? I don't think I saw such a subject in our list."

"Indeed. It's an elective started in the Third Year. I got curious and decided to buy it."

"You seem pretty knowledgeable about the magical world. Do you know when they'll come to check the tickets?"

"No need to worry much. The ticks are just so the new students know where the platform is, and when the train departs, nobody actually checks for them on the train."

She sighed in relief; that was definitely one worry less.

Suddenly, Harry leaned forward, face almost glued to the window. She curiously traced his gaze towards a round-faced plump boy with a mop of sandy hair. An old woman with… a stuffed vulture upon her hat, probably his grandmother, was fretting all over the boy in question before handing him a caged owl. A large group of redheads also invaded the platform at that moment. They all looked nearly the same, the plump mother, along with four boys and a younger girl. The sound of the steam whistle tore through the air, and the remaining students on the platform hurriedly boarded the train.

A few moments later, the Hogwarts Express began to move, and she couldn't help but feel excited. She was going to learn magic and become a witch!

Diana looked at her friend-to-be, who was forlornly gazing through the window. Maybe he missed his home? She decided that Harry could definitely use a distraction and, if possible, answer some of her questions in the process. The short jaunt with Professor McGonagall through the magical Alley was far from enough to satiate her curiosity.

"Hey, which subject do you think will be the most interesting?"

Chapter 6: The Train Ride

Chapter Text

By Merlin, he was bored, and the Hogwarts Express had not even left the muggle city yet. The nine-hour ride was already shaping up to be a mind-numbing experience.

Neither Crabbe nor Goyle made for a particularly engaging or exciting conversation partner. In fact, Crabbe was already asleep, and his annoying snores filled the compartment, while Goyle could be mistaken as a statute as he was blankly staring at the window while standing unnaturally still.

He almost regretted not seeking out Pansy, but she was just as annoying and probably in the company of the even more annoying Greengrass twins. He definitely regretted not taking his father's advice about picking up the morning copy of the Daily Prophet.

Maybe he could play some explosive snap with Goyle, but while winning was always enjoyable, the boy was a dull and boring opponent.

As he contemplated his options, the compartment door opened, and he scowled when he saw who was in the hallway.

"Hello, cousin," Juno Lestrange said with her melodic yet cold voice and gestured to the identical-looking girls beside her. "These are Hestia and Flora Carrow, my dear friends. I hope you don't mind sharing your compartment with my companions and me."

Merlin's beard, what did he do to deserve this?!

Tall, long, raven curls framed her pale skin, perfect nose, sharp cheekbones, and pale blue eyes. Juno Lestrange always dressed and acted impeccably in public, making her well-liked despite her parents.

Draco Malfoy looked at the smiling expression on her face and was not fooled one bit. Her icy blue eyes were like daggers, stabbing into his skin, making him feel like his cousin could read him like an open book. And the worst part was, he knew that despite Juno's outwardly peaceful appearance, she would love to hex him at the first opportunity like she always did before. Somehow, his cousin had procured herself a wand long before Hogwarts and was not afraid to use it. And, no matter how he complained about it to his parents, it always somehow turned out that he was in the wrong because Juno could charm them with a simple smile. And no matter how he asked for a wand of his own, they said it was too early!

It was not fair! A Malfoy was supposed to be the best, but his mother and father acted subserviently like ordinary lackeys in front of Arcturus Black and indulged Juno as if she were their prized daughter! Not only that, but Juno was the Black heiress despite being a girl because her mother was born first. It was supposed to be him!

Yet there was little Draco could do but keep the indignity to himself and avoid Juno like dragon pox. He had done that successfully for over a year and had begun to forget how tyrannical she could be. He would wait, bid his time, and expose Juno for who she truly was! But for now, he would lie low. It did not help that the Carrow twins were third-year if his memory was correct. Crabbe and Goyle stood no chance!

At that moment, he realised that he had given no reply. Juno's smile had gone dangerously thin, and she had her wand in her hand, making him pale.

"Oh no, it would be a pleasure," he said with a forced smile, but his face felt so stiff that it probably came out like a grimace.

Juno took the middle of the tapered seat, and the twins sat on her sides, giving Draco an opportunity to inspect them. Despite being third-year students, they were barely taller than Juno, sporting blank expressions, and they both had long, brown hair and one green and one blue eye.

Something about them made him shudder on the inside.

A Malfoy fears no one!

His father's words of wisdom gave him strength, and he finally gathered his bearing and straightened his posture. Draco Malfoy definitely did not fear his cousin. Juno Bellatrix Lestrange was not scarier than before, not at all!

He gulped and gave a cursory glance to Crabbe and Goyle, who barely seemed to register the new people in the compartment with more than a glance, and in fact, Crabbe did not even deign to open his eyes. He compared his followers to his cousin's minions. It was clear that they were lacking. Maybe it was time to write to his father and ask for better ones?

At that moment, his calf was painfully stung, and he jumped in surprise. While rubbing his throbbing calf, he saw Juno looking at him with profound disappointment while her wand disappeared into her sleeve.

"Ah, cousin. How could you?" She clicked her tongue while shaking her head. "I see Aunt Narcissa's endless hours of trying to force simple manners into your thick head have been in vain. How could you forget to introduce your companions?"

He glared at Juno, but the dark wand that reappeared in her hand quickly made him reconsider his response. Draco had no desire to find out if she had learned more than the stinging hex in the last three years while he had been forbidden to cast before school. Maybe she did have a point…

"This is Gregory Goyle," he pointed at the sleeping boy to his left with gritted teeth and then motioned to his other underling, who was still blankly staring at the window. "And this is Vincent Crabbe."

His cousin finally gave a satisfied nod, grabbed a book from her trunk, and began reading. Draco couldn't help but lament about the length of the train ride. He would rather feel bored than spend so much time in one compartment with his cousin…

A few minutes ticked by, and the silence became stifling. The idea of reading one of the schoolbooks was promptly dismissed; it was too dull.

"Where do you think you'll be sorted?" He idly asked.

She closed her book and gave him an annoyed glare.

"I haven't decided yet."

"What, are you considering going to Hufflepuff?" Draco was incredulous. "The only good House is Slytherin!"

"Not Hufflepuff. But Ravenclaw is also… adequate," Juno hummed and glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. "Even trolls like Marcus Flint can get sorted in Slytherin nowadays."

"Maybe," he shrugged and fell into an uneasy silence.

At that moment, the compartment door was slammed open again, and an older girl entered. She looked like an older version of Juno, albeit with dark grey eyes and brown hair, making Draco blanch. One Juno was more than enough!

"Hello, cousins! Name's Tonks," she introduced herself with a flourish.

Oh god, it was the blood traitor's daughter; he opened his mouth to tell her off-

Draco yelped with pain as he felt a brutal sting upon his hand, eliciting a concerned glance from Tonks.

"Andromeda's daughter?" Juno politely asked while sending him a warning glance that made him swallow his remark.

"Yeah, that's me," the older girl beamed.

"You must excuse my cousin Draco. He often tends to forget his manners," Juno's cold eyes were like a pair of daggers as she gazed at him.

"Not a problem; I just wanted to see the other side of my family," Tonks wistfully said. "Anyway, I need to finish my patrol. If you ever have trouble in Hogwarts or need help, feel free to look for me!"

Before Draco could blink, his blood-traitor cousin was gone, and the compartment door was closed.

Neither Crabbe nor Goyle nor the Carrow twins looked to have even reacted as if nobody had entered the compartment.

For a short moment, he contemplated trying to retaliate against his smug cousin, but at that moment, her smile grew predatory as if she could read his mind, and he suddenly remembered that he had not learned any spells yet…

"Why are you being so friendly with a blood traitor?" He finally grumbled at Juno.

His words elicited an amused snort.

"Were you dropped on your head as a baby, Draco?"

"What are you talking about? She's just the daughter of an exiled muggle-loving blood traitor!"

"Foolish cousin of mine, you of all people should be glad that Andromeda shirked away from her betrothal since if she hadn't, you would not be born as Aunt Narcissa would have never married Lucius."

Her words gave him pause for a short moment as he had not known that, but he shook his head.

"Not a reason to associate with the rabble," Draco deflected contemptuously.

"Use your brain, little dragon," Juno chided as if speaking to a small child, making him scowl. "While she might be a half-blood, according to my sources, she is a metamorph like her elder brother. And she must be capable enough to become prefect - Nymphadora did come to us offering help, so we lose nothing by being polite. Did your father teach you nothing? There's no need to look for enemies when there are none."

"Have you become a blood traitor like our disowned Aunt, Juno?" He sneered, only for Juno to quietly mutter something while pointing her wand at his leg. Draco yelped in pain again and glared at her. "Stop this!"

"Make me," She taunted before laughing coldly as he looked for support from Crabbe and Goyle, who were trying to disappear in their seats. "Blood traitor? What good does blood do for you when you're not only spoiled but pathetic and useless, Draco?"

"My father will hear of this," the threat left his lips before he knew it, and he paled.

Juno Bellatrix Lestrange smiled, and Draco felt ants crawl up his spine. His cousin always viciously retaliated against his threats and got away with it.

"Good, ickle cousin. Tell him how useless you are," she grinned widely and threateningly pointed her wand in his direction. "I think I'll keep this compartment for myself. Take your goons and get lost!"

Occlumency is an essential tool for any self-respecting warlock. Not only can you protect your mind with sufficient experience and practice, but you can also control your emotions and thus exert greater control over your magic. At the higher levels, you can even manipulate your own mind.

Many people make the mistake of stopping after a simple rudimentary proficiency, barely enough to protect their minds. Having the ability to feel an intrusion is only the first step to being able to force it out.

As with any other discipline taken to the extreme, Occlumency has further benefits. It helps you unveil the ability to control your mind and emotions, which would be a boon for any sorcerer. A mastered mind is hard to erase and even harder to control. But, as with anything else worthwhile, there are no shortcuts, and it requires extreme dedication.

For any practitioner of Dark Magic, excellent control of your magic is a must, lest you lose yourself in the alluring throes of temptation and be under the thrall of magic instead of its master.

The first step to protecting your mind is clearing it of all clutter; there are many ways to go about it. Here are the various methods that I've found effective-

Harry snapped the dairy closed after reading through the methods for the fiftieth time. At moments like these, he wanted to put his hands on the throat of a certain potions professor and throttle him to death. He had suspected, but now Harry had a clear confirmation that Snape had been highly unhelpful and simply took a sick pleasure in messing with him during the Occlumency lessons.

How hard was it to give useful instructions?

You're to rid your mind of all emotions every night before you sleep, Potter!

Mighty helpful advice, especially without any direction on how to go about it. At least in potions, Snape had deigned to provide instructions on the board.

Eight, just this diary had listedeight differentbloody exercises for clearing one's mind, and more than half worked quite well for Harry. He did some every day he awoke and before he went to sleep. Simply forcing someone out of his mind with pain was no longer a viable tactic because his scar no longer hurt.

If nothing else, he had struck gold - the diary was a trove of information on Occlumency, and itworked. Harry had never felt as calm before, and he could feel that his emotions were not as overwhelming anymore. The owner had been very thorough in his observations and research. But Borgin had been right - there was far more than Occlumency in the diary. Rituals and Legilimency, for which he lacked talent. Harry had taken a glance at the information on the former and had quickly given up at the mention of blood and sacrifice. Following in Voldemort's footsteps was definitely not what he wanted to do. The twisted visage of the bloodthirsty Dark Lord was not an image he could ever forget.

For a short moment, Harry idly wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing right now. Neither Ron had shown up at the door to look for a compartment to sit in, nor had Neville or Hermione passed by, looking for a toad. In fact, he had spotted Neville carrying an owl earlier…

He shook his head, returned the diary to the trunk, and took out the packed sandwiches Tom had graciously given him. Both Ron and Hermione would be perfectly fine on their own.

"Want one?" Harry offered.

"Thanks, but I've got my own lunch, and I'm not hungry," Diana shook her head, and her amber eyes returned to reading the 'Introduction to Ancient Runes', the book he had lent her.

His stomach grumbled in hunger, and Harry hastily unwrapped the sandwich and began devouring it. As he was eating, his gaze moved to the young girl.

The muggle-born girl was short and thin like a leaf, and her long hair reminded him of burnished copper in colour. Coupled with her rather unique eyes, it made for a striking combination that was nearly impossible to forget. While Harry did not know everyone in Hogwarts, he knew all the muggle-borns in his year and was pretty sure there had not been any Diana Taylor before.

His new companion reminded Harry of himself, albeit more curious. Alone, completely new to the wizarding world and unsure what she was getting into. That was probably the main reason she was still in his compartment. He just couldn't muster the energy to chase her away, and Diana did her very best to be unfailingly polite, even in her curiosity.

As the sandwich had disappeared, Harry attacked the second one.

In fact, he found Diana's questions a pleasant distraction from his usual drudgery and found himself indulging her curiosity.

His gaze wandered towards the window where the roiling fields of cows and sheep sped past them as the remainder of his sandwich quickly disappeared. The lush landscape was so serene and peaceful that it made him wistful.

A great clattering slowly approached from the hallway, heralding the arrival of the trolley lady. A few moments later, the door slid open, revealing the familiar dimpled witch.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Diana put down the book and hesitated for a few moments as her eyes roamed over the assortments of magical candies.

"I'll take two of each," she finally decided.

Harry ended up with a handful of chocolate frogs, and he quickly opened one as Diana looked at the sweets-covered seat next to her, undecided about which to try first.

"Hey-" the muggle-born girl froze while Harry bit off the head of the twitching chocolate frog. "Wait, why is it moving?!"

"Oh, they're animated by magic," he provided after swallowing. "Each of them comes with a card of a famous witch or wizard."

"Really?"

"Yes," he grabbed the card that had remained with the discarded wrapping and showed it to her.

"Ptolemy?" Diana scrunched up her eyebrows. "His picture is moving too!"

"Wizarding pictures and portraits do that, and some can even talk," Harry explained as the girl gaped in wonder. "Mirrors are often charmed to have your reflection speak too."

"That's weird," she concluded with a huff. "But wasn't Ptolemy an astronomer and a mathematician?"

"Well, he was," Harry agreed with a chuckle as he looked at the moving picture of an ancient Greek wizard, and his eyes roamed over the description. "That's what the muggles know him for. But as a wizard, he was also one of the pioneers of Arithmancy and a famed master of Astronomy."

Diana grabbed one of her chocolate frogs and unwrapped it.

"I got Morgana," she looked curiously at the card. "What do people do with these anyway?"

"They collect and trade them. There's like a few hundred different cards, and some are quite rare."

The Morgana card went into her jeans pocket, and she made short work of the chocolate frog in seconds, making him snort internally. Not hungry, indeed!

"Tastes like normal chocolate," she noted with a tinge of disappointment and curiously opened a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Hey, have you tried these before?" The girl fished out a turquoise candy and threw it in her mouth.

"Yes, but-"

"Blergh!" Diana spat the half-chewed bean out and began coughing hard. She hastily pulled over a small leather bag, fished out a bottle of water, opened it and took greedy gulps. "Disgusting! Who in their right mind would put spinach-flavoured candy!"

"They're called Every Flavour Beans for a reason," Harry dryly replied. "I've heard there's every taste from toothpaste to vomit."

Diana quickly tossed the bag of Berti Beans as if they were on fire and took a few more generous gulps from her bottle of water.

"Wizards are odd," she stated and grimaced when she took a bite of the pumpkin pasty. "I think I'll stick to the chocolate."

"The licorice wands and cauldron cakes are not bad," he offered with a shrug. Harry was not the biggest fan of pumpkin, but he had gotten used to the taste after drinking the juice for years.

The pumpkin pasty was returned to its wrapper and, together with most of the other sweets, was shoved into Diana's bag as she unwrapped her second chocolate frog and stared at the card.

"I thought these cards only have famous witches and wizards?"

"Well, yeah, they do."

"Who's Voldemort, and what's a Killing Curse?" Diana asked curiously, and Harry had a bad premonition.

"Voldemort's a dark wizard, and the Killing Curse is an illegal spell that kills without a trace," the words tumbled out of his mouth slowly, heavy with apprehension. He did not like where this was going.

"Harry James Potter, also known as the Boy Who Lived, a monicker earned as the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse as a young baby, also vanquished the Dark Lord Voldemort after he had slain his parents on All Hallows' Eve of 1981,"she read out loud, and Harry found his blood run cold. "But there seems to be no picture, just an empty silhouette with glasses and a lightning bolt scar on his face."

"May I see the card?" Harry politely requested as his heart was beating like a drum. Diana handed it to him, and there it was.

Something that had not happened in his previous world.

A chocolate frog card of Harry James Potter, whose greatest achievement was that his mother sacrificed herself so her son could live. He stared blankly at the empty place where the portrait was supposed to be with mixed feelings. It was a small mercy that his visage was not plastered there for all to gawk at. He found his anger beginning to bubble, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to do a breathing exercise from the diary.

Surely enough, a few moments later, he felt his fury slowly beginning to ebb away.

"Hey, are you fine?" He opened his eyes to see Diana looking at him with concern.

"Oh, yes, sorry," Harry mumbled, quickly returning the card to the muggle-born girl. "Just bad memories."

"Do you know what this dark lord-wizard business is?" She asked with worry as the card went into her pocket. "Professor McGonagall never mentioned any of this."

"Well," he paused for a short moment, unsure what to say. "Witches and wizards are not different from muggles. There are some good and some bad. Voldemort's one of the worst."

"Then it's a relief he's gone," she noted, and Harry couldn't help but grimace. "There's wizard police to deal with things like this, right?"

"Well, they're called Aurors, but I heard they're not very good."

Diana watched as the sun slowly crawled towards the western horizon, and the clouds gained an orange hue. The wizarding world was shaping into an interesting, albeit quite odd, place. From what she had read about magic, it defied all logic and physics and operated entirely on its own rules. And it was as if that fact was imprinted on the wizards and witches. Who in their right mind would make a candy taste like spinach, let alone eat it?!

Then there was her new friend. Harry was not only knowledgeable but patiently answered all of her questions, no matter how silly, and she now had a better idea about both the magical world and Hogwarts. She admired his patience - Diana had half expected him to snap at her or ignore her at some point, but he did not. At times, it felt that she was talking to an adult, not a boy her age.

But then again, she had never met someone who had lost their parents. If anything could force someone to grow up faster, that would definitely be near the top of the list.

Not only that, but her new friend seemed to be a bit too… wound up. Diana noticed how he would sometimes twitch at a sudden noise or that his eyes darted around the compartment. It did not escape her attention that he never offered his family name, but she did not want to ask either, especially after discovering that his parents were dead. Diana was not going to stick her nose where it did not belong!

As the train ride progressed, she noted that the tension slowly had left his body.

In fact, Harry was now quietly napping, dressed in that plain black sweater of his. His sharp face was peaceful, and he almost looked adorable with his cold demeanour gone. Diana would think him dead if it was not for the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest.

At that moment, a movement near his arm drew her attention, and she froze when she saw a small, pitch-black triangular head poke out of his sleeve curiously. Diana barely resisted the urge to scream for her life at the sight of what looked like a little snake. It was not doing anything other than looking around curiously with its onyx eyes.

Maybe this was… normal for wizards?!

Diana doubted that Harry had somehow missed a snake lounging around his sleeve, but if he did, he had not seemed bothered one bit. She carefully approached under the wary gaze of the serpent, reached out with her hand, and nudged her companion on his knee before quickly retreating. Harry instantly shuffled and blearily opened his eyes.

"We there yet?"

She would have chuckled at his drowsy manner if not for the situation.

"Err, did you know you have a snake in your sleeve?"

Any trace of sleepiness quickly evaporated from his face, and Harry's green eyes squinted in displeasure as he carefully raised his arm and gazed at the black snakelet dangling from his wrist.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered unhappily before sighing heavily and nodding towards the small serpent. "This is Nyx."

Under her disbelieving gaze, he unceremoniously shoved the snake back into his sleeve as it hissed in protest.

"What if it bites you? Is it venomous?" Diana cautiously prodded.

"Well, Nyx is a she and is completely harmless, besides being a tad too curious for her own good." Diana decided to chalk off the oddity as something normal for wizards. "Though, please keep her a secret - snakes aren't well-liked in the wizarding world."

"Sure," she promised with a solemn nod. Keeping secrets was her forte! "But I thought the school list said you can only bring a frog, cat, or an owl?"

"Other pets are allowed with the permission of your Head of House," Harry absentmindedly replied. "As long as it's not too dangerous or outrageous, it'd probably be allowed."

That was neat; she would totally bring Snowball with her next time.

"You never mentioned how we choose in which House to go," Diana curiously noted, but then she couldn't help but fidget uneasily. "Is it some test? Oh my gosh, I haven't studied at all!"

Nor could she do any magic…

"No, nothing like that," Harry snorted with amusem*nt. "The sorting is supposedly a secret, but nothing hard. I still haven't heard of any student being turned away, so there's nothing to fear."

A sigh of relief left her mouth. And indeed, her new friend did not look concerned one bit, but he was quite brilliant.

"Which House do you think is best, then?"

For the first time, Harry was not quick to answer her question. The minutes passed as he sat there, brow furrowed in deep thought.

"No House is good or bad, but I'd avoid Slytherin and Gryffindor if I were you," he cautiously replied.

"Well, what's wrong with those two houses?"

"There's a fierce rivalry between them. I heard it's very annoying if you get dragged into it," Harry grimaced for a moment. "Especially if you're serious about your studies, you'd be better off choosing Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Gryffindor is a noisy, boisterous house, while Slytherin is full of pureblood wizards, and any muggle-borns would be ostracised. The eagles have their own library, and I heard that in the Ravenclaw dorms, you'd room alone instead of sharing with others."

Before she could reply, a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogsmeade station in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to school separately."

"We should put on our robes," Harry said, removing the school robe from the trunk and pulling it over his sweater.

Diana could feel her insides twist uncomfortably with apprehension, and she felt too nervous to speak. She followed Harry's example, donned the robe, and silently gazed into the now-dark landscape outside as the train slowed.

Chapter 7: Sorting

Chapter Text

The door was at the beginning of the train car, so they had to wait for everyone else to push their way out to a small, dark platform. Diana couldn't help but shiver; the Scottish Highlands proved to be far colder than London. Her insides kept twisting into knots, both from nervousness and from the odd, foreign place where she would spend the next nine months.

The wands of a few older students ahead were lit, softly illuminating the surroundings as they made their way into the distance towards something that looked like a carriage stand. She looked enviously at the sight; the desire to be able to do the same burned like a fire inside of her.

The shadows began to dance as a lantern bobbed over their heads, and Diana gaped; an impossibly tall man, face barely visible from his long, shaggy beard, was holding the lamp. He was almost twice as tall as her father, and Henry Taylor was one of the tallest men she'd ever seen!

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Yet, for all of his titanic size and booming voice, he should have been quite imposing, but the man's black eyes were as warm as the summer sun. The rest of her future year-mates quickly converged toward the lantern, and she and Harry followed.

The giant looked around the sea of faces carefully as if searching for something, then nodded to himself. "C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path. It was a miracle Diana managed not to fall; it was so dark that the only thing that could be seen under the soft light of the swinging lantern was a few vague outlines of trees surrounding them.

Nobody said a thing; only the footsteps and a few croaks could be heard from the surroundings, chilling her even further.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight of Hogwarts in a sec," the gigantic man called from over his shoulder, "jus' around this bend here."

Exclamations of surprise and wonder filled the small clearing, and one had even escaped Diana's mouth. The narrow path had led them into the wide shore of a great black lake, stretching endlessly into the darkness. Perched atop a high rocky cliff across the vast expanse of water stood a vast castle with many turrets and towers. It was grand in size, and it made for a mesmerising sight as the windows sparkled in the starry sky, no less impressive for some of the masonry being mismatched in size or style.

Yet when she looked at her companion, he looked stoic; Harry was standing still, gaze blank, not nearly as impressed as the others. Yet his eyes were forlorn, and a soft smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

"No more than four a boat!" The man's voice rumbled through the darkness as he pointed towards a fleet of little boats sitting in the water just by the shore.

Diana looked critically at one of the empty boats softly swaying on the water. Couldn't they take carriages like the older students? What if they fell into the lake? She was a decent swimmer, but the mere thought of dipping into an icy loch in the Scottish Highlands made her shiver again.

Harry, however, got onto the boat nonchalantly and waved her over. She hesitantly followed and inspected their ride; it was far more stable than a boat this size had any right to be.

Two more children joined them – a girl with long, raven hair and grey eyes and a tall boy with carefully combed auburn hair and pale blue eyes. Harry was eyeing both of them with thinly veiled curiosity.

"Hello," she cautiously greeted them, "I'm Diana Taylor."

"Lily Moon," the girl nodded.

"Name's Fabian Fawley," the boy bowed lightly. His voice was measured and polite, similar to the noble scions she had met before. And just as snobbish as them, evident by the haughty gleam in his eyes.

"I'm Harry," was her friend's laconic reply.

"No surname?" The short boy simply shrugged at Fawley's question, causing him to snort. "Alright then, I suppose I'll find soon enough anyway."

"Everyone in?" The gigantic man's shout thundered through the clearing. Under her disbelieving gaze, he climbed onto one of the boats, which visibly dipped under his weight. She thought it would sink for a moment, but it somehow stayed afloat. "Alright then – FORWARD!"

The fleet of little boats moved all at once, gliding seamlessly across the lake. While some of her other schoolmates were gazing at the slowly approaching castle with awe, Diana was amazed by the boats themselves. This could only be magic.

Magic!

There was no sound of rotors; they were far too stable with none of the characteristic swayings that accompanied travelling across the water, and all of it was silent to boot! Coupled with the miraculous transportation of their luggage, it painted a pretty picture.

A whole new world, filled with magic and wonder, waiting to be explored! The air was quickly filled with exciting chatter as the apprehension died, and her nervousness was replaced with anticipation. She shook her head and focused on the present.

"Do you know who he is?" Diana waved towards the titanic man at the front.

"Rubeus Hagrid," Harry's voice was soft and measured, "Keeper of Keys, Grounds, and Gamekeeper of Hogwarts."

"Is it normal for people to be this… tall in the wizarding world?"

"No," her friend shrugged, looking rather uncomfortable.

"I heard he had a potion mishap while young," Moon whispered.

"Potions are that dangerous?!"

"If you muck them up badly, yes," the grey-eyed girl bobbed her head. "My grand-uncle died in a potion accident. Although some say that his father was cursed or that Hagrid is half-giant."

Wait, how would that even work? Diana tried hard to remember what she had read about curses and giants in the books she had bought in the summer.

"There's no way the man is part-giant," Fawley scoffed dismissively. "The beasts are little more than savage brutes, and the groundskeeper is famously harmless."

"I suppose so," Lily Moon easily agreed.

"What about curses? Can a curse cause someone to be this tall?" Diana couldn't help but ask.

Gods, the wizarding world was shaping up to be as scary as it was exciting. Although if she could magic herself to be taller…

"There are charms to change the sizes of objects, including living things, but none too permanent and dangerous if used on humans. But it should not be… impossible," Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Using magic to meddle with your body is incredibly dangerous. You're far more likely to become a permanent resident in the Janus Thickey Ward than succeed."

"The Janus Thickey Ward?" She echoed curiously.

"Saint Mungo's permanent spell damage ward," Diana blinked in confusion at Harry's words. "Saint Mungo is the wizarding hospital."

Right, so no trying to magic herself taller. Diana most definitely didn't want to be stuck in a hospital bed for the rest of her life.

"You're a muggle-born?" Fawley asked haughtily.

"Err, yes?"

And the boy promptly looked away from her and pretended she did not exist. Lily Moon seemed undisturbed by the revelation, but Diana saw her edge slightly away from her. She had seen the rich and influential family children ignore those of lesser origin, and this felt… similar. It was odd to be on the receiving end of such… thinly veiled distaste. Diana threw a questioning glance at Harry, who simply mouthed 'purebloods, later', so she settled for ignoring the two pricks.

Or at least, she tried, as they began conversing with each other, as she and Harry were not there, but Diana couldn't help but listen in.

"Hey, Fawley, is it true that your uncle is going to retire soon?"

"Well, I rarely get to see him," the haughty boy hummed thoughtfully, but his chest was puffed up. "Uncle Felix is always busy at work. Although working in law enforcement is cool, he always said he wanted to travel the world, so I wouldn't be surprised if he resigns soon."

"Won't he try for the Minister in the coming elections? After nearly ten years as head of DMLE, he has plenty of connections to compete for the post," Lily Moon needled.

Diana groaned inwardly; who the hell cared about politics at their age? It was so boring! They shouldn't have to worry about lame stuff like this for years to come…

"Yes, uncle is great," Fawley proudly agreed, then his face twisted into a scowl. "Father says he'd easily beat both Fudge and Macmillan. A pity though, Uncle Felix dislikes politics too much to try for the post."

"God, Ernie is going to become unbearable if his father gets elected," the girl scowled.

"He's not that bad, and you worry for nothing. Fudge will roll over Henry Macmillan with ease," the tall boy seemed oddly confident with his statement.

The cliff that bore the castle began looming closer and closer.

"We'll see soon enough, I suppose," Lily shrugged her shoulders and began playing with her raven locks before her eyes lit up. "Do you think Harry Potter will come to Hogwarts?"

"Where else would he go?"

"Ilvermorny, Beuxbatons, or even Durmstrang, all good schools that would be glad to take him," the girl straightened up. "It is not out of the question if he's tutored privately either."

"Maybe, but none are as good as our Hogwarts. Every single Potter has studied here, in Britain. Although rumour has it Potter has been raised by muggles, you know?" Fawley's face scrunched up. "According to Uncle Felix, Potter would be little better than a muggle-born. Have you seen the Potter family tree?"

Diana saw Harry stiffen next to her.

"Nope, it's not an easy thing to find," Moon mumbled. "And who cares about dusty tomes of old lineages?"

"Well," the tall boy smirked, "Knowing one's roots is important, Moon. My family does hold records of all the important family lines. Potter's grandmother was a Carrow, and after his godfather got imprisoned, he was supposed to stay with the Carrows as they were his closest relatives, according to my Father."

"But he didn't," the girl's brows scrunched in thought. "The Boy-Who-Lived has not been seen ever since that night."

God, this Harry Potter character was far more interesting than Diana thought. Although it was befitting for a celebrity. If only those two kids weren't as stuck up…

"Precisely. Supposedly, a few of You-Know-Who's followers were Carrows and avoided Azkaban, so Dumbledore pulled some strings and sent him to his muggle relatives instead after getting the ministry to seal their names and locations with magic," the boy snorted. "I mean, why else did we not hear or see a thing from Harry Potter ever since Hallow's Eve?"

"Heads down!" Hagrid's voice boomed through the chatter as the first boats reached the cliff.

For a short moment, Diana wondered if they would crash into the bedrock or if it was a hidden entrance, similar to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. All bent their heads and passed through a curtain of ivory directly into a wide opening beneath the cliff's face.

Thankfully, everyone, including Fawley and Moon, grew silent as the boats carried them through a pitch-dark tunnel, with only the lone lantern in Hagrid's hand illuminating the rocky surroundings.

They reached an underground harbour, probably beneath the castle, where they clambered onto the rocks and pebbles below.

They ascended through a passageway hewn into the solid rock and finally came out onto a grassy field nestled just beneath the looming castle.

After a flight of smooth stone steps, they faced a tall, arched oaken gate.

"Everyone here?" the titanic man's voice echoed as he carefully looked around them. A moment later, he nodded to himself, raised his gigantic fist and knocked on the castle gate thrice.

The castle gate opened immediately, revealing Professor McGonagall in a similar green robe that Diana had seen her before. The kind, soft face that the tall old witch had worn when showing her and her parents around Diagon was replaced with stony sternness.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

The gate swung open, revealing an enormous antechamber that could fit half a football field inside. The stone walls were all polished and lined with torches, finally bringing banishing away the darkness of the night. Elaborate suits of full-plate armour holding halberds, swords, and shields stood vigilant along the length of the walls as decoration. Diana looked up, but there was no ceiling, only darkness extending far above the distance. Across them was a grand staircase lined with marble, making for a formidable sight.

Hagrid's tall figure disappeared inside the castle, and the witch led them through the flagged stone floor. They passed a large wooden doorway to the right where you could hear the drone of hundreds of voices - it seemed that the other students had arrived already. Eventually, they arrived at a small side chamber, where they had to crowd together far too closely for Diana's liking.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the professor turned to them with a cough. "I am Professor McGonagall, the head of the Gryffindor House and the Transfiguration teacher. The feast will start soon, but first, you'll be called in to be sorted into one of the houses."

The witch took a deep breath, and her gaze roamed amidst the first years.

"The houses are named after each of Hogwarts' founders - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a rich, noble history that has produced countless outstanding wizards and witches. While you're at Hogwarts, your success and triumph will bring glory to your house in the form of points - and your misdeeds and rulebreaking shall result in their loss. At the end of the school year, the total points of each house will be tallied, and the winner will be awarded the House Cup, a great honour! Any questions?"

Surely the cup would mean little if it could change hands every year and gave no tangible benefits to the winners other than pride and bragging rights? Although there could be some to be mentioned later on.

A nervous, lanky, red-haired boy with a smudge on his nose raised his hand weakly.

"How will we be sorted?" he asked, voice breaking. "My brothers told me we must fight a magical creature to pass."

The witch's lips thinned so much they almost disappeared as a handful of students snigg*red.

"I assure you, Mr Weasley, that there's no fighting involved." The boy nodded, slightly calmer than before.

The professor looked around, but nobody else raised any questions. Diana's eyes roamed around curiously and spotted a few of the kids she had seen on the train platform and inside the compartments. Their earlier confidence or haughtiness was replaced with nervousness and excitement. Only Harry seemed as calm as the cold lake outside, but she noticed his fingers flexed on his right hand as if grasping for something.

Her new friend also threw a few sneaky looks at the red-haired boy with the smudged nose that had asked a question, a sandy-haired chubby boy, and a girl with wild, bushy hair and a bossy expression that stood out quite a lot.

"Follow me," the woman turned and opened the large door behind her, revealing an enormous chamber.

The insides were magical: thousands of candles floated above four long tables where all the older students were already sitting, whispering amongst each other or tossing appraising glances at the group of first years. At the dias of the hall stood another table, where adults, probably the school staff, were already sitting. The cutlery, plates, and goblets were all silver or gold. Diana looked above and gasped; instead of rafters or an arched ceiling, it looked like the starry sky outside.

"It's said to be enchanted a thousand years ago by Rowena Ravenclaw herself," Harry whispered next to her as they slowly trained like ducklings behind the tall, stern witch. "A feat supposedly left unrivalled to this day."

They eventually stopped in front of the high table. Most of the staff gazed intensely at their group, searching for something, but none seemed to find it. Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before the high table and deposited an incredibly old and worn-out pointed wizard's hat atop it.

The whole hall quieted down as everyone looked intently at the hat. It looked both ancient, as if it was going to fall apart at any moment, and unwashed. Diana barely held in a gasp as the hit twitched, then a rip near the rim opened wide like a mouth, and it began singing. It took her a few moments to gather herself and pay attention to the now-finishing song.

"- So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

For you're in safe hands (though I have none)!

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Diana was still flabbergasted as the whole hall burst into applause. A few of the other first years around her looked relieved, especially the lanky ginger who muttered something about 'trolls' and 'killing Fred'.

Never would she have guessed that they'd be sorted by a talking hat. If nothing else, the song confirmed and expanded Harry's short explanation of the Hogwarts Houses. They all seemed interesting, but Diana would avoid Slytherin if it was filled with haughty snobs like Fabian Fawley.

"When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat. Once your name is announced, you're to join your house at their table," McGonagall explained while looking at a long roll of parchment. "Abbot, Hannah!"

A round-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled out of their line, sat on the stool and placed the old hat atop her head, covering even her eyes.

It was so silent that you could hear a pin drop, but a few seconds later, the hat opened its mouth-like seam: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table filled with students clothed in black and yellow erupted into cheers and claps as the girl quickly joined them.

The next girl, a redhead named Susan Bones, also ended up in Hufflepuff, much to the delight of her housemates. Diana zoned out amidst the cheers and ovations as the students were quickly sorted into various houses; at least the process seemed quick and painless. Most of them barely had the hat touch their heads before screaming, while the longest so far had been little more than a dozen seconds.

"Fabian Fawley!"

"Hufflepuff!"

Soon, a pair of blonde twins - a boy and a girl, were sorted in Slytherin, receiving quite a substantial ovation.

"Lestrange, Juno!"

The hall became deathly quiet, and a tall, raven-haired girl gracefully slid across the marble floor. Her steps were measured and confident, and the so-called Juno seemed to be the very picture of elegance as she sat on the chair. Her deep-blue eyes were as sharp as needles as she impassively gazed back at the other students, uncowed by the attention, before the Transfiguration Professor placed the hat atop her head. Hell, even with the worn-out Sorting Hat, she looked charming.

There was a tension, heavy tension weighting in the Great Hall, and Diana could see more than a few students look far more intently at the tall girl on the chair, some of the gazes heavy with hostility. The chubby boy with sandy hair seemed so angry that Diana wouldn't be surprised if he began to spit fire, and his meaty fists were clenched so hard that the knuckles had gone white.

For the first time, Diana saw Harry stunned; her friend goggled at Juno Lestrange for a moment before composing himself, but his usually placid expression had hardened. The seconds ticked by, yet the Hat remained quiet.

"What's the deal with her?" she whispered. "Why's everyone looking as if someone died."

"I don't know," Harry's words were quiet yet laced with a hint of wariness.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Nobody clapped or cheered; the Great Hall was filled with surprised muttering as Juno Lestrange calmly walked to the Ravenclaw table and sat down. Eventually, a slow, powerful clap from the high table tore through the silence, and Diana craned her neck to see that it came from the benevolent old man with a long white beard sitting in the throne chair in the middle. Probably the headmaster? Slowly, Ravenclaw and, surprisingly, Slytherin joined in, albeit not very enthusiastically.

The angry boy, Neville Longbottom, went into Gryffindor the moment the hat touched his hair. Diana noted how the girl from the boat ride, Lily Moon, was sorted into Slytherin. The number of unsorted students quickly dwindled; surprisingly, another pair of twins from India were here, both girls, although one went to Ravenclaw and the other one to Gryffindor, and then-

"Potter, Harry!"

A tidal wave of whispers flooded the great hall, discussing the famed boy. Some were quite loud.

"Potter, did she say?"

"TheHarry Potter?"

"I saw none with a lightning bolt scar or glasses," an older girl added thoughtfully from the Ravenclaw table as the handful of unsorted students were heavily scrutinised by everyone, including the staff table.

For a short moment, Diana wondered if the famed young celebrity had decided to attend another school, but then her friend confidently stepped forward.

She gaped as the quiet, helpful boy she had spent the whole train ride with strode forward with a straightened spine.

"Where are his glasses?"

"Shouldn't he have a scar?"

"Is this truly Potter?"

Yet Professor McGonagall did not seem very surprised as she calmly placed the hat atop Harry's face as soon as he sat down, covering his vivid green eyes.

As the hall was filled with fervent expectation, Diana sank deep in thought. For a short moment, she felt betrayed but then realised that her friend had never offered his family name, and it was pretty clear why. Half a minute later, she nodded to herself. Harry had been honest with her, forging a genuine friendship unburdened by things like fame or family names. The minutes stretched, and the cacophony of chatter only increased as everyone intently gazed at the short boy sitting on the stool.

Harry knew the Sorting Hat couldn't truly read minds; it could only sense a person's thoughts and traits, as was its original purpose. Otherwise, nobody would let their young children put it on. Yet, he still felt a twinge of nervousness as, once again, everyone gazed at him with curiosity. He grimaced inwardly as the hat was placed upon his head; there went the pleasant feeling of just being another face in the crowd. Oh well, at least he had nearly seven years of practice ignoring it.

"Hmm, hmm,"the Sorting Hat's troubled voice echoed in his ear after nearly a minute of silence. "It's been quite a while since I facedsuch a difficult choice. Talent, daring, hard work, and ambition in spades, all of the founders would have loved to have you in their house. There seem to be quite some caution and wariness in you; Gryffindor would ill suit you. Helga's house looks like a good fit, but while you're hardworking, your loyalty seems far more to yourself than others. I sense great ambition and cunning aplenty within you; Salazar's House would be most fitting. You'll do -"

'Not Slytherin,' Harry immediately interrupted in panic. Being in the same house as Draco and his bookends was not an appealing prospect, even seven years later. He even doubted he could spend a month in the house of the snakes without suffering a heavy accident. While the blonde ponce was just a boy now, he still held the haughty arrogance Harry remembered, albeit a tad more subdued.

"You could be great there."

'I can be great in other Houses too! Putting me in Slytherin will only beg for trouble both for me and the others in the House. Put me in Ravenclaw!'

A tinge of fear churned in his stomach; his stay in the house of the Snakes could end in only one of three ways - him dead, in Azkaban, or the Janus Thickey ward.

"Not Slytherin, eh? The second one tonight! If Salazar could see this, he would weep as all the good seedlings want nothing to do with his name,"the hat clicked its non-existent tongue,"But yes, I can sense it now. Your stay in the House of the Snakes would be far too turbulent and fraught with danger. Well, if not Slytherin, better be -RAVENCLAW!"

The Hat was removed from his head by a regretful-looking McGonagall, and a deafening cheer and boisterous applause from the eagles almost stunned him. This was the first time he saw them so enthusiastic about... anything, really.

"We didn't get Potter?" The Weasley twin's surprised voices made him chuckle inwardly. Gryffindor was full of bitter memories for him; Harry didn't think he could go there and not go mad. Bloody hell, even the hat said he was no longer suited for the House of the Brave.

He shook his head inwardly, quickly turned to the Ravenclaw table, and joined an empty seat near the first years. Thankfully, while his housemates were quite enthusiastic, they decided better than to approach or annoy him, although the numerous glances at his face and brow were more annoying than usual.

Juno Lestrange's existence was an… unwelcome oddity. The girl he had met in Madam Malkin was now carefully appraising him with piercing blue eyes. He just hoped she was less of an annoyance compared to Malfoy. Although judging by Neville's murderous glare, she was most certainly the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange.

That definitely explained why the girl looked rather familiar; she was a younger, far calmer, and prettier version of her mother. In fact, Harry had barely resisted the urge to draw his wand and curse the eleven-year-old who had done absolutely nothing to him. Shame had quickly filled him, and it wasn't like he could even cast a decent curse right now…

Hermione was again sorted in Gryffindor. The rest were quite similar to what he remembered, although Harry hadn't paid too close attention. Fabian Fawley, a completely new face, had calmly discussed his whole family tree, making him find out for the first time that his grandmother had been a Carrow. Regretfully, he couldn't even remember if that was the case in his original timeline, as he had never asked about his grandparents… The cold Daphne Greengrass seemed to have a twin, Damien, who looked just as cold and haughty as his sister.

Harry politely clapped along as the handful of students were quickly sorted, and, unsurprisingly, Diana ended up in Ravenclaw. More surprisingly, she popped into the empty seat to his left instead of joining the other first years. They were practically alone at the edge of the table.

"Your sorting took ages. You never told me you were famous?" Her whisper was soft, without even a hint of heat in it.

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," she shook her head weakly. "Although I could do without all the stares."

Surely enough, they attracted the attention of half the table like a magnet. Thankfully, the eagles were just content with observing from afar from now. Harry clapped vigorously as Ron was sorted into Gryffindor, and the final student, Blaise Zabini, went into Slytherin again.

Diana's stomach decided to grumble, and her face flushed almost as red as her hair.

"Do you think they'll serve the food soon-"

Dumbledore stood up and coughed loudly, his face beaming widely at the students. Harry still felt conflicted about the old wizard as he gave his usual short, nonsensical speech and simply decided to hold onto his caution.

As the headmaster sat down, the table was instantly filled to the brim with dishes, and Diana's gaze lit up from amazement, or quite possibly hunger.

"Isn't he a bit too… barmy to be the headmaster?" she asked quietly while piling roasted mutton and mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"Maybe a bit," Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he greedily grabbed roasted potatoes, beef steak, and gravy. He didn't hold a grudge against Dumbledore, but any previous trust and admiration were long replaced with caution. "He's more than a hundred years old, you know."

"He barely looks sixty!"

"Wizards and witches age a tad slower than muggles," he explained absentmindedly. "It's not impossible for some to live over two hundred."

"Neat!" Diana cautiously glanced at her goblet filled with pumpkin juice. "Do you know what this… is?"

"Pumpkin juice."

Her face scrunched up in disgust, and she groaned.

"Can't we have something normal to drink? Even water will do."

She gaped as, a moment later, her goblet's contents were suddenly gone and quickly replaced by water.

They began to eat, and Harry's gaze drifted towards the staff table. Sadly, Snape's eternally scowling face was still there; there were no new faces besides a small, minor change. Or, well, not so minor. Quirrel was standing there, but his turban was absent. On top of his head was carefully combed brown hair, his robes were neat and tidy, and a charming smile sat easily upon his lips as he was chatting with Trelawny. There was no nervousness, meekness or stutter; confidence and charm had taken their place.

Was Voldemort still there without the turban? His scar was unresponsive, but then again, it had faded almost completely. Tom Riddle's soul shard was gone for good, and with it, Harry's connection to the Dark Lord. A soft squeeze on his left forearm alerted him Nyx had woken up from her nap.

He quickly forked a piece of small beef while nobody was watching and placed his hand under the table. His snake cautiously snuck out and gobbled the piece before retreating to her place around his forearm. A talk with Flitwick awaited him, and Harry hoped his diminutive Head of House would be amiable enough to allow him his new companion. He doubted he could hide Nyx for his whole stay in Hogwarts; she had already shown herself a tad too curious for her own good on the train.

With a shake of his head, Harry focused on his meal; he would deal with things as they came, just as he always did.

Chapter 8: Undercurrents

Chapter Text

Helena Ravenclaw seemed far less chatty than the Nearly Headless Nick; she silently hovered over them with a forlorn gaze. From time to time, she would turn to the Slytherin table and scowl at the Bloody Baron, who was as gaunt and terrifying as usual.

Harry finished his dinner with a slice of treacle tart, and his gaze wandered around his table - the Ravenclaws weren't even half as boisterous as the Gryffindors. It wasn't a bad thing - there was far less chatter, and a few more curious ones glanced his way, but for the most part, they were content to focus on their meal. Not that the other houses were less nosy; he could feel a couple of gazes drilling into the back of his head from the Slytherin table.

Sitting with his back to them made him antsy, but he knew Slytherins rarely squabbled with the Eagles. Harry had no time and energy to spend the following years knees-deep in some silly school feud again. His problems with Malfoy ultimately culminated in hundreds of hours of detention over six years - which was a waste of time. Not that Malfoy was particularly pleasant, but Harry would try to be at least civil this time.

He would not sit with his back exposed to the Slytherin table again, even if he had to look at the likes of Malfoy and his bookends.

It felt odd to be here - the last time, the Great Hall was filled with a sparse number of students filled with fear, hate, determination, anger, and a myriad of other feelings. Then, the battle followed by wails of anguish and mourning, wounded students, dead bodies, and rubble. The coppery smell of blood and ruptured guts was heavy in the dusty air amidst the broken masonry. Yet, there was none now - the Great Hall was intact, full of cheer and hope, clear for all to see on the undaunted young faces.

It felt dreamy, almost perfect in a way, making Harry feel… lost.

Soon, the remaining food disappeared, and Dumbledore stood up. The Hall fell silent.

"Ahem, just a few more words now that you're all fed and watered. First-year should note that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name suggests, forbidden. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," his twinkling gaze pinned the Weasley twins for a moment. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our caretaker, to remind you all that, between the classes, no magic should be used in the hallways."

Something tugged on Harry's sleeve, and he turned to see Diana's curious eyes shining at him, "Why is the forest called 'forbidden'?"

"Some dangerous beasts can easily maim you and, if unlucky - kill you in there." And a thousand acromantulas that wanted to eat you alive amongst other 'misunderstood' beasts, as Hagrid would call them - but Harry was definitely not supposed to know that.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term - anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch," Dumbledore's gaze hardened. "And finally - the third-floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds for everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death!"

Only a few laughed, including Diana, who quickly sobered as she looked around.

"He's joking, right?" Her whisper was furious.

"I wouldn't test it," Harry shrugged grimly, remembering an angry Fluffy.

He sighed inwardly; the trap gauntlet was here again. He often wondered what would have happened if he hadn't tried to stop Quirrel and Voldemort from stealing the stone. Probably nothing; the headmaster would have returned, only to find the possessed defence professor stuck in front of the mirror. In hindsight, all Harry had done that day was get himself and his friends wounded.

Back when he was a green firstie, he had wondered why Dumbledore had done this, but now an easy explanation came to mind. The headmaster had wanted to see if he could draw the attention of the Dark Lord to confirm whether Voldemort was still alive.

Either way, Harry Potter did not feel ready to confront the Dark Lord, weak or not. Bloody hell, looking at the smiling Quirrel who lacked a turban - he might get a peaceful year for once.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the Hogwarts song," Dumbledore had a wide smile on his face while the other professors looked a tad muffled, especially Quirrel, whose charming grin became strained, "Pick your favourite tune and off we go!"

The headmaster flicked his wand, conjuring a golden ribbon that twisted into the familiar lyrics.

The following discordant cacophony was grating to his ears, but just like everyone else, Harry sang along, albeit with a sad tune. As he finished, he felt something lighter, as if the burden pressing on his shoulders was now gone. His lips twitched as, at last, the Weasley twins were the only ones left singing along to a particularly slow funeral dirge again. A snicker escaped his lips as Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand.

The welcoming feast was over, and the students quickly stood up and crowded the exit.

"First years Ravenclaw, follow us," the prefects led them through the chattering crowd up the marble staircase. "Careful with the stairs. They sometimes tend to move when you least expect it."

The first years were quiet, and Harry could see most of them looking sleepy. He didn't feel too tired after the nap on the train.

Diana stumbled on one of the vanished steps, but he caught her before she could fall.

"Thanks," she mumbled drowsily, and Harry simply nodded.

The rest of their journey was rather uneventful. A handful of minutes later, after a few hidden doors and a winding spiral staircase, they finally faced an oaken door. It had no handle nor a keyhole, only a bronze eagle-shaped knocker.

"This is the entrance to our common room," the prefect, a tidy-looking dark-haired boy, announced. "To enter, you must answer a riddle."

"What happens if you can't guess correctly?" Terry Boot asked timidly.

"You'll be stuck outside, waiting for someone to help you answer," Penelope Clearwater, the other prefect, answered.

They approached the entrance, and a moment later, a soft, alluring voice spoke, "What has many keys but cannot open a single door?"

"Anyone wants to guess?" The prefect turned to them.

Nobody responded. Harry rubbed his brow tiredly; he wasn't particularly good at riddles, and no answer came to his mind either. Although he should definitely get some practice if he didn't want to wait in front of the entrance.

"A piano," Juno Lestrange finally answered with a silky, smooth voice that made Harry's neck tingle.

The door swung open without a single sound, and the prefects led them into a large circular room split by a pair of staircases. It was a cosy, blue and bronze chamber filled with soft chatter.

"This is our common room," Penelope said, "You can do pretty much everything here - relax, read, write your homework. Just make sure you don't disturb those who are studying."

"Downstairs, you will find the girl's rooms while the boys are upstairs," the other prefect motioned towards the intricate spiral staircase at the chamber's centre.

They were interrupted by the jovial Professor Flitwick.

"Thank you, Mr Gamp, Miss Clearwater; I shall take it from here!" The prefects nodded respectfully and scrambled away as the charms teacher turned to the First Years. "My name is Fillius Flitwick, and I'm the head of the Ravenclaw House. If you need help, my office is in the western hallway on the seventh floor; my door is always open outside school hours. Older students in the common room are also happy to help, but I must ask you not to disturb fifth and seventh-year students as they're preparing for their OWLs and NEWTs. Any questions?"

Padma Patil timidly raised her hand, and the professor nodded, "Err, when will we receive our timetables?"

"Tomorrow at breakfast, I shall hand them to you personally." A boy raised his hand next. "Yes, Mr Goldstein?"

"How are we going to get to the Great Hall?" His cheeks reddened. "Err, I forgot the way already."

"Don't worry, Miss Clearwater and Mr Gamp will show you the way every morning for the following week. If that is all, I wish you all a good night!"

Nobody asked anything, and Harry could see a few of his yearmates blinking sleepily. Professor Flitwick led them to the staircase, where Penelope Clearwater ushered the seven girls downstairs while Gamp led Harry and the other three boys up the spiralling staircase.

"You're quite lucky, little blokes," the prefect said as they arrived at a small circular hallway with four doors, "There's few enough of you to get your own room each. Boot," the boy began pointing at the doors, "Goldstein, Corner, Potter."

Harry quickly entered his room, closed the door, and looked around.

It was not only cosy but larger than he expected, bigger than Dudley's bedroom, with ample free space. Harry's two trunks were sitting next to his bed. Aside from it was a small table, a chair, and a drawer, all tapered with royal blue or lined with bronze. Hell, there was even a large mirror, and his window faced the surrounding mountains. The best thing was that any noise from outside seemed to be heavily muffled. Coupled with the small library downstairs, it appeared that joining Ravenclaw turned out to be the correct choice.

Harry took a deep breath and relaxed for a short moment; the air here in Hogwarts felt different from Diagon Alley. Not only was it cleaner and colder, but it felt more vibrant as if it was subtly thrumming with power.

With a thought, the yew wand appeared in his grasp, and Harry's eye shone with determination as he began to practice.

2nd of September, Monday

"The more you take, the more you leave behind!"

A breathless huff escaped his mouth as he stared at the bronze eagle with annoyance.

"Can't you, like, just let me through or something?"

"I can, but only if you answer the riddle."

He rubbed his sweaty brow and glared at the knocker. Bloody sodding riddles.

"Could you, err, repeat it, please?" he tried his very best not to let his annoyance leak into his voice. He was not going to argue with an enchanted knocker. Nope!

"The more you take, the more you leave behind."

After a handful of minutes of thinking, Harry sighed, "It's footsteps, isn't it?"

The door swung open to his relief, revealing a handful of students already awake in the common room.

Harry took a quick shower to wash away the sweat and grime from his morning run and changed into his dark robes. More than a dozen older students were murmuring drowsily or taking notes now. Like the Lions, it seemed that the Eagles weren't early risers. Now that he wasn't in a hurry, he quickly looked at the room.

Breakfast would begin in half an hour and classes in two, so he still had plenty of time. He picked up his school bag, urged Nyx to hide in his sleeve and left his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, he was at the West tower, in front of a varnished ebony door decorated with graceful bronze letters reading 'Fillius Flitwick'. Harry hesitantly knocked.

"Quite early! One moment," the professor's squeaky voice was heard through the door. "Enter!"

The office was big, bright, and full of royal blue and bronze, similar to Ravenclaw Tower. The Charms master was sitting behind a relatively short ebony desk, fitting for his stature, littered with scattered parchment.

"Good morning, Professor Flitwick."

"Ah, an early riser, just like your mother!" Flitwick smiled excitedly before he coughed abashedly and placed down his quill. "Good morning, Mr Potter. How may I help you?"

"I was told that any pets outside of the standard three must be approved by the head of the house."

"Indeed."

"Well," Harry hesitated, "I have a pet snake I found in Diagon."

"Hrm, while unusual, there's no problem with snakes and spiders, as long as they have their own vivarium and stay in it," Flitwick nodded amiably. "Though, I have to note the appearance and breed of the pet for the register. There have been cases of students trying to smuggle acromantulas before."

Harry grimaced, remembering the gigantic Aragog and his army of flesh-eating children.

He slowly unfurled his sleeve, revealing the small black serpent coiled around his right forearm. The snake raised its horned head and looked around with her black beady eyes.

"This is Nyx."

"Oh my," the diminutive Professor was looking at the snake with a mix of interest and caution. "What kind of snake is this? I'm not sure I recognise it."

"The proprietor at Magical Menagerie said it's some kind of hybrid," Harry shrugged. "She's harmless, though."

"If that's the case, I'm afraid I cannot allow her presence in Hogwarts," Flitwick sighed sadly. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter."

"Why would they not be allowed?"

"Breeding magical beasts is considered illegal, and any unidentified species that could be venomous are simply too dangerous. There was an accident with a similar pet nearly two hundred years ago. The student couldn't control his mutated toad - it escaped, and a few days later, it killed a first year with its venom before even a bezoar could be administered."

Harry tiredly ran his hand through his messy hair, "What would happen to Nyx, then?"

"She would be given to the potion Professor for ingredients or released into the Forbidden Forest."

The only reason a slew of curses didn't escape his mouth was because he managed to bite his tongue in time and grit his teeth. He wasn't going to lose his new companion, especially not to Snape, of all people. It took him nearly a minute to calm down, and an idea began to take shape in his mind.

"What… if Nyx could be controlled?"

The serpent chose that moment to nudge his hand with his head, and Harry absentmindedly began scratching underneath her chin.

"Most normal solutions are not good enough," for the first time, Flitwick's grey eyes lost their cheer. "And the kind of magic that could ensure this is quite dangerous and beyond the capabilities of a new student."

"How about parseltongue?"

"Well," the professor's brow scrunched up in thought for half a minute, "That would certainly guarantee it. But Mr Potter, the ability to speak to snakes is not something that can be taught. It is a rare talent passed only through blood descent, considered extinct in this corner of the world-"

"Nyx, say hello to Professor Flitwick!"

"The old two legs feels nice,"she hissed back. "I like him!"

The black serpent looked at the stunned teacher, uncoiled its tail and happily shook it as if waving a hand in greeting. The diminutive man stood frozen and blinked with disbelief at Nyx, then at Harry.

The seconds began to tickle by, and just when he thought that revealing this had been a mistake, Flitwick finally gathered himself.

"Extraordinary!" The professor's eyes were shining with interest.

"I even have a bezoar on hand at all times, just in case, sir," Harry took out the kidney-like stone from his pocket and showed it with his free hand.

"Good, good. Nyx, was it? The snake can definitely stay now," Flitwick nodded. "I'll fill in all the registers myself, Mr Potter. But beware - as the owner, you'll be held responsible for your pet's actions."

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," the boy let out a relieved sigh, "Though… would it be possible to keep the fact that I'm a Parselmouth a secret? I heard that the ability is rather reviled."

"Hmm, well, yes," his head of house coughed after staring at Nyx for half a minute, "Don't worry, I shan't say a word of this to anyone. Though, I will have to pen it down in the registry - but, just between you and me, that particular paperwork never gets reviewed unless there are extreme circ*mstances."

Harry thanked the diminutive professor one more time and left the office with a smile on his face. This whole affair had gone far better than expected.

A quick look at his waterproof watch told him that breakfast had just started, but he wasn't in a rush to get to the Great Hall. It lasted an hour and a half, so he had plenty of time left - he could be there in about ten minutes and would spend another twenty to eat at most.

Out of all the noteworthy things Harry had planned for this school year, all required plenty of time and effort. But there was one thing that would aid him greatly in all of his endeavours - the Room of Requirement.

Two turns later, he found the correct hallway but froze - both walls were bare, lacking any decoration at all. Most importantly, the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach ballet to trolls was not here. Harry quickly made his way to where the entrance of the Room was supposed to be and walked back and forth thrice.

Nothing happened. Harry tried it again, thinking of a different place, and, once again, received no result. If someone was inside, there would be a door, and he simply wouldn't be able to enter. The next few minutes were spent walking around, checking if this was the correct hallway. Yet there was no mistake, and Harry's scowl turned to a grimace as he stubbornly gazed into the granite wall.

"Bloody sh*te!"

Cassiopeia made her way through the Black Manor. Curtains, decorations, and furniture were all in inky dark colouring; other hues were so dark and deep that they bordered on black anyway. It gave off a still, macabre feeling. The place used to be far better looking, but since Melania died, there was not a shred of joy left in the house. Arcturus was still mourning even now, ten years later. Not even Nurmengard was so dull and gloomy.

Finally, she reached the inner yard where her cousin loved to spend his mornings. And indeed, he was there, sitting on an ebony chair and gazing at the cloudy sky. His hair had long turned white, though she couldn't say whether it was from the stress or the passage of time.

Arcturus didn't bother turning. "Cass?" His voice was hoarse and icy yet tired. Although she could feel the barest sliver of relief, which could count for a warm greeting with him.

"Who else," She sighed and sat on a chair beside him. "My nephew, Cygnus, died from that nasty curse ten years ago. My brother, Pollux, died last year from dragon pox. Walburga-"

"Don't mention that dumb cow!"

Cassiopeia wasn't daunted at his roaring. Arcturus was a dangerous politician, but not too deadly with a wand. Not like Dumbledore, or Grindelwald. Besides, a 'dumb cow' was an apt description of Walburga.

"She is still your kin, the daughter of Pollux and your daughter-in-law besides," she reminded wryly.

"A mistake! That's all that stupid cow was, all from her Crabbe mother. Walburga not only seduced my foolish son and heir but ran roughshod over the stupid boy, ruining the education of my grandsons, turning them both into wastrels," Arcturus heaved heavily, and his grey eyes were like two chips of cold granite. Cassiopeia couldn't help but agree.

"What of Lucretia? She's alive, but I hear she's gravely ill now. You can still visit your daughter while she lives."

"Why would I?" He scowled fiercely. "Lucretia is no daughter of mine. She didn't even show her face for her mother's funeral. I have not received a single word from that ingrate for fifteen years now. A single word!"

Ah, if anything else, her cousin could hold a fierce grudge like nobody else.

"Why not disown her, then?"

"House Black needs no more scandals," Arcturus gritted his teeth, "Besides, she didn't even bother conceiving children, so it matters little. Although now that I think about it, Prewett might have been infertile."

Cassiopeia snorted. It was unlikely to be a fertility problem, especially with that shrillish Prewett cousin who kept popping out kids without stopping. No, knowing Lucretia had done everything in her power to avoid getting pregnant out of her dislike for children more than anything else.

"Druella could have visited too, you know," she reminded as she waved over Wally to serve her a cup of black tea.

"She might have married Cygnus, but she was born a Rosier still," he grumbled as the elf brought over the tea. "Besides, dear Druella is far too busy trying to drown herself in firewhisky now that her granddaughter is at school."

"But she won't succeed, I hope?"

"She won't; her allowance isn't that big," a heavy sigh escaped him. "Twenty years ago, there were more than a dozen of us born to the Black name. The most powerful and influential House in all of Wizarding Britain! Now, we're reduced to two old fools too stubborn to die and a young girl for an heir."

"Ah, what a girl. She might be young, but she has talent, drive, and power in spades," Cassiopeia giggled. "Although she's technically a Lestrange."

"So what if she is a Lestrange?" Arcturus let out a short bark of laughter. "House Black takes primacy. Her children will take the Black name; thus, House Black will absorb the Lestranges completely - their seat on the Mot and all their wealth and property."

"Is that why you killed Lord Lestrange?" She took a small sip from the silver-bound porcelain cup. It was warm and bitter, just like her life.

"Old Corvus died in an accident."

The denial was ironclad, yet the twitch in his lips told another story.

"How unfortunate that he couldn't take custody of his granddaughter, the Black Heiress," Cassiopeia snorted.

"Indeed," Arcturus' weathered face twisted in regret. Others might have been fooled, but she could tell it was fake. "Knockturn Alley is dangerous, and walking there alone at night is begging for trouble."

"It seems that you have everything planned out well," Cassiopeia took another gulp of tea. "Have you prepared her a consort, too?"

"No. I shall not make the same mistake again. Juno can make her own arrangement as long as she picks someone from a respectable lineage."

"Aren't you afraid that they would try and usurp the Black Lordship?"

"Oh please, you trained that girl yourself for nearly two years," he snorted. "Do you think anyone can run roughshod over her?"

"No," Cassiopeia agreed with a smirk. Juno was a spitfire, just like her mother, but far more charming and powerful. "Still, is it wise for a girl, albeit a wise one, to choose her betrothed?"

Youth could led astray too easily.

"It shall be fine, I taught her myself. Cygnus' daughters all chafed under my arrangements, and I cannot risk her deciding that elopement with some no-name muggle just to run from Malfoy or the such."

Like her lamented grandniece had done. Ah, Andromeda had been such a promising witch…

"So Narcissa is still pissy about that, eh?"

"Indeed, that woman is more Malfoy than Black now," Arcturus grunted. "The only reason she and her husband are still around is that I wouldn't hesitate to disinherit that little blond ponce if they look at me or Juno wrongly. Besides, Lucius is useful - he is cunning and has made plenty of connections."

"Really? If you wanted to bother, you could have half the Mot in your grasp again within half a year."

"Politics is a young man's game," he waved dismissingly. "I'm ninety now, and my patience for any of that has long run out. Nurturing the future heir of House Black is far more important."

"If that was the case, you should have sent Juno to Durmstrang." Cassiopeia squinted. "Yet you've sent her straight into Dumbledore's arms instead. What if the old coot managed to sway her just like Sirius?"

"I'd like him to try. That girl is sharper than me and would easily see through the headmaster's affable veneer," he rubbed his brow tiredly. "It's not like I didn't warn her either. As for why Hogwarts - I have more connections there than in Durmstrang, including the direct influence of over half the school board. And most importantly - the best Transfiguration and Charms teachers in the magical world are there, not to mention the grandest magical library."

"What about the dark arts?!"

"Well, aren't you tutoring Juno yourself? Who in Durmstrang could teach the Dark Arts better than Grindelwald's left hand?"

"That might be true, but aren't you afraid I'll infect her with my 'silly ideas'?" Cassiopeia smiled sweetly. Not that she hadn't already in the last two years.

"I hold no love for Grindelwald, but he wasn't… wrong."

She blinked and even pinched her arm to check if this was a dream - but it wasn't.

"Blood matters, but ability matters more."

"Everyone has their uses," he admitted begrudgingly. "The last three great wizards were all half-blood. A muggle-born killed that last Dark Lord!"

"Oh, you think it wasn't the baby?" She snorted with amusem*nt.

"Come now, don't tell me you buy that codswallop. The Potter family magic might be powerful, but that fool James got caught without a wand, and a fifteen-month-old baby would never be able to do anything more significant, even with accidental magic. No, I'll freely admit that the only thing that makes sense is for Lily Potter to have managed to set up a trap for that arrogant half-blood."

Cassiopeia burst out in laughter, and it took her half a minute to calm down.

"So Voldemort was a halfblood?"

"Indeed, although it took me some time to uncover it," Arcturus hummed. "But that doesn't mean we must embrace the muggle filth and their ideas! Lily Potter was the exception - not the rule."

"Well, that's all good. But what would you do if Juno ended up in Gryffindor?"

"She's a consummate Slytherin if I've seen any. Besides, we can easily check that now. Wally!"

Juno's personal house elf popped, garbed in a stylish butler uniform.

"Yes, Master Black?'

"Which house did your mistress get sorted into?"

"Ravenclaw," the elf squeaked.

"Consummate Slytherin," Cassiopeia snorted.

"Ravenclaw is a respectable house, so it's fine. I might be old, but I am not easily fooled - that maggot Snape is in Dumbledore's pocket, while Flitwick is not," Arcturus clicked his tongue. "Besides, Ravenclaw is not without opportunities."

"Wally, has anything else of interest happened in Hogwarts?"

Arcturus raised his hand to stop the elf from answering her.

"Come now, aren't you too old for gossip, Cassie? Where's the rush? Let Juno handle things on her own; some lessons can only be learned, not taught. Besides, she will write letters regularly and knows when to ask for help."

"Fine," she sighed and returned her attention to her tea.

Her cousin dismissed the elf as she sipped and swore inwardly - it had grown cold.

Chapter 9: The First Day

Chapter Text

2nd of September

Everything was soft and cosy in just the right way, making Diana feel like she was in heaven.

"Hey, Taylor, wake up," a small but annoying voice grated in her ears.

"Go 'way," she groaned. "le'me sleep."

"Clearwater said we have to be up and ready in fifteen so she can take us down to the Great Hall for breakfast."

Who the bloody hell was Clearwater again? Diana blearily cracked an eye open, only to see an Indian girl in black robes looking at her expectantly.

Wait, Indian girl in robes?!

It took a few moments for Diana's drowsy mind to start moving, and when it did, she leapt out of her bed. Right, she was in the Scottish Highlands, and today, they would begin learning how to domagic. She was sorted in Ravenclaw, and this was her new dorm room, all bronze and royal blue in a simple Victorian style.

And the girl, Padma… something, was her roommate. The muggle-born girl hastily went into the small bathroom to clean her teeth and freshen herself up, trying to desperately remember the family name of her new roommate.

But no matter what she did, her mind just came up blank. Last night, they were both too tired and had directly gone to sleep without even talking.

"You should take your books now unless you want to return all the way to the tower before the lessons start," Padma's voice greeted her back into the room.

"Thanks," Diana groaned while looking at the hefty stack of books next to her bed. With a sigh, she started stuffing all the heavy tomes into her bag, along with parchment rolls, inkpots and quills. "Sorry 'bout earlier. I'm not exactly a morning person."

"That's obvious," the other girl giggled. "But you should set up your own alarm 'cause I don't think I can wake you up every morning."

"I forgot," Diana rubbed her neck awkwardly while staring at the inkpot. What was wrong with paper and pens? "I can't believe wizards still use quills."

"It's not too bad once you get used to them," Padma provided. "Besides, quills are far easier to enchant than the muggle pencils. Some quills can be magical on their own, especially those made from the feathers of beasts like hippogriffs. I'm guessing you're a muggle-born?"

"I am," the short girl squinted at her roommate, "Is it going to be a problem?"

"I don't really care about all that stuff," the Indian girl shrugged. "But many others would. Especially if you're friends with the Boy-who-lived."

"What's with the silly nickname?" Diana couldn't help but chortle, but her mirth quickly died at Padma's unamused face. "Besides, who I'm friends with is nobody's business but my own!"

"Obviously, but Harry Potter is important."

"Isn't he half-blood himself?"

"He is, but it doesn't matter," the Indian girl waved dismissively. "You'll see for yourself soon enough. How'd you become friends with him anyway?"

Diana couldn't help but frown but decided not to press further and sighed, "We just sat together on the train-"

A knock on the door interrupted her, followed by the voice of an older girl: "Taylor, Patil, stop dallying; we have to lead the rest of you to the Great Hall."

Diana quickly pulled on her own robe, grabbed her filled bag and hastily followed after Padma. She groaned at the weight of the hefty bag, but at least now she knew the family name of her roommate. They quickly made their way to the common room, where the rest of her classmates were waiting.

All of them but Harry; Diana craned her head and looked around curiously but saw no trace of her friend. Though she didn't worry much about him - Harry seemed very smart and knew things. All the other first years were there, including Juno Lestrange, who was the picture of graceful perfection with her impeccable silky robe with a bronze and blue tie and flowing soft dark curls.

The tall girl naturally attracted the glances of everyone who passed by, be it because of her supposedly controversial name or graceful elegance. Yet, Diana, along with the rest of the girls, looked at her with distaste more than anything else. There were seven girls and four rooms, and Juno was the one who managed to grab a lone room for herself.

It seemed that Clearwater, the female prefect with mousy hair, also noticed her missing friend, "Gamp, where's Potter?"

"Slate saw him leave the common room half an hour ago," the older boy shrugged dismissively. "He's probably at the Great Hall already."

"And what if he isn't?!" Diana could swear Clearwater had growled. "You know well enough how big Hogwarts is; what if he is lost in some hallway and can't get to breakfast and receive his schedule?!"

"Nothing we can do about it," Gamp attempted to wave away her concerns. "Even if I wanted to find him, it'd be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Is this how you want to start your tenure as a prefect? With a stain on your record on the very first day?!"

Diana couldn't help but gulp at Penelope Clearwater's intense glare; nothing in her soft and mousy demeanour had hinted at her ferocity before. Would all the teachers be like that too?

The older boy groaned and rubbed his brow tiredly. "Alright, fine, I'll look for him, and you get the firsties to breakfast."

He hastily made his way to the oaken door and left the common room. The rest of them shuffled uneasily while looking at the fifth-year girl, who was now breathing heavily.

"Try to memorise the way down," the remaining prefect sighed and headed to the hallway while Diana and the rest of the first-years followed.

The rest of the first years began to chatter, but she noticed nobody attempted to speak to Juno Lestrange while the tall girl was impassively scrutinising the rest of them with her blue eyes.

With half an ear, the muggle-born girl listened to the two girls in front of her.

"How are you finding the school?" A skinny girl with Asian features asked.

"Hogwarts is amazing," gushed another with a light Scottish brogue, MacDougal, if she remembered correctly. "Which class do you think will be the best?"

"Potions. My father told me a skilled potion master can swim in galleons."

"Ah damn. No wonder I heard Professor Snape's classes were the hardest. I can't wait for Defense Against the Dark Arts. All the cool magic is taught there!"

"So, Taylor," Diana turned in surprise to see a dark-haired boy looking at her. What was his name again, Mike Cornfield? "What's Potter like?"

"Well," she hesitated for a short moment, "he's fine."

"Fine?" another boy with sandy blonde hair echoed.

"Yep," she popped out with a grin. "Why ask me, though? You can always speak to him."

"His gaze is scary," Cornfield shuddered.

"And there's this glower on his face as if he's always angry, too," one of the brown-haired girls added.

"I heard the headmaster trained Potter since he could walk-"

"Hush and focus," Penelope Clearwater warned from the front. "It's unbecoming for students of Ravenclaw to believe in silly rumours. After this, you'll be expected to make your way without help, so don't get distracted!"

The warning silenced them, and Diana tried to focus on their route, but the maze of hallways, tapestries, and staircases made her dizzy. The straps of her heavy bag sank painfully into her shoulder, even through the fabric of the robes.

Eventually, they faced the tall, arched doors of the Great Hall. The insides were bustling with chatter and the sound of utensils clanking.

Diana instantly spotted Harry; plenty of students were gawking, pointing at him openly and with hushed whispers, yet none approached him. Sitting alone at the edge of the Ravenclaw table, near the staff, he was absorbed in devouring a hearty serving of bacon and eggs.

She made her way and plopped on the seat to his right, putting away the burdensome bag. The rest of the first years spread around the table in small groups, and Juno Lestrage chose the solitary place just across them while another pompous-looking boy whose name Diana couldn't remember sat near the tall girl.

"Good morning!"

Harry swallowed a mouthful of bacon before giving her a slight smile, "Morning, Diana."

Diana nodded, filled a plate with bacon, mushrooms, and cheese, and dived right into it.

"Where were you, Potter? We waited for you in the common room," the pompous boy coughed.

"I wake up early," Harry shrugged.

At that moment, Professor Flitwick appeared with a stack of parchments in hand.

"Ah, Mr Potter, the doors of my office are always open for you. Feel free to visit if you have any trouble!" The diminutive wizard jovially smiled at Harry and then straightened up. "And here are your timetables," his voice echoed across the Ravenclaw table.

With a flick of his wand, the stack of parchments in his hand flew up as if blown by the wind, but all the sheets fell exactly on an empty place in front of each student.

"Amazing!" The words slipped unbidden from Diana, but she was far from the only one.

The rest of the students along the Ravenclaw table, young and old, were all gazing at Flitwick, who had returned to the staff table with awe and pride. The headmaster was chuckling happily while the other professors looked amused.

Even the usually stoic Harry and the unflappable Juno gazed at the diminutive professor with undisguised admiration.

The show had attracted the attention of the other three houses, and Diana could spot a few envious glances thrown at the Ravenclaw table. She couldn't help but wonder how much study and practice it would take to do something like that.

With a kind smile and an effortless flick of his wand, Flitwick seemed like a conductor who seamlessly moulded the orchestra or reality itself. Now, it was just the timetables, but the sheer possibility that the simple flick opened in her mind…

Deep within her, a fierce desire was kindled.

"Double Potions with Hufflepuff first," Harry's voice roused her from her thoughts; there was a barely noticeable scowl on his face.

"Potions sounds interesting," Diana offered hesitantly, remembering earlier conversations between their classmates. Besides, the textbook they had to buy had also been quite enlightening.

"It might be, but I didn't hear good things about the professor teaching it," the words were whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Quite possibly because they sat just under the staff table.

"How bad can it be?"

"I suppose we're going to find out for ourselves soon enough," the was the barest hint of irritation in his tone. "At least Potions is only once a week."

"Hopefully, the teacher won't be too hard on us," Diana frowned after looking at the timetable again, "Mondays are going to be such a pain - after Potions, we have History of Magic, lunch, Transfiguration, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"It's not too bad; the following days seem easier."

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence as they focused on eating. The food was delicious, and as soon as they were done, they headed towards the Potions classroom. Harry confidently led the way, expertly weaving through the confusing maze of hallways and staircases.

As they descended into the dungeons, she couldn't help but ask, "Are you sure we're going to the correct place?"

"Yes," was the instant reply; Harry did not pause even for a second.

"You walk as if you know every nook and cranny of the castle."

That made him still for a short moment, and his shoulders tensed.

"Well," Harry sighed as he ran a hand through his unruly mop of black hair, "I went for a jog early in the morning and then did some exploring. You can join me tomorrow if you want?"

The thought of getting up even earlier made Diana grimace, "Thanks, but I'll pass."

It was colder here in the dungeons, and she couldn't help but shiver. The strap once again painfully sunk into her shoulder, making her wince. Diana frowned at Harry; he seemed to have no problem with his bag despite it being as stuffed as hers.

He seemed to see her distress and sighed. A pale wand appeared in his hand, and he waved it, mumbling something she couldn't hear. Suddenly, the bag was as light as a feather, and her shoulder was relieved.

"It should stay for a few hours," he offered with a nod.

"That's handy," Diana beamed at him. "Can you teach me?"

"I can do you one better. I can lend you the book on household charms I bought from the Alley; mighty useful stuff."

She nodded gratefully, and Harry finally stopped in front of an old, dark door.

"I hope the insides look more welcoming."

Her friend just grimaced, and a few seconds later, Diana found out why. The insides were no better; the room was gloomy, barely illuminated by a few lamps, and the rafts along the wall were filled with pickled jars full of queer animal limbs and organs.

As they sat down, Harry grabbed his runes book to read again, and she found herself fishing outMagical Draughts and Potionsby Arsenius Jigger and cracked it open. Diana had read the book before, and potion-making didn't seem too difficult.

The rest of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws slowly streamed in until most seats were taken. All was quiet; the dim room had this uneasiness to it that seemed to discourage you from speaking out loud.

By sitting beside Harry, she did get gawked and pointed at, along with a few more inquisitive glances. It annoyed her a little, but her friend seemed to completely ignore them as if they were nothing but hot air. Still, from the handful of whispers, Diana discovered that the potion professor, Severus Snape, was the head of the Slytherins.

The house that supposedly hated people with normal, non-magical parents like herself…

That was besides the fact that the potions professor apparently had abadreputation.

BANG!

The chatter immediately died as the door slammed open, and the potions professor walked in. A long, black cloak billowed behind him. Greasy hair, a hooked nose, and a sallow, scowling face made him look equally ugly and scary.

There was something almost angry in his languid stride and cold, dark eyes that made Diana hastily return her book to the bag and replace it with a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

Snape sat behind the teacher's desk beside the blackboard and unfurled a scroll. Without a pause, he began taking the register.

"Anthony Goldstein," the teacher's voice was quiet, even, and unfeeling.

One of the boys fearfully eked out a 'here'.

"Diana Taylor-"

"Ernest…"

Not for a moment had the man looked up; his sole attention seemed to be on the roll of parchment before them as if looking at their faces was not worth his precious time. The man continued taking the register dispassionately, and Diana decided that she didn't like the Potions Professor.

Uncharacteristically, he paused at her friend's name.

"Ah yes," his voice was even softer, but there was a slight mocking tilt to it now, "Harry Potter, our… newest celebrity."

Harry, however, looked unflappable as he confirmed his presence as a few students snigg*red behind them.

Soon enough, Snape finished taking names and finally looked at them.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," his dark gaze roamed across the room, making the students shuffle uneasily. "As there'll be little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of the liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory or even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His lips twisted into an ugly sneer, and he gazed directly at Diana. A moment later, she realised that the professor wasn't glaring at her but at Harry.

"Potter!" Snape's voice was snapped like a whip. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel into an infusion of wormwood?"

Why was Harry being singled out?!

The classroom was as quiet as a graveyard. Diana had a pretty good memory and did not remember either of those two ingredients mentioned in their textbooks.

"Nothing, sir," Harry's dry voice cut through the silence as a knife. "But if sopophrous bean juice and diced valerian roots are added in the correct order, a competent brewer should manage to make a Draught of Living Death."

That seemed to be the correct answer, judging by the professor's squinted eyes and clenched jaw. Worse, Diana was now certain that the potion was not even mentioned in their books…

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"None; they're the same,sir," her friend replied in the most monotone voice Diana had ever heard, while his gaze was stubbornly sticking at a blank point of the wall.

The head of the Slytherins hummed unhappily and whirled towards another desk, where two Hufflepuff girls sat - one pudgy redhead and the other willowy blonde with twin pigtails.

"Bones! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?!"

The rest of the potions lesson passed in a similar vein. Professor Snape only managed to find ways to be even more unpleasant, hovering over their cauldrons and bitingly pointing out the slightest mistake anyone made.

Terry Boot even got a point off Ravenclaw docked for breathing too loudly!

At least Harry seemed to know what he was doing; once they had to work in pairs, Diana couldn't help but be impressed.

Yet, a deep sense of indignation was raging inside her; never before had a teacherinsultedher repeatedly without any cause, and on the very first day, no less.

Diana wasnota dunderhead!

That was besides the ten-inch essay on porcupine quills he had dumped on them for homework.

She'd never even heard of essays being measured in inches before!

Yet amidst all of it, their pair had reluctantly received an Exceeding Expectations for their efforts. And they were not the only ones - Padma and Goldstein had managed to make a perfect potion yet failed to receive Outstanding.

"What the bloody hell is his problem?!" Diana hissed tiredly as soon as they were out of earshot from the Potions classroom. "Our boil cure was exactly how the instructions said it should be."

The rest of the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs looked no better; many of their faces had an expression as if they had been forced to swallow a large spoonful of bitter medicine. She had to almost skip to keep with Harry's fast pace as if he couldn't wait to get away from the Potions classroom, not that Diana could blame him.

"I heard an older Gryffindor say that Snape gets off on tormenting younger students," Harry shrugged, but there was a tenseness in his shoulders.

"Ah, damn it! You were right; he was a prick. How will we survive seven years of lessons with someone likehim?!"

He rubbed his brow tiredly.

"Don't worry too much; it's not too bad once you ignore Snape's hovering and focus on the potion itself."

"But he's sabotaging our grades! We should complain-"

"There's no need," Harry interrupted. "Any complaints will only make him target us even more. As long as you get a passing grade on the exam at the end of the year, it doesn't really matter. Even those aren't important as long as you have at least acceptable. The only grades that truly matter are on the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

"O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s?" Diana echoed curiously.

"The official exams for proficiency administered by the Ministry at the end of the fifth and seventh year, respectively. An… older year student gave me advice to simply focus on the potion and ignore Snape's provocations."

"I suppose. But the professor seems to have a problem with you for some reason," she pointed out. "That was totally unfair. I've read all of the first-year books, and that Living Sleep potion at the start wasn't inany of them!"

"I know," he snorted in amusem*nt. "And it's Draught of Living Death, not Living Sleep."

"Whatever," Diana scrunched up her nose. "I hope History of Magic is better."

"Well," he coughed, "I've heard that the teacher is a ghost."

"That sounds so interesting. Being witness to some of the events himself, the professor must know loads!"

Harry's lips twitched for a short moment as if he was trying not to laugh.

They soon arrived in front of a door on the first floor, and Harry bravely cracked it open.

Thankfully, the classroom was brighter than the previous one - it even had windows! Her friend took a seat at the very back of the class, and Diana hesitantly joined him.

Soon, more students arrived. They shared this class with Slytherin, so other first years, this time with silver and green ties, joined them instead.

A blonde Slytherin boy entered, looked around for a short moment, and after a brief moment of hesitation, headed straight to them.

The aristocratic face, slicked-back hair, and somewhat arrogant expression told Diana everything she needed to know.

The fact that he was accompanied by two stout boys on each side who lookedincrediblydumb and mean with their dense expressions was only an unwelcome bonus.

A pair of bodyguards if she ever saw any.

"My name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," despite the slight hesitance, his voice was as pompous as she imagined, and Diana barely managed to hold in a snigg*r. Then, as if remembering something, he hastily added, "And these are my companions, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

For the first time, Harry's firm demeanour was gone; he stood still as if he could not decide what to do. After a few seconds, he finally shook Malfoy's offered hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Malfoy," the words were spoken slowly as if he was trying to taste them. "As you probably know, I'm Harry Potter. How may I help you today?"

The blonde boy seemed completely floored, staring at Harry dumbly as if he had not expected the amiable response. "E-Erm, I just wanted to introduce myself-"

"Cousin Draco," Diana almost jumped at Juno Lestrange's sudden appearance. "I hope you're not bothering my fellow housemates."

The muggle-born girl could finally take a closer look at Juno. Her voice was soft and kind, like silk, and her smile was sweet despite not fully reaching her sharp eyes. Yet, for some reason, Draco's already pale skin went deathly white, and Crabbe and Goyle had taken a step back, each with a gulp.

Juno Lestrange was not only incredibly pretty but also tall, a whole head taller than Diana, and the shorter girl couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

"Um, well, I was just… introducing myself?"

"I see…" Juno hummed as she inspected the three Slytherin boys. "I hope I have no reason to write to Aunt Narcissa."

Malfoy shook his head and quickly fled to the furthest corner of the room.

Harry was cautiously staring at Juno while the tall girl eyed him curiously. Despite being completely still, Diana could see Harry's right hand twitch.

The silence stretched until it was uncomfortable, and she'd had enough.

"Hello," she coughed and ended up on the receiving end of two intense gazes. "I'm Diana Taylor; pleased to meet you."

Juno shook her hand, but there was some hesitation in her gesture. "A… pleasure indeed. My name is Juno Lestrange. I hope you don't mind me sitting here."

The question was pointed at Harry, who looked to the seat on his left and eventually sighed.

"Sure, go ahead." That seemed to bleed the tension out of the air.

Although there seemed to be a choppy rigidness to Harry's actions now, the presence of the tall girl seemed to unnerve him somewhat.

They all got out their materials, and soon enough, the class started. Diana couldn't help but gasp as a ghost phased through the blackboard.

"I am Professor Binns, and today we'll talk about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612…"

There was no taking of names; the ghostly teacher simply droned on endlessly. His voice was so monotonous that Diana fought to stay awake while taking notes. A look to her left, and she was surprised to see that neither Harry nor Juno were even paying attention to the teacher. Her friend had unashamedly cracked open his runes book while the tall girl was reading the History textbook instead.

"Why not take notes?" Diana whispered furiously. "Won't you get in trouble for not paying attention? What if he asks questions?"

"Binns won't care about you as long as you keep quiet," Harry murmured, "Besides, he's been teaching the same thing for hundreds of years. You can easily get notes from an older student, or, well, you'd be better off studying on your own."

True enough, half the Slytherins were already dozing off, and she could hear the snores coming from Crabbe and Goyle all the way to the back of the class. Most of the Ravenclaws were valiantly trying to take notes, but Diana could see Goldstein and the Asian girl had nodded off.

Seeing that Harry was right, she reached into her bag for a book and settled down for a long read.

Transfiguration was a fascinating subject, especially the cat shapeshifting that McGonagall did. Unlike the previous two professors, the deputy headmistress looked like a strict woman but at least spoke with fervour. Yet, much to Diana's chagrin, the first lesson was quite a short introduction and the beginning of the basics. They still hadn't done any magic, yet they already had two sets of homework…

The DADA teacher, however, seemed neither strict nor boring. With a warm, charming smile, it made you hang onto his every word in silence as he took their attendance. The classroom also felt quite welcoming, with the sweet, calming scent of mint permeating the air. They shared this class with the Hufflepuffs again.

The professor wore dark robes that were simple yet stylish, with crossed silver lines embedded along the hems of the sleeves. His chestnut hair was neat and tidy, and you could find no fault in his appearance.

For some reason, Harry seemed even more uncomfortable than before, sitting somewhat tense as if there were pins and needles on his chair. His eyes seemed to be looking not at the professor's face but at his feet.

"Greetings, my name is Quirinus Quirrell, and I shall be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," his voice was powerful, almost hypnotic, as he slowly walked back and forth atop the podium. "If I were to follow the ministry-approved guidelines under my tutelage, you'd learn a few simple definitions and a handful of minor jinxes and hexes," the distaste in his voice was palpable.

"It would be… easy. Simple even. But doing so would be a disservice to you all. No, besides the mundane things, in my class, you shall learn how toidentifythe most common dangers to witches and wizards and at least know how to avoid or deal with them. Which do you think are the biggest dangers to a wizard? Come now, anyone? Don't be shy, I won't bite!" A few hands shot up, and Quirrell's inquisitive gaze roamed over their faces. "Yes, Miss Abbot?"

"Well, the dark arts are the most dangerous! Sir," the pigtailed blushing Hufflepuff added with a squeak.

"They certainly are dangerous," he nodded with a smile. "But,whatare the dark arts? After all, to know how to defend against them, we must know what they are. Yes, Mr Goldstein."

"Magic that kills, sir?" the pompous boy answered confidently.

"But is it truly?" Quirrell hummed thoughtfully. "Yet, with the knockback jinx, a simple charm, you can make someone fall from a great height, or if used with enough power, slam them into a wall or a sharp object, easily leading to a heavy injury or death. It's highly unlikely, but not impossible, and every witch and wizard older than the second year can use that spell. So, what makes magic dark?"

"The Ministry?" A boy from Hufflepuff asked.

"The Ministry can make magic illegal, not dark, Mr. Hopkins," the professor shook his head. "If they were to ban the knockback jinx tomorrow, it wouldn't make it dark magic. So, does anyone actually know what defines the dark arts?" There were no more raised hands, and all the students seemed to be leaning forward, listening to the man with rapt attention. "Miss Lestrange, would you wager to guess?"

"Dark is any magic that requires the intent to cause harm to cast, professor," Juno responded without hesitation, but her voice was as soft as velvet. Diana felt another pang of jealousy - the girl wastooperfect for her height.

"Correct," Quirrell beamed. "Take fifteen points to Ravenclaw! Like any other magic, the Dark Arts are no more or less dangerous than the wizard wielding them. So once again, what are the biggest dangers to a wizard in this day and age?"

The Indian girl lifted her hand, "Misuse of magic, sir?"

"Indeed, Miss Patil, take two points. The permanent spell damage ward of Saint Mungo is filled with witches and wizards who wielded magic carelessly without the respect it deserves," Quirrell's face darkened. "Yet there are plenty who failed to survive. Magic is powerful,sacred.To have the ability to wield it is a great honour, yet many waste the precious gift on trivialities. Make no mistake, being a wizard or a witch is a serious thing, and a lack of respect and carelessness can andwillget you killed. Now, can anyone else tell me another potential danger?"

"Magical beasts?"

"That's right," the professor stilled. "But those are covered in the later years of DADA. If you wish, you can gain even more experience in that field if you pick Care of Magical Creatures as your elective in your third year. For those who want to know more now, I recommend you readFantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.The book explains the more peculiar beasts and their locations in detail, making them easy to recognise and avoid. Now, two more things can threaten a wizard other than incompetence and magical creatures. Mr Potter?"

Harry shuffled uneasily, his gaze still off. "Dark wizards and witches, sir."

"Take a point for Ravenclaw, Mr Potter. A capable caster must be able to defend themselves and others should they wish to bring them harm; that's a large part of what we'll learn this year. Now, today we'll focus on the softening charm first-" he paused at the raised hand of one of the Ravenclaw girls. "Yes, Miss Brocklehurst?"

"You said there are two more dangers to wizards. Which is the second one?"

"Why, muggles, of course!"

Chapter 10: Feuds and Rivalry

Chapter Text

13th of September, Friday

Being back at Hogwarts and studying was odd but not unwelcome. Harry kept up his usual routine but couldn't help but notice that he could regain his magic quicker here than at Diagon Alley, thus somehow accelerating his training. He was confident that in a month or three, he would have enough control to cast most of the third-year spells without fail.

As the weeks passed, he remembered the slain students and the stench of death less and less, as if Hogwarts itself forced the painful memories to fade from his mind, although Harry's unease lingered. Thankfully, he could remember nothing of his dreams, and his sleep was restful and calm, possibly due to the lack of Horcrux lodged in his forehead. The more Harry spent in the castle, the less his mind dwelled on the past, no, future? It did help that things weredifferent.

Being in Ravenclaw was a novel experience, but the house was far quieter than Gryffindors. He did miss the boisterous commotion, but peace and calm had an allure of their own. Few bothered him directly with more than a handful of polite inquiries; his housemates were gracious and content to leave him to his own devices. It helped that Professor Flitwick was a far more enthusiastic head of house than McGonagall ever was. To Harry's surprise, the diminutive charms master had taken a shine to him and favoured him publicly as much as Snape had favoured Malfoy. It certainly feltniceto have an actual adult watching his back!

Ron and Hermione were also doing well, or at least as good as any other first years. The bushy-haired muggle-born girl was still her bossy, studious self, while the red-haired boy was laidback and awkward. Both were so young, so small, and so innocent and happy in their own way. Harry was glad not to have approached his former friends, as they deserved what happiness they could find. If he had to pinpoint where things really differed, it would be the new faces around the school. He knew only a handful of names, but there were simply more students in the school, more than half a dozen in his year alone - most notable were Lily Moon, Damien Greengrass, Juno Lestrange, and Diana.

It took him some time, but eventually, he realised that he considered Diana a friend. She was a curious yet sensible girl, as hardworking and intelligent as Hermione yet not as strung up. Harry did not mind her presence.

The other big surprise was Juno Lestrange, Bellatrix's daughter. Harry had almost attempted to curse her when he realised who she was, but had ultimately managed to suppress his rush of anger in the end. Not that he was in any way capable of casting anything even remotely nasty. Not yet.

Oh, the burning hatred of Bellatrix was still there undiminished, even though she had not done anything to him or his this time. This was one thing Harry found himself unable to let go of despite everything. Yet, her daughter was just a girl. A tall, overly capable girl with unrelenting politeness and a hint of danger. The other housemates seemed to be wary of her initially. Still, after nearly two weeks, she had already won over Mandy Brocklehurst and Morag MacDougal, who followed after her almost everywhere.

Draco was also far more amiable this time, though Harry wasn't sure if it was because he had been polite, Ravenclaw, or the lack of Ron goading Malfoy's prickly ego. Could have been Bellatrix's daughter, who seemed to terrify his former nemesis, which amused Harry to no end. The fewer annoyances he had to deal with, the better.

Most of the teachers were the same - McGonagall was strict, and Snape was still as big of a git as ever, although the Potion master's attempts to get a raise out of Harry elicited no response. After six years of suffering from the overgrown bat, he knew how to deal with Snape's provocations. Given his experiences, why should Harry care about fairness or grades anymore?

The worldwasn'tfair. It was a bitter lesson learned the hard way, but no less true for it. Besides, the memories from Dumbledore's pensive only made him distrust the Potions master all the more. As for grades, schoolwork felt laughably easy, as did his classes. Harry spent most of them reading ahead or practising his silent casting, though he had yet to achieve any results.

The oddest thing was probably Quirrell's competence. There was no turban on his head, no overwhelming smell of garlic, and the teacher was charismatic and, as much as it pained Harry to admit, one of the best Defence teachers they had. He had heard rumours that the man had been a brilliant mind even as the Muggle Studies professor before his yearly sabbatical, but seeing it was another thing.

Was he always so good before Voldemort had possessed him?

There was a hint of caution in Harry - was the dark lord really… not here? Dumbledore had laid his trap on the third floor again, still. Looking at the Defence professor, Harry found himself indecisive. He liked having a capable teacher in the subject, but the apprehension was still there. Not that it mattered; Harry had more important things to do. His training was progressing well, but everything else?

Not so much.

Harry had still failed to find the Room of Requirements while wandering around the castle, though he was not in a rush. Worse, he had not confirmed Scabbers' presence with Ron. He had subtly asked around the other first years, but none had seen a rat with his former friend.

Without Wormtail, Harry had no way of proving his godfather's innocence.

At least he could think of one way to confirm Pettigrew's presence - the Marauder's Map. It should have been with the Weasley twins, but their pranks were far less successful than he remembered, and Fred and George spent almost all their free time in detention. Something that hadn't happened last time, and it took him some time to realise - it was quite possible they had not found the Marauder's map just yet. They would not spend all their evenings with Filch or McGonagall if they had.

Any sneaking was unlikely, too - the disillusionment charm was a sixth-year spell for which he lacked control and magic, and his invisibility cloak was yet to be returned. He could try and brew an invisibility potion, but he had to get into the restricted section to read Moste Potente Potions, which already required a measure of stealth. That was not to mention the lack of ingredients, the fact that he had never brewed it before, that it would take him a month, and that a single failure would render all of his efforts useless.

No, that would not do either.

Harry felt restless but was out of options.

With a sigh, he focused on the painting with a bowl of fruit before him. After tickling the pear, it giggled and turned into a large green door handle. Harry opened the painting-turned door, revealing the bustling kitchens. The clanking of pans and plates greeted him as the dishes were being cleaned, along with a few overly enthusiastic pairs of large eyes gazing his way. An elf, wearing a green tea cousy, bounced toward him.

"How can Pinky bes help?" Harry blinked at the dark, tennis ball-sized eyes looking at him expectedly.

"Do you know where the Come and Go Room is?"

"Ah-" the house elf shuddered, and her gaze frantically darted around, everywhere but at him. "Pinky cannot say."

"Cannot?" Pinky just shook her head while trembling, and her big, bat-like ears drooped, making Harry grimace and let go of the topic. "I am hungry, though. Could I have an additional serving of garlic-broiled chicken?"

When had things ever been easy?

"Today, we're going to practice one of the more important skills for any self-respecting wizard." Quirrell twirled around to face them, "Anyone wants to wager a guess what that skill would be?"

Hermione shot her hand up immediately, bringing a soft smile to Harry's face, which he immediately schooled away. Some things never changed. Yet, she wasn't the only one eager to answer the question; Quirrell was never stingy with points if you answered his questions correctly, so two weeks later, many were keen to earn some for themselves.

After a few moments of silence, the Defence professor pointed towards Anthony Goldstein's outstretched hand.

"Shielding, sir!"

Quirrell hummed thoughtfully at the enthusiastic reply while pacing back and forth. "A fine answer, Mr Goldstein. But certain spells cannot be shielded against, and not all shields block…everything. A more powerful warlock could tear through your shields as if they were made of paper. Still, shielding is quite an important skill, but the more useful aspects of it require power and control beyond what a first-year can achieve. No, the skill I mean to impart today is something far more basic but no less important."

The rest of the raised hands fell as the professor looked around in askance.

"Nobody? Today, we shall begin to learn dodging. Yes, Mr Boot?"

"Isn't dodging a muggle thing, sir?"

The distaste in the boy's voice was palpable, and it earned him a few scowls from some of the other students.

"Not at all," Quirrell smiled widely. "Dodging saves valuable time and allows for retaliation, you see. You can put up a shield and be on the back foot, or… you can dodge and retaliate against your foes instead. Avoidance is not the end-all or be-all of combat, as not all magic can be avoided. And beware, even if the scruff of your sleeve or robe gets struck by a spell, it would be unpleasant, if not deadly. It's a useful skill in your arsenal and takes dedication to master. Any questions?"

Hermione enthusiastically raised her hand, and seeing that she was the only one eventually, the Defence professor relented.

"Professor Quirrell, you mentioned last week that muggles are the biggest threat to wizards. Why is that?"

"There are many reasons," the professor started pacing faster, but his words were slow and measured as everyone listened with rapt attention. "Muggles tend to fear what they don't understand. I won't bore you with the details, but that leads to either resentment, which can turn into hate, or the desire to destroy or control."

"But there are good people-"

"Of course there are, Miss Granger. Muggles are just like the rest of us, some good, some bad, but only humans withoutmagic. What do you think would happen if the Statute of Secrecy fell tomorrow? Half the muggles would want us dead, and the other half - controlled. After all, we're too dangerous, are we not? We can fight back, but we'd be outnumbered nearly five thousand to one." The words chilled the class greatly as Quirrell finally stopped and levelled his heavy gaze on them. Even Hermione looked mortified. "Enough of this dreary topic. Now, we shall practice dodging and the stinging hex from last week. Yes, Mr Finnigan?"

"What if we fail to dodge, sir? The hex can be painful."

While Harry managed to hold in his amused snort, others snickered and outright jeered.

"Then you get stung," Quirrell smiled sardonically. "Consider itmotivation. Even if you fail to dodge, your opponent would be hard-pressed to do any damage with the hex at your age, Mr Finnigan. Now, pair up and sit up on the opposite sides of the room. Goldstein with Granger-"

Harry ended up facing an impassive Juno Lestrange, bearing a challenging smile on her face.

"Start!"

The word had barely left Quirrel's mouth when a nasty blue spell flew his way, and Harry barely managed to jerk to the side to avoid it. A second, a third, and a fourth followed, and Harry felt like a novice ballet dancer as he tried not to get hit, but he failed to dodge the last one. A painful sting struck his side, making him wince. It was strong enough that it would leave a sizeable welt. Juno Lestrange's spells were all muttered quickly and quietly.

His yew wand arched as he ducked, letting another stinging hex sail past his head harmlessly, "Aculeus!"

Lestrange barely managed to avoid it and continued flinging spells at him even more fervently, faster and faster than before. He gritted his teeth; little damage his arse; two could play this game.

Harry was just beginning to have fun when the booming bell announced the end of the lesson.

"Class dismissed," Quirrel's voice halted them. "Potter, Lestrange, stellar performance - take ten points each. The rest of you need to do more work on your casting and dodging."

Juno, on the other side, was gasping for breath, and her icy eyes glared murderously at him. Harry could begrudgingly admit she was very good, but he was better. His torso pulsed in three places, courtesy of her vicious wandwork; his opponent, however, didn't fare as well, and Harry had managed to hit her more than a dozen times.

If, after seven years of training and study, he couldn't beat a first-year girl, diminished magic and control or not, he'd be better off burying himself in shame. Juno's impassive mask was replaced with a wince the moment she moved, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt well up within him. The guilt quickly threatened to drown him when her movements towards the hallway's entrance were stiff and rigid instead of her usual graceful stride. Her face was free of blemishes, but Harry had managed to land his stinging hex over her torso a lot.

Bloody hell, she was eleven years old!

Though, Harry had to admit that itwasgood practice, better than anything he had done lately. Maybe he'd have to focus on training his control; he wanted to practice, but not to actually hurt his classmate, even if he could not let go of his grudge with her mother.

The rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws looked fine; although most seemed short of breath, it looked like Quirrell was right. A beginner first-year student could barely put enough power in a stinging hex to do anything of significance. None seemed to be in pain, and there were no visible welts. Other than him and Juno, that was. His relentless practice had paid off, and Bellatrix's daughter did seem very good in her wandwork, so in hindsight, he shouldn't have been as surprised.

They streamed into the hallway, and Diana joined him, hair tangled and sweaty.

"You aren't even winded, Potter," Padma joined with a breathless huff as they headed to the charms classroom, which was the floor above. "Yet you cast many more spells than the rest of us."

"Practice," he found himself shrugging. "You're welcome to join me in my morning runs if you want."

Running did help, but probably wouldn't replicate his unlamented experience with life-and-death situations... Or dodging Dudley and his band of misfits. Trading a few spells during class was a child's game compared to struggling for your life against an older witch or wizard. The additional spell practice early morning also helped Harry, as did training himself to sleep every evening.

"And get up hours before sunrise?" Diana recoiled as if struck. "Not a chance in hell."

"Indeed, Diana barely manages to get out of bed for breakfast," the Patil twin giggled, eliciting a protesting squawk from the other girl before turning to him again. "Why not run later when it's not so freezing cold?"

"I'd feel tired after classes, and we have homework."

It was pretty frigid before dawn in the Scottish Highlands, but Harry took it as another challenge to overcome. Besides, the cold bothered him less and less with each following morning.

"I've never seen you do much homework in the library, though," Padma pointed out. "Yet you always hand in your assignments."

Harry remained silent as he pondered what to say exactly, as he scarcely did homework beyond the bare minimum. Telling them that he already knew the material and homework was almost effortless was not an option.

"Well, it's not too hard?"

That earned him a scoff from the tawny girl.

"Nothing is too hard for you, wonder boy. Sometimes, I wonder if the headmaster really trained you since you could walk."

The mention of Dumbledore made him feel a tinge of annoyance - the man had never taught him much, if anything at all.

"Hey, Harry trains hard every day," Diana objected, much to his amusem*nt. "Sometimes, I think he trains himself to sleep."

"I do," he admitted. There was no reason to lie, after all. "The easiest way to be better is to put in more effort and dedication than everyone else."

Padma looked at him as if he had grown a second head while Diana bobbed her head thoughtfully.

"Why bother?" Padma blinked at him with wonder. "You're already at the top of the class with Juno!"

"I like it." He hated feeling helpless and weak.

They went around the corner and halted; the hallway was blocked.

Neville, Seamus, and a new muggle-born boy named Jon Robins stood in the middle of the corridor, facing Lestrange, MacDougal, and Brocklehurst. The rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were slowly gathering to watch the confrontation.

"How can I help you, Longbottom?" Juno's tone was clipped, and a hint of annoyance leaked through.

"You think you can strut around like you own the place, Lestrange?" The venom in Neville's voice made Harry wince. Diana tugged on his sleeve and looked at him with askance, but Harry could only shrug his shoulders. Oh, he had a good idea what had caused Neville's hatred, but it was not his story to tell.

"I am just walking to charms, just like everyone else," Bellatrix's daughter sighed.

"You don't belong here," the pudgy Gryffindor gritted his teeth as he glared at Juno. "Why couldn't you go to Durmstrang, where the rest of your ilk goes? Or better, to Azkaban to join your murderous parents!"

The surrounding crowd gasped, and Harry also stiffened. Bloody hell, had the Longbottoms died here?

The tall girl stilled, eyes becoming ice cold.

"Bold words for someone who can barely cast," Juno retorted frostily. "Perhaps you should move to the muggle world, you'd fit right in."

The insult seemed to have struck hard. The Gryffindor's face had begun to redden while the crowd was now uneasy and backing away, and Harry couldn't help but wince at the vicious words. Truth be told this Neville Longbottom did far better than his own back in the first year.

"You think you're all big and important, don't you, Lestrange?!" Neville all but spat out. "But Potter put you in your place just now!"

Harry barely suppressed an outraged protest. Bloody hell, defeating an eleven-year-old girl at mock practice in Defense was not something he would ever be proud of…

Just as it seemed that the two of them would come to blows, a loud bang tore through the tension as if a canon had erupted.

"There will be no fighting in the hallways!" Flitwick had appeared at the end of the corridor, looking uncharacteristically stern and dangerous as his wand was drawn in his hand. "Mr Longbottom, fifteen points for trying to goad your fellow student. Hogwarts is a place of learning, not some dingy pub to try and brawl with others!"

A sigh of relief left his chest; Harry didn't want this to escalate but was not keen on trying to get in between the quarrel.

"But professor-"

"No buts," the Charms master cut. "Detention with Filch for the evening for your cheek, Mr Longbottom. I heard the whole thing from the start, and be sure I will tell Minerva of your actions here."

Neville gulped his response and nodded, face pale.

Flitwick then quickly ushered them towards the charms classroom.

"Our head of house is so cool!" There were stars in Diana's eyes, and Harry nodded in agreement. She was far from the only one; the other Ravenclaws seemed to have a similar opinion. Truth be told, Harry could understand Neville's anger, yet Juno had done nothing to earn his ire save for existing.

He tiredly rubbed his brow as he sat on one of the desks towards the back of the classroom. Either way, it was none of his business. Harry had bigger issues than the squabbles of two first-years, especially when it did not concern him. Yeah, he felt for Neville, truly did, but wasn't he doing the same thing as the purebloods in blaming someone for who their parents were?

Attendance was quickly checked, and Flitwick quickly left his desk and climbed his favourite pile of books to address the class.

"Today, we shall practice the wand-lighting charm-"

Harry zoned out from the explanation and stared at the yew wand in his hand. Once the professor had let them practice, he concentrated and began following the simple wand motions silently. Once, twice, thrice, he lost count as he chanted the words in his mind, and he tried to coax his magic to listen to his command. It was incredibly frustrating, but this was the only thing he could do in class without raising too much suspicion. Besides, he needed to re-learn his ability to cast silently, whether he liked it or not.

The minutes passed dully as he repeated the simple motions again and again. A few of his classmates had already succeeded, throwing around beams of light from the tip of their wands. Juno had been first - she already knew the spell and was more than proficient in it.

Harry closed his eyes to ignore the flickering lights around the classroom and continued.

"Wonderous show of silent casting, Mr Potter!" Flitwick's excited squeak came right beside him, and Harry barely resisted jumping out of surprise. "Twenty points for Ravenclaw!"

He opened his eyes and couldn't help but grimace - his wand was now lit, throwing a soft beam of light right ahead. The charm master's outburst had, however, attracted the whole room's attention. More than half of them were gazing at him with awe; Diana was blinking in confusion, Hermione was glaring at him as if his name was Malfoy, and Juno seemed to have taken his success as a challenge.

"It seems that my lessons aren't engaging enough," his head of house rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Just like Ms Lestrange, you're quite ahead, Mr Potter. Oh my, this will not do!"

15th of September, Sunday

Flitwick entered the headmaster's office, ready for the yearly staff meeting. On the second Sunday at the start of every school year, Dumbledore would gather the professors to see if any particular concerns about the students could be addressed.

The headmaster seemed lost in thought as the rest of the teachers streamed in one by one and took a seat. The old warlock looked particularly tired this year, and Flitwick could recognise the tenseness in his posture.

"Thank you for joining me," the headmaster nodded genially, and with a clap of his hand, the table was filled with refreshments. "Let us begin with the first years. Are there any pressing concerns?"

"Misters Crabbe and Goyle's work is horrendous," Minerva sighed and grabbed a plate with a roasted salmon. "The boys' writing is barely eligible, and its contents are atrocious if you even manage to decipher it!"

"I shall inform their parents, then," Dumbledore tugged thoughtfully onto his wizened beard. "Is there anyone else struggling?"

"As usual, most of the first years are complete dunderheads and a danger and shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a cauldron," Snape tutted, voice laced with bitterness as usual. He tapped his goblet, and the house elves filled it with deep red liquid, a barely discernable aroma of wine wafting in the air. "Misters Longbottom and Weasley especially."

Oftentimes, Flitwick wondered why Dumbledore was so keen upon holding a man who loathed teaching into such a position. None could deny Severus was a great potion master, but his methods were questionable at best, and the man clearly held onto personal biases in the most petty of manners.

"Those two could use a firmer hand in Transfiguration," McGonagall reluctantly agreed.

"Indeed," Quirrell echoed as he grabbed a lemon drop from the candy bowl and popped it in his mouth. "Although it seems that Ronald Weasley is struggling more out of lack of motivation than anything else, Neville is the reverse - he has that in spades, andresultselude him. To me, it feels like their wands are fighting instead of aiding their masters."

"The dunderheads must be using ill-fitted legacy wands," Snape's lips curled.

Flitwick knew such a practice was common enough, but most families avoided it and outright went to Olivander should no wands be a good match for the young wizards and witches.

"I shall write to their guardians then," the headmaster hummed. That was a personal issue, and the school avoided involving itself in such matters beyond bringing it up to the families in question.

"There's one more thing with Neville," Flitwick added. "The boy was intent on provoking Miss Lestrange into a confrontation in the hallway."

"Troubling, yet not truly surprising," Dumbledore let out a pained sigh that made him look even older than he already was. "Minerva, did you speak with Mr Longbottom?"

Flitwick was torn here; Juno was a joyful student to teach, a bright and polite girl despite her parents' infamous proclivities. The brutal murders of Frank and Alice Longbottom shortly after the Dark Lord's demise came like a heavy blow and forced the ministry to take drastic measures to clear up the Death Eaters as quickly as possible.

"Yes, but I am unsure I managed to get through him."

For Neville's sake, Flitwick prayed the transfiguration mistress tried harder. He would not let one of his most brilliant students be pestered incessantly over something they didn't do. If he had to slam Neville into detention for the rest of the year to get the message through, hewould.

"And how about the rest of the first years?" Dumbledore stirred the topic away, his blue eyes twinkly.

"Well, it might be quite early to tell, but a few of them seem to show great promise," Quirrell smiled. "Granger, Taylor, Lestrange, Potter, Fawley, and Greengrass, the boy, are quite ahead of their peers. In fact, Lestrange and Potter would fit right in with the second years with no trouble."

"Truly?" Dumbledore turned to the other teachers, who nodded in agreement.

"The two of them are barely adequate, I suppose," the reluctant words came out of Snape as if he was pulling his own teeth out. The man carefully stirred his cup before taking a sip.

"Adequate? More like brilliant! Both of them are natural at charms," Flitwick added, barely managing to keep his pride away from his voice. "I already began giving them advanced tasks, and they had no trouble in theory or practicals."

"Are you sure giving them such blatantly favourable treatment is wise?" Snape's droll voice grated in the charm master's ears.

"Funny you should say that, Professor Snape," Quirrell gave the potion's master a blinding smile. "I heard a certain Mr Malfoy brag how you're tutoring him personally."

"Let us not quarrel," Dumbledore interjected. "Have there been any unpleasantness with Miss Lestrange or Mr Potter?"

"No, they seem to get along with their housemates just fine," Flitwick said. "Although Mr Potter is more prone to solitude than his peers, it doesn't seem to be a big issue - he has already made quick friends with Miss Taylor."

Dumbledore ran a hand through his wizened beard again, face impassive.

"Then there is no need to impair talented students - we shall continue as we always have." Namely, leaving the teachers to decide if they wanted to nurture talented ones. Flitwick began to plan new reading materials and exercises to recommend to Juno and Harry. "Now, let us speak about the upper years."

McGonagall let out a quiet groan.

"The Weasley Twins will spend their whole school year in detentions at this rate, Albus-"

Chapter 11: A Crimson Halo

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

Edited by: Void Uzumaki; Ashestodust B.; R. Yorkshireman Read: Bub3loka

Warning: Violence, coarse language, etc.

Also, if you're feeling generous or want to support me or read ahead, you know where to find me.

11th of October, Friday

Diana ducked under the stinging hex and jabbed her wand forward with a twist.

"Aculeus!" In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have bothered as the pale blue spell flew over her head harmlessly.

Granger, the bossy Gryffindor girl, was very good at writing homework, answering questions, or most of the usual classwork. But aiming and dodging seemed to evade her as Diana's hex struck her at the elbow, which earned the Ravenclaw girl a heated glare.

Another hex came her way, and she spun out of the way before retaliating. Yet, to her chagrin, her rushed wand movements must have been off because her wand belched a blue light that fizzled out before travelling half the distance. Diana got struck twice today, and it wasn't painful, just like Professor Quirrell said - an unpleasant pinch at most.

Avoiding Granger's poorly aimed spells was easy, and she found her gaze idly wandering across the room.

Truth be told, trying to cast a new spell, aim, and dodge at the same time had turned out far more challenging than doing the same while sitting calmly on a chair. The rest of the students did not fare much better than Diana, except for Neville Longbottom, Terry Boot, and Sophie Roper. Although, being struck by the hexes and jinx was an excellent motivation to try harder or dodge better.

Most of the class was having great fun despite being tired, and none were worse for wear from a few stray pinches. Juno and Harry were the exceptions here; the professor always paired them up, although for a good reason. Her friend and the tall girl were far more skilled than the rest - their bouts were the most extreme. Spells that Diana had not even heard of flew rapidly, and neither her classmate nor the tall girl struggled with casting in a pinch like the rest of them.

Harry ducked under a grey jinx and returned with aTarantallegra,which made Juno's feet dance furiously in some odd quickstep, but she quickly managed to dispel it.

Bloody hell, some of them were even silent, and most were so quiet and quick that Diana could barely hear or understand what exactly was spoken. And wasn't that a surprise - Harry's success at chantless casting was an eye-opener. It was one thing to see an old, wizened professor do it and entirely another when a boy her age did it.

It was like an odd, dangerous dance between the two of them, although Juno Lestrange seemed to get winded far quicker than Harry did, as she was always tired at the end of the class. In Diana's opinion, Harry was a tad better, taking this as a challenge and practice. Her friend did manage to land more hits than his opponents.

Despite the tiring classes, DADA was one of the favourite subjects of all students. Quirrell might have been quite demanding but did not shy away from answering additional questions or helping those struggling. His charismatic smile and easy-going attitude had also won over even the older years, who only had praise for the man.

A pinch across her thigh and Granger's triumphant stare reminded Diana that they were still practising in pairs, and she shook her head and focused.

A clockwise spin, followed by a jab, "Aculeus!"

Granger jerked to the side, but her shoulder still got glazed, and Diana earned herself another grimace.

The bell stopped any further fighting, at least on their part.

"Class dismissed," Quirrell's silky voice echoed above the room, halting the few remaining students who were too absorbed in exchanging jinxes. "For next Friday, I want a four-inch essay on the origins and uses of the cushioning charm and fire-making spell."

With a graceful twirl of his robes, the professor disappeared at the door behind his desk.

A good part of the students were flushed with exertion or breathless, although quite a lot seemed to have taken it easy; after all, while a slight pinch was unpleasant, even a dozen of them weren't much. Harry had a few beads of sweat running down his brow, but his breathing was even, unlike Juno, who looked like she had just run a marathon and was desperately gasping for breath.

Parvati Patil nodded to her twin sister and gathered with another Gryffindor girl, Lavender Brown, giggling.

"So, what has your sister so excited?" Diana prodded at her roommate.

The two sisters were so different despite being twins; the Ravenclaw one was serious and studious, while the Gryffindor one always smiled and giggled around like those gossip queens in Diana's previous school.

"Some rumour again," Padma sighed. "Supposedly, Professor Quirrell had asked Trelawney on a date the next Hogsmeade weekend, and he's in a rush to meet her."

"Who's Trelawney?"

"The divination professor. That thin, spindly woman with fizzy hair and large glasses."

Diana jerked back in surprise; she remembered the woman well enough after seeing her at the Great Hall plenty of times. Trelawney looked like an oversized insect with her numerous shiny chains and colourful beads.

"How did she manage to bag someone like Quirrell?!"

The DADA professor was handsome, charming, and well-liked, while the divination professor looked like the worst of those shoddy charlatans at a medieval fair who would try to swindle you out of your money by telling your fortune. Although, Trelawney had to be really good at telling people's fortune; otherwise, she wouldn't be a professor in a magic school.

"Don't know. Maybe he has a flair for the mystical?" Padma said with a snort and looked at Lestrange, gingerly walking out of the room with a grimace, followed by Brocklehurst and MacDougal. "Potter is as merciless as always. Poor Lestrange looks like she has been run over by a hippogryph. I feel grateful that Professor Quirrell always pairs the two of them up."

"Lestrange doesn't hold back either," Harry came over and rolled up his sleeves, revealing two coin-sized purple bruises on his forearm.

"That looks painful," Diana winced; her own spells could barely cause the skin to redden. Were Juno and Harry so much more powerful than the rest of them? Or were they aiming to hurt each other? "Maybe you should go visit the school nurse?"

She used to be at the top of most classes in her muggle school with barely any effort, but her new friend made this laughable. It was rare to see someone with so much talent and hard work in spades. And Harry was far from the only one; Juno seemed to have taken his top spot as a personal challenge and was also far ahead compared to the other students.

Both of them received advanced study materials from most of the teachers. According to the rumour mill, Juno and Harry were good enough to skip the first year and join the second year altogether. However, it seemed to be nothing more than gossip, as neither the teachers nor Harry had mentioned anything of the sort.

Even Damien Greengrass, a reserved yet proud Slytherin boy, was above Diana in his schoolwork. Granger was also breathing on her neck, trying to compete for bloodyeverything.

"Madam Pomfrey already gave me a bruise removal paste." Although judging by the stubborn tilt of his shoulders, Harry rarely used it. "Besides, they go away quickly enough on their own."

"Are you sure you weren't trained by the Headmaster?" That question earned Padma a scathing look, forcing her to raise her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I still don't get what your beef with Professor Dumbledore is. The man might be a bit eccentric, but he's the greatest wizard of our time."

"Doesn't mean I have to like him," Harry shrugged unapologetically.

"Spoilsport," the Patil twin pouted, but her face grew thoughtful. "My father did mention that despite his amiable facade, Dumbledore is not an easy man to be denied and can be quite cunning when he wants to be."

"Well, I most certainly did not receive any training or aid from Albus Dumbledore," her friend's voice was as dry as the Sahara desert. "The first time I ever saw the man was at the welcoming feast."

Padma was not placated by that response, though.

"Then, how are you so good?" She quickly shook her head. "No, wait, I've heard the answer already. And if Flitwick is to be believed, both your parents were outstanding students. The amount of training you do is ridiculous, comparable to those professional duellists," the Indian girl paused and stared at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. "Wait, are you going to attempt to join the junior duelling circuit?"

Harry seemed quite surprised by the question, and his face turned thoughtful.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea, but I thought we didn't have a duelling club here in Hogwarts?"

"There was one like twenty years ago, but it was disbanded during the war," Padma's face scrunched up. "According to Roger Davies, it never managed to gather enough volunteers to be reinstated. But I bet if you ask Flitwick, he'd manage to arrange something for you, as he's an international champion. Our head of house favours you more than Snape does Malfoy."

Harry's face twisted into something between a troubled smile and a grimace, and Diana couldn't help but chuckle, "You say that as if the rest of the teachers don't have their own favourites."

"Professor McGonagall has none."

Padma's statement made the muggle-born girl pause, trying to think of any moments or rumours of bias from the transfiguration mistress but came up short.

"Rumours say that only Quidditch has a place in that icy heart of hers," Harry joked.

Ah, broom riding!

Madam Hooch's lessons were quite exciting, and it did help that Diana had some talent there. Although the wonky school brooms were a menace - Fawley had boldly tried some feints during the first flying lesson, only to crash into the ground and get sent to the Hospital Wing. Yet, as usual, Harry proved ridiculously good at flying, even with the wonky brooms.

"Speaking of Quidditch, I heard Davies still complains that you declined his invitation for the tryouts."

"I just like flying," her friend shrugged serenely. "Playing Quidditch is nice, but the obligation of joining a team sounds quite taxing. Besides, I have no broom."

"You say that as if Flitwick won't make an exception and let you buy one should you join the team," Padma tutted. "What about you, Diana? You seemed quite enthusiastic about flying."

"I might just try out for the team next year when I can get my own broom," the girl hummed thoughtfully. Her father would buy her the best broom on the market, although her mother might need some convincing. "Any of you want to fly together after Charms?"

"No, thank you," her roommate took a step back, aghast. "The school brooms look like they might fall apart mid-flight. My legs get weak just from remembering Hooch's lessons."

Diana turned to Harry, who also shook his head.

"Maybe if you get some older years to lend us some brooms." Her shoulders sagged; Diana knew no upper years with a broom that would possibly let them use three brooms for a ride. "Anyway, let's head to charms."

As they finally left the DADA classroom, she checked her sleek dark wristwatch, a gift from her father for her last birthday. "We still have ten minutes."

They finally moved from the front of the DADA classroom towards the upper floor, and Harry took the morning paper from his bag and began reading.

"I'm still not sure why you're wasting your sickles on the Daily Prophet," Padma grumbled. "Most of it is as interesting as Binns' lessons."

"And as unbiased as Snape," Harry shook his head, although there seemed to be a tinge of fondness in the motion. "It's good to know what's happening around the wizarding world, if nothing else. At least if you can look past what they say or what they don't say."

"If you say so." Diana's roommate didn't look too convinced. "Is there something interesting at least?"

"Well, Bagnold's term runs out next week, and elections for the Minister of Magic will be held three days later," Harry shuffled across the pages for a few moments, and Diana had to fight off a yawn, then his face turned thoughtful. "The dark wizard who supposedly broke into Gringotts has still not been found, and the goblins refuse to cooperate with the DMLE. There's also some speculation that a dark warlock is on the loose as a series of unexplained deaths in Shaftesbury, Semley, and Gillingham baffle the muggle authorities."

"Wait, hold up," Diana halted. "There's some crazy wizard killing normal folks around for no reason?!"

"Maybe?" Harry sighed. "Even the Aurors aren't exactly sure if there was any dark wizard at work here."

"I remember my father telling me of a cursed teacup that got lost in the muggle world last year. It poisoned every muggle that drank from it last year," Padma added thoughtfully. "One even died before they managed to find it."

Diana shuddered at the thought; what if her parents became victims of such misfortune? The wizarding world seemed far less amazing and far more precarious all of a sudden.

"Does dangerous stuff happen so often?"

Harry must have noticed her distress because he patted her shoulder reassuringly as he rolled the paper and deposited it into his bag.

"Well, accidents do happen both in the magical and muggle world," his words were oddly reassuring.

"Yeah, but I heard muggle newspapers don't report less important stuff," Padma murmured. "Wizarding Britain is quite small, so anything remotely interesting makes it to the Prophet, even nonsensical rumours."

"As long as you don't buy things from shady-looking wizards and avoid Knockturn Alley, you should be safe," Harry coughed.

"Knockturn Alley?" Diana echoed.

"The seedier counterpart of Diagon Alley, where visiting folks are questionable, dangerous, and shifty, if not all three."

They just passed by the corner and halted.

Diana had a strange feeling of deja vu - the hallway looked the same as one month ago, with Longbottom, arms folded, and his friends barring Lestrange, and the rest of the claws and the lions stood by the side, watching rather nervously. However, this time, the Gryffindor looked a lot more confident.

"-I challenge you to a wizarding duel," Longbottom's snarling face held a tinge of fury and cruelty as he looked at Juno's stiff form. "Here and now!"

"And why, pray tell, would I accept?" Lestrange's response was icy. "There's nothing to be gained with fighting, and I have no issue with you."

"Merlin's pants, Longbottom. If you're so brave, why seek to challenge her when she's tired?" MacDougal groaned from the side.

Indeed, while the Gryffindor had grown to be one of the better students in DADA, Diana would say Juno would win as her housemate was leagues ahead. If she had not gone through the brutal wringer called Harry Potter, that is.

"Are you scared?" Neville's mocking gaze did not move from Juno's face. "Do you need Professor Flitwick to save you again? A coward, just like your murdering parents who slinked around in the dark, ambushing respectable folk."

The tall Ravenclaw girl stiffened even more, and her back had an angry tilt.

"Fine, Longbottom, you asked for it," Juno harshly jabbed an angry finger at her opponent's chest. "MacDougal will be my second."

Harry tiredly rubbed his brow with a groan.

"Weasley will be mine," Longbottom's declaration was met by a confused blink by the red-haired boy standing to his left.

Diana, however, couldn't help but watch on with fascination and move towards the wall to make room for the fighting, just like everyone else did.

Duelling sounded so exciting!

"Who will officiate?" MacDougal asked, not seeming thrilled to be involved in the whole affair. "It needs to be someone impartial."

The Gryffindor boy looked around, and then his gaze settled on Harry.

"Potter."

"Potter will do," Juno craned her neck and nodded curtly.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a long moment as everyone's attention seemed to be trained upon him.

"Fine," he grudgingly walked just in the middle between Lestrange and Longbottom. "Are you sure we cannot resolve this… peacefully?" Both shook their heads, making Harry sigh. "First, bow to your opponent."

They had already got their wands out; Lestrange's bow was deep but stiff while Longbottom inclined his head forward mockingly.

"This fighting nonsense ends with the duel, no matter the winner and loser," Harry's green eyes grew fierce as he glanced first at the one and then at the other, and both gave an imperceptible nod.

"Standard duelling rules - no spells to injure, just to disarm and stun. On three. One, two, three."

Harry bolted away as soon as the last word left his mouth, and Juno and Neville moved into motion.

"Flipendo!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Spells immediately began to fly, and Diana could see the difference. Juno's casting was quicker, but it seemed that she was still stiff and winded from the DADA lesson, and she had trouble avoiding while Neville looked energetic, even though his movement looked a tad awkward.

"Rictumsempra!"

Longbottom barely avoided the silvery charm that flew harmlessly into the other end of the hallway. Just as he did, he mumbled something under his nose, and a red light sailed towards his opponent.

This time, Juno was too slow to avoid with her stiff movements and hit on the leg.

For a brief moment, it seemed like the spell did nothing, but then the tall Ravenclaw flailed in surprise as her feet remained still, as if her shoes were glued to the ground.

It took Juno nearly two seconds to regain her balance, and she barely managed to jerk out of the way of Neville's orangeFlipendo, whatever that did. Judging by his furious snarl, It must have been a nasty jinx.

Half of the spells they used weren't in the standard book of spells grade one, making Diana unsure of what exactly was transpiring in front of her.

"Slugulus Eructo!"

"Flipendo!"

Longbottom got struck by the green spell and heaved over heavily, while Juno failed to dodge the orange spell this time.

Diana's heart skipped a beat as the tall girl got struck square in the chest, followed by a nasty snapping sound as her body crumbled backwards as if struck by a wrecking ball. Yet, her feet were still glued to the floor, and she fell backwards, head hitting the stone floor with a resoundingcrack.

At first, Diana thought the girl would attempt to stand, but her ankles were bent at a painfully wrong angle. Dark crimson slowly seeped like a red halo on the flagstone around Juno Lestrange's head, making Diana's insides twist into a painful knot while Longbottom retched heavily.

Blood, there was so much blood!

"What is happening here?!" Professor Quirrell's incensed voice cut through the silence, and relief flooded Diana's heart.

Juno's head felt heavy and stiff and pulsed painfully; it felt like she was run over by a herd of thestrals. Her mind was sluggish as if stuck in a quagmire.

"This is outrageous, Dumbledore!" The furious cry was oddly familiar. "Blood feuds have been started for less!"

Her eyelids were as if made of lead, and opening them was a struggle. After a few heartbeats, Juno succeeded, only to wince when assaulted by an unbearably bright light.

"Miss Lestrange accepted an unsanctioned wizarding duel between two children, Arcturus," the jovial tone of the headmaster was replaced with tiredness. "No illegal spells were used by either of them. I checked the wands myself."

"The cretin almost murdered my grand-niece!"

What had happened again? Right, she was duelling Longbottom… and lost?

"Nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't have fixed quickly," Dumbledore's voice grew stern. "By the morning, Miss Lestrange shall be as good as new."

"Have you gone senile, Dumbledore?" The angry bellow made Juno wince. "Her head was cracked open like a bloody f*cking watermelon, her ankles broken and ligaments torn. If it were not for Professor Quirrell, she would have bled out before reaching the hospital wing!"

The room grew cold and oppressive in an instant, and Juno had trouble breathing. Yet the pressure disappeared just as it came - in a blink of an eye.

"There is no need to exaggerate the event with me, Lord Black. And Mister Longbottom has been punished appropriately."

Juno winced once again, rightfully expecting the following eruption.

"Appropriately? A few months of detention for a murder attempt?!" A dark chuckle rasped out from Lord Black. "That boy should be expelled and have his wand snapped in disgrace, not get a slap on the wrist!"

That was Lord Arcturus Black, her great grand-uncle and the man who had raised her, although Juno often called him grandfather.

"You're going too far, Arcturus," Dumbledore sighed. "This is children's folly. You yourself did much the same in your youth - how many boys did you send to the Hospital Wing using a lot worse than second-year spells?"

"That might be true," the words were grudgingly spat out. "But don't play coy with me, Dumbledore. None of those duels was with the intent to maim or kill. The sticking shoes hex with the knockback jinx was Frank Longbottom's signature move that killed many a dark wizard."

"Indeed," Juno's eyes finally got used to the overly bright eye, only to see the headmaster nod tiredly. "But you know the archaic laws where wizarding duels are concerned. You yourself used it many times, after all - Hogwarts has no right to meddle into such affairs, as long as there are no fatalities."

"Piss on the law," Arcturus spat on the floor. "If you don't do anything about the boy, I will."

"Are you threatening my student, Lord Black?" Dumbledore's words were calm, but a dire chill crawled up Juno's spine.

"Neither a threat nor a promise, only a simple fact," was the hissed response. "You can't stop me, headmaster. After all, the laws governing such issues are archaic, and the duel was technically unsanctioned. You said it yourself."

"There shall be no violence upon my students in Hogwarts!"

The stern words were spoken like both a fact and a warning.

"Careful, Dumbledore, your true colours are showing, you bloody f*cking hypocrite. You can't have that vile cretin strut around and pester Juno when she's at her weakest out of pure spite. You seem to have no problem when your students are the ones fighting!"

"You can hardly blame Mr Longbottom for his show of Slytherin cunning," the headmaster's voice was sardonic. "It doesn't matter, Arcturus. There shall be no reprisal or fighting within my school. Neville has been severely chastised - his wand privileges outside of classes have been suspended for the next two years, and he will scrub toilets by hand every evening until the school year ends."

"Funny thing. Where was your concern when Longbottom was making trouble? Why do your Gryffindor golden boys always get away with their sh*te?!" An angry exhale followed, and Juno again winced as her head pulsed from the loud voices. "Fine, have it your way; I won't touch theboyinside the school, but the Longbottoms shall pay one way or another. Mark my words, Dumbledore, this I swear. "

The undeniable crack of magic washed through the room, followed by the headmaster's tired groan.

"And then they'll retaliate - an endless cycle of blood and revenge. I cannot stop you, Arcturus," Dumbledore's response was frosty. "Do what you wish, but the school is my bottom line. There shall be no violence over the students under my protection."

"Go f*ck yourself, you bloody hypocrite," Arcturus Black spat with a fierce scowl. "If Juno is attacked in your school one more time, heads will roll."

The headmaster then looked straight at Juno through the opaque privacy screen, the usual twinkle in his blue eyes gone, replaced with… a tinge of regret and… sorrow?

"This is the last time I let these vulgar insults fly, Arcturus. For a man claiming such a high birth, you sound like a street thug. You don't want me to treat you as such." The aid grew frigid, and breathing became hard, "It seems your grand-niece is awake," Dumbledore's voice was impassive, and the pressure disappeared from her chest. "I shall leave you to it."

The sound of weary footsteps slowly dwindled into the distance.

The privacy screen was abruptly pulled aside, revealing her grandfather's worried and pale face.

"You foolish child," he groaned, closed his grey eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you feeling?"

Juno shuffled uneasily and groaned in pain; her head was heavily bandaged and felt like it would split open at any moment. Her legs below the knee itched painfully, as if ants were crawling under her skin, and everything else was stiff or in pain.

"Evr'tin' h'rt," including her tongue, which felt numb.

"Gerlod was here to look you over, and he says you shall be fine. You are a smart lass, Juno," his words were slow and measured, but fury bubbled underneath. "Or so I thought because I did not teach a bloody imbecile! Oh, why must the Blacks be cursed so with such prideful morons! Do you at least know how badly you f*cked up?"

All she could do while trying to fight the tears in her eyes was nod; her grand-uncle despised crying.

"I shall spell it out for you," he huffed. "First, you got goaded into a fight by mere words. Second, you agreed to a wizarding duel on thebloody spotwhen you were exhausted before more than a dozen witnesses. And Merlin's bollocks, why would you try and play fair when the odds were against you?! I taught you better than that…"

At this moment, Juno Lestrange wanted to bury herself in her bed and disappear. The shouting didn't hurt even half as much as the look of profound disappointment. Her insides twisted into a painful knot; Aunt Cass would be no less disappointed, and she took failure even worse.

"It's not too bad, at least - I have salvaged House Black from worse. I can use this to kick Augusta Longbottom from the board of the governors and install Reginald Carrow in her stead," Arcturus uttered through a clenched jaw, though he seemed to be speaking to himself more than her.

"House Black might have dwindled in the last few years, but we can still make life hard for the Longbottoms. I will have to call in some favours and debts, make some threats, and dig out some skeletons from the closets, and they shall see not only their influence but their business chipped away. I could have gone to Cuffe and made out the cretin boy a deranged bloodthirsty lunatic if you didn't lose so pathetically-"

Her head pulsed again painfully. Too tired to deal with this, Juno Lestrange closed her eyes and drifted into the sweet embrace of sleep.

Author's endnote:

Hol' up, why's magic so dangerous?

Featuring: Neville 'I might have fitted well in Slytherin'Longbottom, Juno'Pride Comes Before the Fall'Lestrange, Albus 'I am seriously considering retirement soon'Dumbledore, and Arcturus'f*ck this bloody hypocrite'Black.

Why is Neville so capable? Well, he's notthatgood or anything; he's just far, far more motivated than he was in canon, and he did get to change his wand after the teacher's meeting last month. Instead of visiting his parents, who were driven insane but nothing more than empty shells, he got to see their graves instead. And obviously, Juno is an easy target to hate in his particular circ*mstance. Hate is the crucial boost that made Nevill's knockback jinx stronger than expected.

Editor's note: At the end of the day, these are 11-year-olds who just had a school spat. A magical school spat, yet nothing that adults would take seriously. I'm sure everyone had fond memories of cracking skulls and breaking bones when they were in school.

P.S. My editor's school seems far more hardcore than my own. *Shrugs*Although, to be fair, many things in Hogwarts are far more brutal and were considered/accepted as normal…

I update a chapter every two weeks! You can find me on my discord(dgj93pNeAD), where you can read ahead or simply come chat or ask me or others some questions.

Chapter 12: Unexpected Consequences

Chapter Text

12th of October, Saturday

Albus Dumbledore was old; he knew that.

But nothing made the weight of the years fall atop his shoulders liketrouble. Young children often had a penchant for mischief and could be cruel, so very cruel, more than adults.

The wounds of his pupil's war still festered so many years after and made him feel helpless.

Another notch on his ever-lengthening string of follies and failures.

'They are nought but bugs under your feet! Crush them all!'

The whisper was ignored, and Albus warily looked at the Wand of Destiny. An incredibly deceiving name given by fools thinking they could master fate, the old warlock found calling it the Death Stick far more apt. Dark, long and delicate, there was a twisted elegance even in the small, gnarly knots along its length.

The wand had been silent for long, peaceful years, but it did not escape his attention that it irrationally increased his desire for violence and conflict. It was little trouble for someone with a well-organised mind to resist such baser impulses. Yet, when Dumbledore had been forced to take battle once more, the Death Stick's influence had become even stronger, to the point that he could hear whispers in his mind.

The Elder Wand was very insidious; not only did it want to be used, but it relished in blood and carnage. How much had Gellert been influenced towards the end?

He shook his head, no, absolving him of guilt was folly; his old friend's mind was no less sturdy than his own, and if he gave in to the temptation, it was because hewantedto. Worse, once you used it, you couldn't bring yourself to truly put it away or destroy it, no. The moment the thought appeared in Dumbledore's mind, his heart was filled with unwillingness.

Not that it stopped Albus; it had taken him many years, but he had steeled himself and tried, yet the Death Stick was indestructible…

At first, he simply thought that the three brothers were exceptional craftsmen and enchanters, yet as he aged, Albus realised such intricate, powerful, and indestructible work was beyond mortal means. Some days, he wondered what madness possessed the Peverell brothers to call upon the manifestation ofDeathof all things.

Ah, the folly of youth, thinking that simply having more power or boldness was the answer to all your woes…

He had fallen into a similar trap and paid a heavy price.

That muggle lord from a hundred and fifty years ago had the right of it - power corrupted. Even he was not arrogant enough to believe himself immune to such things. Albus Dumbledore was painfully aware of his own failings, and now, with the Elder Wand in hand for nearly half a century, he had grown even more cautious in exerting his power and influence than before.

Every act and every decision had consequences, often both good and bad and possibly catastrophic, yet even seers could not foresee everything, let alone him.

The polished oak door of his office swung open, tearing him away from his musings as Minerva strode in.

Her stride lacked its usual feline grace and purpose; there were deep bags under her eyes, the errant strands of grey in her hair seemed to have multiplied, and the usually pristine green robes were now crumpled instead.

"Lemon drop?" He offered.

The deputy headmistress simply grimaced at the bowl filled with muggle sweets. Ah, they all did.

"Must you punish Mr Longbottom so heavily, Albus?" Her voice was weary; the fiasco seemed to have taken as much toll on her as on him. "He's such a promising boy. Restricting his wand access to lessons only at such an essential period would stunt the growth of his powers."

Indeed it was - the period from eleven to seventeen was essential for the growth of a wizard's magic.

"What use are promises and powers if misused so cruelly?" Dumbledore shook his head, and Minerva's shoulders sagged. "His knockback jinx drew on his anger and resolve as it was. Miss Lestrange would have perished in that hallway if he were a tad more powerful. Besides, his free time shall be occupied with aiding Filch with the caretaker duties. Some honest hard work might just provide some introspection the boy sorely needs."

"It was a legitimate wizarding duel. I doubt murder was his intent-"

"Mr Longbottom's actions spoke loud and clear, and such acts have…consequences. It's a lesson better learned sooner rather than later. I have no doubt Augusta shall let her grandson practice freely during the summer to remedy such deficiencies, but a humbling is still in order." Still, it did restrict Neville Longbottom's growth regardless; with drive and hard work, he could still become a powerful wizard, but his chances of being a powerhouse would be diminished.

The defiance in Minerva's eyes was still strong, however.

"You know my qualms about letting Miss Lestrange attend Hogwarts. She already looks more powerful and dangerous than her parents were at her age, and restricting Neville's growth might leave him vulnerable to retaliation."

A weary sigh escaped him; the cycle of hatred could be neverending. Revenge was a dangerous, bloody endeavour that could destroy you far more than any foes could. Yet, for all his power, he could not truly halt the resurgence of this particular feud, only contain it.

"Juno Lestrange is not the one who has attacked her fellow student unprovoked here," he reminded. "How would we be any better than the Death Eaters if we judge the girl by who her parents were?"

Still, he had warned Juno in person that any further escalation would be met with his greatestdispleasure.

"It's not even about her parents, Albus, and you know that," Minerva rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Algie Longbottom resigned from the board of the governors this morning, and Reginald Carrow has taken his place. It has barely been a day, and the Black Lord is already throwing his weight around!"

"As he very well should-" A wave of his wand froze Phineas Black along with all the other enchanted portraits.

The least popular headmaster no doubt reported to his grandson, Arcturus. Perhaps keeping that painting permanently disabled would not hurt.

"Augusta Longbottom agreed to let go of that seat in exchange for keeping things from gettingpersonal," Dumbledore explained patiently.

Even the old battle-axe had some sense to avoid wrangling with a Black in a game of bloody subterfuge. House Black had dwindled, but they were not without means and connections - now, their feud would be limited to business and politics. There would be no assassinations and, most importantly, no fatal accidents or muggings that gave Lord Black his notorious reputation. Of course, nothing that could be traced to him legally; there was a reason the old stooge was so feared, and it was not his hefty web of connections or his mediocre prowess with a wand.

Still, that would undoubtedly make things ripple in unpredictable ways, especially with the elections for minister in the coming week.

"Isn't it… dangerous to allow Arcturus to control half the school board? He can try to influence the school directly now!"

"Arcturus may try all he wants," the headmaster languidly ran his hand through his white beard. "But I doubt he will - the man has never dared to challenge me directly, let alone when he's busy feuding with the Longbottoms. Besides, it's not like his influence over the board members is final.Nothingis absolute in politics, Minerva."

The transfiguration mistress slowly adjusted her spectacles, and for a moment, Dumbledore couldn't help but think she looked ten years older.

At least the Prophet's attention had been deflected from the school spat, for good or bad; Arcturus and Augusta seemed to have no desire to air their own woes for everyone to see.

"All this trouble over a children's duel?" A hint of frustration leaked through Minerva's usually controlled tone. "Neville has done nothing wrong, and you know it - the school rules allow for wizarding duels, Albus."

"But any such altercation must be nonlethal or supervised by the staff, not another first year," he wryly reminded. "I am well aware some rules are paradoxical or contradict each other."

Adding or removing rules was a slow, cumbersome process that took years and required not only the agreement of the whole staff but the board of governors, too…

"But-"

"I can not afford not to punish Neville, Minerva. In the end, what he did was with intent to harm a fellow student. If you must know, my punishment for the boy is for his own protection amongst everything else."

Yet the transfiguration mistress was undaunted. "What, don't tell me the Blacks would dare to declare a blood feud, Albus! Only that old stooge Arcturus is left aside from Juno, and they no longer have the numbers to make trouble!"

"The numbers had dwindled, true. But connections and wealth did not. Besides, Cassiopeia is still alive," a grimace found its way to his face, and Minerva paled, "She might have disappeared after Grindelwald's forces agreed to disband, but she would doubtlessly support her lordly cousin if needs must. House Black might be on its last leg, but a cornered rat is still dangerous, let alone a cornered wolf. Madness runs in their blood, and if Juno had perished, Arcturus would undoubtedly try his best to kill every single Longbottom and destroy them utterly and everything they hold dear, no matter the cost, Cassiopeia or not."

Alas, Grindelwald's left hand was someone who would give even him a pause at this age, with pure viciousness alone, if nothing else.

"I knew the Blacks were dangerous, but there is no way such behaviour can be allowed!" Minerva heaved heavily with outrage now. "How can you or the Wizengamot stand for such… audacity!"

"Even I am not all-powerful, no matter what people think." Dumbledore gave her a sorrowful smile. "As for how? There's a reason why Arcturus is one of the most dangerous men in Wizarding Britain, despite being a middling wizard and absent from politics for nearly twenty years. Even without their plentiful connections and wealth, the Blacks have blackmail, favours, loans, and contracts - underhanded, clandestine; there is no low they wouldn't stoop to if truly provoked."

"Surely you're exaggerating?" She asked, aghast.

"Oh, not at all; they did this to the Sayres two centuries ago and the Greys shortly before you were born. The Blacks are very adept at covering their tracks, of course - nothing illegal is ever traced back to them, and the Prophet would never dare print anything about it lest they get in the crossfire. It's a costly endeavour, for sure, as their targets do fight back, you know. It hurts House Black as much as it hurts their foes, but they can be viciously relentless until the bitter end. This is why people would rather make friends and connections with the Blacks instead of provoking them."

Still, there was no need to mention that taking down House Sayre had reduced House Black to two brothers and a daughter, and uprooting the Greys crippled them politically for almost two decades.

Minerva lifted her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"All of this… for a schoolyard spat?"

"Less, I'd wager. If my guess is correct, House Longbottom will have all their debts and loans called back immediately, the competition will undercut their businesses without regard for loss and profit, and any skeletons in their closets will be dug out. Nothing truly as bad as the loss of life."

It wasn't that bad. Not even half as bad as if Juno had perished. Arcturus was capable and willing to drag down many people on his way to hell. That's not to speak of the Lestrange wealth and resources he had his hands on via Juno.

"Merlin," she leaned on the chair as if all her strength had left her, but resolve crept into her eyes. "I don't think I can handle such problems… I shall resign from my post as a deputy headmistress."

The sudden proclamation caught him completely off-guard, and it took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

The deputy was traditionally the one nurtured and the successor of the headmaster, and it's been over two decades since McGonagall had held this post. Dumbledore had always thought she would take up Hogwarts' mantle after him.

He unwrapped a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth to cover his grimace. For a few moments, sour and sweet battled between his taste buds, bringing him a small measure of relief.

"May I inquire what brought this on?"

"I came here to escape the politics and underhanded ways of the Ministry, not deal with them even more, Albus. No, even without that, there's not enough time and energy to spare to look after my lions," she admitted, voice low and raw. "This whole trouble with Mr Longbottom could have been averted if I had more time to deal with the new students and sort out the problems. I can do away with the administrative duties and the such, but Gryffindor and teaching are all I have left now…"

The death of Minerva's husband was a wound that seemed never to heal, he knew, making her throw herself head-first into her school duties. Yet Albus knew the feeling of being stretched thin all too well between multitudes of jobs. No matter how adaptable or capable one was, stress took its due sooner or later.

Besides, she did have a point - Hogwarts' headmaster and deputy could rarely avoid politics for long.

And now it seemed that the troubling encounter between Mr Longbottom and Miss Lestrange and the heavy consequences had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Very well," he sighed. "Yet, I must ask you to remain at the post at least until the new year. Finding a replacement on such short notice would not be ideal."

"Of course I shall, Albus," she gave him a sorrowful nod. "I will go now, lest the Weasley twins think their detention with me is voided."

Minerva then stood up and decisively left through the door. He closed his eyes and tiredly rubbed his brow; Dumbledore was no longer as spry and young as he once was, and Minerva's resignation only made him feel exhausted.

His gaze moved to his polished desk, filled with scrolls and letters, the two topmost from Fudge and Macmillan requesting his endorsem*nt about the upcoming election.

It was not new; every time the Wizengamot elected the Minister of Magic, the candidates wanted his assistance, but he was always reluctant to give it. He was very tempted to do so every time; his word was too powerful, and any aid could easily tilt the scales of victory.

Yet once he did so, could he truly stop dipping deeper and deeper into the echelons of power - both as a direct influence and a position?

Dumbledore… was not sure he had the control to resist.

Fawkes chose that moment to stir from his perch and trill softly, filling the room with soothing warmth.

"Thank you, old friend," the headmaster nodded gratefully at his companion, who chirped softly.

Maybe Minerva had a good point.

It would not be remiss to focus on the more crucial matters. Politics and other troubles aside, the bait to draw out and confirm Voldemort's survival could not be neglected, even if it was not fully prepared yet. And even without that, other issues at school now required his close attention.

Yet, it was not all bad - Quirrell had always been a promising young man, and his sabbatical had greatly benefited him. Although the headmaster couldn't help but hold a grain of caution. He had a whole year to fully observe if the changes in the young teacher were all for the better. Worse, while Hogwarts was always in need of skilled teachers, the DADA curse made thingsthorny.

Perhaps it was time to abandon some of the empty honours and titles Dumbledore had taken for the sake of peace. The International Confederation of Wizards could make do with another Supreme Mugwump.

14th of October, Monday

The alarm rang its annoying tune, forcing Juno to reach out and turn it off.

Half her body was still stiff, the other half tender, although not as much as yesterday when Poppy had released her from the hospital wing. At least the dull headache was finally gone.

Juno hated it. She hated the feeling of agonising pain and helplessness as she lay on the hospital bed; she hated the feeling of defeat; she hated Longbottom; she hated her parents; she hated the Dark Lord, but most of all, she hatedherself.

The lecture that her granduncle had given her was infuriatingly accurate - what Juno had done was so humiliatinglyfoolishthat it made her want to bury herself under the covers and disappear forever. Worse, half the first years had seen it.

'When dealing with someone stronger, you want to hit your targets at their weakest, when they are unprepared and least expect it. Angry wizards are predictable and have poorer aim; do not hesitate to infuriate your foe when you can.'

It was one thing for Aunt Cass to try to teach her and another to be on the receiving end of such tactics. This had been the most painful and humiliating lesson Juno had to date.

Her poised image of grace and competence was broken in the most painfully brutal way possible, along with her pride, and Juno had nobody to blame for it but herself. Worse, the consequences for the family would be hefty; knowing Lord Black, he would not hesitate to retaliate in a way that would hurt the Longbottoms as painfully as possible but would cost many galleons, favours and connections. All that influence was squandered because Juno wasstupid.

At least she was still a first-year; if something like this had happened later on, Juno would not have been able to recover from the loss of prestige built up for years. Children's follies were also easily forgiven and forgotten over time.

Cassiopeia had warned her that failure was an inevitable part of growing that no one could avoid but only learn from, but it tasted sobitter. Her grandaunt was right, as always. It was indeed a painful lesson that Juno would never forget.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to get rid of her anger and frustration. It took her more than usual, but Juno succeeded and started running her mental exercises. Occlumency was one of her stronger disciplines, but far from enough if a bumbling git like Longbottom could let her lose her control.

About half an hour later, her mind was pleasantly refreshed, and she opened her eyes once again and reached for the silver clock on the nightstand; it was five-thirty.

With a tired groan, she forced herself to get up, freshen, don her training robes, and get to the common room. For the first time, Juno got to see the room empty; only the soft crackling of the fireplace could be heard as two dim lights softly illuminated from above.

Hopefully, her knowledge was correct, and the plan would succeed.

Sure enough, Potter walked down from the boy's dormitories, dressed in black cotton pants and a plain grey hoodie. As usual, the boy's emotions were somehow muted, but she could still sense them after focusing, a sure sign of Occlumency.

Predictably, Potter halted as soon as he saw her.

"How may I help you, Lestrange?" His voice was even, but she could detect a hint of surprise and caution. "Is this about… Longbottom?"

Even more curiously, the tightly controlled tinge of animosity and distrust the Potter initially held for her was now replaced with regret… and something she couldn't put her finger on.

Not that Potter was any less dangerous; his right hand twitched almost imperceptibly, but Juno had inferred he was ready to draw his wand immediately from his hidden wand holster. Morgana, he was a bit too twitchy, but perhaps with good reason.

She couldn't help but feel flattered at the caution even though he won the spars in DADA.

"No," Juno quickly shook her head. "He's not worth my time, not truly."

"Even after Friday?"

The suspicion was not unexpected.

"Mydislikefor Longbottom has greatly increased, believe me," she hissed. "But, fighting and winning against some weakling like him brings me nothing, no matter how much I want to curse him. He's not worth my time or effort."

No, it was likely to drag her into more trouble instead, and Dumbledore was not a man to be openly provoked. The Longbottoms would pay in his stead, but Potter did not need to know that. That did not mean Juno would forget or forgive all the pain and humiliation - oh no, she would bid her time, and if the opportunity ever presented itself…

"It is true," Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. His feelings turned into a tangled mess she couldn't even begin to decipher. "Wasting your time in school on some spat is childish. Although I didn't expect such violence."

Neither did Juno…

"Well, if nothing else, Friday did show me that my endurance is lacking. Do you mind if I join your morning runs?" She asked, hoping that none of her frustration leaked into her voice.

His guarded green eyes inspected her for a long, painful moment, then softened.

"Sure," he readily agreed, making her blink in surprise. Just like that? But Juno was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Are you sure you should be running just yet, though? You just got out of the hospital last night."

"I'll take it easy," Juno coughed, trying to cover her embarrassment as she remembered Madam Pomfrey's advice not to strain herself in the next four days. "How would you know - I never heard about you being in the hospital wing?"

"...Let's say I've been in an accident or two before."

And just like that, they headed down towards the school grounds silently.

Oh, she could go and jog on her own, but this was the perfect opportunity to make a connection with the Boy-Who-Lived, something Juno never expected to consider before. That was why she was here and not in Durmstrang, trying to graduate as early as possible. Hogwarts presented many opportunities, especially to create her own network and a circle of friends and allies.

Unlike what she expected, Potter was not some useless muggle-raised fool or arrogant fame-monger with an overly big head. He was… talented.Verytalented and even more hard-working, making Juno feel ashamed. Still, the Boy Who Lived did not grow arrogant with his success but remained quiet, observant, and mainly kept to himself. There was no lording over or bragging about his superior performance, but she found his humbleness strangely endearing.

Juno was used to being the best in everything; learning was easy, and magic was easier. It was a complete surprise to see someone outperform her, especially when she had mastered most of the material up to the second year before school began. Potter tried to hide it, but it showed anyway. He was very,verywell-read, and magic seemed so… effortless for him. Their practice in DADA had only cemented that further in Juno's mind - he was fast, almost tireless, and better than her! Not only that, but his success at silent casting had been unexpected.

Even her aunt told Juno that their practice for chantless magic would begin next summer at the earliest… yet here was Potter doing it without any guidance already!

Worse, the boy was about eleven months younger than her.

It was infuriating, eye-opening… and challenging in an exciting sort of way. Never before had Juno put in so much effort in her studies or magic, but it seemed that Potter trainedmore. Who got up every single day just after curfew ended to jog?!

Well, not for long!

She shivered as soon as they left the castle; it was cold and still dark outside, only the stars softly shining from above. The Scottish nights were more chilling than what Juno was used to, and white puffs of breath escaped her lips.

"How can you run in this gloom? What if you trip on some rock?

"I know the terrain by heart now," he said. "And at the start, I used a wand-lighting charm."

However, at the next moment, Potter spun rapidly, wand in hand, and a strong beam of light shone from the tip of his wand.

Merlin, her housemate, wasquick, and Juno couldn't help but notice that Potter was standing protectively before her.

Yet, her surprise only increased as she saw Hestia and Flora stand at the castle's entrance.

"What are you two doing here?"

"Lord Black bid us to, ah, accompany you outside the school hours," Flora grumbled, and her twin nodded sleepily, making the boy lower his wand.

Juno grimaced; it seemed her granduncle did not trust her to defend herself anymore. Not that she could blame him, but the feeling of disappointment was sour. At least Flora and Hestia were great to hang around with. Juno noticed they didn't try to hide the fact; their loyalty seemed more to her than anything else. Suddenly, the cold outside didn't bother her as much anymore.

"You two are welcome to join us in the run if you wish," Harry offered with a slight grin.

Hestia looked at him as if he was raving mad, but Flora just tilted her head curiously.

"Aren't you too young to be training for Quidditch?"

Potter's face grew thoughtful for a moment.

"I'm not interested in flying or team tryouts," he said. "According to some hit-wizard guide, physical conditioning helps with magic control. And I've found that having more stamina or agility never hurts."

The pairs of mismatched eyes now shone with interest.

As Potter had noted, Juno couldn't run much before her newly healed ankles started aching, but it was better than doing nothing. Not that Flora or Hestia lasted much longer than her. On the other hand, Potter was a monster - his run lasted over an hour.

Jogging had been tiring, but the warm shower afterwards was oddly satisfying.

As soon as she was fully recovered, Juno intended to use the Carrow twin's presence to the fullest. While running with Potter was fine, training with him was not. Her pride demanded victory without getting trained by him. Flora and Hestia were quite good with their wands; fighting them would be good practice.

Juno dreaded her first meal in the Great Hall since the duel, but it seemed like she worried for nothing. While Brocklehurst now pretended Juno didn't exist, Morag Macdougal had kept her spot for breakfast.

"Thank you," Juno dipped her head with a grateful smile.

"How are you feeling?" The question came from Diana Taylor, Potter's friend, but half of the table leaned in to hear her answer with interest.

"A bit tired and sore. According to Madame Pomfrey, it will be gone in two or three days."

The food appeared, and nobody asked her any more questions, much to her relief. Talking about the last Friday was irritating.

Surprisingly, her humiliating defeat at the hands of Longbottom only made the Ravenclaws warm up to her - while the looks of sympathy or pity were irking her, it was something she could work with. Even the Hufflepuffs felt less wary of her…

The other unexpected yet welcome result was that Juno and Macdougal had found themselves joining Potter's small group all of a sudden. The Boy Who Lived was almost a full head shorter than Juno but carried himself with a presence that somehow deterred the others. Which suited her just fine; while muggle-born, Taylor was skilled, polite, and wellbred, and Patil was no lesser but a pureblood.

The teachers were a little different; Snape was grouchy as usual, Binns was lulling, but Juno could feel a tinge of wariness as McGonagall looked at her, but her attitude was unchanged.

They finally met the Gryffindors in front of the DADA classroom. Longbottom… he wasn't gloating like she imagined. No, he didn't even try to approach or speak with her, although it could have been Potter's presence that deterred him.

No, he radiated remorse; she could feel it even in the jumbled sea of emotion in the classroom. Was it because she ended up in the hospital wing? Or maybe because he failed to kill her?

It angered her, but it was not terrible; Juno would not have to deal with his bothersome obsession any further. That did not mean she would forget. If only the fool did not bother her in the first place. Still, the thought of him scrubbing bathrooms and hallways by hand for hours every evening did bring her a smidgeon of joy.

Professor Quirrell quickly entered and took the attendance. A capable yet dangerous man, Juno couldn't feelanyemotion from him, and the only other person fully in control of their mind she had met had been the headmaster…

With a wave of his wand, all the homework placed on the upper left of their desks flew and stacked itself before him.

"Today," for a short moment, Quirrell's eyes lingered on Longbottom, "we shall talk about ambushes, how to avoid and detect them, and the most efficient usage of counterspells and shields."

Chapter 13: Overcast

Chapter Text

17th of October, Thursday

His lungs burned with each breath as he moved his weary limbs, which felt stiff and heavy as if made of lead. While Harry jogged every morning, he only pushed himself to the limit every second day, and it was never easy.

It was still dark, with only the barest hint of light peeking from the eastern horizon. Harry didn't have to light his way since the sky was unblemished by any clouds, and the stars shined brightly, softly illuminating the grass-covered ground below and sparkling like diamonds in the reflection of the silky smooth lake to his right.

As he approached the end of his last lap, Harry steeled himself despite the tiredness and dashed into a mad sprint for the finish line, which was technically just by the three girls waiting for him by an errant pine right next to the lake.

"Morgana's hat, Potter," the voice sounded like one of the Carrows, but he was busy heaving heavily and struggling to fight off the exhaustion that weighed upon his limbs as he stopped. He had to keep moving, as the cold, dew-covered grass was not the most pleasant place to rest. "Even Flint doesn't push the Quidditch team so hard."

The twins and Lestrange barely ran a third of what he did, albeit slower, but always politely waited for him after they finished, resting from their own runs. It was a small gesture, yet it warmed his chest despite the chilly Scottish air.

All three girls were tightly wrapped in fancy Quidditch training robes to ward off the cold. One of the twins had lit her wand with some modified charm, making it glow softly like a lantern, ruddy light banishing the lingering darkness. As usual, the Slytherin twins were usually expressionless and could look quite eerie with their heterochromatic eyes - both had one green and one blue.

Hestia and Flora weren't ugly by any standard, especially with their long dark hair, high cheekbones and sharp faces, but they weren't half as pretty as Juno.

"It does pay off," Juno murmured, then shook her head. "Let's go back."

They were pretty far from the castle, by the eastern side of the lake, where the three girls had tired too much to keep running.

The walk back was slow; Harry was still heaving, and even walking was quite a heavy task. Thankfully, with each slow step, the tension and numbness were slowly bleeding out of him. A hot air charm took care of his damp training clothes, but he'd still have to visit the shower to clean up later.

He idly glanced at Juno. His classmate was fully healed from her brutal ordeal and pushed herself hard. Harry understood Neville's anger well enough; he couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel if Voldemort's daughter was in school and he had to face her every day. But the outburst of deliberate violence against a girl who had done nothing wrong simply irked him, especially since he had been dragged to officiate. What his former housemate had done was appallingly underhanded, not something Harry ever expected from the usually shy and kind Gryffindor, let alone in the first year. Yet another reminder - this Neville was nothisNeville, despite looking almost the same.

Harry still had mixed feelings about Bellatrix's daughter, but despite everything, the tall, prideful girl was… not unpleasant to hang out with. Always prim, proper, and unfailingly polite, Juno Lestrange was easy on his eyes and fun to duel with. While not as academically focused as Hermione, Bellatrix's daughter was quite ahead and competing with her kept him sharp, something he sorely needed. Juno had no problems with muggle-borns and got on with Diana well enough, which melted any of his remaining qualms about her.

Going through school again was mind-numbingly dull, although less than he expected. Most teachers were willing to give him advanced tasks and materials - Flitwick and McGonagall seemed the most enthusiastic of them. Quirrell's classes were a pleasant surprise; the manknewhow to teach and did it well. The duelling practice also helped immensely.

Still, a sense of wariness remained deep inside; the distrust towards DADA teachers was something Harry Potter had internalised long ago. But maybe, just maybe, this year would be peaceful and different, or so he hoped.

"Potter," it was the worried voice of Hestia Carrow, or so he thought, as one of the twins was looking around warily. "Are you sure this path is safe?"

They were walking on a strip of land between the Forbidden Forest and the Great Lake, and the three girls were warily gazing at the ominous treeline that somehow seemed darker.

"As long as we don't walk into the trees, we should be fine," Harry said breathlessly, although he was ready to draw his wand immediately. Even if they did enter the forest, the beginning was not too dangerous. "The thestral herd lives around the edges of the forest, chasing away any curious beasts."

Juno turned to him, curiosity sparkling in her blue eyes, "Thestrals are real?"

"Yeah - huge winged horses, only visible to those who had seen death," he provided kindly. "I saw the herd frolic around the trees behind Hagrid's hut one afternoon."

Much to his amusem*nt, the words made the three girls huddle closer to him, even though he was almost half a head shorter.

As Hagrid would say, and rightfully so in this instance, the thestrals were gentle, misunderstood creatures, but their appearance or magic didn't do them any favours.

The slow, measured walk had finally chased away the stiff numbness from his exhausted legs, and the pleasant feeling of satisfaction filled his tired body. Despite the difficulty, training was exhilarating, hard to do, but satisfying. It did help that the results were tangible; his stamina had drastically improved after almost three months of consistent, relentless morning runs. And, as that hit wizard guide had promised, his control over the more demanding spells had increased substantially; Harry even suspected that his success with silent casting was owed in part to the runs.

"You seem quite knowledgable," Flora broke the silence and looked at him curiously. "Kettleburn has us studying flobberworms and pixies in Care of Magical Creatures."

"I read ahead," he coughed softly. Harry preferred to avoid lying too much, so he'd skirted around the truth… from a certain point of view. Would anyone even believe him if he told the real story? Not that he had any desire to go and spread it around; the implications weren't something Harry had any aspiration to delve into.

"I thought you were raised in the muggle world," the other twin observed, but Juno threw her a sharp glare. "Sorry, that was presumptuous of me - you don't have to, ah, answer."

"It's fine, I don't mind. I am muggle-raised, but that didn't stop me from reading about magic." Unless his uncle locked all his books in the cupboard under the stairs. Such things were in the past, but now, Harry would rather die than return to the Dursleys for even a minute more. "How'd you know I was raised in the muggle world?"

Ron had also known the first time, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if his dwelling in Privet Drive was a well-known fact or just something people were vaguely aware of.

"I heard from my father that the ministry had to place your name under an owl ward to prevent you from being flooded with owls and letters," Flora shuffled uneasily under his gaze. "Preventing anyone from acquiring your exact location along with the less-benevolent mail that might contain nasty surprises."

Curious, that would explain certain things, yet other questions still remained. "What would happen if someone tried to send me mail?"

"Well, the owl would simply refuse to fly away if the address was not provided by you…"

There was a tinge of embarrassment in Hestia's reply, breaking their characteristic aloof veneer. Did she try to send him… fan mail?

"Anyway," Flora coughed. "Do you want to become a hit-wizard after Hogwarts with such dogged training? Or maybe an auror?"

Once upon a time, Harry had said he wanted to become an auror, yet that was not the truth; it was just words spoken because something had to be said. He had no idea what he wanted to do after Hogwarts; heck, he didn't think he would live to see the day - school was quite a dangerous endeavour, after all, and there were supposed to be a whole seven years of it. The dark lord on the loose didn't help much, either.

Even now, Harry wasn't sure he'd live to finish school or what he wanted to do for a living.

"I don't know," Harry admitted with a shrug. "But being skilled with a wand seems to be mighty useful. What about you three - any plans for after Hogwarts?"

Never again would he be unprepared, Voldemort or not.

"Either a good marriage or a nice cushy job at the ministry," one of the twins said, making him scratch his head - it was quite… ordinary. Not that there was anything wrong with mundane things.

"What my sister said," the other one hummed thoughtfully. "But being a curse breaker sounds…interesting."

If nothing else, at least they knew what they wanted to do, which was far more than could be said about Harry in his third year when he was just studying hard with no particular direction. Not that things were much improved now; his goals were… vague at best. Find the Room of Requirement and the Marauder's Map, capture Pettigrew, free Sirius, and try to get rid of Voldemort and his Horcruxes in no particular order. Yet, he was making almost no leeway in either of his goals…

With a shake of his head, he glanced curiously at Juno, who had yet to answer his earlier question.

"I want to restore House Black to its previous prestige." The reply was smooth but without feeling like she had rehearsed it hundreds of times. That said, Bellatrix's daughter returned to her usual silence, albeit far more thoughtful than before. There was no further elaboration on the exact meaning ofrestoring prestigeand the such, and Harry couldn't even begin to guess. Pureblood and political things were a headache he tried to stay away from.

Harry's gaze slid to the Carrow twins, the pair of which bore the same family name as his grandmother. It had taken him some time, but he had managed to research the connection mentioned by Fabian Fawley -Fleamont Potter's wife, Euphemia, was indeed born to the Carrow family.

To the east, the sky was slowly brightening; he pushed his uncertainty and hesitation away and decided to rip the bandaid off right away.

"Err, Carrow," both twins whipped their heads towards him at the same time. "Did you know we're… cousins?"

"Indeed," they chorused, faces blank. It was creepy when they did that. Whenever Harry saw them at school, they looked like expressionless dolls, and even the other Slytherins seemed wary of the sisters. But after a few days, he could safely say they were ordinary girls who were terrible at expressing their emotions. One of them, probably Hestia, tilted her head at him. "We're third cousins. You didn't know?"

"Found out… recently," the words felt heavy on his tongue.

"Almost all the older families in Wizarding Britain are connected at some point or another," Juno provided.

"You could've been raised together if not for my aunt and uncle," Flora said, but there was no feeling in her words as if she was stating a simple fact. Harry did remember Alecto and Amycus well enough; they were some of those who had escaped a life sentence in Azkaban, just like Lucius Malfoy.

"What Flora means to say is that we wouldn't mind helping our little cousin," Hestia elbowed her sister.

"Thanks," he smiled at the twins, although a sense of wariness still lingered. The two sisters were Slytherins, and Harry would be a fool not to be cautious. His experience with his other cousin, Dudley, wasn't stellar by any metric either. Still, a small smidgeon of hope bloomed within him, and an idea began to form in his mind, and he coughed to catch their attention again. "Now that you did mention that, I could use some assistance."

The twins looked quite intrigued.

"Do tell."

"I am attempting to find the location of a specific item, but nothing inside the library is particularly helpful," Harry admitted.

His efforts to find the Marauder's Map were unsuccessful; all he had was guesses. Objectively, it could still be in the hands of the Weasley twins, but from what Harry heard from the rumour mill, they were stuck in detention far more often than he remembered. Even if that was the case, they might not have always carried the map on their persons. And if Fred and George had never found it, Harry wouldn't have had an easy time either; Hogwarts was not exactly a small castle. In recent weeks, a new, chilling possibility had begun to worm into his mind - the map might have never been created in this world…

"Why not just summon it?" Flora asked.

"Summoning is not that easy for a first year," Juno interjected absentmindedly, and Harry couldn't help but agree - he had tried, and the summoning charm still gave him quite a lot of trouble. "Most important items are enchanted against summoning, and perhaps Potter just wants the location only."

Harry nodded amiably; those were his other qualms about simply summoning the map, which seemed too risky. Besides, his patience was slowly but surely dwindling - none of the goals he had set for himself were even close to succeeding.

"Finding things and locations falls under divination," Hestia fiddled with her sleeve. "But from what I've heard, Trelawney isn't much good in that particular aspect of the subject." His disappointment must have shown on his face because she gave him a reassuring smile. "Fret not, cousin; it will take some time, but we'll aid you."

He appreciated how all three seemed curious but were subtle instead of nosy about it.

"Thanks," Harry found himself feeling uncharacteristically giddy. "You can call me Harry; there's no need for formalities between friends and family."

"Only if you call us by our names," Flora returned with amusem*nt.

Juno threw him a subtle yet questioning glance, to which he nodded after a short moment of hesitation. In the end, his housemate was fine, and he wouldn't shun her for something as silly as her parents.

However, as they passed by Hagrid's hut, the door swung open, and the familiar half-giant came out, crossbow clutched tightly in his hand. Behind him followed Fang's booming barks as the enormous black boarhound showed his head through the opened door.

"What are 'ye three doin' here so early? Wait, Harry, is that yeh?"

"Yes, Mr Hagrid," Harry had to fight to suppress the smile that threatened to split his face. "We're just coming back from our morning run."

The guilt from not visiting his friend also threatened to erupt, but this time around, Hagrid had not sent him an invitation to visit, and Harry hadn't, as he was busy with other things. In hindsight, they had only met once at the boats here, so that might have been why.

"None o' that mister business," the half-giant happily shook his head and beamed at them, which seemed to intimidate the three girls as they once again stepped uneasily behind Harry. "Call me Hagrid. I was a friend o' yer parents - yeh can come by me hut fer a cup o' tea sometime if yeh want."

"I'll definitely visit sometime soon!" Harry nodded cheerfully at the half-giant, who beamed at him in return before urging Fang back into the hut.

He did miss all his friends, and while this Hagrid wasn'thisHagrid, Harry wouldn't mind reacquainting himself with the gentle half-giant once more. It did help that the gamekeeper wasn't a silly eleven-year-old.

"Merlin's might," Flora hissed with a shiver. "That was soterrifying."

"What?" All Harry could do was blink in surprise as the three girls looked like they had met an angry Voldemort and fought a couple of rounds with him.

"That man isscary," her sister muttered, and he noticed her hands were shaking while Juno had her wand in her hand, knuckles going white. "I've seen him pull out a tree as if it's a weed with his bare hands."

"Last month, I saw him manhandling an angry Hippogryph as if it was a harmless kitten," Juno's voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched. "And they say he goes wrestling with trolls in his free time!"

"Well, yeah, he's quite strong," he coughed, feeling somewhat abashed. "But Hagrid's not dangerous… just misunderstood."

Harry had the feeling that his words didn't assuage their unfound fears but shrugged it off - it wouldn't take long for them to realise Hagrid was one of the friendliest faces around. A few minutes later, they finally reached one of the courtyards.

19th of October, Saturday

"It's been quite a while, Amy," Alfred smiled at her from the opened door, and she had to fight off the urge to reach out and mess up his hair; her brother hadn't been a child for quite a while now. "I was afraid you'd be too busy to come."

Alfred, a stocky man with a dark reddish mane of hair and bushy eyebrows, was her youngest and final surviving sibling. Edgar and his family were slain by Travers and Snape, and Jonathan died in the crib from a bad case of dragon pox. While Travers was sitting in a nice warm cell with dementors for company, Snape had walked free because of the lack of evidence combined with the pardon Dumbledore pushed through the ministry.

Yet the cutting curse that had slain Edgar was unique, not from any known old grimoires. Amelia Bones would know - she had spent years combing any traces of it at home and abroad. It was anewly madecurse, but sadly, that wasn't much to go of. In the end, the only known Death Eaters who dabbled in spell creation were Augustus Rookwood and Severus Snape, which wasn't particular proof of anything, but Amelia clung to her suspicions.

It was not like Alfred didn't have trouble at school with Snape, and from what Amelia knew, the accursed potion master was vengeful and petty.

Sadly, there wasn't much she could do since Bagnold had given the bastard a full pardon foreverythingunderDumbledore'sadvice and protection.

Amelia shook her head, chasing the unpleasant thoughts away and coughing apologetically at her brother, who patiently awaited by the door.

"Sorry about that; I have a lot on my head."

"Well, none of that pish posh, come in, " Alfred urged her. "Eleanor has prepared a delicious dinner."

The mention of food did remind her of her rumbling stomach, and the head-auror headed inside. The insides of her brother's house were warm and cosy, the wooden beams and panels giving it a welcoming, rustic feeling, finally allowing her to relax after a harrowing week at work.

When she entered the kitchen, she was enthusiastically greeted by a tight embrace from her petite sister-in-law, which Amelia awkwardly returned.

Eleanor was a short half-blood witch with a saccharine smile and a love for hugs. To this day, Amelia wasn't sure how to deal with her sister-in-law, who had gotten pregnant in their seventh year in school, but hasty marriage or not, she did make Alfred happy, which was the most important part.

"Hello, Aunt Amelia," it was the squeaky voice of Duncan, her seven-year-old nephew, who sat by the table with a large grin.

"Hello, Duncan," she pushed away her exhaustion and smiled kindly at the boy, who was a carbon copy of his father. "Where's Alan?"

"Asleep in his crib upstairs," her nephew gave her a toothy grin. It wasn't a big surprise - her youngest nephew was just born a few months earlier and still spent most of his time sleeping.

As soon as they all sat at the table, her sister-in-law waved her wand, and three steaming servings of steak and kidney pie appeared before them.

Amelia dug into the dinner with relish; while Eleanor might have been too grabby, she was a talented cook.

"Anything to drink, Amy?" Her brother was looking at her with amusem*nt, and she realised she had forgotten her manners and coughed to cover her embarrassment.

"I'll take some chocolate liqueur."

It was some muggle spirit that her sister-in-law bought from the muggle world, but Amelia found the subtle sweetness of the drink just to her liking. With an amused smile, Eleanor went over to the cupboard and swiftly returned with drinks for everyone.

"I always knew that the DMLE was hard work, but you look like you haven't slept properly for weeks," her brother sighed. And he was right; as the head auror, Amelia had to do extra hours when there was trouble, and trouble was plentiful right now. "Is director Fawley still hung up about the Gringotts robbery?"

"He is," she hummed and took a sip from her liqueur, enjoying the soft sweetness lingering on her tongue. "Yet you know how the blasted goblins are - they still say nothing was taken from the vault and refused to cooperate. And then there's the paperwork and endless bustle around the ministry elections."

"At least those will end tomorrow at the Mot," Alfred said. "Fudge seems to have gathered popular support, while Macmillan is simply too stubborn and rigid to gather enough backing."

Amelia had a similar observation - Fudge was an easy choice here as the man was a career politician without too big a standing. Someone amiable enough who wouldn't take too drastic steps yet could still be influenced. The less could be said about the overly proud Macmillan, the better. She suspected that her brother would cast his vote with Fudge tomorrow anyway.

"I sure hope so," Amelia muttered darkly. "Yet those are far from the only problems."

Duncan seemed to have grown bored of the adult conversation and the dinner and yawned tiredly.

"Finish your dinner," Eleanor chided her son, who grumbled and began forking at the remnants of his pie.

"Ah, the Wiltshire Warlock," Alfred leaned in and whispered so his son wouldn't hear. "I thought it was just a rumour?"

"You know I can't speak about ongoing investigations," Amelia hissed at her brother.

"Sorry," he nodded softly and returned to his meal. "You know how we Ravenclaws are with our thirst for knowledge."

"A fancy way of saying you have an insatiable appetite for gossip." The words made her brother chuckle with delight; some days, she still forgot how he was a dozen years younger than her.

But yes, Alfred was right - there had been another murder last night. There had been a dark wizard doing ritualistic killings for nearly a month, yet it was all kept under wraps with the upcoming elections. Such blatant murders of muggles hadn't happened since the blood war.

Yet, it wasn't the usual modus operandi of the Death Eaters, for they attacked muggles for entertainment while there was an actual purpose here. The DMLE would have easily classified the kidnappings and murders of young girls of thirteen as some muggle serial killer if not for the odd circ*mstances that aligned with astronomy and arithmancy all too well. Inevitably, someone from the investigation had failed to keep their mouth shut, and rumours were all over the place - naming the dark wizard in question the Wiltshire Warlock after the place of his first killing.

It was a load of work and investigation, and as a head auror, Amelia had to coordinate all of it. It didn't help that Fawley, the Head of DMLE, was in his last year and planned to leave no cases unsolved and pushed everyone to the limit, which left the lion's share of it at her feet.

Yet, they weren't even close to catching this culprit; the evidence was scarce, and whoever did it was experienced enough to cover his tracks well.

With a shake of her head, Amelia pushed the woes away from her mind and took another sip of the sweet liqueur.

"How's Hufflepuff treating Susie?"

House Bones traditionally had members in all four houses, but Amelia was the only one in Hufflepuff in the recent generations.

"She loves it there, Amy," Alfred's grey eyes softened, reminding her of fog. Her brother tried to treat all his children fairly, but Susan was his favourite - the little princess of Bones. Yet, his expression quickly darkened. "However, there seems to have been some trouble with the Potions professor."

Hogwarts had a single Potions professor, and just the thought of him made Amelia freeze. "Snape? What did he do?"

"Singling her out in class at every mistake, coupled with subtle insults," her brother sighed. "Nothing against the Hogwarts rules, of course, but I still filed a complaint to the boards of the governors."

"Not that they could do anything if Dumbledore blocks them," she tiredly ran a hand through her red locks. "The number of auror trainees who had to take additional potion courses in the last years has drastically increased."

Snape, while an incompetent teacher, was a master potion-brewer, which left him exceptionally well-connected. The more obscure or difficult potions were ludicrously expensive and nearly impossible to make for most wizards and witches, rendering the services of a master brewer invaluable.

"I can see why now," Alfred's face darkened. "Snape gives instructions and explains very little about the subject's intricacies. I might have to find a Potions tutor for Susan the coming summer should this continue."

Amelia would have offered to teach her niece if she wasn't so swamped at work.

"I can try and reach out to Andromeda if you wish," she proposed.

"No need, I will handle this myself," Alfred waved dismissively. "And I'd rather not risk provoking that mad dog Arcturus right now. He's on the warpath against the Longbottoms already."

"Wait, what happened?"

While Amelia finished her meal, her brother quickly explained the thorny children's spat between Juno Lestrange and Neville Longbottom and its ugly consequences. No wonder House Black had stirred to make so many moves in the last week and put pressure upon the random businesses - or not so random, considering that Longbottom probably had a share there for them to attract such misfortune.

Eleanor ushered Duncan upstairs to put him to sleep, and Amelia quickly gulped down the remainder of her drink and stood up.

"It's time I leave," she declared, feeling tipsy.

"You're tired and not exactly sober, Amy," her brother coughed and tugged on her sleeve. "You might just splinch yourself. Sleep here - the guest room and a change of clothes are always ready for you."

A most welcome offer - truth be told, Amelia was too tired to make the journey back home. The path of least resistance it was.

20th of October, Sunday

Despite everything, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in Hogwarts turned out far more satisfactory than he would have thought. Dumbledore's attention was expected, but the feeling of adoration and almost unwavering trust from the students feltintoxicating.

The previous teachers were not very competent, consistent, or skilled.

A careful word here, a practised phrase there, and the crude reality of the wizarding world was bared open before the children, hungry for knowledge, guidance, and recognition. After all, why would he lie when the naked truth was just as strong a tool as any other?

The sheer amount of influence that a popular teacher enjoyed was frankly ludicrous. Yet, Dumbledore observed carefully, if from afar, and any hasty moves would not be beneficial.

So muchpotential, Potter, Lestrange, Greengrass, Longbottom - all of them already had one foot on the road to greatness, despite being only first year. There were many others, like Rosier, Tonks, and even a few muggle-borns, of course. But it didn't matter; he would take joy in teaching and subtly plant a few seeds in the budding minds of the students. His show of prowess alone garnered him quite a lot of goodwill regardless.

For now, there were more important things to do and too many avenues to pursue. Yet, any mistakes would be too costly, and the setbacks unacceptable.

Choices, choices.

Patience was paramount; he would observe how things aligned and subtly nudge them in his favour; let it not be said that he could not be flexible if necessary.

Thankfully, Hogwarts' library was the largest in the magical world; even after Dumbledore had hidden quite a few tomes, there were still new things to read and more knowledge to be gained.

"Quirinus," Snape's unpleasant voice forced the DADA professor to tear his eyes away from the old treatise on the symbolism of magical ingredients. "May I have a moment of your time?"

He couldn't help but notice that the Potions professor was once again carrying a different wand - made of willow, not hawthorn. For some reason, Snape had two wands and alternated between using them.

"No problem, Severus," he gave the greasy man a friendly smile. "But I only have half an hour more until I must leave for my date with Sybill."

Snape didn't bother to hide his disgust from his face, the fool.

It was the third such date, and things between him and the Divination professor were progressing quite well.

"I believe you claimed to have some experience handling trolls."

"That is true," he hummed in acknowledgement. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I am in need of fresh ingredients for my newest experiment," the words came out slow and quiet but intrigued the DADA teacher. Snape's skill and talent in Potions were nearly unmatched, and the only thing he seemed always to keep sharp. From Quirrell's knowledge, the Potions master had at least eight unique recipes to his name, and it appeared he was going for a ninth one.

Getting troll ingredients was not easy or cheap, and they were rarelyfresh, explaining why this conversation happened. While dumb, the bumbling brutes weren't easy to slay and tended to stay together in groups, making them quite dangerous.

This, however, seemed like an interesting opportunity.

"What do you need - mountain, river, or forest trolls?"

Chapter 14: Samhain Part 1

Chapter Text

31st of October, Thursday

Magic was wonderful!

A whole new world filled with what felt like infinite possibilities. Yet, for all its differences, it was no different from what was called themuggleworld.

Hermione was friendless two months later, which wasn't particularly new. She was the top points earner in Gryffindor, but very few of her housemates were particularly interested in activities like studying!

That nasty duel between Longbottom and Lestrange had been a chilling yet eye-opening experience. The worst part was the legality of the situation and the fact that very few seemed to be bothered by the wanton display of violence, which was somehow in line with the rules…

Of course, Hermione had checked the library, and nothing in the wizarding law or vague Hogwarts rulebook forbade duelling. Even the limitations and rules were annoyingly contradictory!

Ever since the duel, Gryffindors had begun receiving looks of suspicion from Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, which seemed to be more distant from Hermione's housemates, as if they'd jump on them like rabid animals. According to her gossipy roommates, some Hufflepuff fifth-year prefect, a relative of Lestrange, was on the warpath against the lions, dishing out detentions and point reductions for the slightest offences.

Still, the fact that a usually polite boy like Longbottom could present such a font of violence was jarring, and she did not know what to think of this whole thing. The rest of the lions seemed torn between praising the boy for hisboldnessand cursing him for giving them a bad name. Longbottom did challenge Lestrange when she was tired, and plenty of his fellow Lions see that as a deed worthy of Slytherin, not something a Gryffindor should do.

Hermione was simply appalled by the wanton desire for violence by any side. Even more so when the teachers could not, no,would notwarn them against repeating such an action. From her understanding, no one believed Longbottom should be in trouble for what he did, not even Lestrange's supporters. It made her wonder if someone would challenge her like that, and as she had no way or influence to protect herself like the other two, how would she fare in this environment?

"Today, we'll begin practising the levitation charm!" The squeaky voice quickly brought her out of her musings.

Professor Flitwick had already laid down the theory and wand movements in the previous weeks, and now it was only time to get the spell to work. Hermione had managed to cast the spell before, of course.

Idly, she watched as her schoolmates began waving their wands at the provided feathers, and the classroom was filled with the sound of childish chanting. Very few were successful - many were trying the usual swish and flick but not to effect. Finnigan eventually poked his feather in frustration, Weasley was waving his wand arm like a windmill, Patil and Brown were giggling between their attempts, and only Longbottom and Taylor managed to get it right.

Hermione would usually be annoyed at Weasley's pitiful attempts or Fey Dumbar's unenthusiastic wand-waving, but her attention was elsewhere.

Of course, Lestrange and Potter were off to the side with Flitwick, who quietly gave them different work - advanced material from the following years because both could alreadydothe charm, and one of them silently at that! Both were confident and experienced; magic came to them as effortlessly as breathing. Any of Hermione's efforts seemed meagre before the two eagles.

They weretoogood.

It wasn'tfair. The worst part is that Hermione had to see them every week, and the fact was constantly rubbed in her face every time Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared a class. Her attempts to grab the teacher's approval seemed for nought when they were there.

Why couldn't they just move to the year above or something!?

Apparently, Juno was some sort of wizarding nobility, born into some influential, powerful House with tutors since she could walk, which was completely unfair. How could Hermione compete with such a thing? And the Boy Who Lived was no lesser, each following rumour about him more outlandish than the next. At first, the bushy-haired girl thought it was all gossip, but Harry Potter's competence could not be denied. He was better than Lestrange, after all.

Potter might be withdrawn and Lestrange - cold, but both followed the rules and were favoured by the teachers - especially Flitwick and Quirrell. Ravenclaw was already seventy points ahead of Slytherin and nearly three hundred and fifty ahead of Gryffindor, courtesy of Neville's fight.

Sometimes, Potter looked around the classroom with his unsettling emerald eyes, and his gaze lingered half a moment longer on Weasley or… her. It was not something she could decipher, at least not at first. Yet after two months, she found a tinge of sorrow and something that looked like a mix of pity and concern. Today, the glances were even heavier.

It infuriated her.

Everyone liked the Boy-Who-Lived, but his presence irked her despite Potter not doing anything wrong. He wasn't ugly or mean; people admired him for no reason; everything came effortlessly to him. Over half the teachers favoured Potter one way or another, although only Flitwick seemed open about it.

Even now, the emerald-eyed Ravenclaw was succeeding in a spell she couldn't recognise from the first or second-year charms book Hermione had found in the library.

Her self-study hadn't progressed as quickly as Hermione hoped either - most of the magic in Miranda Goshawk'sStandard Book of Spells Grade Oneproved challenging and exhausting on top of all the homework.

"Aren't you going to try?" Sophie Roper's quiet voice came from her side. The only other muggle-born Gryffindor girl in her year was tall, thin, and skittish with long chestnut hair as straight as an arrow.

Hermione palmed her wand, calmed herself down and went through the motions. Swish and flick, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather levitated much to Sophie's excitement, but the bushy-haired girl didn't feel thrilled, not when Potter and Lestrange were doing advanced magic a few desks to the side. Even Professor Flitwick didn't pay her much attention, as she was the third to get it after Taylor and Longbottom. There was no praise, no points, just a nod of acknowledgement that made her feel sour.

"Uh, could you help me?" Her deskmate's question was so quiet Hermione barely heard it.

Sophie stared at the unmoving feather before her.

"Show me what you're doing again," Hermione curiously focused on Roper.

The school day went without a hitch - it was a surprise but a welcome one for sure.

Still, Harry couldn't shake away the ominous feeling at the back of his head - one not based on anything besides his lacklustre luck with this day in particular.

Bats fluttered like black clouds in the air, and many more could be seen along the walls and ceiling, making the pumpkins and candles above stutter uneasily.

Hallowe'en was just as Harry remembered it. A glance told him that Hermione and Ron were at the Gryffindor table. The gangly red-haired boy seemed bored, while the bushy-haired girl glared at him when their eyes met before continuing to lecture the quiet Sophie Roper about something.

Harry couldn't help the guilt and longing that swelled within - his former friendships were gone for real now. Logically, he knew the connection would never be, but Hermione's ire still stabbed him in the chest like a serrated knife, even when he hadn't done anything to earn it.

Exhaling slowly, Harry steeled himself - it was for the better. Everyday school woes for Ron and Hermione were far more fitting than any lethal adventures they would go on with him. One unlucky moment could quickly turn things fatal…

His gaze turned to the staff table, where Professor Quirrell, charming smile on his face, was chatting animatedly with Trelawney. Filch, too, was at the end of the table, looking as grumpy as always with his beady black eyes inspecting the students for wrongdoing. Even the grouchy Mrs Norris was there, rubbing around the cranky caretaker's boots. He felt relieved; it seemed like there would be no trolls tonight.

"Where are you going?" Diana's curious voice halted him as he stood up. Bloody hell, Juno and a dozen Ravenclaws nearby were now looking at him with interest. There were still a few minutes until the beginning of the feast - the golden plates still stood empty, and the Great Hall was not full just yet.

"Don't feel particularly hungry," his throat was dry, and the words felt like lead on his tongue. It was not a lie - the elves had prepared a hearty meal in the kitchen earlier. "I'll just take a walk."

Even after running his mental exercises a few times, the feeling of trepidation did not go away, but at least he could keep his face expressionless with some difficulty. The auburn-haired girl seemed confused, but there was a gleam of understanding in Juno's icy eyes.

None stopped him as Harry waddled through the stream of students still coming in and finally left the Great Hall. For ten minutes, he walked around idly until no more students were in sight. Just in case, he wandered around some more before finally heading to Filch's office.

Everyone was at the feast now; all the ghosts were at the Deathday's party, and most paintings were fast asleep with nothing to catch their attention in the empty hallways.

Surprisingly, the divination spell Flora had offered him a week ago worked, albeit after much practice. Nearly fifteen hours of it, in fact. It was odd that one of his least favourite subjects had an actual, practical application - Harry wished that Trewalney had focused on things like that more instead of crystal balls and other silly forms of fortune-telling…

"Requrio Marauder's Map!" The wand motion was convoluted - a spiralling swirl, followed by a sharp W-shaped jab flowing into a swish; the concentration required was nothing to scoff at either. It needed strict visualisation of the desired object, and the further it was, the higher the strain on the caster.

Just as before, an image of a dingy wooden cabinet marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous'in an ugly scrawl appeared in his mind. It was vague, fleeting, but Harry did recognise it, and it brought him an immense feeling of relief. Thankfully, the map itself had not been enchanted against such types of magic; otherwise, he would have been screwed.

After all, he had been in Filch's office before. Soon enough, Harry faced a weathered wooden door leading to the caretaker's haunt. A rusty nail pinned the long list of forbidden objects on it.

Carefully, Harry grasped the handle and pushed, but the dark door didn't budge.

One unlocking charm later, he was greeted by the dingy windowless room stinking of fried fish. His heart beat like a drum, expecting something to go wrong finally.

But, the stilted silence remained as Harry fought with his trepidation in Filch's office. It was no different than he remembered - a gloomy, windowless room with a single oil lamp hanging from above.

The ruddy light of the torches from the hallways barely illuminated the insides, but it was enough. Harry ignored the moth-eaten chair and Filch's carefully polished chains and manacles, making his way to the wooden cabinet.

"Alohom*ora!"

A dull click was heard, but the cabinet door did not budge, eliciting a few curses from Harry. It seems it had been enchanted against unlocking charms, quite possibly to ward any attempts to break in from the Weasley twins. He had not taken anything to do the muggle method of lockpicking either.

Dispelling the enchantment didn't work, which meant it required a personalised counter-spell. Harry groaned and spun his wand in a choppy motion, ending with a sharp jab at the keyhole, "Terebro!"

The yew wand belched a weak, pale spell instead of a piercing curse, but it went straight into the lock, rattling the whole cabinet. It was an advanced curse that would usually be covered in the final years of DADA, and it was no wonder that Harry struggled even to produce the spell - his control and magic were both not enough. Still, casting it three more times at point-blank range broke the lock, and the door swung open.

Trying to suppress his excitement, he carefully rummaged through the rafters, wary of any malicious or pranking items and a few minutes later, he finally found the folded piece of yellow worn parchment.

He carefully unfolded it once and tapped with the wand, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The ink lines began to spill from the tip of his wand familiarly, forming great, curly green words.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs - Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER's MAP!

Finally,finallysomething was going according to his plans, albeit with a few hiccups. But the relief also stemmed from the familiar piece of parchment - it wasexactly the same! And his current success did not involve a gruesome amount of mind-numbing practice for a change.

Resisting the urge to dance a victory jig or just sit in Filch's office and scour every inch of the map for Pettigrew, Harry tapped the map with his wand again, "Mischief Managed."

Fully folded, the map was carefully deposited in his robes, and Harry turned to the cabinet's broken lock, the only proof left from his rendezvous here. Hopefully, a few repairing charms would do the trick, and Filch wouldn't even notice anyone had been here.

Diana looked at Harry's somehow tense back with concern. It was the first time she had seen the boy in such a mood, even less so during a celebration like now.

Slowly, she found herself glancing questioningly at Juno.

The taller girl leaned over slightly, "Today's the anniversary of that day."

The quiet murmur was almost lost in the commotion of the surrounding students. Like Harry, Juno seemed more content to observe and rarely said anything.

"That day?" Diana echoed in confusion.

"The Dark Lord and Harry's parents perished ten years ago on this night."

The words took the air out of her sails quickly, and next to her, Padma grimaced. Diana had almost forgotten why Harry was famous. The thought of everyone celebrating while someone was grieving the loss of his family was jarring. It was little wonder why he chose to take a serene walk without the hustle and bustle of the feast…

"Why's everyone calling that Voldemort guy Dark Lord or You-Know-Who?"

Her attempt to steer the topic away was met with a few winces, shudders, and glares from the nearby students. Even the usually calm Padma flinched. That only confused Diana further - why were people so afraid of some wizard who died a decade ago?

"He was a particularly vile sorcerer," Juno replied after a thoughtful pause, although it was barely more than a whisper, and Diana had to huddle closer to the tall girl to hear clearly. "Any dark deed you can imagine? He has done that and far more. But the Dark Lord is so feared because of his cruelty, prowess, and the taboo on his name."

Juno's lips were in disgust for a short, fleeting moment when she saiddark lord, making Diana wonder what her beef with the Voldemort fellow was, although he seemed like a nasty piece of work.

Thankfully, he was long dead.

"What's that?" Boot, who seemed to be listening with rapt attention, chimed in curiously.

"A powerful divination charm, which alerted his forces every time the Dark Lord's name was uttered. Anyone brave enough to speak it has simply perished unless they were strong enough to survive either the Dark Lord himself or his bloodthirsty followers."

Any further talks on the bleak topic were thankfully interrupted by the arrival of the food - all the golden plates were laden heavy with whatever courses your mind could think of.

Diana grabbed a generous serving of fish fingers and shepherd's pie and began eating. Her thoughts, however, drifted to that violent day three weeks ago. Such a sudden onslaught of savagery had come like lightning out of the blue - Diana knew children could be cruel, but…

Aside from Harry, nobody seemed particularly concerned with the bloody event in question - and maybe they were right. Lo and behold, Juno was hale and hearty, not even three days later. Magic was amazing, and it seemed that there was nothing that it couldn't do. After all, if the problem could be fixed without much trouble so quickly, it wasn't much of a problem, was it?

Although there seemed to be some newfound tension between the four houses after this event, Gryffindor appeared to bear the brunt. The teachers were not doing anything about it either.

It was an eye-opening difference, and Diana finally realised that magic and muggle Britain were utterly different places despite sharing the same location. Still, the whole thing was jarring, and Diana put more effort and attention into the DADA lessons than before.

That was far from the only change - Juno had tentatively joined their group ever since, along with the usually silent MacDougal. Diana was unsure what to think of the tall, elegant girl - she was polite enough and no longer as distant as before. But… Juno was so unfairlytallthat Diana couldn't help but feel envious without even looking at other things like talent in magic.

To be completely honest, she was just annoyed. Harry was a great, genuine boy and Diana's first true friend. She had known it was only a matter of time until more people approached him, but that didn't lessen Diana's annoyance in the slightest.

An errant glance at the staff table told her that Harry was not the only one absent - Professor Snape also seemed to be missing, but she wasn't sure if he had just left at some point or never come in the first place.

She was just helping herself to a slice of delicious pear pie when an older Slytherin student dashed into the Great Hall, face twisted in horror. A prefect badge was proudly pinned to his robes, and everyone watched as he reached the staff table, eyes darting uneasily and heavily gasping, "Troll in the dungeons!"

And just like that, he slumped on the floor, unmoving, and Diana wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or just fright.

The words drove the Great Hall into an uproar, but the deafening sound of cannon blast instantly silenced the commotion and left Diana's ear ringing.

Everyone looked at Dumbledore, who calmly lowered his wand. "Prefects," gone was his jovial voice, replaced by a dangerous rumble, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately! Teachers, with me!"

Penelope and some seventh-year prefect began herding the easy Ravenclaws together, and Diana found herself walking next to Juno.

"Do trolls come into the castle often?" She asked as they waddled through the crowd towards the Hall's entrance. Everyone seemed in a rush to leave as quickly as possible, thickening at the doors.

"It shouldn't be a thing," Juno sneered. "Unless Peeves let the troll in somehow. Although I wouldn't be surprised if it were the latest bright idea from the Weasley twins."

Ah, the nasty poltergeist or the two red-haired menaces that loved to throw dung bombs around and make lives difficult. The only difference between the Weasley twins and Peeves was that the former could be detained. Diana remembered how half of Ravenclaw ended up with bright red and gold hair during breakfast two weeks ago, forcing the eagles to walk in Gryffindor colours until a seventh-year prefect managed to reverse it at lunch.

Just as everyone began grouping up towards different hallways, Diana paled and tugged on Juno's sleeve, only for her to spin at her, wand drawn and cold eyes promising violence. The girl was over a head taller than her, and Diana couldn't help but feel quite intimidated.

"I've just thought - Harry doesn't know about the troll!"

The wand was quickly lowered, and Juno grew thoughtful.

"Let's go tell some prefect or teacher, then."

The tall girl dived into the crowd daringly, looking for teachers or prefects.

After a tense minute of waddling through the crowd, they found only Edwin Gamp, the laidback fifth-year prefect. The rest seemed to have rushed ahead, and Flitwick was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't worry much for Potter," he idly waved away their worries. "Hogwarts is a big castle, and trolls are dumb as bricks. The boy's probably in the dorms asleep anyway."

And just like that, Gamp continued up the stairs hurriedly with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Juno and Diana stood still, undecided about what to do.

Diana tried to chase away the terrible image of Harry getting squashed and eaten by some hungry, ugly monster from her mind but couldn't.

She turned to Juno, anxious, "How dangerous are trolls?"

The raven-haired girl thinned her lips and scowled, "We have to find Harry."

Very dangerous, then.

"But how? Gamp was not wrong - the castle is enormous, and Harry could be anywhere!"

"We'll just have to hope he's around his usual haunts, then."

Juno turned around and decisively strolled in a different direction. After taking one last look at the Ravencalws, most of whom had disappeared behind the bend of the marble stairwell, Diana cursed quietly and followed after the black-haired girl.

Lamenting the fact that she had only memorised the location of the common room and a handful of classrooms, Diana's anxiety only grew with every hallway and stairway that they passed through.

Suddenly, the air was heavy with a foul stench - a putrid mix of old socks and those public toilets no one seemed to clean, onlyworse.

"Hey," she whispered, trying not to gag. "Do you smell something?"

Juno halted in her tracks, making Diana also freeze.

They heard it then - a rumbling grunt and the heavy yet slow sound of footsteps.

From behind the corner emerged a horrible sight - twelve feet tall with dull grey skin, a great lumpy body like a boulder, and a small head perched on top like a coconut.

Diana thought she was hearing double for a moment, but her eyes told her otherwise. It would be amusing if there weren't two of them, carrying two crude clubs the size of a grown man and looking curiously at Diana and Juno.

The spell was finally broken, and Diana tried to push down the rising panic. "What do we do now?"

"Run?"

And then they turned around and dashed away into a different hallway. The blind sprint through the hallways quickly had Diana gasping for breath and her limbs feeling heavy, but she mustered all her energy because the heavy footsteps kept rumbling behind them ominously.

Just as she began to lag behind Juno, the black-haired girl halted.

"Why stop?" she eked out breathlessly.

"I took the wrong turn," Juno nodded at the bottom of the hallway that ended with an old tapestry.

Sure enough, the two trolls showed up from around the corner, making Diana choke at the stench, but that was one of her smallest problems right now, as the realisation began to sink in.

They weretrapped,and entering one of the abandoned classrooms nearby wouldn't change the fact.

The trolls slowly approached, drool dripping from their dumb, blotchy mouths as the two girls slowly backed towards the dead end.

"How does one fight a troll?" Diana gulped, clutching the wand in her arm.

"Their hide is thick and near impervious to magic," Juno scowled and waved her wand, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

One of the clubs flew into the air, and both trolls halted, curiously looking at the piece of wood above them. The second one gave a toothy smile and smacked the enormous cudgel with his club, making it crash into the wall loudly, leaving splinters of various sizes all over the floor.

Both trolls began scratching their heads and looking around.

Steeling herself, Diana decided to try her luck and aimed at the second club, "Wingardium Leviousa!"

But her spell either didn't work or was not strong enough because the cudgel remained in the troll's hand. Her cry attracted the unwanted attention of the two trolls, who now continued to approach ominously.

The monstrous duo were clumsy and cumbersome in their steps, but side by side, they blocked the hallway almost entirely, and she knew that the hulking, graceless movements were deceiving as the trolls easily kept up with their mad dash earlier.

As Diana's heart began to beat desperately like a drum and Juno began to mumble some long incantation while weaving a complex wand motion -

"Oy, you plonkers!" The angry cry halted both the girls and the trolls, and never had the muggle-born girl been so glad to hear this voice.

At the other end of the hallway stood Harry, his emerald eyes blazing like two small fires, his wand drawn. Diana had never seen him sofurious, but his bellow grabbed the troll's attention as they wheeled around clumsily to face him.

Then, Harrymoved,and his wand twirled so fast it became a blur, "Conmutocus, Engorgio, Wingardium Leviosa, Flipendo!"

"Duck," Juno dragged her down towards the floor, and Diana would have questioned her why when the splinters behind the trolls turned into enormous needles of varying sizes before turning even bigger. Her mind stilled when all the needles levitated in the air for a heartbeat, and then a veritable rain of steel was launched at the trolls.

A series of sickening squelches merged with the clinking sounds of steel meeting stone, and a second later, both trolls fell together backwards with loud thuds that made the hallway tremble.

Cracking her eyes open, Diana saw the monsters on the floor, still and unmoving, and her gaze moved upwards. There were many enormous needles deeply embedded into the ceiling or walls. Although they looked more like metal spears and arrows than needles…

Diana got to her feet numbly and almost puked at the sight - pools of dark, acrid blue seeped from the enormous corpses, and the smell got worse as if rotten eggs had been added into the unpleasant mix.

That turned out to be the final straw, and Diana heaved over and released the contents of her stomach on the floor. She was not the only one - Juno joined her, expelling the dinner onto the ground.

"Urgh," Diana could only groan as she wiped away the tears that had pooled in her eyes as she stood up shakily, the bitter taste of bile heavy on her tongue. Her heart was still hammering furiously as if trying to escape her ribcage; all of her limbs felt weak, and she was out of breath.

"Let's get out of here," Juno rasped with a grimace as she stood up, and Diana could only muster a nod.

They quickly passed the trolls, trying not to look at the grisly sight.

Harry, however, looked worse than them - he was slumped by the wall, brow covered with thick beads of sweat and looked like he would keel over and die. The two girls quickly made their way to their friend.

The sudden footsteps made all three of them whip their heads towards the corner - it was not a surprise; the loud racket definitely should have attracted some attention.

A moment later, Professor Flitwick showed up, wand glowing baleful purple. Diana had never seen the kind Charms master so furious. His steely gaze roamed over the hallway behind them, inspecting the carnage before settling on the three of them.

"Mr Potter," Flitwick's voice was emotionless. "What happened here?"

"Found the two of them cornered by the troll, professor, and," Harry weakly waved at the two carcasses.

The charm's master face softened, and he waved his wand; all the embedded needles were drawn out from the stone and reversed back into wooden splinters in all shapes and sizes. He nodded to himself, and then his inquisitive gaze turned to Diana and Juno. "And what were the two of you doing here?"

"Searching for Harry, sir," Juno's voice turned silky. "He decided to skip the feast and didn't know about the troll."

"You should have turned to the prefects or the teachers in that case," Flitwick said gently, but his voice had a sliver of reproach.

"Well, er, we did, sir," Diana added hastily. "We looked for a teacher but couldn't find any, and Prefect Gamp told us not to worry."

For a moment so short she could have been imagining things, Flitwick's expression turned thunderous before mellowing out. "I see. Fifteen points to each of you for a splendid show of loyalty. And Mr Potter, take another twenty points for wit, daring, and valour!"

"We're not in trouble?" Diana couldn't help but blink in confusion as her friends stood there stunned.

"Oh no, not at all," the diminutive professor reassured them with a gentle smile. "I will have a word with Mr Gamp later, of course, but you three did nothing wrong. Return to the common room now - Mr Potter looks like he's in dire need of rest."

Harry looked dead on his feet as they made their way towards the Ravenclaw dormitories, but their pace was almost as slow as a turtle - they weren't in a hurry.

"Want some help, Harry?" Diana offered with concern.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," the boy chuckled despite dragging his feet as if they were made out of lead. "The magic took much more out of me than I thought."

"Any more, and you'd have magic exhaustion," Juno noted. There was a gleam in her eyes that Diana couldn't decipher.

"I… thank you for coming to look for me," Harry looked quite guilty.

"No need," Juno imperiously waved away the concern, although the vomit on her robe and her now splattered, dishevelled hair ruined her usual haughty visage. "That's what friends are for. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

Diana was too tired to say anything and could only nod in agreement. For a short moment, Harry seemed like he would say something, but the words never left his tongue, and he sighed with a soft nod.

Just as they were climbing the grand staircase, they were waylaid by a worried group of Ravenclaw prefects led by Penelope Clearwater. Gamp was there, too, looking quite guilty.

"Where have the three of you been!?" She was almost shouting. "We turned up in the common room, only to count the students and find three missing!"

"And Clearwater here decided to draft us into finding you," a seventh-year prefect snorted. "Glad to see you are well."

"Just peachy," Diana snorted, but a feeling of warmth seeped within her at the sight of the older years. One lazily waved his wand, turning their nearly ruined robes pristine again.

It had been a stormy evening, but from that moment on, the muggle-born girl had earned herself one more friend and could not help but feel a sense of belonging towards this odd, new world. Tall or not, facing a pair of man-eating monsters nearly thrice your height together made it hard for Diana to hold anything but goodwill towards Juno.

Chapter 15: Samhain Part 2

Chapter Text

31st of October, Thursday

The castle's hallways were forebodingly dim, and the air seemed heavy. The old warlock stretched his senses to the limit, but it was for nought - it was not magic. At least none he could feel, despite honing this ability to the limit for many decades. Yet, all that could be attributed to the day -Samhain's Evewas special. The drowsy ambience had most of the portraits already asleep. With a snap of his fingers, all the torches immediately came alive, burning with searing intensity, and some of the portraits woke up, blinking groggily.

Dumbledore had immediately seen the truth in Mr Rowle's words - one of the perks of being very skilled in matters of the mind. Yet magical creatures of this magnitude could not enter Hogwarts, at least not alone.

It seemed that his bait had finally borne fruit. Yet, as much as he could tell - nobody had entered the obstacle course… yet. It could have been Voldemort or some of his agents, but Dumbledore had no way of knowing - even the best of wizards were not immune to the prospect of an endless source of gold or the fleeting idea of eternal life. Many a fool could not even comprehend the costs of such things, or worse, would not even care.

In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea to send the students to their dormitories, but most skilled fifth-years and above could probably handle a troll on their own with a good chance to defeat it if they kept a cool head on their shoulders, let alone in a big group, so the danger was almost irrelevant.

"Headmaster!" The breathless shout made Dumbledore whip his head towards one of the paintings, only to see Walter, the drunk ascetic, gasping for breath inside a previously empty canvas, much to the displeasure of the nearby portraits. The gaunt man had not been for physical exertions in his time, and his painting reflected that fact, an unfortunate side effect of the method of their creations. "The Hufflepuffs-" the words put the headmaster on alert as a heavy, coughing wheeze choked the ascetic, "they're under attack!"

"Fawkes!"

His cry summoned the fiery bird in a flash of fire, and it immediately landed on his shoulder, claws sinking into the fabric of his robes. There was no need to speak anymore, as the phoenix was not only intelligent but could feel his urgency and flashed him again.

After so many years, Albus could recognise any corner of the castle, and he immediately knew he was in the hallway, just in front of Hufflepuff's common room, when a choking stench hit him like a hippogryph. It took him only half a second to take full stock of the surroundings, and the sight made his blood boil.

Second-year students were panicking, trying to rush inside the Hufflepuff dormitories, yet crammed the passage for any older students who could have come outside to help. The first and some of the second years were standing on the other side of not one buttwomountain trolls, enormous wooden clubs in hand. A battered boy was already crumpled on one of the walls, broken chips of wood everywhere. A few braver ones were flinging jinxes and hexes at the hide of the enormous greyish beasts but did nothing - any magic failed to penetrate the thick spell-resistant hide and only served to infuriate them.

The easiest way to deal with such beasts was Transfiguration and wits.

This took him barely a second to notice, yet the trolls were already swinging their clubs at a group of cowering first-years. Before he could think about it, spells were leaving his wand. The enormous bludgeons landed but bent comically, bouncing off harmlessly, not doing any damage to the targets as if they were made of foam.

The two trolls halted, staring dumbly at their clubs, wondering what was wrong with them, but Dumbledore was already casting again. Thick, wooden ropes grew out of the walls and floor to restrain the enormous intruders, but one of the trolls lumped around in confusion and got struck by all the restraints.

At the corner of his eye, the headmaster saw the struck-down student groan in pain as blood began to leak from his mouth, and for the barest moment, he lost his ironclad control mid-cast.

The death stickpulledon his leaking fury and bubbling magic, and the flying firework that was supposed to grab the second troll's attention wooshed sinisterly, tearing through the air instead, making Dumbledore grit his teeth and try to control the-

Splat!

Everything was covered by dull, grey-green ichor and sludge that mixed bone and flesh, including the nearby students who were completely petrified. He had contained a blast that could have levelled the hallway and all the students within at the last second, leaving none harmed, only… drenched. Well, notnone- only the flat, horny feet remained sizzling from the legs of the two trolls. The elder wand was indeed a creation of Death - it could mete out destruction and woe with laughable ease in the hands of a powerful warlock such as himself, even against magically resistant beasts.

The stench in the air grew a hundred times worse, and many heaved to free their stomachs from the contents of the feast.

Fawkes let out an undignified squawk at his plumage being ruined. Dumbledore sighed inwardly and carefully steeled his mind, swiping the now excited elder wand again, vanishing all the troll blood, including most of the smell. Yet a hint of foulness lingered in the air - the troll's blood was sticky and unpleasant, and many Hufflepuffs would spend plenty of time scrubbing themselves clean under the showers.

Ignoring the spell-shocked students, Dumbledore dashed to the fallen boy by the wall, and to his immense relief - he could see the chest still rise and fall slowly, albeit weakly.

With a nod from him, the phoenix trilled and swooped for the boy before disappearing in a flash of flame - Poppy would quickly fix the young Diggory up.

The Hogwarts Headmaster straightened up at his full height and looked at his students, gazing at him with undeserved awe.

"What happened here?"

It took some corralling and patience to piece together the story provided by the now excited, almost buzzing first years - the prefects had been at the front, leading the Hufflepuffs inside the common room, leaving the youngest students at the back. A severe oversight that he would have to address with Pomona. The pair of trolls had ambushed them from the corner, and Cedric Diggory, who had volunteered to be at the back, had heroically tried to grab the trolls' attention away, only to get smacked away by a club.

His solemn gaze caused most of the Hufflepuff prefects who had come outside to wilt, yet the headmaster couldn't blame them for following his orders. Dumbledore's childhood follies had come to haunt him once more. Decisions made in haste were oft flawed, something that even the onset of time had not cured.

With a sigh, the headmaster sent the students inside the safety of the common room and continued prowling through the hallways, wand ready.

The young Mr Rowle had seen only one troll in the dungeons, but Dumbledore was certain the seventh-year prefect had not lied. That only meant one thing - possibly more beasts were intruding in the sacred halls of the castle.

All Hallow's Eve seemed like the perfect moment to breach Hogwarts - the veil between the living and the dead was the thinnest, and, to those few who could sense it, magic itself was roiling in an obscure manner, clouding the senses of most. All the ghosts were at the annual Deathday Party, and most of the portraits were slumbering after sunset. Of course, they seemed even more lethargic tonight for some reason…

A heavy set of tumbling steps had him on alert again, but a small sigh of relief escaped Dumbledore as a hurried Hagrid appeared from the nearby corner.

Yet a second look made his blood run cold as a limp Filch was clutched by the gentle half-giant, who looked somewhat battered. Behind him, Mrs Norris trailed, mewling pitifully.

"Dumbledore!" The relieved cry of the gamekeeper did not feel very assuaging. It was the first time he had seen Hagrid so distressed andangry; his usual tangled beard and hair were even messier, full of dirt and… blood. "Found the troll near the second floor's bathrooms, but it got ter Filch firs'. Gotta get him ter the hospital wing."

The headmaster had already approached the caretaker, but every next step raised the trepidation within - Filch might have been old and sickly, but his chest never looked like a bludger had collapsed it, let alone the crimson that soaked his worn-out attire.

A simple diagnostic spell only confirmed what Dumbledore knew, and all he could do was exhale in sorrow, "I'm afraid it's too late for Argus."

"But-" Big, ugly tears began to stream from the half-giant face as his voice choked, no doubt blaming himself.

Steeling himself, Dumbledore patted the quivering arm of his gentle friend. "There's nothing you could have done, Rubeus. What of the troll?"

"I knocked 'im out." Ah, that explained the bloody knuckles.

With a sigh and a few more calming words of encouragement, he sent the very distraught Hagrid to the hospital wing regardless. Filch's body had to be cleaned, and the Keeper of Keys could use a calming draught to soothe his nerves.

Decisively, the headmaster strode towards where the altercation had taken place; the knocked-out troll had to be removed from the castle's premises - after extracting any measure of useful information. It was a boy's bathroom, and it looked like a hurricane had passed through; the stalls had all been smashed to splinters. Mirrors were either cracked or broken, glass littering the floor. Water splashed from the smashed pipes and sinks, and with an absentminded wave of his wand, the flow was immediately halted as the broken piping sealed itself shut.

The felled troll lay on the ground amidst all that - and what was left of his tiny head was nigh unrecognisable. What had once been a head was a gory, grey mush of bone, blood, and flesh after Hagrid's pummelling; the troll had beenknocked outfor one final time.

It seemed that even the gentle half-giant had a line to be crossed, and even a troll nearly two feet taller than him couldn't resist his fury. Another death…

Many would not consider slaying a troll a murder - it legally wasn't one, either. Dumbledore could hardly blame Hagrid when two trolls had perished by his wand just a few minutes prior. Nevertheless, he had seen too many senseless deaths in his long life, and it always saddened him.

Yet now, with the demise of the school's caretaker, the bubbling anger was threatening to erupt once more. Most of it was his own, but Dumbledore could feel the Death Stick pulsing hungrily, magnifying his churning emotions and urging him to action once more. It took him a handful of deep breaths and nearly a minute to centre his mind and turn himself into a steadfast rock, unaffected by the roaring storm within.

Three trolls… were not an accident. Not with this timing.

What if there were more?

Dumbledore ignored the feeling of exhaustion and almost ran out of the trashed bathroom.

Two hallways and one spiralling staircase later, he was faced with a giddy Flitwick.

"I've found the troll, Albus," his squeaky voice was deathly serious, and so was his usually jovial face. "Two of them, in fact."

All he could do was exhale slowly.Fivetrolls, in his castle, under his nose, endangering his students. Such an attack on Hogwarts was unheard of in the last three centuries!

"I assume they have beendealtwith?"

"Oh, but yes," Flitwick's eyes brightened like a muggle light bulb. "Magnificent, extraordinary performance by my students!"

It took him a few minutes to get the whole story from the excited Charms master. And by Merlin, it was a riveting tale of valour and friendship by the most unlikely children.

Harry Potter missing the celebration was not odd - few would be in the mood to make merry the night when their parents perished. Despite everything, Dumbledore had kept an eye on the boy since he came to school - from a distance, of course.

Reclusive but with staggering potential and a relentless work ethic to unearth it. A genius usage of four first and second-year spells had slain two trolls with nary an effort. It would have reminded Albus of Tom Riddle if not for the kindness underneath. Yet that meant little - drive, ability, charisma, and kindness could lead one awry - Gellert had been proof of such.

Often, Dumbledore had found himself on his choices and their consequences - both the foreseen and unforeseen ones. Yet one was rarely faced with a simple answer between good and evil; it was all shades of grey, hardly recognisable from one another.

But the fact that a muggle-born girl and the daughter of Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange, of all people, had bravely decided to immediately search for the boy spoke volumes about the camaraderie that he had nurtured.

Oh, he did not doubt that the powerful Black Heiress would grow into adangerouswitch, whether wand or words and a connection to the last Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would only grant her more power - direct or not. Yet any such worries were assuaged by the presence of young Miss Taylor - a kind yet curious muggle-born girl.

Dumbledore was tempted, oh so dearlytempted,to try and steer all of them in a proper direction. All that power, all that potential…

Yet he was far from infallible - even his wisdom could push others down a dark path. It was best to wait and see and only provide guidance when requested or in a moment of dire need. After a century, he well knew that certain things would always happen one way or another, whether Albus wanted them or not.

With a shake of his head, the headmaster focused on his current conundrum.

This was too big, and with one of his staff members dead, Dumbledore had no choice but to involve the DMLE, no matter how much he loathed ministry meddling in school matters.

The elder wand jabbed at the air, "Expecto Patronum!"

Head Auror Amelia Bones did not appreciate the urgent call through the badge so late at night, especially after her already long shift that included plenty of overtime. But the mention of the attack upon Hogwarts chased away most of her drowsiness. Concern for Susan churned within her, but thankfully, there were no student casualties - only plenty of scared children and a wounded Cedric Diggory, who would recover by the end of the week. Amos would surely be spitting fire for this, but there's little the man could do but lean on DMLE's investigation.

The Gringotts heist had blown over despite the lack of culprits found, but even Fawley had grudgingly let it go. DMLE had enough on its plate, even without the so-called Wiltshire Warlock running around.

"So," Felix Fawley, the DMLE's director, looked incredibly tired, streaks of grey peppering his well-combed dark hair. He rarely arrived at an active scene, but his presence wasn't surprising - Hogwarts was too important. "Seventrolls somehow entered the school during the Samhain feast. Onebashedto death by Mr Hagrid, two disintegrated by Headmaster Dumbledore."

Even Amelia couldn't help but be amazed at the feat - completely destroying a troll with their incredibly spell-resistant hide, leaving nothing but his feet intact, was an impossible feat for a lone wizard. Yet Dumbledore managed to do it with laughable ease with chantless magic without demolishing the surroundings. The control, power, and speed required for such a thing was mind-boggling. Some of the Aurors were outright gaping at the legendary warlock before them, and even the teachers were eyeing their headmaster with awe.

Susan had been even more impressed by the short talk Amelia managed to have with her niece while questioning her classmates.

Even Felix Fawley had paused in disbelief before gathering himself together and shaking his head. "Another two felled by a trio of Ravenclaws, one slain by Elise Travers and Roger Rosier, the sixth-year Slytherin Prefects, and one strangled to death by Professor Quirrell with conjured ropes."

That would be the official version, of course. Harry Potter being capable of slaying two trolls on his lonesome as a first year was an incredible tale, but not something that would be officially known to the public - the law that Dumbledore had strongarmed through the Wizengamot over nine years ago still held in effect. Essentially, it forbade or sealed any mention in records, including newspapers and magazines, about the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord until he reached the age of fourteen. It was a heavy measure but necessary to prevent a boy from getting overwhelmed by the ridiculous amount of unwanted attention garnered by the fame he had earned as nought by a babe in the cradle. Still, even regardless of Potter's new feats, she could imagine the sh*tstorm that would happen once the events of tonight got out, as they are wont to be.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed, eyes cold like ice. The previous time Amelia had seen the magical titan so stern had been during the last war… "It's impossible for magical beasts above a certain level to force their way into Hogwarts without assistance."

The protections of Hogwarts were legendary, but nobody knewwhatthey were capable of. It was a jealously guarded secret passed down from headmaster to headmaster. The mere fact that Dumbledore was willing to share this information despite his famous penchant for keeping things close to his chest spoke volumes about how furious he was, despite his impassive demeanour.

"So someone must have let them in. And suchsomeonemust be a member of the staff… or the student body?" Fawley's usually eloquent politeness was replaced with direct, sharp words. The subtlety about fishing for information from someone powerful was completely forgotten… or maybe he was too tired to care. Amelia just remembered his nephew was a first-year Hufflepuff - one Fabian Fawley, who had almost been smashed by the troll, just like her Susan.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded his head stiffly. "It's olde magic, woven within the very foundation of the school."

And Amelia could bet that was all they could get from the headmaster - but it was enough.

"No trolls are alive, so getting anything out of them is out of the question," grumbled Fawley. Yet even if they were, Amelia knew they would get little - trolls were not known for their intelligence or memory. Eating human flesh, the foremost troll delicacy, was enough to lure the more vicious groups towards Hogwarts.

"Someone must have let them through," Amelia said aloud what most of them were thinking. "But who?"

"Now that is the question," mumbled Scrimgeour, the senior Auror Captain.

The head of DMLE looked at the headmaster expectantly. "Dumbledore, can you tell us who was absent from the feast?"

The old wizard closed his eyes, doubtlessly trying to delve into his recent memories without a pensive - something only possible for an experienced and powerful Occlumens.

The minutes ticked by, and a dozen Aurors and the Deputy Headmistress waited in silence.

"Five were absent," Dumbledore opened his eyes. "Miss Melony Burke, a second-year Slytherin, was in the hospital wing due to a prank gone awry, along with Madame Pomfrey, who was tending to the girl. Mister Potter, Mr Rowle, who alerted us of the attack, and Severus Snape were the other three."

Amelia couldn't hold her suspicion. "Why was the Potions Professor not at the feast?"

"Ah, the man prefers drinking on his lonesome during All Hallow's Eve - Severus has hardly bothered attending more than a handful of the Samhain feasts."

"It doesn't matter," Fawley rumbled out. "Every single one should be brought for questioning. Bones, Dawlish - "

"I am afraid I must object," Dumbledore's response was immediate, yet his steely words halted everyone. "Tonight has been tiring for Mr Potter. Perhaps at a later date."

The unsaid 'he is off-limits' was heard by everyone. Yet, with Potter's guardians being muggles, he was under the legal protection of the headmaster in school matters, and Dumbledore had just forbidden them from following that particular lead.Perhaps at a later datewas the old warlock's euphemism for 'Potter can be investigated only if the other leads turn out to be dead-ends'. A subtle yet powerful show of force.

And Potter had just saved the life of the Black heiress - it seemed that the lone orphan did not lack for political heavyweights in his corner, fame or not. House Black might have been dangerous and cutthroat - but their word was worth more than goblin-wrought silver.

And they always paid their debts.

"Fine." Fawley gritted his teeth, probably reaching the same conclusion. "Scrimgeour, take your squad and cover the three in the hospital wing." Roland Rowle had been brought to the school matron after fainting in the Great Hall. "Bones, take Dawlish, Robards, and Shacklebolt, and find me the Potions Professor while I have the rest of the staff questioned."

Amelia couldn't hold the feral smile that came to her; if Snape had done anything wrong, she would take great delight in digging it out.

Typically, as Headmaster, Dumbledore wouldn't be privy to an ongoing investigation, but being the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot also had its perks. Not to mention that his staff and students were being investigated in his own school.

One of the tables in the Great Hall was laden heavy with food again - and a few of the tired Aurors were hungrily inhaling copious amounts of food - it seemed that DMLE had been hard-pressed these days.

"Madam Pomfrey and the girl had been in the hospital wing all evening," Dawlish reported as soon as he rushed in. "Whoever cursed the poor girl hit her with not one, but two nasty hexes that even I couldn't recognise."

Dumbledore had a niggling suspicion about who was responsible - the tensions between Slytherin and Gryffindor were always high, and even more so now with the approaching Quidditch match in little over a week. The woeful fight between Juno Lestrange and Neville Longbottom only exacerbated them further.

"Rowle remembers nothing but looking for his wand he lost earlier that day. And then just wandering in the dungeons," Scrimgeour, who had stiffly walked just after his colleague, reported grimly. "The boy has been obliviated, and possibly more."

"And his wand?"

"In the bottom of his school bag - all the spells cast from his Transfiguration and Charms lessons…"

Mind magic left an obvious trace upon the minds it touched, yet it was practically impossible to pinpointwhatexactly had been done. Using such magic without a permit and specific circ*mstances was highly regulated and illegal.

"I don't like this," Fawley exhaled tiredly. Neither did Dumbledore - someone had assaulted the mind of one of his students for what could only be nefarious purposes, not to mention the enormous, glaring issue of seven trolls attacking his school. Besides, he knew of Roland Rowle - the boy's main ambition was to enter Puddlemere United as a beater and make his name known far and wide as a Quidditch Player. Sure, he was haughty, but no more than any other Slytherin, and had no reason to let a doxie, let alone seven bloody trolls, in his school.

The mere thought still incensed Dumbledore, as his mind furiously churned different scenarios where he could have done things differently for a better outcome.

"The boy could have still done it," Scrimgeour barked out. "And obliviated himself afterwards."

"That's practically impossible. Even if Mr Rowle somehow could, why would he?" Dumbledore offered. Obliviation was dangerous, infinitely more so when used on yourself. "And how would he know where to find seven trolls, let alone lure them to the castle?"

"Indeed, it's not a feat a seventh-year could do easily, getting in touch with the trolls, establishing communication…" Fawley grunted in agreement. "He lacks the power or the skill… unless he had accomplices. What about this third corridor fiasco I heard about, Dumbledore?"

The expected question finally arrived. The Philosopher's Stone had a nearly irresistible allure, and if the details of its supposed presence had gotten out, only Merlin would know what sort of desperate folk or dark wizards it would attract. But to his knowledge, only those few who still had an eye on the Flamels could know its whereabouts - and his mentor and his wife were elusive, especially after the attack in late spring. It was far from the first try on their lives - immortality or unlimited gold were alluring prospects for too many, let alone packed in a single item.

With an inward sigh, the old warlock finally admitted something he tried hard to deflect for the last few hours.

Denying the truth had always been folly, but Dumbledore was not incapable of admitting his mistakes.

And planting a trap, a bait, in Hogwarts had turned out to be a heavy mistake. Of course, neither of the prepared defences had been breached tonight - Dumbledore had checked himself. The stone was still in his office, in a small drawer hidden under a fidelius, with Nicolas as secretkeeper. And his mentor was hiding in one of his secret haunts that only he and his wife knew about.

It was hard to take precautions for an overbearing method like lettingseventrolls into the school - even he had not expected such a daring move.

And it had cost him his caretaker.

"An experiment of mine," he admitted after weighing his options. Telling his true purpose or suspicion of Voldemort would be simply met with distrust - or outright greed. The stone was tempting enough, but the news of the Dark Lord's continued existence would be devastating, and once spoken out loud before so many, both would spread like wildfire, let alone the damage such a claim would do without proof.

Just like in his life, Tom Riddle was mistrustful even in undeath - even of his own followers, or maybe especially of them now that he was weak. But if some managed to find their way into his service again, he would not hesitate to use them one way or another.

"Do you care to elaborate?" Felix Fawley stared at him with an open challenge.

"It's but a game for my more resourceful students," Albus twisted the truth without batting an eye - after all, Voldemortwasone of his more resourceful students. "I'd be happy to lead you through it should you desire." If the head of DMLE was curious, the headmaster was amenable to letting him investigate; it was not like there was anything to be found there.

But only him.

Even the challenges were designed in ways that required quick wits and plenty of daring. The choice of mundane skills and knowledge that Voldemort disdained, if not outright dismissed,wasdeliberate on Dumbledore's part.

Even so, nobody had gotten hurt from his challenge gauntlet - the tied Cerberus was fearsome, but it served as an excellent deterrent even for the more curious troublemakers. After all, none had even attempted to bypass it. Even if they did, the beast was an intelligent and trained guard dog - it would not kill those who had yet to reach maturity.

It was a shady thing - setting a gauntlet like this, but the power the headmaster enjoyed in Hogwarts was nigh absolute, and he had given a warning to everyone, so little blame could ever fall on him, especially when nobody had gotten wounded by it.

"Maybe later," Fawley grunted dismissively. A cunning politician, doubtlessly, he knew any investigations in Hogwarts were done with the headmaster's allowance but kept his options open without stepping on too many toes.

The door of the Great Hall was opened again.

Dumbledore never expected to see Severus in chains again - the man was still clearly inebriated, judging by the pair of Aurors having to drag him to the room. While he left the matter unsaid earlier because of the concerns of privacy - it was clear to the headmaster that Snape still grieved the passing of his flame.

"Ms Bones," his words came out flat as his eyes settled on Severus, who looked even more miserable than usual but did not bother to resist. "May I inquire why you have my Potions Master in irons?"

"Illegal possession of an unregistered second wand," Amelia's words were just as cold, but he could catch the joy underneath. "You wouldn't even guess the magic cast with it."

Snape looked sloshed and… utterly disinterested in the events happening around him. Dumbledore wondered how well his Occlumency worked after so much drinking.

"Don't keep us waiting, Bones," Fawley barked impatiently.

The wand was oddly familiar, but then again, Albus had seen plenty of wands during his long life. He could go over his memories in search of this particular one, but it would be far easier to call Ollivander.

"See for yourself," Amelia handed the wand to the head of DMLE.

"Priori Incantantem." The shapes from the wand's tip had Dumbledore feeling faint already - he could recognise the Imperius Curse, an Obliviation charm, and a Confundus. "What of his main wand?"

"Nothing nefarious," Shaklebolt grunted.

"Well, this is a clear-cut case-"

"Can we prove that it was him?" Gawain Robards interrupted. "For all we know, it could have been planted-"

Dumbledore's mind whirled furiously while the Aurors began to argue - while he knew Snape had stepped on the wrong side of the law before, this particular deed had been beyond the Potion Master. Or so he thought…

Inebriation had a way of bringing out the worst in even the finest of men - his usually kind father, Percival, had been quite drunk the night he had gone after the three muggle boys that had tormented Ariana. Whether he would have done it while sober was a question Dumbledore had tried not to dwell upon too often.

"-So, Snape, whose wand is this?" Fawley's question halted his musings as everyone stopped arguing and was looking at Snape.

"Lily." The hoarse words were merely a whisper, but everyone heard them. Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion - he recognised that wand now. The enormous backlash that had turned most of the Potter Cottage into a ruin had broken James Potter's wand. He had assumed that Lily Potter's wand had met the same fate…

"Lily?" Amelia echoed, confused, but Snape hiccuped as he glared at everyone.

Dumbledore finally realised what was happening. This elaborate set-up was to frame Severus into something he did not commit. But why?

Then it clicked. The insidious methods were familiar enough - this had Voldemort's hands all over it. Was the Dark Lord testing Snape's worth as a spy in Dumbledore's eyes?

If Dumbledore stood his ground and backed Snape during the investigation, he would lose some influence and goodwill in the process - and it would oust Severus as someone in his pocket. Any future association Dumbledore could forge with Harry Potter would sour. If he stood back and did nothing, Severus' loyalty to the Dark Lord would be confirmed, and he could end up in Azkaban - reliant on Voldemort's grace for his freedom.

Such a stint would make Dumbledore lose even more influence and goodwill since he had vehemently defended Severus after the Dark Lord was vanquished. Such were the terrible dangers of dipping into the quagmire that was power and politics…

Placing people into such a lose-lose situation had been a favourite manoeuvre of Voldemort.

Worse, there was always the possibility the presence of James' son had finally shaken the reins of all the loathing, hatred, and resentment Snape harboured, and his mind had broken.

"Lily Potter's wand," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

"Take him into the DMLE cells," Fawley spoke slowly while looking at the headmaster with challenge.

It was his school, and he had enough pull with the new minister to strongarm these accusations, too. But no matter what he did, Dumbledore would lose.

What Voldemort probably didn't know was the obscure life-debt Snape had for the Potters, along with the promised Vow that had made Dumbledore agree to take him in. Azkaban or not, Snape had no choice but to work against Voldemort.

The headmaster sighed and closed his eyes as Severus was dragged outside the castle. Perhaps some time in a cellwouldgive the Potions Master time to reflect on his past misdeeds as they were plentiful - his less-than-stellar work as a teacher had not been the atonement Dumbledore had intended. While not delving into them, Albus knew they werenot insignificantand were one of the main reasons he had agreed to Snape's help only after a stringent vow. After all, a saint would not make it into Voldemort's inner circle. The headmaster might have loathed violence and death, but that did not mean he was a soft fool.

Still, Severus had little to fear if he had done nothing wrong this time - Dumbledore would ensure he received a just and honest defence in the Wizengamot.

Chapter 16: Consequences

Chapter Text

1st of November, Friday

Harry awoke with a groan and immediately regretted it. It felt like he had wrestled a dozen rounds with a mountain troll before being chewed out by a dragon.

Half his body ached as if he had overtrained himself, and the other half was just numb, but the feeling of bone-deep wariness was weighing on him like iron shackles. Even his eyelids felt like lead, and after a short struggle, Harry finally opened his eyes, only to be met with a familiar ceiling - lacquered rafters of dark wood inscribed with intricate bronze patterns.

…Why was the ceiling familiar?

It took a few moments to remember that he was in Ravenclaw Tower, specifically, his room. The memories of the last evening returned with a vengeance, and his head pulsed angrily. The troll again on All Hallow's Eve, no,twobloody trolls. Just when he thought himself safe with a peaceful school year on the horizon…

Even his muddled mind knew the foreboding implications of last night's event were far too close for comfort.

Harry closed his eyes, struggling with the desire to fall into the sweet clutches of dreamland. Then, slowly and methodically, he cleared his mind, ran the now familiar mental exercises, and completely tuned out the quiet surroundings.

Sometime later, his mental weariness finally abated, and his thoughts wandered toward the fight. His mind-numbing amount of magical practice finally paid off, but the spells were far more potent than he could usually cast.

It took him a few moments to remember the exact details, and Harry cracked his eyes open and grabbed his pale wand from the nightstand. He was no stranger to casting under duress or while his emotions were in great turmoil, but last night had been different.

While overpowering a spell was not new, the wand had somehow tugged both on his mind and magic with the last spell, almost wringing him dry. The first three were within his expectations, but the knockback jinx had turned deadly and far more powerful than Harry expected. No wonder he felt like sh*te - he had magical exhaustion.

This was a severe problem - the wand had worked seamlessly until now. What had Ollivander said?

Thestral hair made for a fickle and volatile core, making wands unwieldy.

Yet, as the pale piece of wood remained in his grasp, all Harry could feel was a sense of serenity. It was a small thing at the edge of his consciousness, but after so many mental exercises, the boy knew he was not imagining things. The feeling was utterly absent when not holding the wand. Even every breath of air felt somehow sweeter, as if he had been a thirsty man offered a cup of water.

There was something... odd here, and Harry had no inkling what it was, but he knew he would not abandon this wand. It had served him faithfully, and there was already an undeniable feeling of attachment. His intent had been to overpower the spells last night, which had worked too well.

In the end, that only showed that his control was still lacking. An annoyed sigh rolled off his lips - retraining from scratch was a great test of patience, and the only thing he could do was practice more. The endless hours of repetition had begun to take a toll on his mind.

But it was all worth it.

It was not even halfway into the school year, but his abilities already outstripped what he could do back in his second year. Not only did he manage to slay two trolls, but he also started making progress with his seemingly unattainable goals.

Forcing his heavy limbs to move, Harry grabbed the Marauder's Map from the nightstand's drawer and reverently unfurled it.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

His mouth was dry and his voice hoarse, so he absentmindedly grabbed a glass of water to soothe his parched throat. He ignored the myriad names scuttling around the inky lines as his gaze was glued to the Gryffindor tower.

A sigh of relief escaped Harry as he finally found the name he was looking for.

However, Peter Pettigrew was not in the first-year dorms where Dean and Neville were currently. He was in a room with Percival Weasley and Oliver Wood. Either Ron had not received Scabbers this time, or he had returned the rat to his brother for some reason.

Wormtail was not only alive but still in hiding. Whether out of guilt or the bastard had forgotten he was not a rat, Harry was unsure and did not care. Now came the arduous task of infiltration and rat catching. The thought of trusting, let alone asking a teacher for help, was immediately dismissed.

Flitwick had proven himself a great head of house the last two months, but Harry's belief in authority had long died. Everyone had failed him in one way or another, and If Harry wanted something done, he knew he had to do it himself.

A persistent knocking sound from the window interrupted his musings about any plans. The irritating noise was not stopping, and with a groan, Harry forced his limbs to move.

He winced as soon as his feet hit the tufted carpet - it was a miracle he had managed to drag himself back to his room, as every movement sent agonising slivers of pain through his body.

It didn't take long for Harry to decide to skip training today. Probably tomorrow, too.

Even the hospital wing didn't sound like a bad idea right now, but he dreaded the long walk. The lavatory seemed too far, let alone venturing down the many floors.

Removing the curtains, he was met by an annoyed Hedwig perched on the window sill outside and angrily pecking at the window's frame. Looking at the sun's position, he had missed his morning run and breakfast.

After a few seconds of fumbling and plenty of winces, Harry managed to latch the window open, and his owl flew in. She smacked him on the head with a wing and dropped something on his desk before gracefully turning around and settling on the top of the wardrobe, letting out sharp barks.

Harry could only stare at what looked like a shaggy rodent on his desk before turning to his unhappy owl, "What's the problem, girl?"

"Feathers was worried about you, Harry,"a hiss announced Nyx's presence as the black snake slithered out from a dark corner.

The black serpent had grown to be just shy of two feet in length, and her body had also thickened slightly despite spending almost all of the time since arriving in Hogwarts slumbering. Her vocabulary had quickly expanded in the short moments she had been awake. Her increased size made it harder for the snake to hide in his sleeve.

"I'm fine,"he hissed back in assurance, trying to tune out the aching exhaustion that ran through every inch of his body. "Any idea what's with the dead lemmings on my desk?"

"A meal to get better?"

With a sigh, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at Nyx's answer - he had so many questions, which did not help the painful throbbing in his temple.

And hedidfeel hungry, but the freshly caught rodent with its neck twisted at a painful angle did not look tasty in the slightest.

Too tired to deal with the world, Harry returned the catch to Hedwig, earning himself a reproachful bark before the proud owl flew out, the rodent in her claws.

Closing the window again was a struggle, and a minute later, Harry barely managed to return to bed, ignoring the concerned hisses from Nyx.

The next time Harry opened his eyes, his body felt substantially better. It felt like he had fought with a hippogryph and won instead of being trampled. Even his mind no longer felt as if stuck in the mud.

"Nyx, get off,"he hissed at the black choker that had curled around his neck this time. It had been quite a while since the serpent had tangled around one of his limbs.

"No more fighting with big greyskins without me!"

After the warning, Nyx slithered away onto the desk. It took Harry a few moments to realise what a 'big greyskin' was.

"And what would you do against a troll?"

"Bite it!"The immediate response elicited an amused snort at the daring serpent's antics; the biggest thing she had ever caught was a gnat."Don't laugh—my fangs are mighty!"

Harry shook his head with exasperation, fished his watch from the drawer, and sighed. It seemed like he had slept through most of the day - it was half past three already. He had missed today's classes, not that they would teach anything Harry didn't already know if they even had classes after what happened yesterday. It was even more curious that nobody had attempted to search for him.

Or maybe they had, but he had been too deep in sleep to hear it.

Just as Harry had strapped the wand holster to his forearm and pulled on his robe, he paused and stared at the serpent lazily lounging on his nightstand, dark eyes tracing his every movement with interest.

"How did you know about the troll?"

Nyx tilted her triangular head as if he asked a foolish question. "The fake snakes on the walls told me."

It had been quite a while since his companion had been so energetic. He had gotten used to seeing his black-scaled companion snoozing peacefully when he was in the room.

"The paintings?"Harry groaned as the serpent bobbed her head. Worse, he wasn't even surprised by the snakes in the paintings nor their ability to speak Parseltongue.

Somehow, Nyx managed to sneak away from the room, which could have led to so much trouble that it wasn't funny. Flitwick had been greatly helpful with adding the serpent to the pet register, but if there was trouble, Harry would not only be forced to shoulder the blame but possibly part with his familiar.

It took him a few minutes to coax the method of leaving from her; there was a small hole where the doorframe was joined with the wall.

"Just… make sure nobody sees you,"he relented at the guilty shine in Nyx's black eyes. "And don't eat anything belonging to other students."

The words instantly made the serpent perk up, "Avoiding the foolish two legs is easy!"

Harry facepalmed at the proud statement. But he understood Nyx's desire for freedom - being cooped up in a room for weeks upon weeks without the ability to leave was something he also loathed. The serpent already had a taste of exploring outside the room, so any attempts to restrict her might just see her finding some other way to sneak out anyway.

"No matter what, do not leave the castle and return before sunset."Still, he left one final warning for his black-scaled familiar; should she be caught, there could be hefty consequences, and Hogwarts' surroundings were not exactly safe either with the myriad of owls the school hosted. Even without the feathery menaces, many beasts resided within the surrounding forest, most of which would probably love to make a snack from a small snake.

His stomach grumbled and attempted to tie itself into a knot, forcing Harry to finally venture out of the room and drag himself into the showers. His body still ached with exhaustion, but the warm water was soothing, and ten minutes later, he was finally ready to face the world again.

As he descended the stairwell, he could hear the buzz of excited chatter. There were too many voices in the common room for the late afternoon when most should still be in classes or the library…

"I heard Hagrid beat a troll to death with his bare hands!"

"Snape was trying to take over the school, I tell you-"

"Amanda from Hufflepuff said the headmaster exploded two trolls with a glare-"

"Filch was eaten alive, and nothing was left from his corpse-"

Confused and with a rising sense of dread, Harry finally entered the room, which was quite full of students.

"Hey, look, it's Potter!"

"Did you kill a troll with your bare hands?"

"Lestrange and Taylor won't say a word-"

"Can you teach me-"

A deafening bang interrupted the commotion.

Richard Rowan, the seventh-year prefect sitting by the window, slowly lowered his wand, "Enough of your gossip. Professor Flitwick said Potter is not to be disturbed, and some of us are trying tostudyhere!"

The housemates quickly toned down their excitement at the older boy's outburst and left Harry alone, but many were still reeling from the shocking sound earlier. The other seventh-year prefect, a plump girl named Elyna Selwyn, was like a cat whose tail had been pulled. "Oy, Rowan, you lout, are you trying to deafen us all?!"

Tuning out the ensuing argument between the two seventh years, who were constantly breaking up and getting together, Harry's gaze wandered around the room.

It seemed like there were no classes today - he could see Carmichael and Belby play Exploding Snap instead of attending second-year DADA.

"There you are, Harry," he turned only to see the concerned Diana, accompanied by Juno, whose cold stare seemingly deterred anyone from approaching him. "We got worried when you didn't show up for breakfast."

"I'm fine," Harry nodded gratefully at their concern. "Only a bit tired and hungry still. Walk with me to the kitchens?"

Both nodded, and the group made their way out through the clamour.

"I thought they were off-limit for students?"

"Only if you disturb or annoy the cooks." he absentmindedly explained.

Juno finally broke her silence as they reached the staircase, "Professor Flitwick also summons you to his office at your earliest convenience."

Bellatrix's daughter was as quiet as usual, but Harry vaguely felt her demeanour was a tad warmer than before.

After a moment of hesitation, he decided to ignore the hungry rumble in his stomach - a meeting with the Charms master would take a handful of minutes at most. "Well then, I should probably go there first."

Diana and Juno wordlessly followed him as he changed directions towards Flitwick's office. Then it struck him; Harry had made himself two friends again. He had been too exhausted to think about it last eve or after waking up, but the familiar feeling was there. No matter how much Harry wanted to deny it, the two girls had found their way behind his defences.

Hanging out together was fun and easy, but…

Merlin's beard, they had ended up right in the middle of danger because of him!

Somehow, Harry had done it again. He swore this would be the last time Juno and Diana got in trouble for him. Thankfully, there had been no problems from the staff for the stunt, and the concern was greatly appreciated; he had no fear of trolls, while the brutish man-eating monsters were a significant threat to a pair of first-year witches.

"Gosh, what you did yesterday was amazing!" Diana's excited voice interrupted his musing while Juno nodded quietly in agreement. "I still can't believe it happened."

"Me neither." His mind couldn't help but wander towards the ridiculous comments he had heard before entering the common room. "Hey, do either of you know what all the commotion was about earlier?"

The two girls began explaining, and Harry's head started spinning with every next word. The Hogwarts Rumour Mill was working at full capacity, but Dumbledore made a small announcement at breakfast and cancelled today's classes for three days of mourning, which only served to feed the rampant rumours instead of quelling them.

Edwin Gamp being relieved of his prefect badge over ditching them last evening was minor compared to the rest.

Seventrolls? Filch dead?Snape dragged out by the DMLE in cuffs?

What in Merlin's saggy bollocks had happened yesterday?!

Harry always knew Samhain hated him, but this was too much, even by his standards.

"Filch's funeral is tomorrow," Diana noted sombrely. "Nobody seemed particularly… sad about the caretaker's passing though. In fact, I heard some Gryffindors are going to throw a party."

"Being cantankerous and nasty made him no friends," Juno said. "Generations of students were cowed in compliance by his presence here. And everyone prefers to pretend squibs don't exist."

The tall girl was precisely on the point, as usual. Harry was a tad sad about Filch's passing, but those feelings paled before the news of Snape. The loathsome Potions master kept up the subtle jibes and veiled insults and was constantly prodding Harry during Potions, and the boy couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and joy at his arrest.

The sole prospect of not dealing with the greasy-haired man in the future made him giddier than catching the snitch during a challenging Quidditch game.

They finally arrived before Flitwick's office, and Harry hesitantly knocked on the varnished ebony door.

"Enter!"

"We'll wait for you outside," Juno nodded at him and tactfully pulled Diana, who seemed to be hesitating whether to follow him.

Flitwick's office had not changed from his last visit, and the professor was behind his low desk, toiling over a stack of parchments. The diminutive Charms master immediately gave him his usual proud smile, "I'm glad you're fine after last night's ordeal, Mr Potter."

"Nothing some rest couldn't fix. You called for me, Professor?"

"Please take a seat," Flitwick's firm but sorrowful voice made him cautious, and Harry took the fancy tapered chair with trepidation. "I am afraid I must be the bearer of ill news. My former apprentice, Felix Fawley, the current head of DMLE, sent me a warning. Are you aware of what happened to your parents' wands?"

The question stumped Harry. It was a topic he had never honestly thought about.

He scratched his head and asked, "Weren't they destroyed that night?"

"Your father's wand was indeed destroyed, and its remains buried with him. But it turns out Lily's wand survived."

"Oh." It was all he could say.

"Indeed, I cannot divulge much since it's part of the ongoing investigation," Flitlick regretfully clasped his hands. "But I keep in touch with all of my former apprentices, and Fawley told me to send you a warning because he feared a leak at the Prophet."

"A warning? Where was my mother's wand?"

A sad sigh escaped from the troubled professor. "In the possession of Severus Snape, and now, the Magical Law Enforcement. Having a second wand unregistered is a crime, and a stolen one even more so."

Harry had always thought he couldn't despise the Potions master any further, even after viewing the memories in Dumbledore's pensive.

But he was wrong.

His mind felt oddly numb, but fury seared through his veins like molten lava, and hunger and exhaustion were forgotten. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to centre himself under Flitwick's mournful yet understanding gaze.

Eventually, the fury and adrenaline bled out, and Harry slumped on the chair, even more tired.

"Can… can I get it back? My mother's wand?"

"After the case is closed," Flitwick reassured him gently. "Fawley hoped he could collect your testimony of last night's events. You don't have to, of course, but everyone else who had failed to attend the feast has been questioned."

The words made his heart race, but Harry remembered nobody should know about the Marauder's Map nor his break-in into Filch's office. Neither of which had anything to do with the trolls.

"Why have I been excluded?"

"Well-" The Charms master began a lengthy explanation that just made him numb but at least cleared up much of his confusion.

It was like the Carrow twins had told him a few weeks earlier. Dumbledore had pushed the Wizengamot for a magical gag order on his person years ago, keeping his location secret or owls being sent to him unless Harry provided the address himself. But that was not everything; it was intertwined with some temporary law that prevented any mention of his person in public and legal ministry documents until he reached thirteen.

And well, the Dursleys would have indeed freaked out by a constant stream of owls carrying gifts, messages of well-wishes, or even curses…

It was no wonder the Daily Prophet had not written a single word about him until his fourth year.

The headmaster had also barred the DMLE from questioning Harry for some reason, probably out of a misguided desire to see him have a happy and worry-free childhood.

Harry couldn't help but snort - that hippogryph had flown away long ago.

"Professor, if I provided a statement, would the investigation be concluded faster?"

Flitwick nodded genially, "Quite possibly so, Mr Potter."

Harry still had the Marauder's Map from his father. If things were the same in this world, the invisibility cloak would also be in his possession by Christmas. Yet, he knew little of his mother and had only inherited her eyes…

The prospect of having a memento, a token from her, ignited a longing deep within him that he did not know existed.

"Alright, I'll do it." The Charms master took out an empty roll of parchment and flicked his wand, activating the Dicta Quill. "I couldn't stand the celebration, so I decided to take a walk and clear my head -" Suppressing his hunger, Harry did his best to recount last night's event while keeping his visit to Filch's office to himself.

The sooner he could have his mother's wand, the better, especially if Snape could enjoy a long stay in Azkaban for it.

3rd of November, Sunday

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Fawley's baritone boomed over dim courtroom ten as the members of the Wizengamot were glaring at Snape, who sat in the magical chair bound by chains.

Not a single wand was raised; even the Elder Wand remained in his sleeve as Dumbledore had decided to abstain due to a conflict of interest, and it was understandable. The bitterness Severus held had finally come back to bite him in the arse. Despite his hatred of arrogance, the Potions master developed an arrogant streak of his own.

Despite being the head of Slytherin, Snape failed to nurture proper relationships with most of his more influential students and managed to either alienate them or create grievance and resentment. And now was the time for comeuppance.

Someone from the DMLE, probably a wizard with a grudge, had leaked Snape's theft of Lily Potter's wand to the Prophet. Stealing from a poor orphan was bad enough, let alone Harry Potter - that turned the public away from the man irrevocably. Worse, parts of the interrogation transcript had also reached the newspaper. As a half-blood, Severus had no legal immunity against truth serums, even if they weren't admissible in the Wizengamot. Ironically, his latest creation, the Veritaserum, was used on the Potion master, and many of his previous misdeeds had come to light in the public, which was rightfully outraged.

It was done with the explicit agreement of the DMLE, as they did not even bother to investigate the leaks.

One did not get into Voldemort's inner circle without committing a slew of malignant deeds, and Severus had been part of it for over two years before coming to the headmaster. Intellectually, Albus knew about it and refrained from inquiring about specifics after Snape had given him an oath. Yet, hearing the grisly details turned even his stomach.

Even the newly elected Fudge had decided to righteously reverse the pardon Bagnold had given after consulting with him.

Albus could only sorrowfully agree after being handed the full interrogation transcript. Over three dozen uses of the Unforgivable curses and many other illegal magicks, almost a dozen murders, twice as many tortures, muggle-baiting, even rape, and many other heavy offences. His heart was still heavy with regret - truth be told, the headmaster had thought Severus had spent most of his time under the Dark Lord brewing potions or creating curses.

And Albus had refrained from asking, lest the truth had turned out too much to bear, as it had proven to be.

"And those in favour of Dementor's Kiss or the Veil?"

Many wands rose in the air. The elder wand pulsed hungrily as if hearing the death knell, forcing Albus to clear his mind to resist the sudden urge to raise his wand. Sighing inwardly, Dumbledore opened his eyes and counted with trepidation. Twenty-nine votes, just shy of achieving the required two-thirds for an execution, albeit with very little.

Still, the Potions master was not without his connections, but it pained the headmaster to see all of them were with the darkest members of the traditional faction.

To his knowledge, Lucius tried to get Severus to accept the best solicitors to defend him before the Wizengamot in a bid to push for the infamous imperious defence, but… Snape had declined.

A glance at Severus's dark eyes told the headmaster why; the Potions master wasangry. He was furious with himself, angry with James and Harry Potter, angry with Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, and wizarding Britain. Severus knew. The Chief Warlock could see it in his gaze; the Potions masterknewhe was being sacrificed in a play by Voldemort and himself, and his drunken confession about possessing Lily's wand had sealed his fate, regardless of any other guilt. He grudgingly accepted his lot, but the rage remained there, simmering under the surface.

From what Dumbledore heard, Snape had not uttered a single word after the interrogation had brought his crimes out in the open.

But the anger and fury were not new - Albus knew how to spot old pain when he saw one. Harbouring so much resentment and loathing for the world was unhealthy, but Severus had gotten quite good at hiding it until it finally boiled over.

Dumbledore could tell Snape hated himself the most but would die before admitting it even to himself.

It was questionable if even the best solicitor could get the Potions master out of this mess. Still, it seemed like Lucius Malfoy had employed every measure and pulled every string to save his friend's life; he seemed to have pulled in most of the neutral moderates and some of the department heads.

"In favour of life imprisonment in Azkaban?"

Everyone but the headmaster and Lucius Malfoy raised their wands. This was it; many faces were filled with jubilation and glee, while Fudge was red with excitement - he was starting his term as a Minister with quite the aplomb. At this moment, Dumbledore felt too old. His oath still held sway over Severus, and now the man would reluctantly follow his vow or die, even if he somehow managed to get out of Azkaban.

Fawley ceremonially slammed his hammer. "Well then, Dawlish, Kingsley - bring Mr Snape to his new accommodations."

The chains binding Severus to the magical chair immediately fell, and the two Aurors, wrapped in red robes, roughly dragged the silent Potions master out of the courtroom. This whole thing was his doing; he had pushed for a full pardon for Severus over a false premise in hopes of using the man in the future. The vow binding the Potions master stayed true for all the good it would do in Azkaban, and he would either keep to it or die.

It had seemed like a good idea back then, but Albus knew all too well that time had its way of bringing even your slightest mistakes into the light one way or another. Maybe deciding to pull Snape to his side would have paid off in the future… maybe not.

Even Divination couldn't truly tell now, but the point was moot. All that was left was to suffer the consequences. His decision to push for Snape's pardon would inevitably result in some backlash, but it was far from the first time he faced public scrutiny.

Albus's feelings were mixed; the interrogation revealed that Severus had not committed a single crime after being pardoned, aside from possessing Lily Potter's stolen wand. It was a pity his lacklustre tenure as a head of the Slytherins and Potions teacher at Hogwarts failed to be the redemption the man could have earned for himself if nothing else.

Somehow, Voldemort had managed to outplay the headmaster with a single move, exactly ten years after being vanquished. The coincidence was too much and confirmed Dumbledore's suspicions about Tom Riddle's continued existence.

Life had a way of giving bitter lessons, but now was not the time to dwell on his follies. He had to start moving to counter Voldemort and the threat to his school.

Dumbledore signalled to the head of DMLE and quickly made his way out of the courtroom.

A minute later, Felix Fawley met him in one of the empty rooms on level ten.

"You wanted to meet me, headmaster?" Dumbledore nodded at the not-so-subtle inquiry about which of his official roles this meeting was requested for.

"Have you concluded your investigation of last Thursday's attack?" None of the crimes officially attributed to Severus included the trolls' presence at Hallow's Eve. Fudge had hastily pushed forward the Wizengamot session to get the whole thing done and dusted.

"Everything points to Snape," Fawley sighed, seemingly tired. "The man was already researching trolls and their nearby habitats for potion ingredients. The spells cast by Lily Potter's wand were particularly incriminating, especially after he admitted to taking it from her corpse. Traces of forgetfulness potion had been present in his body on Friday, and we all know the man is bitter and full of hate. One or two circ*mstantial pieces of evidence might not be enough to incriminate him, but adozen?Wheneverythingpoints at him, we have no choice but to indict him. Even if we cannot prove it with complete certainty, not that we needed - hispriorcrimes are enough."

"Thank you, Director Fawley." Dumbledore nodded, even as he acknowledged his former student's subtle accusation. It was not forgotten that he had vouched for Severus, and while the headmaster was sure that no one would believe he was aware of his crimes, it would still rankle many.

Voldemort had been thorough as usual - he might have forced Albus into an untenable situation, but he revealed his hand early. The earlier preparations needed to be revised… significantly,especiallyif his former student attempted to be so heavy-handed again.

"Headmaster," the head of DMLE was still here, face now troubled. "Many in the Wizengamot are worried about the safety of their kin in Hogwarts."

"They need not worry," Dumbledore assured firmly, putting all his conviction in his gaze. "I have taken heavy measures against future mishaps." The head of DMLE nodded in acceptance. Albus estimated that it would take less than a week for his finest alchemical masterpiece to be complete, and he had even acquired the assistance of his old mentor for its creation.

Anyone thinking they could brute force their way and attack his castle through the front door would be sorely disappointed in the future, Samhain or not.

"One final thing, headmaster. My brother and the rest of the Board of Governors have selected a new caretaker."

Dumbledore ran a hand through his beard, hiding his surprise. Argus Filch had been buried just yesterday, and none of the Board had attended the poor squib's funeral. "Already? I hope they are aware any appointment must pass through me one way or another."

"Indeed, but a unanimous decision was reached that the new caretaker must also be capable of defending the school if need be."

"Such a hire would be too costly for a group who usually bickers for every galleon," Albus noted dryly.

"Well, it seems that the threat against the students has loosened their purses," Fawley laughed though there was little joy in it. The Head of the DMLE then excused himself and vacated the room, leaving the old headmaster alone with his thoughts.

The damage to his prestige seemed to be showing already. The Board was being uncharacteristically bold; no official notification had been sent to him yet.

But at least they saved him the trouble of looking for a new caretaker, not that Albus would fail to vet the new one. Now, the headmaster only had to convince Slughorn to come out from retirement instead of being a substitute teacher for a week or two. Doubtlessly, the old Potions master would try and extract some concessions, but the temptations to teach and network with the best of the new generation was never something Slughorn could resist.

Perhaps mentioning a few impressive students for him and a can of his favourite crystallised pineapples would do.

Chapter 17: Unexpected Assistance

Chapter Text

7th of November, Thursday

"Enough theory for now," Flitwick squeaked out, much to Diana's relief. The endless stream of words about the difference between visualisation and will and how essential it was for casting had her feeling numb. Her wrist, too, after writing it down with a damned quill. At least she stopped blotching her ink all over the parchment. "Now, let us return to the levitation charm-"

Diana tuned out the diminutive Charms master and stared at the white feather on the desk before her - she had succeeded in casting it last Thursday, the first one to do so after Harry and Juno, but most new spells were covered in two or even three subsequent lessons.

Yet Harry had proven that there was more to spells than wand-waving. Even now, the green-eyed boy and Juno were to the side, practising advanced material.

It was a week after All Hallow's Eve, and Diana still felt conflicted. Her dreams were uneasy, filled with squelching, falling bodies and a heavy, suffocating stench. According to the rumours, Filch's funeral was also a sombre affair—but the unpleasant man was quickly forgotten after his coffin was buried in an unassuming cemetery in his hometown.

What irked her the most was that everyone acted as if nothing had happened. Well, not everyone. Harry was training with a fervour that would rival the religious zealots of yore and carried himself around with an intense focus and stoic determination. Diana could understand his motivation and why Juno's efforts had been redoubled. Their duels in DADA had gotten outright brutal this week, but neither uttered a word of complaint despite being bruised blue underneath the robes.

It was not all bad, though. Snape's arrest and conviction to life in prison for a plethora of vile crimes did not surprise her too much—it seamlessly fit the unpleasant image the man had presented. Diana did not miss the old Potions teacher one bit, but the fact that a terrorist was allowed to teach students like that had her spine crawling with ants.

Sure, Slughorn - a plump, walrus-like older man - was leagues better than Snape ever was. His Potions lesson was interesting, exciting, and far easier to understand, and that was just the first one on the basics. It was a little wonder, though - supposedly, Slughorn had been Head of House Slytherin and Potions Master here for half a century before retiring. Although Diana could do without the old professor gushing over Juno, Harry, and that git Fawley of all people, just because his uncle was the head of magical law enforcement or something…

Shaking her head, Diana focused on the feather before her. Normal magic would not cut it anymore.

After a moment of hesitation, she added her spare quill.

Swish and flick, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Unsurprisingly, only the feather she aimed at levitated, and Diana felt an odd mixture of excitement, annoyance, and disappointment.

Back in her muggle school, she had not only been the top of the class but the year - and with little effort at that. Being in third place would have stung far more if Harry and Juno had not poured ungodly effort. As her father always said, talent and hard work always beatjusttalent.

Alas, her efforts were for nought. Levitating a single feather was easy enough, but no matter how hard she tried, visualised, or willed it, the other remained on the desk as if glued to it.

There was so much more to magic than waving a wand and saying some words, of course, but now Diana was beginning to understand the depth of the statement.

By the time class ended, her frustration had mounted significantly.

"You look at that quill as if it kicked your owl," Padma noted from the seat beside her as most students rushed towards the Great Hall for lunch.

"I don't have an owl!" Diana snapped before wilting at her friend's unamused look. "Sorry, I'm trying to levitate two at a time."

"That requires advanced mastery of the spell and in-depth knowledge of theory." Juno walked over with the barest hint of interest in her blue eyes. As usual, MacDougal trailed after her like a shadow. The Scottish girl was the most unassuming, with her silent presence, light-brown hair and chestnut eyes.

"Or greater proficiency of your intent and will," Harry also joined, looking at Diana with something she couldn't decipher. "There are manyfacetsto magic."

"Intent? I thought it was all about visualisation and willpower."

"Well, willpower is a fancy way of saying your control. And control is honed over time with arduous practice," Juno added in her silky voice. "Intent is… harder to explain. It's a mental focus for the spell similar to incantations and wand motions."

Diana ran her hand through her dark auburn curls. "And let me guess, it's something that comes with practice too?" This would explain why Juno and Harry were so ridiculously good at magic—the more they did it, the easier it got.

"Indeed," Harry gave her an encouraging nod. "When you fully master a spell, it will come as easy as breathing, and you will know where its limits are and how to overcome them. Ultimately, the levitation charm is designed with a single target in mind. Breaking that limit would strain your magic, body, and mind."

"So, just like silent casting?" Diana asked. After seeing her friend do away with the incantation, she dug into the library, only to find out it was an almost dishearteningly advanced skill. And was it a bad thing?

"Yep," Padma popped out with a smile. "There are no shortcuts in magic, but I heard from the upper years that you would get the chance to modify spells later. Maybe that would be similar to what you're trying to do?"

Was that what Harry had done on Halloween? Did he modify simple spells unconsciously? Or was it on purpose? She would not be surprised if he had mastered the spell or his intent. Regardless, Diana still had no idea how exactly it was achieved. Magic was magnificent and grand, giving her a goal to strive for besides good grades. Oh, the possibilities… The desire to learn more, to be able todomore, to bend the very fabric of reality to her will with a flick of her wand roared within.

Yet levitating two things at the same time was too hard. Far harder than just being able to do the spell…

The road to bending reality to her will would be long indeed.

Shaking her head, Diana reluctantly got off her seat, grabbed her school bag, and joined her friends as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"Talent also matters," MacDougal broke her silence. "Some struggle in one discipline, while others come as naturally as breathing. Over time, you'll find maybe Charms, or even Transfiguration or other subjects easier than the rest."

"How do I find out where my talent lies?" Diana asked. So far, none of the subjects were particularly difficult or easy. Things were not too challenging once she got used to quills and the jarring difference between the magical and muggle curriculum.

"I think inclination or affinity is more accurate than talent," Padma coughed. "And, well, it usually runs in the family with the purebloods. For muggle-borns - you'll probably have some idea by the end of the first year."

They entered the Great Hall and were quickly drowned by the commotion of eating and chattering students and barely managed to find a place at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Harry received a few more errant glances and hushed whispers; his deed of slaying two trolls had gotten out, but her friend had remained tight-lipped about it, and the interest and attention had begun to dry out.

As Diana piled her plate with sausage rolls and mashed potatoes, she couldn't help but overhear the fifth-year girls next to her gushing loudly about Slughorn. It wasn't a great surprise; it felt as if she had learned far more in one lesson with Slughorn than in a whole month with Snape.

"Did you hear - Rowan's been invited to the Slug Club!"

"Do you reckon we have a shot of joining?"

"What's a Slug Club?" Diana couldn't help but ask, and the two-fifth years turned to glower at her but halted. Harry had that effect on people; the famous short-boy had a mean, unrelenting, no-nonsense glare that just made people back off. If that didn't give them pause, his recent reputation as a 'troll-slayer' did. Juno's was not any less intense; her icy eyes could chill you no matter how warm or how many layers of clothing you had, and she was now staring at the pair of older years. Her two friends could look particularly mean, and nobody wanted to pick on Flitwick and Quirrell's favourites.

"A gathering hosted by Slughorn to network with his more prestigious students," Juno was the one to answer with a tinge of amusem*nt as the fifth-year witches looked away abashedly. "The old Potions master loves collecting talent and connections, but our headmaster has barred him from recruiting younger students, so you must be at least a third year to get invited."

"He also loves bringing over his successful former students," Harry added as soon as he swallowed a mouthful of roast beef, earning himself a curious look from Juno. Diana felt her friend didn't like the new Potions master much, but it was a mild feeling of distaste at most, or perhaps annoyed wariness. At least it's not that cold, silent loathing that he had reserved for Snape.

"I just hope the new caretaker will be at least better than Filch," Padma groaned.

MacDougal snorted, only to choke on her pumpkin juice, and it took her a few moments of coughing to clear her throat. "That's a low bar to clear."

While Slughorn was here Monday morning, the caretaker had yet to be replaced, and all sorts of weird rumours swirled around the school. Some said Dumbledore would axe the position entirely or even employ an enchanted homunculus or a retired hit wizard from the continent.

There were also quite a few articles in Daily Prophet slamming the headmaster for his choice of staff and outright calling Filchuselessor adanger to the children. If muggle-borns were frowned upon in Wizarding Britain, squibs seemed to be received with scorn and indifference.

"The Board of Governors is looking for a more capable man," Juno shrugged. "Yet unless a serious amount of Galleons is forked out, I don't see anyone of significant skill taking the post."

"So, who is taking care of Filch's duties now that he is gone?" Diana asked between bites of potatoes.

"Probably the house elves. Those buggers would love the extra work." Harry shrugged, followed by knowing nods by the rest, making Diana blink in confusion... Elves? Like in the Hobbit? She shrugged, preferring to finish her meal. It didn't matter much - if dragons, goblins and trolls were a thing, why not elves too?

Hopefully, there wouldn't be orcs hiding around…or a dark lord bent on world conquest. Diana stifled a snort, causing her friends to stare at her weirdly. Did the wizards read books like Lord of the Rings? Was Tolkien a hidden squib to imagine such a vivid, vast world?

They continued lunch, chatting leisurely about other inane things when Harry finished first and stood up, probably to continue his relentless quest for training, both body and magic. Well, either that or exploring around Hogwarts. Though Diana wasn't sure why he bothered exploring still, it felt like the green-eyed boy knew the castle better than everyone else.

She tugged on Harry's sleeve before he could disappear to do his thing again; there was a free slot after lunch, during which the first-year Ravenclaws did their homework or leisurely strolled out on the grounds when it was warmer.

"Do you mind if I join you for morning jogs?" The memory of running for her life while out of breath was still too vivid. The idea came suddenly, but since Diana already had trouble sleeping, it wouldn't hurt to get out of bed early.

Someone, sounding suspiciously like Padma, muttered something that suspiciously sounded like 'mental'.

"Sure," he nodded amiably without asking any annoying questions. "See you girls in Herbology!"

Harry rarely asked questions, and his willingness to helpfully explain or aid when requested was endearing. With a wave, he walked away, causing the girls to stare at him with exasperation.

"Merlin, Potter never stops, does he?" MacDougal retorted with wonder.

"No," Juno said, head tilted as her eyes were glued on Harry's back until he disappeared behind the wooden doors. "There's a reason he's the undisputed top student in our year." Diana couldn't help but feel a sliver of challenge in the tall girl's tone. But even that was said gracefully, just like most things about Juno.

"So," Padma chimed in after finishing her curry soup. "Are you girls excited for the upcoming Quidditch match?"

9th of November, Saturday

Harry looked at Diana as she was still gasping heavily, letting out misty puffs in the chilly morning air with each laboured breath. Her reddish-brown hair, which reminded him of rust, was damp with sweat. While going through so many stairs daily was good for your stamina, it showed that it was the first significant physical exertion the muggle-born girl had done.

"Gets easier after the third day," Harry encouraged. Today, he hadn't pushed himself too hard to conserve his strength for later. Also, their runs had started a tad later since Diana joined them, which was a welcome change. Half an hour more sleep was a welcome counterbalance to the strain he was putting his body through.

"It also does help plenty with your control," Hestia Carrow added while eyeing Diana as if the girl were some exotic animal in the zoo. Still, the Slytherin twins were not impolite or arrogant with his muggle-born friend, making him feel relieved. "I've had far less trouble with Transfiguration since I joined Harry, and now getting an EE grade on the practicals is no longer a struggle."

"Physical fitness would help you in duelling and Quidditch," Juno said, elegantly smoothing her crumpled training robes as they made their way back to the castle. The tall girl had come a long way since she joined him in the morning runs half a month ago. Juno's dedication and drive impressed him, and her stubbornness alone easily rivalled Hermione's.

The mentions of the wizarding sport grabbed Diana's attention.

"Why is none of that ever mentioned?"

Harry couldn't help but snort at the tired but angry huff that left the petite girl. "Well, it is if you know where to look for. And magic tends to make one lazy, especially since everything is at a wand-flick distance. If you keep this up and get a good broom, you have a good shot at joining the Quidditch team next year."

Not that it was a considerable achievement. The Quidditch teams were not too picky, and unless you were a lazy, talentless hack with a third-hand outdated broom, it was not too hard to enter a house team as a reserve if you tried hard enough. However, during his six-year stint, he had never seen a girl on the Slytherin team. Judging by the excitement radiating from Diana, the thought of Quidditch gave her more resolve.

Just as they passed by the Forbidden Forest and Harry was lost in his plans for the day, something tugged on his right sleeve. As his companions were all to his left, he absentmindedly looked down, only to freeze. A pair of shining white eyes were gazing at him with undisguised curiosity, belonging to a pitch-black leathery draconic face. The young thestral nudged its snout against his arm again with some insistence. For a short moment, his mind was blank until realisation set in. With some trepidation, Harry slowly withdrew his wand and offered it to the skeletal foal.

"Harry? Why have you stop-"

"What the bloody hell is this?!" Juno's question was interrupted by Diana, staring at the young thestral, eyes wide, and wand in hand.

The three other girls were now alert, wands out.

"There's nothing there," said Hestia, squinting at the darkness. Or not so dark as the faint light from the east illuminated half the sky now, heralding the arrival of dawn.

"Don't you see it?" Diana pointed warily at the foal, whose snout carefully inspected his wand. "It's a winged horse, all dark, skin and bones, with the oddest face like a lizard."

"A thestral?" Flora choked and looked like she wanted to cry. "They are omens of death." Harry would definitely not mention the other handful of adult thestrals watching placidly from the treeline.

"And completely harmless," he murmured while carefully running his free hand over the majestic dark mane, making the foal lean into his hand. Diana watched with worry while the other three stared sceptically at his hand, which seemed like it purposelessly ran through the empty air. He patted the silky mane one last time as the young thestral seemed to have lost interest in his wand. "Go, run along back to your parents now."

With a happy shriek that made Flora jump, the foal galloped away, disappearing into the treeline with the rest of the herd.

"It's gone, right?" Hestia inquired, her gaze skittishly roaming around as if someone would leap out of the darkness to attack her.

"Yeah, don't worry," Harry reassured her. "Thestrals are very smart and docile when trained well, and you have nothing to fear unless you attack them."

"It looked creepy," Diana huffed breathlessly, "why couldn't the rest see them?"

"Well, thestrals are invisible unless you have witnessed death. A human death, not something as trivial as a fly. It's probably what gives them the infamy." The skeletal horses could be lethally vicious, not that he'd tell that to a bunch of scared girls. Harry would not be surprised if some fool provoked a herd and paid dearly for it. "I heard the Hogwarts herd pulls the Hogsmeade carriages for the older years, and there has not been a single incident."

And that seemed to make the Carrow twins look squeamish instead of reassured, and he inwardly cursed himself for the slip of the tongue.

"Who did you see die, Diana? If you don't mind me asking." Juno's eyes narrowed with undisguised curiosity at their shortest friend. Harry goggled at the blatant lack of subtlety, but perhaps that was a sign of the girls' deepening friendship? He would not deny that his curiosity was piqued and turned to Diana.

"...My family was visiting a charity of my dad's firm in Kent. It was two years ago, and there was a bombing by the IRA… too many limbs." The girl's amber eyes lost their usual brightness as she recalled the memory.

For once, Juno's face softened considerably, and she gently squeezed Diana's shoulder. The muggle-born girl shook her head as she regained her composure and smiled, albeit with less cheer than before. "Forgive me, that was inconsiderate."

"It's fine. My parents took me to a shrink, and I don't mind it much anymore. At least those thestrals looked wicked cool." The petite girl glanced at the murky forest, where the thestral foal circled the herd before they walked further in.

"What's ashrink?" Hestia asked, mismatched eyes staring with confusion.

Harry stared into the distance, his gaze glazing to a few flying shadows over the forest. With a sigh, he started walking and joined his companions. The rest of the journey to the castle was spent in relative silence as Diana explained about the psychotherapists and the faces of the Carrow twins were filled with child-like fascination. Hary fondly listened with half an ear as his eyes wandered at the horizon where the sun shyly peeked from the misty treeline from the east.

It looked majestic.

"Well, this is new," Juno muttered as they reached the front lawn. The gate was flanked by two enormous gryffins made entirely from some shiny metal with a dull golden tint. No, not exactly gryffins, as they seemed to have scales and far too many spikes instead of feathers and looked like a mixture of a dragon and some scaly feline instead of an eagle and lion. Despite their long, jagged claws, the limbs seemed strangely humanoid. Harry scratched his head in confusion, unsure if the new additions had been here when they left the castle in the dark.

Whoever made the statues had put a lot of effort into them, as the detail was incredibly lifelike down to the last spike. They looked both lethally dangerous and beautifully mesmerising.

"I haven't seen that one in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," Diana said, face filled with awe.

"I don't think it's real." Harry shook his head. "At least I haven't read any mention of such a thing." Although knowing certain people, such a monster could be created in the flesh through cross-breeding…

"It's all made of pure Orichalcum." Hestia approached the right statue and inspected it with zeal.

Diana yawned, tiredly outstretching her hands upwards. "I thought that was a myth?"

"In the muggle world, maybe." Juno hummed, but even her eyes glimmered with interest at the new statues. "It's a mythical alloy of gold and copper that only master alchemists can create."

They gawked a few minutes more at the magnificent statues, but the chilly morning air eventually chased them away to the castle's warm confines.

All of them retreated to the common room, and after a warm shower and a change of clothing, they reconvened in the Great Hall just before breakfast began.

The tables were quick to fill, as today was the first Quidditch match of the school year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the air was already buzzing with anticipation. To his surprise, most Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed to have equipped themselves with silver and green scarves in overwhelming support of Salazar's house. While the Puffs and the Claws were mostly neutral when the other two rival houses played, Harry remembered most of them supporting the Gryffindors.

"Why's everyone supporting Slytherin?"

"Longbottom," Padma whispered, making him blink in confusion.

What did Neville have to do with… oh. The Indian girl pointedly looked at Juno, who was gracefully devouring a few pieces of roast chicken without a care. Harry had almost forgotten the utterly stupid fight had caused the Gryffindors to stubbornly back Neville out of house pride but had earned the ire of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the process. It wasn't that they wanted to support Slytherin as much as they cheered against Gryffindor.

Although Wood had somehow picked McLaggen for a seeker of all people, Harry doubted his former house could clinch a victory with this talentless hack on the team.

"Attention, please," Dumbledore stood up, and the chattering quickly quieted. "Today, I want to welcome our newest member of the staff - Grigori Petrov, who has graciously agreed to join as the Hogwarts caretaker!"

Harry slowly joined the polite but hesitant applause that echoed through the hall. The headmaster motioned to a middle-aged, balding man who had appeared nearly unnoticed and joined the edge of the staff table. Tall and bulky, dressed in an interesting leather coat, and with a wicked scar running up his neck towards his jaw, the new caretaker looked far more formidable than Filch, reminding Harry of Moody.

"Damn," Padma was staring at the man with some admiration and interest. "He definitely looks like something."

"He ought to," Juno said, tone heavy with surprise. "Grigori Petrov is an infamous monster hunter in Eastern Europe."

"A monster hunter?" Diana asked the question swirling in Harry's mind. This profession was not something he had heard of in his previous world.

Juno swallowed the last piece of her chicken fillet and carefully wiped away the errant grease from her lips. "It's a rare calling fraught with danger. Trolls, werewolves, vampires, banshees - monster hunters specialise in dealing with all sorts of creatures and magical beasts. But most don't live long or are just glorified wands for hire."

Clearly, Petrov did not lack skill - Harry had seen less-dangerous-looking death eaters.

"How is he infamous?" Padma prodded curiously.

"Well, he was said to have cleared out a vampire den alone and almost singlehandedly hunted down trolls in Bulgaria to near extinction." Which was a sizeable feat of brutal, dogged persistence, considering the dumb brutes bred like rabbits and were better at surviving than co*ckroaches.

While admittedly an interesting new addition to the staff, Harry's mind was elsewhere.

Tuning out the rest of the conversation, he focused on his meal while his thoughts drifted to his plans. By the time Harry was finished, enthusiastic students started streaming out of the Great Hall in droves, headed for the Quidditch Stadium.

"Harry, wait for us to finish," Diana huffed in exasperation, still having a sizeable portion of her breakfast uneaten.

"I think I might just nap instead," he lied with a yawn.

Padma shook her head with amusem*nt. "Well, nobody makes you get up at six every morning."

"But… this is the first Quidditch match of the year!" For the first time, Diana seemed stubbornly determined not to let go.

"Watching others play isn't particularly exciting," Juno came to his defence, but that statement seemed to earn her a few scoffs from the older years who were walking by on their way out.

"I'd rather write my Transfiguration essay instead," MacDougal also chimed in. "McGonagall gives too much homework, and it's due on Monday."

"Besides, it isn't Ravenclaw playing." Diana deflated, and Harry couldn't help but feel bad. His friend had been so enthusiastic about it… yet his plan was too important, and today was the perfect day.

With a nod, Harry turned away and headed out, but a smile appeared on his face as he heard Juno promising to accompany the muggle-born girl and Padma. One positive thing had happened after the unlucky Samhain - a welcome camaraderie formed between the two girls, which had turned them from uneasy acquaintances to friends.

His way to his room was interrupted by the eagle-shaped bronze knocker with its annoyingly soft voice again. "At night, they come without being fetched. By day, they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

Some days, Harryreallyhated the thing as it delayed him a great time, and getting stuck in the front of the common room for minutes was shamefully mortifying. So he had owl-ordered Ridley's Riddle Compendium from Flourish and Blots, as it had most of the classical riddles and puzzles and their answers.

At least this one was easy enough. "The stars."

With an approving chime, the door to the Ravenclaw room swung open.

An errant glance around his room told him Nyx had left on one of her excursions again, and Harry carefully unpacked the Marauder's map on his desk - or at least the part with the Seventh floor and the Gryffindor Tower.

House pride was a great thing, especially for the hotheaded Lions. Slowly but surely, the few footsteps in the tower left for the lower floors on their way to the Quidditch Pitch. A grin found its way to his face - only a single smudged name remained unmoving on the premises.

Peter Pettigrew.

Thankfully, Percy had not taken old, sleepy Scabbers to spectate the match; otherwise, Harry would have had few options aside from approaching Percy for the rat directly or going to the staff with the map in hand, things he wanted to avoid if he could help it. This was the perfect opportunity that drove him hard for the last week.

Yet his eyes couldn't help but slowly comb the map once more. No trace of Tom Riddle or Voldemort could be seen on the school grounds, no matter how he looked. Even Quirinus Quirrell, the only person Harry suspected, was sitting by Sybill Trelawney in the middle of the stadium, surrounded by an enormous cluster of names.

"Mischief managed." Pushing down his trepidation, Harry tapped the map, folded it and returned it to his robe's inner pocket.

His preparations for this day were numerous - from bringing a rat cage charmed unbreakable to waiting around the corner of the Seventh floor for the last few evenings to spy the Gryffindor password.

Thankfully, very few students had remained in the castle, most on the lower floors or the library. His way to the corridor with the Fat Lady remained smooth without any surprise encounters, allowing him to charm his school tie to the familiar gold and red and change the colour of his hair to dirty blonde with a splotch of ink splashed on his face, hopefully making him unrecognisable to the portraits.

"I haven't seen you before," the plump witch dressed in pink stared at him from the frame.

"Fortuna," he muttered hoarsely.

The Fat Lady inspected him for a long, nerve-wracking moment, and just as he started getting jittery, the portrait creaked open, revealing the stairway to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry sighed with relief and quickly made his way up. The room was painfully familiar, but the cosiness that used to comfort him now felt unwelcoming.

His heart raced like a drum as he sneaked to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. Thankfully, there were no traps or obstructions along the way. Even the door was unlocked with a simple Alohom*ora.

The room was surprisingly clean and ordered, but there was a tiny problem. Harry could see no rat here, no matter how hard he looked.

Suppressing the apprehension, he quickly unfurled the map again and desperately searched for the two footsteps denoting Peter Pettigrew. Hunting down a rat would be impossible if Harry couldn't get the drop on the slippery bastard. He had hoped that the traitor would have been napping - something Scabbers almost always did, but it seemed that his luck only got so far. It didn't help that his current arsenal of spells was sorely lacking.

After a few tense minutes, Harry found the rat down one of the hallways on the Seventh floor, moving in an oddly slow and leisurely manner.

Cursing in annoyance, he quickly left the Gryffindor tower and silently approached the rat's location. Just around the corner, he cautiously slowed down; his palm felt sweaty while holding the pale wand.

"Stupid feathers, I found him first!"

Just around the corner, the familiar pitch-black snake was on the floor with a knocked-out rat, missing a finger, dangling from her mouth. Nyx was rearing in a challenge against his snowy owl on the window's outer sill.

Harry stared with stunned disbelief at the surreal scene. Hedwig was barking and hooting at the snake as they fought over the rat, and he was sure they could see him.

At that moment, Harry only managed to hide his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

He counted his lucky stars for his companions' assistance. While Harry managed to hide his plans from his classmates, it seemed he had failed to do the same for his pets, who thought this was a hunting game. It was hilarious and sobering because it only made him aware of how many assumptions his plan relied upon, not to mention the dozens of glaring holes.

Still, any lingering doubts about Nyx's hunting capabilities were quickly dismissed; the snake effortlessly knocked out the rat before Pettigrew could even consider turning to his human form or escaping.

It was not that great of a surprise in hindsight since snakes and owls were far better at hunting rats than humans. However, it also made him feel foolish for not even considering asking his companions for help. Was his stubborn desire to do everything alone getting in the way?

"Mr Potter," Flitwick greeted him with his usual excitement. "How may I help you?"

"Professor," he nodded hesitantly and brought out the unbreakable cage, where the rat lay still under a full-body bind, but his beady little eyes moved around furiously. "Nyx found this rat saying he smelled human, and her senses are impossibly sharp."

Both of those things were true. Nyx, almost too big to remain coiled on his forearm unnoticed, slithered out of his sleeve at the mention of her name and proudly bobbed her head in confirmation.

The Charms master instantly grew solemn, and his delicate wand was already in his hand.

"You did well bringing this to me, Mr Potter. I see you are wisely keeping the animal in a full-body bind. Step back from the cage."

Harry did so, and the Charms master gently flicked his wand, making the rat glow blue. This must have been some sort of animagus-revealing charm because Flitwick's face turned grave.

With a sharp stab of his wand, the cage was opened, and the rat was ejected onto the floor. Scabbers shuddered, and his transformation was reversed, revealing the familiar small, hunchback stature with the hateful ratty face, capped by his unkempt colourless hair.

While the full-body bind turned its target completely rigid, it left it conscious, and Pettigrew's small, watery eyes were fearfully bouncing between him and the diminutive professor. Harry would have stunned the rat, but the fourth-year spell was still elusive to manage, so he settled on the good oldPetrificus Totalus.

Flitwick, however, seemed to have no such problems. "Stupefy!"

The red bolt slammed into the immobilised Pettigrew, turning him still. The Charms master leaned closer to inspect the knocked-out man. "As I live and breathe, Peter Pettigrew!"

"Wasn't he supposed to be… killed by Sirius Black?" Harry played along as his head of house removed his spectacles and carefully wiped them clean before inspecting the man on the floor again.

"Very much so, Mr Potter. Oh, my former apprentice is going to love this!" Flitwick's surprise turned into glee, and Harry's apprehension quickly faded. Felix Fawley, the current head of DMLE, was precisely why he had come to the head of his house. "I hope you do not mind if I keep your name away from this mess, Mr Potter, lest you want to invite unwanted scrutiny on Nyx and your abilities?"

The serpent perked up at hearing her name.

"It would be for the better," Harry agreed softly while running his fingers over Nyx's inky scales; he had no desire to deal with the Ministry or the press if he could avoid it.

At least Fawley was capable. The man had managed to throw even Snape into Azkaban, so hopefully, Pettigrew would not pose much of a challenge.

Chapter 18: Twisted

Chapter Text

11th of November, Monday

"I don't like it, Albus," Armando Dippet grumbled from the portrait. "You should have dissolved the Board of Governors when you had the chance."

"While cumbersome, the Board guaranteed Hogwarts some independence from the Wizard's Council and later the Wizengamot. You should well know that, Armando."

While the Board was often a nuisance, they had their uses. Nearly half of Hogwarts' yearly budget came from their pockets, and they were responsible for the school's public image in Wizarding Britain and abroad. Not even he could juggle so many things. While they could counterbalance the headmaster's authority, they also added political weight to the school, making it nearly unmovable.

The members were far from agreeable, but Dumbledore knew how to work with them and their egos on matters of import. Besides, opportunity and adversity walk hand in hand, and with careful planning and some luck, the tide could turn at any moment.

Surely enough, the knock on the door heralded one of Dumbledore's latest headaches, and the new caretaker entered.

"Good evening, headmaster." The words were spoken with a heavy Eastern European accent; Grigori Petrov bowed politely, allowing Dumbledore to notice faint scars on his balding scalp. "You called for me?"

The man was dangerous; most died or retired before forty in the Monster Hunter business with a wreath of missing limbs, his Care of Magical Creatures professor a prime example. That profession was notorious for selling their wands to the highest bidders on the side, and most monster hunters oft dabbled in all sorts of contracts, including assassination and curse-breaking, adding even more peril to their lives.

That was even more true of one who had done it in a dangerous place like the Balkans. Yet, Grigori Petrov stood before him in his late forties, hale and healthy.

Albus clasped his hands and inspected the bulky man under his spectacles. Petrov was as calm as a lake and would easily pass for an average, hard-working, honest wizard with his genial face if not for his many scars. His body told a different tale; his barrel-like chest and thick, trunk-like arms spoke of a life of harsh adversity. They also hinted at a willingness to get physical; few wizards were so well-built.

"Indeed, Mr Petrov." The headmaster nodded, and with a simple gesture, his favourite bowl flew over. "Lemon drop?"

"Thank you." Unfazed by the show of chantless, wandless magic, the caretaker took one and grimaced. "Not sour enough." That did not stop Grigori from picking up a handful of the muggle sweets, much to Dumbledore's amusem*nt.

"I understand being a caretaker is quite the deviation from your previous occupation."

"It's not every day you get offered a job at Hogwarts," the burly man shrugged. "I'd rather be a caretaker for sixty galleons a month than risk my life for a hundred that might not even come every other week."

Dumbledore could only agree with such a sentiment; the sum paid to Petrov was over ten times Filch's salary. The Board of Governors had forked out such a ridiculous amount all of a sudden while still not opening their purses for new school brooms. It was done partly out of spite and as a blatant show for the populace. A pointless one at that - the original defences of the school were more than formidable enough, and Albus had ensured that any attempts at breaching the existing loopholes would no longer succeed, Samhain or not.

Regardless, Grigori was hard to read, even for someone like Albus; his body language, magic, habits and eyes were nearly impossible to decipher. The headmaster had carefully observed the new caretaker for the first week; the man had done his job stellarly and far better than a squib ever could.

Inquiries were made into his origins with his friends in the ICW; Petrov hailed from a humble background and had a mostly clean record, avoiding trouble with the authorities. Or he was very good at hiding.

Still, such a dangerous addition to the staff left Dumbledore wary, especially since the Board pushed it. Did Grigori Petrov indeed join for the gold? Or the treasury of knowledge that was the Hogwarts library? Or was it something else?

Worse, Dumbledore no longer enjoyed his previous prestige and influence after Severus' trial and could not easily decline such an appointment. And why would he? If he did, Albus would struggle to find someone with Petrov's qualifications, and there was no guarantee that the next person the Board pushed would be better.

It was not all bad - once his loyalty was proven, the monster hunter could be a valuable addition to the Hogwarts staff. Only Albus would take his time observing the new caretaker lest he have ulterior motives or prove unsuitable for his staff.

"I am glad you like it," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "I summoned you here to inquire how you're settling into your new post."

"I like it," Gregori chuckled heartily and popped another lemon drop in his mouth. "Patrolling the castle and keeping the hallways free of trouble has been far easier than hunting trolls and werewolves down through the woods. Only those twin boys, Weasleys, keep making a nuisance of themselves."

"Ah, yes, the exuberance of youth. The two troublemakers are always up to all sorts of mischief, much like their late uncles."

"Students are easy enough to handle. Only, must those monsters be kept on the third floor?"

"Fret not, Mr Petrov. It's a challenge for a special student of mine," Dumbledore explained, taking a lemon drop to suppress his weariness. "I hope you'll remove errant students from the corridor in question."

The caretaker did not look very convinced but nodded nonetheless.

What had the infamous dragonologist Quang Po said again?

Once you ride the dragon, it is hard to get off.

Albus couldn't help but wonder how long the Board's generosity would last. They argued over every knut, and the public would soon forget Samhain's troubles. Life moved on, and ultimately, the trolls had been disposed of with no casualties save for Argus Filch. And, for good or for bad, very few truly cared about squibs, despite any lip service paid.

Would Grigori remain as a caretaker after finding himself with a reduced salary next autumn? Over seven hundred galleons a year was not a small sum, even for a Ministry Department Head. His contract would expire at the end of the school year, and if the caretaker protested the pay cut, he would leave the position empty for Albus to tangle with.

Sadly, the Board of Governors was far from Dumbledore's only woe; something was brewing in the Wizengamot, with another urgent meeting called for tomorrow morning, and he had not been notified of the cause of the agenda despite still being Chief Warlock.

The loss of repute was beginning to grow annoying, but Albus was not without connections. He was too busy to care about matters of the law and state. Chairing the ICW's conference last weekend had squeezed out most of his sparse free time.

And fortifying Hogwarts' defences had taken the rest of his attention since Samhain, but thankfully, the job was already finished. Slughorn's presence had aided him in calming any student unrest. The old Potions master was an experienced head of house and teacher and took to the job like a fish to water again, albeit with his usual networking shenanigans.

However, Minerva's resignation weighed heavily on his mind as Yule approached, and he had yet to find another person suitable for a deputy.

Shaking his head, Albus focused on the hallway ahead. A few students greeted him with reverence, earning themselves a genial smile. Seeing that the troll attack had not dampened their spirit was heartening. Everyone but the Gryffindors, who had lost the last Quidditch game again. But that too would soon pass; the flames of youth were not so easily extinguished, especially not in the house of the valiant and the brave.

After a few minutes, he finally arrived before Flitwick's office. A knock on the dark, varnished door earned him a muffled 'Come in'.

"Albus," the diminutive Charms master looked up from his stack of parchments and smiled warmly. "How may I help you?"

"A couple of things, Filius." The headmaster conjured himself a tapered chair with a flick of his wand and sat down. "First, you tried to reach out to me this Saturday?"

The ICW meeting had been in Brazil this weekend, and the professor's message had arrived far too late for Dumbledore to respond on time, as it would not do for the Supreme Mugwump to leave in the middle of the meeting.

"Oh, indeed." Flitwick grew pensive for a moment, then shrugged. "It matters little, I suppose. The trouble has been solved without involving the school. I made sure of it."

Albus sensed there was more to the story, but Filius was a capable teacher, and if he was no longer worried, there was nothing to fret over. Details could be discussed later over a hot cup of tea. "That's a relief. How are Mr Potter and Miss Lestrange faring in their lessons?"

"Exemplary as always. Those two are just a joy to teach, and there's little that gives either of them trouble. At this rate, both could take their Second Year Charms with excellent results by the end of January."

And Albus had heard a similar tale from the other teachers. "Have they expressed any desire to move up a year or two?"

"Neither seemed interested." Flitwick hummed thoughtfully.

"Good," a sigh of relief tore out of the headmaster's chest. "I've oft found youth are far too rushed in their endeavours."

"If this continues, there won't be anything they could learn here in a handful of years, though."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Albus inclined his head. Talent was one thing, but he had found that many lost motivation along the way and made themselves content with the level they had reached. "Now, one last thing. Sadly, Minerva has decided to resign from her position as Deputy Headmistress, and I find myself in need of a new deputy."

Flitwick blinked in surprise and took half a minute to find his bearing. "Oh my, it would be an honour, Albus. But I'm afraid I cannot give such a position the due it deserves, especially if Minerva failed."

Dumbledore grimaced.

As always, the Charms master was far more perceptive than he let on. The deputy position was not only bureaucratic but also the headmaster's preferred successor and usually the most skilled wand. While Minerva was a gifted Transfiguration mistress, Flitwick was a better fighter. His temperament was mellow and friendly, but the steel hidden underneath made him a perfect candidate for it.

Flitwick would have been his original choice, but the diminutive Charms master had joined the faculty after Minerva had ascended her position.

"Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"I wouldn't trade the jubilation on a student's face when they master a charm for all the glory and wealth in the world, Albus." Flitwick's smile turned half proud and half-dreamy. "Nothing can rival joy and exuberance in a child's eyes when they succeed in their first spell. Not even winning the International Duelling League three times."

"Understandable," Albus nodded respectfully and steered the conversation towards a more mundane topic before departing Flitwick's office.

Alas, the genial Charms master still dearly cherished the passion of teaching. Albus could try harder, but he respected Flitwick too much to push too hard, especially since he felt nostalgic about the joys of education, of sharpening the bright minds of the next generation.

Now, he was left with a conundrum, with both of his candidates for the position of deputy declining. Pomona simply lacked the power to qualify, and while Horace was competent magically, his skills bar Potions had gone rusty long ago. Slughorn would also be faced with a challenge similar to Filius and Minerva: filling three sets of shoes at the same time. Despite the Potions master's considerable skill with a wand, he lacked the bravery and the spine required for a future headmaster, and his obsession with influence and fame made him even more unsuitable.

Now, Albus had to look towards the younger teachers with far fewer burdens, like Sinistra, Babbling, or Vector. Yet they lacked the power, prestige, and experience to take on such a burden, and he lacked time to take on a protegee or an apprentice. Merlin, when had he grown so reliant on Minerva's assistance?

The headmaster rubbed his wizened brow tiredly.

14th of November, Thursday

The Black Manor was even darker than usual, and a heavy, choking scent of smoke hit her face as she entered the parlour. Her cousin smoked only on rare occasions, and the last time she had seen it happen had been over a decade and a half.

"This better be good," Cassiopeia hissed, banishing the annoying dark fumes with a swipe of her wand. "I was just about to depart for Hawaii." Without Juno to teach, she was getting far too bored to linger around the damp, cold weather of the British Isles.

Arcturus snorted, taking stiff puffs from his cigar, and threw a newspaper on the table.

Her eyes glanced down and froze at the sight of her grandnephew smiling madly back at her from the paper, looking like some sort of unwashed street rat.

Sirius Black Innocent!

DMLE Director Felix Fawley captured Peter Pettigrew this Saturday, alive and well-

"Good enough?" Arcturus asked after a few moments of stunned silence as she stared at the paper.

"That must've caused a storm in the ministry." Cassiopeia chuckled fondly at the image of the ministry official scrambling around like headless chickens.

Arcturus let out a raspy chuckle. "That it did. Our new minister quickly threw the blame elsewhere to help the public forget he was the first on the scene. Barty Crouch and Bagnold are in deep sh*te with the Mot for authorising life sentences with nopropertrial. Even the Auror captain who carried the arrest is in trouble."

"Still, I don't see how this changes anything for us, Archie." She shrugged, sat on one of the chairs, and helped herself to the cookies on the table. "Didn't you disown the boy?"

The Black lord picked up his cup of tea, took a small sip, and smiled. It was a cold, callous smile, just like the rest of him. "Walburga certainly wanted everyone to think so."

"Ah, having a foot in both camps as usual," Cassiopeia clicked her tongue in disapproval. Her uncle, Sirius Black II, was much the same when Grindelwald had risen. "But last I heard, your grandson wanted nothing to do with House Black."

"A small wonder Sirius managed to find some spine with Orion for a father," he shook his head. "I hope his stay in Azkaban has given the boy time to think his frivolities over."

"It would be a small wonder if the Dementors have not driven Sirius mad in ten years."

"Come now, Cassie, you know a little madness had never stopped a Black."

She grabbed another glazed cookie. Lynny was excellent with pastries, as always. "What of Juno? Will you discard her for an ungrateful cad after all the effort put in nurturing her?"

"There are far too few Blacks to the boy," Arcturus scoffed dismissively, puffing out another plume of dark smoke. "Sirius should have been my heir. Besides, he's Potter's godfather."

Ah, there it was. A Lord of Black always played a game of benefits that others did not see. Yet it wasn't only that; Cassiopeia could clearly see he preferred his grandson stemming from his loins over a girl from a secondary branch, even if he would never voice it.

"Juno has already made friends with the Potter boy."

Another puff of heavy smoke made Cassiopeia's nose twitch, and she flicked her wand, sweeping the air clear.

"If only the foolish lass did not drag her arse into danger for it. I taught Juno better than to get into meaningless trouble."

Cassiopeia wanted to tell the old stooge that bonds forged in adversity were the strongest but held her tongue. Arguing with her stubborn cousin was useless when his mind was made up.

"Perhaps she takes after you? Unless my memory fails me, you always got in all sorts of trouble at school." From picking fights to attacking, bribery, blackmail, extortion, curses, and manipulation, Arcturus had done it all without batting an eye. Juno trying to help a friend was harmlessly innocent, and perhaps that was the problem.

"Bah, I was rarely caught and never in danger!" Another heavy puff of acrid smoke. "I didn't call you to banter about the good old times, though. I want you to escort me to Saint Mungo's."

"Why would you need an escort?"

"Sirius is recovering there, and-"

"...And you need me there to make sure Augusta won't get rid of you," Cassiopeia finished with an amused giggle. It would be perfect for the old Longbottom dowager - killing off Arcturus would remove the pressure on her family, especially with no other competent adult Blacks to take up the mantle.

A worthy place to announce her presence to Wizarding Britain once more.

"Indeed. Are you coming or not?"

It seemed that Augusta Longbottom indeed had the idea. Leading two other Longbottoms, the old battleaxe blocked the stairway two floors below where Sirius' room lay.

While they wouldn't do anything in the open, Cassiopeia knew all too well how these things went. Apparition and portkeys were blocked beyond the foyer in the hospital, so a well-placed curse out of sight here or there, and Arcturus would be dead by the next day with none the wiser. While decent with a wand in his youth, old age had made her cousin go rusty; his strength had always been in the finer aspects of the higher life.

"Lord Black." Scorn and hate dripped from Augusta's steely voice. "You finally dare show your face."

"Out of the way, you crazy old hag," he groused.

They remained unmoving, and Cassiopeia took the chance and stepped forward, smiling wide. "Oh my, little Augusta, old age has treated you poorly." Indeed, Augusta was two years younger than her, but her hair, tied into the traditional widow's knot, had gone grey, and her face was wrinkled. The old battleaxe hailed from a middling pureblood House now extinct; the Hargreaves had been snuffed out in the Blood War and a heavy bout of Dragonpox to the last.

"You!" Augusta's hazel eyes wheeled to Cassiopeia with caution and a measure of shock. "You're still alive?"

The other two Longbottoms palmed their wands warily. Good, they still had some wits left to them, at least. However, she was itching for a fight.

"Hale and healthy," Cassiopeia nodded with an amused giggle and spun her wand between her fingers, making them step back.

Wizarding Britain had never issued an arrest warrant for her, and the ICW had grudgingly agreed to issue her a pardon for identifying some of Gellert's infamous secret stashes. It was effortless to do after Cassiopeia disappeared from the public eye after the Great War and slowly but meticulously cleared up any problems that could have come back to bite her in the arse. As her uncle Sirius loved to say, 'no witness, no crime', and galleons made the world go around.

"Enough of this charade, Augusta," Arcturus barked out. "Out of my way. I have no time to waste on the likes of you!"

Cassiopeia stopped twirling her wand and got in a battle stance, pooling her magic at the tip of her wand, making it glow a ghastly green with a predatory smile.

The three Longbottoms stepped aside carefully as if looking at a dangerous serpent that could lunge at any moment. Pah, of course, they would not dare to fight out in the open, not against her. She would not necessarily come out of such a fight unscathed, but at least two of the Longbottoms would perish, not to mention the endless trouble with the DMLE and the Ministry that would follow. Cassiopeia knew Augusta was aware of the latter, or at least suspected heavily.

House Black was never afraid of trouble, and they already understood their mortality, but the Longbottoms had too much to lose…

"Cowards," Cassiopeia muttered loudly enough for them to hear but only received a twitch in response as they slinked away like defeated mutts. With a scowl, she let the magic dissipate harmlessly from her wand and returned it to the holster. "Tch, how boring."

"Well, the Longbottom boy must've picked the inclination for ambush and murder from somewhere," Arcturus added sardonically, loud enough for even the spectating nurses to hear. Backs stiff, the Longbottoms made their way out.

Up the staircase, down a marble hallway to the left, they finally reached the room where her wayward nephew resided.

The two Aurors guarding the door gave Arcturus an uneasy nod while looking at her with proper caution. This brought a warm smile to Cassiopeia's face—it seemed her reputation had not fully faded even after so much time.

She first took stock of the room; it was one of the most luxurious places that would easily fit in a high-society parlour. The gilded windows looked made of the finest enchanted glass, probably spelt unbreakable, and the only way in or out was the door. It seemed the Ministry intended to express their regrets over the unfortunate miscarriage of justice.

"Oh, you're still alive," a raspy voice finally greeted them from the bed. Under white cotton sheets lay Sirius, looking gaunt, tired, suspicious, and completely sane. It seemed like Azkaban had left a mark, but not as strongly as Cassiopeia had thought.

Cassiopeia casually threw a noise-suppressing charm at the door, preventing eavesdropping from the Aurors.

"Is that the way to great your Lord Grandfather, you little sh*t?"

"I remember being disowned," Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "Did my good ol' mum finally kick the bucket?"

"Five years ago." The moment the words were uttered, the Black Sheep started laughing out loud joyously, without a care in the world, eliciting a scowl from his grandfather. "Look at you, over thirty and still no manners!"

Sirius snorted with amusem*nt. "As if you care of sh*te like that. I doubt you care much for little old me. Out with it - why are you here?"

"I am here to see my grandson, of course," Arcturus' eyes softened slightly.

"Well, that's a first," a raspy, sardonic laugh escaped the bedridden man. "You never cared much before. What changed?"

"We're the last of the Blacks, Sirius," the Black lord spoke regretfully as he sat on one of the chairs, looking more feeble than usual. A master manipulator, as always. "Ties of blood are not so easily severed, and we must stay together in those trying times. Kinship is the foundation of our society, and our family name carries a strength that cannot be dismissed."

Sirius looked sceptical, but he was at least listening carefully.

"But I don't care much about your blood purity," he eventually replied with a shameless swagger.

"Few do," Cassiopeia laughed. "They would posture and parade around like peaco*cks, but in truth, it's showing off their heritage and wealth."

"I am well aware of the grievances that forced you out of the family, Sirius," Arcturus continued softly. "I do not dismiss the pain you have suffered. But the Black family endures, and its strength lies in unity, not division. Let us reconcile, my grandson. Return to the fold and claim your rightful place within the family!"

Sirius looked carefully at his grandfather, and for a short moment, Cassiopeia thought he would accept. But then his face twisted in amusem*nt, and he roared with laughter, making Arcturus stiffen.

"Merlin, this is the biggest load of sh*te I've heard in my life," Sirius brushed some imaginary tears from his eyes. "And I've had the joy of listening to Bellatrix's insane dribble for a whole decade. I could do without you slimy lot back then, and I will handle myself now, too."

The Black Lord stood up, gait rigid, and walked out of the room with a stony face. It seemed that even Arcturus's pride wouldn't take his grandson laughing at his face with such scorn. Cassiopeia followed silently, for Juno was so much better an heir anyway.

"It's that useless Crabbe blood." Arcturus looked like a statue in the hallway, but that only meant he was seething with rage on the inside. "I'm disowning this little sh*t first thing."

23d of November, 1991, Friday

Some would say the mind was at its weakest, the most open when one was asleep.

They were wrong.

The soul, the mind, and the body were the most defenceless amidst the peak ofpleasure, especially when the bodies were interconnected in almost every sense of the word.

Trelawney's surprisingly supple body writhed in ecstasy underneath him as flesh and magic intertwined as one, and soon enough, her pupils dilated then over from the sensual overload.

Quirrell gazed into her eyes anddove.

It was not the first time and would not be the last if he failed. Opportunity was plentiful, and he patiently pushed his mind towards what he sought.

Deeper and deeper he went, ignoring all the inane memories and sinking into the subconscious.

Just as he felt his time was running out, he foundit.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Approaches…

born to those who had thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…

and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other one survives…

the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…

Quirrell opened his eyes and blinked in incomprehension at the divination teacher, bare as the day she was born. Already exhausted, it seemed that Trewalney was snoring gently, having fallen asleep.

Chapter 19: Little School Woes

Chapter Text

24th November, Saturday

Hogwarts had proved everything his brothers said it was… and more. Everything was new and exciting and… hard. Harry Potter was here, but he had joined Ravenclaw for some reason. Everyone dreamed of becoming friends with The Boy Who Lived, and Ron was no exception. But reality was often disappointing, as he discovered in the last few months.

Potter was polite yet reclusive and kept to himself except for his short muggle-born friend. The House of Wit and Learning had proved a suitable place for him, judging by his almost effortless class performance and the rumours of him disappearing just to study harder. There was no mistaking it, though: Potter wasdangerousif DADA practice was anything to judge by. Most took the rumours of him slaying two trolls with a grain of salt, but Ron believed them.

If Harry Potter vanquished You-Know-Who as a toddler, what were two dumb trolls to him?

Ron sighed as he idly glanced around the Gryffindor table. Percy looked pristine and had his usual air of self-importance, yet he could see him mooning over his Ravenclaw girlfriend in a way that made him want to puke. Fred and George were absent, probably up to mischief again. The girls from his year had split into two groups - Patil, Brown, and Dunbar, who loved to gossip.

Sophie Roper had glued herself to the annoying know-it-all Granger, who was excitedly babbling on about the intricacies of Arithmancy as if she had already taken the class.

Seamus and the sombre Neville were talking about Peter Pettigrew's trial, with the two muggle-born boys, Dean Thomas and Jon Robbins, listening with rapt attention. Ever since that stupid duel in which Neville had dragged him as a second, the rest of the first-year boys had gathered around Neville.

Not Ron, though. He now sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, just below the staff table, under the direct scrutiny of the professors. Being named an involuntary second in the bloody duel had dragged him into hot water when Percy had written to their mother, and it was a small wonder no howler had arrived.

Their father had been under constant surprise inspections at work for nearly a month, and first-year boys had no businessduelling in the halls. Never mind that Ron had not even cast a single spell. Regardless, his parents had forbidden him from causing any further mischief with Neville.

He did not want anything to do with the Longbottom anymore; Professor McGonagall had reprimanded him for his recklessness for half an hour the next day, and Neville hadn't even apologised! Some days, Ron just wondered if the world was out to get him.

He eyed the Ravenclaw table; half the first-year eagles were clustered around Potter and Lestrange, chatting excitedly about something boring, probably homework.

Juno Lestrange was not half as bad as Neville had portrayed her, and she did not get him in trouble! That much was clear to Ron; otherwise, she would have gone to Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw. Sure, she had some haughtiness, but she was not like Malfoy, who strutted around like a peaco*ck with his bodyguards as if he owned the school.

It was more like Percy but with much more grace and—err, what was that word?

Elegance—it reminded him of his grandmother. Still, Ron struggled to see why Longbottom would act like a slimy snake and try to kill a girl who did him no harm. Worse, Potter seemed even more guarded against the Gryffindors, and the fleeting chance to make friends with the Boy Who Lived was now gone for real.

"So where do you reckon Pettigrew hid for ten years?" Seamus's Irish brogue broke him out of his musing. "I don't see anything mentioned in the Prophet."

"Probably skulked around in some bloody hovel like a rat," Neville shrugged nonchalantly. "Just like the rest of his murderous, traitorous lot. At least he's now in Azkaban, where he belongs."

"Even two weeks later, there are scarcely any details. I still can't believe they had an innocent man in jail for ten years…" Jon Robins shook his head, and Ron tuned them out again, focused on his food, and added another grilled fillet to his plate.

The trouble with Pettigrew and Sirius Black was old news. While the whole thing had come like lighting out of a blue sky, his father had always said Felix Fawley was a great Head of DMLE, and Ron couldn't help but agree. His dad had brought him to the DMLE once last year, and the Aurors were all amazing. Everyone knew his father, and the Director himself looked very cool in his red dragonhide robes and had this air of danger. The man was great - he had managed to chuck the greasy git straight into Azkaban. Catching Pettigrew was nothing before that.

A burst of laughter and cries echoed, and Ron raised his head to see the whole of Slytherin with… bright red hair and golden skin.

A few older years desperately tried to dispel whatever hex they had to no effect besides swapping the colours sporadically. The Gryffindor table erupted with laughter, and Ron found himself chuckling in amusem*nt as he watched the snakes scuttle around in indignant panic like headless chickens. Some, though, looked annoyed at most and simply continued eating. It was good not to be the target of Fred and George's pranks for a change.

Professor McGonagall's heavy gaze sternly inspected the Gryffindor table, probably looking for his twin brothers. After not finding them, she abruptly stood up and rushed out of the Great Hall. It was like a game of cat and mouse; Fred and George would try to cause some mayhem while the professors would try to catch them red-handed. Ron wondered how the twins could manage enough spare time for mischief when they had already been punished with detention for the next five months.

As Ron gobbled up his last piece of toast, his mind wandered to the rest of the day. It was the weekend, and while he got along well enough with his housemates, he had failed to make friends.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise since he couldn't make any back at home either, save for Luna, who was Ginny's friend more than his. Longbottom's fight with Lestrange had not helped things in the slightest.

He could play wizarding chess against himself again for the hundredth time… or write his Transfiguration essay or something. The few who had agreed to play chess with him in Gryffindor had lost interest after losing a handful of times, and Ron had only been playing against himself for a good month now. He had tried challenging some older students, but they refused. He didn't know how but blamed Fred and George for it.

Things had gotten so dreadfully boring that he had started doing his homework on time and early. It helped that the library was one of the few places where Fred and George wouldn't dare prank him.

With a sigh, he shuffled, only for a comically loud farting sound to rip off from underneath him. A slight stench of dung filled the air, and a ripple of laughter went through the Gryffindor table.

Cursing Fred and George, Ron fled the Great Hall, feeling his ears on fire. Even in school, his bloody brothers never gave him a moment of peace. He gritted his teeth angrily before sighing in frustration; what was he supposed to do about it? Even if he went to his mother, he would be punished as well…somehow.

"Bloody hell," a groan rolled off his chest as he stopped at the entrance hall. Sighing again, Ron realised he was faced with the niches where the hourglasses were. The Gryffindor one was almost empty - two errant rubies lay lonely at the bottom, only to float up before his eyes, and the number moved to a glaring zero; it seemed like Fred and George had been caught. Neville's stunt had cost the lions greatly, and his twin brothers were of no help.

The Ravenclaw hourglass showed a nice 673 written in an elegant flourish and was almost filled to the brim with sapphires, far ahead of the Slytherins with 531 House Points. At least it looked like the Snakes wouldn't win the House Cup this year.

Truth be told, he regretted being in Gryffindor. Percy, Fred, and George had not been of any help at all! Even being in Hufflepuff would have been better; Ron had not seen any Puffs looking remotely alone. House is your family my fo–

"If it isn't a Weasley!" The familiar, conceited voice from behind had him grimacing.

Ron turned around to tell him to sod off, only to freeze for a short moment. A chortle couldn't help but escape from his mouth at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle with bright red hair and sparkling golden skin.

"It's not funny," Malfoy spat out, gilded face twisted in anger.

It took all of Ron's willpower not to roar in laughter and try to hide his chuckle with a cough. Shaking his head, he turned to the nearest staircase, only for two meaty hands to grab his shoulders and force him to turn around, only to face three golden scowls.

Ron snorted again, barely managing to suppress his laughter. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Isn't it obvious? We want some payback, and while the menaces you call brothers remain elusive, you're just too easy to find."

"But I haven't done anything!" Ron protested, his face growing hot as he clenched his teeth again. His hand nervously shuffled through his robes for his wand.

Malfoy scoffed. "Neither have we, yet you wretched blood traitors keep making trouble!" Ron's insides twisted nervously, and he tried to elbow his captors as the haughty Slytherin took out his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Goyle had groaned when Ron's elbow struck his ribs, and the Gryffindor's boy tried to twist himself out of the way, but the pale spell still struck the hem of his robes.

Ron's body went still, and he fell painfully, limbs refusing to move completely as Crabbe and a scowling Goyle approached threateningly, cracking their knuckles. As his heart was beating so hard as if it wanted to escape his ribcage, Ron cursed Fred and George inwardly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," a raspy laughter halted the three smug Slytherins. The following words were uttered with a heavy Eastern European accent, "What do we have here?"

"Mr Petrov," Draco instantly turned around and nodded respectfully, his wand disappearing in his sleeve. Never had Ron felt so relieved to see the new caretaker's craggy face. "We were just showing Weasley here how to cast the full-body bind." Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly.

"Five points from Slytherin for casting magic in the hallways," the man scoffed, leaning lazily on the wall and somehow still managing to look dangerous. His thick, meaty arms reminded Ron of bear paws. "Go and run to Slughorn, telling him what you did. Don't even think about lying, or I will find out. You don't want me to go and speak with Horace myself, do you?" Grigori Petrov's scarred face twisted into a savage smile, making Draco turn around and flee as if his arse was on fire, followed by his two minions.

A wand appeared in the caretaker's gloved hand, and with a dismissive flick, Ron could move his limbs again.

"Thanks," he said gratefully. His body was as tense as a rock as Ron rummaged through his robes for his wand and finally found it. His willow wand brought him some relief. He would still be using Charlie's old one if it wasn't for Professor Quirrell forcing Ron to reach out and Bill generously setting aside a third of his salary.

"Don't thank me for doing my job, boy," Petrov snorted, and Ron looked closer at the man, still leaning on the wall. His face looked completely bored, and he would look completely nondescript if it weren't for the scar creeping up his neck and the dangerous glint in his dark eyes. "Took a good look?"

"Sorry. It's just…"

Lazily, the caretaker placed a fa*g in his mouth with a practised motion, and with a snap of his fingers, the end was lit up, leaving Ron's jaw hanging.

"Never seen wandless magic, Weasley?" Petrov let out a puff of smoke, which turned into an eagle and flew away into the hallway.

"No," Ron admitted, finally closing his hanging mouth. "Could you teach me?"

"I'm not paid to waste my time training twerps like you." Another slow exhale shaped like a smoky knife, gracefully sailing through the air. "Go ask your Professors."

"Can't you just… you know, just tell me a trick?" The unpleasant scuffle from earlier was still fresh in his mind. With some wandless magic in his repertoire, Ron could easily deal with Draco and his bookends.

"Trick, you say?" The caretaker smiled sardonically. "There's no tricks. Just this spark took me months of practice, boy. Magic might be wonderful, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Remember that. Might want to put some muscle on you. Despite being taller than those fools who ambushed you, you're skin and bones."

Grigori Petrov languidly sauntered away, shaking his head, leaving a dazed Ron behind.

25th of November, Sunday

"Finished already?" Padma asked from her side of the table, strewn with rolls of parchment and a myriad of books on potion ingredients.

"Yep," Diana smiled as she shoved her things into her bag. "Want some help?"

The proud Indian girl said nothing but stubbornly returned to her work.

With a sigh, Diana muttered a quick featherlight charm on her school bag and returned to the Ravenclaw common room. It was afternoon already, and she had finally finished her final homework of the week - Slughorn's essay. The new Potions professor was a much better teacher than Snape, but his assignments were far more demanding. Truthfully, she never expected the ridiculous amount of study and practice magic required. While completely different from the muggle education, it wasn't that hard, only cumbersome, especially as the professors insisted she do her homework with quill and ink.

As usual, the common room was quiet, as most 'Claws were studying hard or just reading.

Seeing her friend at a lonely table near the window, Diana instantly approached him.

"So, what are you writing?" Diana asked as Harry carefully scribbled on a roll of parchment. It was rare to see him write—the teachers scarcely gave him homework, and it was advanced material. He was usually focused and busy training or wandering around the castle, and it was almost impossible to see him doing something so… mundane.

Now? Harry Potter had a small smile and almost looked like he didn't have a care in the world. Almost.

"A letter to my godfather," he said as he thoughtfully inked down his quill.

"Sirius Black?" Juno's question came as the tall girl slid over gracefully, and Diana wondered how she didn't see her when she entered.

"The very same," Harry nodded without tearing his gaze from the parchment scroll. "He's recovering in Saint Mungo's right now."

"Azkaban is a terrible place." The pureblood girl sat on the chair across them, face unreadable. Diana grimaced, remembering Juno's father and mother were serving a life sentence in the tortuous wizarding prison for killing Longbottom's parents.

"Oh," the muggle-born girl rubbed her neck bashfully. "I hope he gets well. Wait, wasn't your mom a Black, Juno?"

"She is," Juno inclined her head. "Sirius Black is her first cousin."

"I still can't believe they put someone behind bars without trial."

"Justice is rarely a matter of fairness but influence," the raven-haired girl explained with a twitch of her lips. Diana couldn't help but feel Juno looked rather vexed, but it might have been her imagination as the tall girl quickly turned impassive. "And Sirius Black was a stubborn man who burned many bridges. During the blood war, most criminals went through a quick tribunal, especially those withoutpowerfulfriends, yet my cousin did not even get to see a DMLE cell, from what I was told. The Head of DMLE reviewed his case and sent him straight to Azkaban, and nobody said anything with a street full of muggles testifying for his rampage."

"That sounds… unfair."

"The world isn't fair," Juno shrugged. "Besides, from what I've heard, the muggle world is the same. Only they hide it better." Harry nodded with a grimace from the side, confirming her words.

Diana opened her mouth to object but… quickly closed it. What did her father say again?

You can get away with nearly anything with enough money and friends at the right places.

God, all that adult stuff sounded not only dreadfully boring but irritating as hell.

"Any of you want to come visit Hagrid for tea?" Harry finished writing his letter and rolled up the parchment after the ink dried before looking at them expectantly.

"Sure," Diana instantly agreed. It was rare for the green-eyed boy to ask them to hang out together. Juno also gave a cautious nod and stood up with them. "So, any of you staying for Christmas?"

"I'm staying," the pureblood girl muttered, gaze growing distant.

"Me too," Harry said. "I don't have any places to go anyway."

"Don't you live with your… muggle relatives?" Juno looked at him with interest.

"Merlin, does everyone know that?" He groaned.

"No, the Ministry sealed any records about you, but rumours spread… Even if someone did know you lived with your relatives, they had no idea who or where they were."

Harry tiredly ran a hand through his unkempt raven locks. "Well, I don't get along very well with my aunt's family, so I decided to spend the summers in the Leaky."

"Why would you stay in an inn instead of one of your estates?" Juno raised an eyebrow.

"Wait," the boy blinked in confusion as they reached the marble steps of the grand staircase. "I have… houses?"

"Two that I know of," she confirmed.

"How would you know of his family's properties?" Diana asked.

"House Black has knowledge of everything in Wizarding Britain, and I'm the heiress."

"Everything?"

"Properties, businesses, loans, and…others."

Diana couldn't help but be impressed; it was no wonder the other kids looked at Juno with caution.

"Do you know where… my estate is?" Harry asked hoarsely as they stopped by an alcove before the Quad.

"Only that one of them is somewhere in Wales, the other abroad," Juno said. "Old Houses like the Potters keep their manors unplottable to prevent unwanted intruders." The boy nodded gratefully, face growing thoughtful. "So, will you stay for Christmas, Diana?"

"No," the girl mouthed regretfully. "I have to go back home for my exams."

"Exams?"

"Muggle school. My parents only agreed to let me attend Hogwarts if I continued my ordinary studies."

Juno looked confused, then just shrugged as they moved on. On the other hand, Harry muttered something suspiciously sounded like 'mental', and Diana couldn't help but agree. The mundane education was dreadfully boring now, especially when she could bend reality with a flick of her wand.

They went through the owlery, where the green-eyed boy tied the parchment roll to the leg of the ever-pretty Hedwig, who proudly flew off, and they finally headed to Hagrid's hut across the castle grounds.

Feeling trepidation, Juno loosened the reins of her mind. Despite Harry's muted feelings and calm face, heoverflowedwith joy and… nostalgia? As usual, Diana was just cheery, full of excitement and curiosity.

Juno grimaced inwardly while Harry went over to knock on the weathered door. Her new friend kept saying the Gamekeeper was harmless, but she knew better.

Rubeus Hagrid had beaten a mountain troll to death.

With his bare hands.If her aunt was correct, the titanic man was also bloodyspell-resistant.

Several booming barks followed by scrambling echoed from the inside, and a set of heavy footsteps followed. "Back, Fang. Back."

The door creaked open. An enormous hairy face showed in the crack. "Ah, Harry n' friends! Hang on!"

Hagrid let them in, effortlessly keeping the collar of the enormous black boarhound.

The cabin only had a single room, with hams and pheasants hanging from the rafters above. A bronze kettle was boiling over the roaring hearth, and a patchwork quilt covered the massive bed in the corner.

"Make yerselves at home." The enormous man let go of Fang, who bounded straight over to Diana and started licking her hand. Despite his size, it seemed like the dog was harmless, as the muggle-born girl giggled while scratching Fang behind the ears. "I thought yeh wouldn't visit old me."

"I was just busy," Harry coughed, face ashamed.

"Ah, yer a hard worker, just like yer mum," Hagrid beamed happily. "An' who might these lasses be? Yer friends, are they?" His emotions were also so hard to… read. They were different from the muted feeling produced by shielding your mind.

Seeing someone so openly expressive but unable to feel his emotions unsettled Juno greatly.

"Oh, these are Diana and Juno from Ravenclaw."

"Ah," the enormous Gamekeeper looked at her, blinking, and it took all of her self-control not to shake like a leaf. "I knew yer mum back in the day."

"My… mother?" Juno tasted the unfamiliar word. It felt like ash on her tongue.

"Aye," Hagrid grimaced. "Wild n' proud piece o' work. Had half the boys her year 'round her lil' finger. Want some rock cakes?"

The man offered a wooden platter with some formless lumps covered with raisins, just as hard as their name. Harry shook his head to indicate that there was no need to try and digest the rocks. Fang rested his head on his knee, covering his robes with drool. The boy didn't seem to mind and instead looked fondly at the lazy boarhound.

Hagrid asked about school, and Diana enthusiastically explained, with Harry chiming in from time to time. The boy fondly looked on, idly running his hand through the boarhound's head.

Yet it was not all so bad–the offered mint tea was far better than expected, and Juno enjoyed its refreshing warmth, helping her finally calm down. Gaze roaming idly around the plain hut, she blinked when a scrawny old cat prowled through the wooden floor and began to play with the hem of her robe.

"Ah, this is Mrs Norris," Hagrid said sombrely. "I been takin' care o' her since Filch passed away. Seem she's takin' a likin' to ya." Fang decided to stand up and idly made way for the feline, who quickly hissed and leapt up in Juno's lap. "They still don't get on well."

"I could take care of her?" Juno was surprised at the words that came out of her mouth.

"Ah, if yer want-" Hagrid eagerly went on, prattling about how to take care of the cat. Suddenly, the gigantic man was not half as scary anymore. It was like peeking through a thick curtain, but Juno could finally glimpse his emotions.

Juno realised that the Gamekeeper was as genial as Harry had claimed as her fingers ran through the grey fur of the purring Mrs Norris.

The usually quiet green-eyed boy was a surprisingly good judge of character, and she couldn't help but be glad to have befriended him. It did help that Harry was easy to get along with, if a bit stubborn and sometimes elusive.

Having such an acquaintance like Hagrid would prove invaluable down the line.

Juno absolutely wasn't going to visit again just to get another serving of the delectable honey mint lemon tea. Not at all.

Finding himself a deputy proved challenging. Vector and Sinistra were not keen on the position, and neither felt ready to undertake such a hefty burden. And while this was understandable to a degree, it left him cornered, especially with the Sirius Black scandal.

Such a great miscarriage of justice left a sour feeling on Dumbledore's tongue, but there wasn't much he could have done. After all, he had considered Sirius to have dipped into the infamous Black madness and had given testimony of him becoming the Potter's secret keeper. Merlin, Lily's ruse had worked out far better than she could have expected, and not in a good way. Nobody innocent deserved to be shoved into Azkaban for a decade.

Worse, Dumbledore had been one of the many who thought Sirius guilty.

The blood war had been a dark, tiring time, and by the time Voldemort was vanquished, people just wanted everything to be over.

Yet the new problems did not end there. Animagi had been hiding under his nose inhisschool!

For good or for bad, Felix Fawley had decided to exclude that part from the official trial lest the Weasleys be unfairly implicated.

The whole thing had blown up spectacularly, and the newly elected minister scrambled around to keep his name pristine. Barty Crouch took the initiative, resigned from his post, and offered overly generous recompense to Sirius for the miscarriage of justice. Now that the can of worms was open, there was pressure from the Wizengamot, and many of his war tribunal cases were being reviewed.

Millicent Bagnold had also come under scrutiny, but the former Minister of Magic had already retired to New Zealand and cared little for the commotion from the Wizengamot.

Peter Pettigrew himself was another problem - there was no cell good enough to keep a rat animagus safely contained in Azkaban.

The Unspeakables were still struggling to create a runic schematic to prevent shapeshifting. That was not exactly the problem; a runic array had been made, but the Dementor's presence eroded the effects within days.

While Fawley had spared Hogwarts scrutiny with his actions, Albus was busy over the school again. Shoring up Hogwarts defences to detect animagi had proven far more demanding than expected, and updating the old enchantments to keep everything working had proven delicate yet cumbersome.

Of course, he had succeeded; it would not do for Merlin knows what wizards to sneak into his school with none the wiser!

Alas, the day Minerva would resign from her position as deputy fast approached, and Dumbledore's hand was forced.

"Must you truly resign, Dumbledore?" Margot Fontaine, the French mugwump and the Head of the International Proceedings, asked with a scrunched face.

"Alas, I am not getting any younger, I'm afraid," he sighed. "My full attention is required in Hogwarts, and the ICW functioned well enough even before I came around. I have notified my Ministry of Magic, and a new British Mugwump shall be elected soon enough."

"Is there nothing we can do to change your mind?"

"I have already thought this over, Marge. You all honoured me greatly with the position, but the ICW deserves a Supreme Mugwump who can devote all his attention to the work."

"Very well," the grey-haired French witch nodded reluctantly. "Your presence here will be missed."

Dumbledore went through the ICW headquarters for three hours, giving farewells to all the familiar faces and dealing with the formal resignation process. The sky had gone dark by the time Albus left the resplendent marble building and, with nary a sound, apparated from the Mediterranean to Hogwarts grounds.

The familiar sight of the castle brought him a tinge of relief. His old, weary shoulders suddenly felt lighter, as if a burden he didn't even know existed had been lifted, and the Death Stick's whispers grew fainter.

27th of November, Tuesday

"You called for me, Director Fawley?" Amelia stood rigidly in the DMLE head office. The Pettigrew fiasco had sent the whole department scuttling, and almost all were so tired they could keel over at any moment from working overtime. Even pepper-up potions were no help anymore.

It had been a good sixty hours since she had last seen her pillow, and even standing had become difficult. Bloody hell, Amelia didn't even remember the last time she had eaten, and now they were calling her for more work?!

"Indeed," Fawley's face twisted with distaste. The bags under his bag were deep, ugly purple, and his usually well-combed dark hair was half a mess. "You're being suspended… indefinitely until all of your cases have been reviewed."

Her insides twisted into a cold knot. "But-"

"I know it's unfair, Amelia." His tired grey eyes softened. "You did things by the book with Black's arrest back in the day, but Fudge wants scapegoats to shift the blame. People still have not forgotten he was first on the scene. The Wizengamot is now looking through everything with a lens, so it can't be helped. You can finally take a vacation, too—your pay won't be docked during the suspension."

Amelia blinked as the words sunk in her sluggish mind.

"I gaveeverythingto the DMLE!"

"Let it go, Bones." Fawley shook his head. "There's life outside Magical Law Enforcement. Go out, have some fun."

Her weary, sluggish mind halted as the words sank in. Then, the rage set in.

Have some fun?

Have some fun?!

She did not join the bloody MLE to have bloody fun! And now, they wanted to use her as a scapegoat, throwing the responsibility of problems big and small onto her back while she was indefinitely out of work and unable to defend herself.

Amelia Bones had more pride and self-respect than this. She took a deep breath and tried to focus and push down the surging fury.

"I resign," the words came out hoarse from her mouth. Cursing her stiff fingers, she latched off her Head Auror badge and slapped it on the table.

"Now, now, don't be hasty. Give it a few months, and this storm will blow over, forgotten. Even your paperwork is pristine!"

"And be demoted two ranks anyway or transferred to thedead-enddepartments and used as a scapegoat for the smallest problem in the DMLE? I'veseenit before, and I know the likes of Fudge. Twenty-eight years, Felix!" Amelia hissed, barely suppressing her surging fury. "Twenty-eight years of relentless service, trying to bring law, peace, and order to Wizarding Britain, risking my life fighting all sorts of hags, crooks, dark wizards, werewolves, and even giants! All of this wasted for some bumbling buffoon of a Minister!? I have more self-respect than just to take it lying down."

Turning around, Amelia decisively stormed out of the office. After joining the Auror Academy the same day her NEWTS were out, she poured her mind, heart, and soul into the DMLE.

Yet… Amelia was tired.

She was tired of stupid red tape, tired of greedy fools who used the law as a loose guideline only when it suited them, and most importantly, she was bone-tired and hated being pushed around. By the time she got to the atrium, Amelia's feet were so numb with exhaustion she could barely stand, yet she angrily grabbed a handful of floo powder and forced her weary body into the fireplace.

Amelia's sluggish mind idly wondered what she would do now, but the sight of her living room dismissed that errant thought. Barely dragging her feet, she managed to crash on the couch.

Chapter 20: Requiem for a Dream

Chapter Text

30th of November, Sunday

"Most impressive, Amy," Alfred huffed, though his voice had a tinge of concern. "Three days of sleep." Her brother showed up in her humble house soon after she awoke.

"Could use one more," Amelia admitted as she sipped from her steaming-hot mug of coffee.

"I thought… you'd be more upset." They were not sitting in the kitchen, sharing a spread of breakfast prepared by the old Mimsy.

"Oh, believe me, I'm plenty upset. But it's just that the sleep was so good, and there's this feeling of… peace." She didn't have to wake up an hour before the crack of dawn every day anymore, and there were no urgent meetings, investigations, or organisations that could pop out at any moment requiring her attention.

Yet, there was also this niggling feeling of emptiness. It felt so odd… not to do anything or be pressed for time.

Why did rest and sleep feel so weird?

"I'm glad." Her brother smiled with amusem*nt before returning his attention to the bacon and eggs. "I can't recall seeing you so tranquil ever before. What now, though?"

Amelia stared at her coffee and sighed. "I don't know." She had tried her hardest not to think of what came after. Pride, rage, fury, and exhaustion had tangled into a searing knot that day, yet now, she had to deal with the aftermath. Worse, she had no idea what to do.

"I suppose you aren't particularly interested in another ministry job? Or perhaps the ICW?"

"I'd rather curse those gormless arse-lickers than work there ever again," she snorted, making her brother almost choke on his bacon. "Besides, ICW is even worse than our ministry. The last time they got something done was against Grindelwald, and even that was poorly wrapped up."

"That is true. Perhaps you can retire-you already have a share of the family business, and I don't think you've ever spent your salary on anything other than buying gifts."

"Perhaps." Her brother was right, of course. Admitting her social life had died in the Auror academy would bode poorly. Instead, Amelia took another sip of coffee.

Amelia could spend the rest of her life indulging in luxury and extravagance; her sizeable savings and her parents' inheritance ensured that. Joining the DMLE had been her dream, as justice was an important ideal to strive towards.

Alas, the reality was disappointing, and she had little to show after three decades. Most of the so-called dark wizards were the same respectable members of society or their proxies, and bringing them to justice was an uphill battle. Worse, favours or intervention from people like the minister or Dumbledore could void all your effort, as the Snape fiasco had proven.

Now? Now Amelia knew better. Justice was just a lie - it was all about influence and power. It rankled her to admit it, but one look at the muggle world told a similar story. The rich and influential could easily pay the hefty fines for a felony and hire the best lawyers to keep them out of jail. Or so it seemed when she had last taken a look at things.

At least the pay raked up, especially since she started getting promoted. Almost all of it was just being added to her vaults. Now, Amelia had the goldandthe time to spend it.

Yet she never felt more lost.

"Why not travel some then?" Her brother's voice broke her musings. "A sabbatical around the world would do you some good, methinks."

Amelia opened her mouth to shoot the idea down by habit, but no words came out. Sabbatical… didn't sound so bad. Africa, Asia, and the Americas had plenty of interesting magics and places to offer, and she did need a break from Wizarding Britain.

"You know what? I think I might just go."

To her amusem*nt, Alfred was completely stunned by her easy acceptance, a piece of bacon hanging from his gaping mouth.

16th December, Monday

Harry was getting swifter and his aim even more precise. While at the start, two or three of every ten spells would miss her without having to dodge, now it was scarcely one, and not always. It forced Juno to be quick on her feet.

By now, Harry had managed to master almost all of his current repertoire silently, which meant that his only bottleneck to speed was his wandwork; for every spell Juno cast, Harry did two. Her incantations and wand movements grew swifter but not good enough to catch up to the Boy Who Lived.

It was a painful demonstration of why chantless casting was something any self-respecting witch had to learn. Still, the difference in capability did not deter her but only made Juno try harder. It was good dodging practice, too.

She jerked out of the way of a red spell suspiciously looking like the disarming charm and flung a dancing feet jinx at Harry. He sidestepped it with ease and retaliated with another spell.

The back and forth was like a dance but far more dangerous and exciting.

It was hard to avoid the whole barrage erupting from Harry's wand, but Juno did not need to. She decided to dodge all but the stinging hexes and threw a Glacius under his feet mid-combination, and before he could dispel it, she managed to fling a Tarantallegra.

The combination had Harry slip on the icy floor, and Juno followed up with an Expelliarmus. But just before he got hit, a pale jet of light shot out of his wand, and she was too slow to dodge.

Half a heartbeat later, Juno felt her limbs stiffen and snap together, and she almost saw stars after slamming face-first on the floor. Thankfully, the whole room was enchanted with the softening charm, making the fall only uncomfortable, as if she had collapsed on a soft bed.

The bell rang next, signifying the end of the lesson.

"There will be no homework for the winter holidays," Quirrell announced, eliciting a deafening cheer from the students. "But don't forget the mid-year exams."

The excitement was replaced with 'aahs' and 'oohs'.

Suddenly, Juno could move her limbs again and turned around, only to face Harry above her, reaching out with a hand.

"You almost got me," Harry admitted, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. With some effort, Juno managed to tune out the clutter surrounding her, clear her mind from the disappointment, and focus on his veiled feelings—it was an odd mixture of surprise, determination… and awe, for some reason.

A moment later, the veritable sea of surrounding emotions slammed into her senses, and Juno quickly jammed her mind shut lest she get overwhelmed.

"Almost doesn't count. Thanks," Juno muttered, grudgingly accepting the offered hand. The boy pulled her up effortlessly with an almost surprising strength for his short stature. Even his palm was rather calloused for some reason. Harry nodded absentmindedly, but she didn't let up her grip on his hand and leaned in. "Wait for me after class."

That earned her a confused nod.

"An interesting tactic, Miss Lestrange," Quirrell's voice came from behind. "A smart use of taking a calculated risk to secure an advantage, have ten points for Ravenclaw. Although Mr Potter technically won, as you saw."

Indeed, while Harry had been disarmed, she could do nothing in a full-body bind. Instead, her friend managed to get up from the iced floor and pick up his wand again.

With a nod, the DADA Professor wished them all happy holidays and disappeared again into the door behind the teacher's podium as the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws streamed out of the room. It was the last lesson of the day, and there were nearly three hours free before dinner. To Juno's greatest amusem*nt, Longbottom hurried out of the room without looking at her, probably in a rush for his detention.

She almost felt pity for the boy. Almost.

Only Juno couldn't help but wonder if there was a point about Quirrell's obvious favouritism. She had checked that he wasn't in any way related to House Black, be it in connections, obligations, or blood. One had to be blind not to notice the amount of points he handed her for the smallest of things. That accounted for almost a quarter of the total Ravenclaw points, and the DADA professor was completely nonchalant about it as if it was the most natural thing ever.

It made her wary, especially with the competence, power, and control Quirrell displayed. Lord Black had taught her that such favours never came for free; there was always a repayment later. Still, school points were useless by themselves, so it didn't matter.

"God," Diana came over with a groan. "Lavender talked my ear off half the lesson, speculating if Quirrell will break up with Trelawny before the end of the school year."

"Impressive," Padma deadpanned beside her, but her face quickly twisted into a pained grimace. "I had the pleasure of fighting against Granger, who seemed dead set on winning no matter what. I think I might go to the hospital wing. Her stinging hex has gotten nasty, and she struck me dozens of times."

Morag shook her head. "She's trying too hard. Weasley and Longbottom are better than her with a wand from Gryffindor, and their duels are far more interesting."

"That is true," the short muggle-born girl agreed. "Whenever I go to the library, I find Granger there, reading or studying. If it weren't for Madam Pince, I'd say Granger even sleeps there."

"She should study less and practice more," Juno scoffed. "Memorising textbooks and a few compendiums can only get you so far."

Truth be told, she disliked the Gryffindor muggle-born girl. Granger's face was mostly impassive, but her feelings were like an open book. Juno could sense the heavy dislike and the glares sent her way while she wasn't looking. As far as she could tell, it wasn't personal, which only made the matter worse.

Granger had a problem of some sort, but at least she wasn't challenging her to duels like Longbottom. Not that such a trick would work again; Juno's stamina had drastically improved in the two months since she started jogging, and even her focus and control had been refined, if slightly. The only one their year who could fight her was Harry.

"Anyway, do you guys want to hang out?" Padma asked, breaking the silence. "I heard Diggory and Slynt are organising a friendly Quidditch match for anyone who wants to join this afternoon."

Diana and Macdougal were quick to agree.

"We'll join you in a bit," Juno said, taking her bag from the desk. She threw a meaningful glance at Harry, who subtly nodded, brows furrowed.

"Alright then." Diana did not look very convinced, but she dragged Padma and Morag out of the classroom after a suspicious glance at the two of them.

"So, you wanted to speak with me?" Harry shuffled uneasily. His right hand twitched, and she noticed he was ready to draw his wand in a heartbeat.

"Yes." She walked over as the boy tensed, watching her warily. With a snort, she poked his left shoulder, eliciting a pained yelp as Harry jumped.

This was the same shoulder Juno had struck twice with a stinging hex, and he had fallen on in the end.

"What was that for?"

Juno gritted her teeth. "Because you're holding back." Rolling up her sleeve, she revealed her porcelain skin. A few small reddening spots were marring it where his jinx had landed. "It's insulting."

"I don't like hurting my friends." Harry scowled at her, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "And I'm trying to control my magic better."

Taking a deep breath, Juno tried to calm herself. He was painfully honest as usual, and even his mental shields had gone down, the air practically overflowing with his confusion, embarrassment, stubbornness and a tinge of… guilt. Was he still feeling guilty over that fight with Longbottom, or was it something else?

"You're doing yourself and me a great disservice with it," she muttered. "Enemies won't hold back on me, and a full-powered stinging hex could interrupt a spell chant when you strike. Yet when you hold back, I can just ignore them in favour of retaliating. Do you think I no longer deserve your full effort in duelling?"

"What? Fighting with you is great!" Harry took a few steps back, raising his hands defensively.

"Well then, don't hold back. Not with me," Juno hissed. "I'm not some weakling to be pampered, and the harder you fight, the faster I can improve."

A sigh rolled off the Boy Who Lived, and he skittishly ran a hand through his messy raven hair. A moment later, his jaw hardened, and his mind turned into a still pool of water.

"Fine."

"Episkey!" Juno softly tapped his left shoulder. Healing spells were not her forte, but this one would at least lessen the bruising and pain. Thankfully, Harry recognised the peace offering for what it was and nodded gratefully. "Now, let's go find the others."

25th of December, Wednesday

Harry awoke to a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. Hagrid had once again given him a roughly cut wooden whistle wrapped in brown paper and an album with photos from his parents. The usual Weasley jumpers and magical sweets from Hermione were missing, but in their place was a large box of premium Swiss chocolate packed in a colourful muggle wrap from Diana and a large roll bundled all in silk.

He cautiously removed the binding, only to be faced with a large tapestry of the Potter family tree.

It had to be unfurled to show everything, and it easily took half the wall of his room; the borders were lined with intricate twirls of gold, which looked quite good on the black background.

It started with Linfred of Stinchombe, who died in 1189, and it listed all the Potters and their spouses, including a myriad of names, all written in a beautiful silvery script. Peverell, Sayre, Malfoy, Black, Carrows, Abbott, Longbottomn, Slate, and many more. Some names even looked foreign. It was no wonder Sirius had said wizards were all cousins who had intermarried at some point.

He ran his hand through the fabric; it was soft, smooth and pleasant.

It is charmed indestructible and will self-update once you press your magic into the tapestry. You can add pictures and portraits of your ancestors if you have any.

Happy Yule, Juno

Harry felt somewhat numb. The tall girl had supplied him with more knowledge of his family and its history in scarcely two moons than anyone else in his previous life. The gift looked expensive and well-thought-out. In comparison, he felt the leather-bound notebook with the stylish fountain pen he had sent was lacking.

Even the Black Family Tree in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place could scarcely compare to this.

Harry's gaze focused on the two remaining packages. One, elongated in a familiar way, could only be a broom, and unwrapping it revealed a sleek Nimbus 2001 from Sirius and a promise to meet soon. He had no idea when that 'soon' would be, as he was still stuck in Saint Mungos. But it was clear that his godfather had changed little, and Harry appreciated the gesture - the broom was not yet publicly available for buying, yet Sirius had managed to find him one somehow.

On one side of the polished mahogany handle, in golden script, was writtenNimbus 2001, and on the other,Harry J. Potter.

Yet the time when Quidditch made his blood run hot had passed, and the broom was carefully placed on the wall as Harry turned to his last gift. The other package was tiny and unassuming. The silky, silvery fabric of the invisibility cloak spilt from the wrap like a waterfall, bringing a smile to his face.

With the Cloak and the Marauder's Map in hand, Hogwarts was his oyster, and he could easily move around where he wished with none the wiser.

Carefully folding the cloak and putting it in an inner pocket of his robes along with the map, Harry pulled on thick clothes for the snowy weather and made his way to the common room.

The fireplace roared with a ruddy fire, banishing the cold, but the enormous circular room was far emptier than usual. Less than a dozen students from each house remained for Christmas, Ravenclaw having the fewest. Even nearly half of the teachers had gone home for the holidays, leaving the staff table feeling empty.

Juno was predictably waiting for him, sitting by the hearth, garbed in her running quidditch robes with stylish dragonhide boots to ward off the cold and wetness from the snow. None had said anything about stopping their runs, even after snow had fallen last week. It only made things more challenging and more fun. While Diana was gone back home for the holidays, Juno, Flora, and Hestia had remained, neither seeming particularly eager to return to their guardians.

"Happy Yuletide." She looked at him calmly, with eyes that looked like two sapphires. Mrs Norris, looking better than usual, lazily sat in her lap.

Right… she didn't celebrate the muggle Christmas. Yuletide was similar enough, only older and had a slightly different tradition. To him, it seemed like the same thing, only renamed.

"Happy Yule. And thanks for the gift. I love it," Harry admitted, his words sounding too weak to describe his gratitude.

"It's a celebration of kinship and family," Juno simply said, a slight twitch in her lips. It did not escape Harry's attention that she preferred to be here rather than go home to her family. "Let's go. Flora and Hestia are probably waiting for us."

Half a dozen of them had all gathered outside in the snow-covered Quidditch pitch. A few older students were gliding across the frozen surface of the Black Lake with some muggle contraptions on their feet. It was an odd version of boots with sleek, slightly curved blades of steel attached to the bottom, allowing them to move with surprising grace and swiftness over the ice.

Ice skating, someone had called it, and Juno was tempted to try it out later. With a shake of her head, she returned her attention to her friend soaring through the skies.

"He's a madman," Hestia Carrow said, voice heavy with awe. The Slytherin twins were all wrapped in thick, fur-lined dark robes, and most of their faces were hidden behind two thick cashmere shawls of green and silver.

Juno could only agree as she watched with trepidation as Harry dove straight into the ground at breakneck speed, only to pull up just before crashing. The stunt sent a heavy gust of snow at the spectators, but Flitwick deflected it with a flick of his wand.

He did two more spins around the stadium, weaving around the goalposts effortlessly, and Juno had to admit Harry could fly. She had been to a few official Quidditch games, and while the sport did not interest her, her new friend flew no worse than many of the players she had seen.

Finally, Harry landed softly just before Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch.

"I see no problem. The boy aced his flying lessons with ease months ago," the hawk-like referee said gruffly. "Although he's almost as reckless as his father atop the broom."

"Well then, Mr Potter, you have my permission to keep your broom, now that we know you won't break your neck," the Charms Master clapped cheerfully before shaking his head. "It seems that your Godfather's penchant for mayhem has not dampened with time. Only Sirius probably meant for you to hide the broom from the staff, not ask permission."

Harry bashfully rubbed the back of his head while the teachers made their way back to the castle, chatting animatedly.

Charles Slynt, the sixth-year Ravenclaw Quidditch captain and Keeper, walked over, looking at Harry as if he were made of gold.

"I still can't believe Black managed to get you an unreleased broom model. Merlin, you should have applied at the tryouts, Potter. With you being a seeker instead of Chang, the cup would be ours. A natural if I have ever seen one!"

"Eh," Harry scratched his head while a flush crept up his neck. "Flying is nice, but er… I don't have time time for Quidditch." The words earned him a relieved sigh from Flora and Hestia. Those two were far too interested in that silly sport.

"You can have plenty of time-"

"Wait up, Slynt," the Weasley twins, watching from the side with their two brothers, approached with faces filled with mock outrage. "You can't just coerce the poor firstie into slaving for you!"

"Terrible man, exploiting his juniors," the other twin nodded, face deadly serious.

"You're the ones to speak with Wood-"

Juno tuned out as the Quidditch nuts started bickering with each other, but thankfully with Percy Weasley's stern presence, the two buffoons didn't try anything but jest and provoke. Their emotions said a similar story; mischief and amusem*nt were mixed with a healthy dose of caution, though she noticed the youngest Weasley staying some distance from his brothers.

Meanwhile, Harry coughed and subtly made his way to the three of them.

"Any of you want to try it out?"

Hestia and Flora's mismatched eyes lit up like lanterns, but Juno quickly shook her head and stepped back.

To everyone's surprise, Harry generously let everyone here take a spin with the broom, even the Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff boy from the fourth year. However, everything devolved into a snowball fight when the Weasley twins started pelting everyone, their brothers included.

Duelling with Harry and running out in the snow in the morning had proven quite effective in dodging, and by the end, Juno had far less snow in her robes and hair than most of the others. It was such a carefree endeavour, and she outright burst out in laughter when Percy Weasley's vain attempts to halt the fight only made everyone start aiming at him.

Juno couldn't remember the last time she had such fun when all the worries disappeared. Alas, like all good things, this also ended as the sun hid behind the horizon, and the air quickly turned painfully chilly.

The Yule dinner was no less merry, although half of the professors were with flushed faces, sipping on wine and other spirits.

Dumbledore was chatting animatedly with Flitwick; Hagrid and Petrov were competing to see who could drink more. Trelawney looked quite sad, possibly because Quirrell was not here; the rumour was he was visiting his grandmother. All the students and staff were sitting at the same table, and Juno was seated next to Harry, facing Hestia and Flora, who chatted enthusiastically about Quidditch. Even eating her turkey in silence felt more pleasant than usual.

When the feast ended, Juno felt empty. It wasn't anger, fury, hatred, or fear, but just emptiness, as if all the feelings had drained from her once her friends had gone to sleep. Her mood turned sour, and instead of sleeping, she aimlessly wandered around the hallways and empty, unused classrooms as her mind drifted.

This had been the best Yule that Juno had.

So why? Why did she feel so empty afterwards?

The feast wasn't anything special but it left Juno longing for more. Why?

Juno had eaten better meals in far more polite company and grander settings.

Juno had been to far more reputable events of far more importance.

Juno had received better gifts than Harry's notebook and fountain pen. Even Diana's cat toy and handcrafted muggle flute were not particularly special.

But they made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was similar to the high of success, but not quite.

It took her quite a while, but the realisation sank in. It was that feeling of warm cosiness, of easy laughter. There were no lessons, no favours, no scheming, no secret goals to be fulfilled, just a group of boys and girls having fun. It was the feeling of genuine honesty, of friendship.

For some reason, it only made Juno angrier. Too angry to go and sleep. She knew how to deal with such feelings. Yet she did not want to. She did not want to turn to Occlumency and let go of the anger.

It would mean the day was over, and her newfound happiness was gone.

Yet it was dark outside, and Juno stubbornly refused to turn to the Ravenclaw tower and go to sleep. So, she aimlessly kept wandering through the classrooms, looking for something.

Most were dusty and messy, with the desks and chairs strewn around the rooms randomly.

Juno lost track of time as her mind grew pleasantly numb until something finally caught her attention on the second floor. The room she had just entered was swept clean; all the furniture piled up haphazardly near the walls to make space for a magnificent mirror as tall as the ceiling.

Bound by an ornate golden frame and standing on two clawed feet, it seemed like something her grandfather would buy, along with the weird inscription carved at the top.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Unable to suppress her curiosity, Juno slowly approached the mirror before stopping right before it.

The crowd of people behind her made Juno spin. Her wand was drawn and ready to fling spells behind her, but the classroom was empty.

There was nobody behind her.

Juno slowly turned around to inspect the reflection as her trepidation rose. A dozen figures were behind her and smiling, but a second glance over Juno's shoulder confirmed they did not exist.

She was older and more beautiful, garbed in ornate robes, her eyes glowing with power. A shadowy figure of a young man was by her side, smiling.

Behind her stood her parents, pride blooming on their smiling faces. Lord Black and grandaunt Cassiopeia were also there, and her grandmother Druella, who, instead of having dull, drunken eyes, looked full of energy, happy, and smiling, along with the rest of the family.

They all looked joyful. Under Juno's dragonhide boots, a dark shade with glowy red eyes lay dead.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

Juno Bellatrix Lestrange took a step back, scowling fiercely. This genuine, heartfelt happiness was impossible. She had gotten a taste of it tonight, and this felt even more hollow.

The mirror had to be cursed, for her parents had chosen their devotion to a dead man and a foolish cause over their daughter and were rotting in Azkaban.

The Blacks were incapable of smiling with such unbridled, pure joy, let alone gathering in such numbers without quarrelling. Juno had never seen Arcturus Black smile even once. Her grandfather, Cygnus Black, and the rest of the Lestranges had been long dead.

After taking a deep, shuddering breath to control herself, Juno's eyes settled on the inscription above again, not daring to look at the crystal surface again.Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

She stared at it pettily for what felt like forever, trying to decipher the writing. A scoff rolled from her throat when she finally read it backwards.

I show not your face but your heart's desire.

"What a load of bollocks," Juno cursed. Killing Voldemort had been a childish dream of hers. But a dead man could not die twice, and she did not even want to see her parents ever again.

Theydeservedto rot in Azkaban for abandoning their daughter. And for what? For some stupid lunacy.

What good was blood purity when you killed so many purebloods? Her grandfather had shown her the numbers after the war - by the end, over seven times more purebloods had died than muggle-born.

Swallowing her fury, Juno stormed out of the room and returned to the Ravenclaw Tower.

26th of December, Thursday

When she awoke, Juno's feet led her before the mirror again.

She hated her parents, but there was something almost soothing in seeing them healthy, proud, and happy together with her. Her family was here; they were nice, happy and friendly like never before. An impossible dream come true. Juno couldn't help but look at it more and more, no matter how hollow it felt.

"Here you are," a voice turned her insides to ice. She spun around, only to face Harry beside her, green eyes filled with concern. "I got worried after you didn't show up for the morning run."

"I…" Her throat was dry, and for the first time, no words left her mouth. Juno had nothing to say for herself; she had never missed the morning runs before, no matter how tired. Yet now, it had been just pushed to the wayside of her mind.

"A cursed mirror," Harry said understandingly, frowning fiercely at the ornate golden frame. "They can enchant even the wisest of wizards and witches."

Juno shook herself, trying to clear her mind. It took even more effort than usual as if her thoughts had all turned into a sludge, something sinister seeping into her mind without her notice. It felt like forever, but she finally gathered herself while Harry waited patiently.

"What do you see?" She challenged, not daring to look at the reflection anymore.

Slowly, he stepped right before the cursed mirror with a hint of reluctance and sighed.

"My parents are alive." His voice was hoarse and sorrowful. "My grandparents, too, and we're all standing with me and my godfather. I am older, with a family of my own."

"A wife?" Juno asked, perking up. "Who's she?"

"Dunno, it's just a vague womanly shape beside me, holding a baby," his voice turned ponderous. "There's also Voldemort dead at my feet."

"The Dark Lord is vanquished," she noted. "So that part is true."

"Vanquished does not mean dead," Harry said ominously, sending chills down her spine before coughing. "Forget it. What do you see?"

A pair of two soft emeralds gazed earnestly at her. Juno could just remain silent, but she had already asked and received an honest response.

"I am jealous," she confessed sadly, not bothering to control her emotions anymore. "Your parents are great. To the death, they fought for you. Mine? Mine chose to devote themselves to a dead fool than take care of their daughter."

"What… do you mean?"

"Bellatrix and Rudolphos Lestrange could have avoided Azkaban, you know? They could have raised me, but no! Even cruel beasts take care of their young. Yet, mine didn't evenhesitate-" A flood of long-suppressed grievances erupted from her tongue as Juno cursed her family, her parents, the Dark Lord, and everyone and everything that had wronged her, and all the ways the reflection had infuriated her.

Harry listened with rapt attention, and before Juno knew it, she was sitting on one of the desks. Her friend was consolingly patting her on the shoulder and nodding in all the right places, the cursed mirror forgotten.

By the time she finished, Juno had to wipe the angry tears from her eyes more than once.

She felt light, so incredibly lighter than before, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulder. Then, the mortification set in, and her whole face flushed, probably making her look like a tomato. Juno had laid herself bare in a way she never did before, making her feel vulnerable.

Yet Harry was nothing but understanding in all the right ways, not a single shred of judgement in his emerald eyes. His feelings told the same story as always, if a bit muted.

"Let's take a walk and at least find Flora and Hestia," he proposed kindly. "They are probably wondering why we bailed on them. There's breakfast in half an hour, too."

A tinge of guilt made her insides twitch, but her friend was right as usual. With some struggle, Juno cleared her mind again; it would not do for anyone else to see her like a sobbing wreck.

"Sure, let's go. Hey…" Juno paused as they entered the hallway. "How did you find me so quickly?"

He shrugged, but an amused smile found its way to his face. "I have my ways."

Juno huffed but let the unsaid challenge go; it didn't matter in the end; she would find out sooner or later, or Harry would simply tell her. So this was what having real friends felt like?

Aunt Cass had described it before, having bonds that could grow stronger than steel without any favours or blood involved, but Juno couldn't understand it before.

Now, though, the Black heiress could finally understand it, and Juno couldn't help but feel glad for approaching Harry that fateful morning after leaving the hospital wing.

24th of December, Tuesday

The ministry had grown sloppy.

Midnight was approaching. There had been no defence but a middling locking charm, a small alarm, and a muggle-repelling charm in the muggle entrance, both easily bypassed. Sure, the building had been completely closed off for the holidays with the portkeys, apparition, and floo-travel disabled, but this was far easier than he expected. The atrium was empty, and he glided unimpeded through the polished, dark wooden floor.

The security desk at the bottom was also empty, and nobody impeded his entrance through the golden gates leading to the lift.

"Level Nine - Department of Mysteries," the cold feminine voice echoed as soon as the lift halted and its doors slid open.

The hallway before him was completely bare and unassuming, lacking windows and only illuminated by enchanted torches. Ignoring the powerful urge to turn around and go somewhere else took some effort.

"What a strong repelling charm," he muttered.

He disregarded the staircase to the left leading to the courtrooms on level ten, gazed at the plain black door before him, and spread his senses to the absolute limit.

With a twirl of his wand, he poked at the intricate alarm and locking enchantments woven into the door, creating a small gap that would right itself within an hour. With an amused smile, he walked forward, the door swinging open as he approached.

A dark circular room followed, walls littered with identical handle-less doors at equal intervals, with ominous dead man candles flickering in between. The blue flames let off an almost invisible smoke, rendering one's mind more pliable.

A slew of dark whispers appeared at the edge of his consciousness, making him freeze. It was so subtle yet insidious, butsomethingstarted nibbling persistently at the edge of his mind. With a sharp breath, he walled the outer edges into a solid, silvery mirror, letting the malignant touch slide off like water over stone.

The whole chamber was inert, and even his magic felt sluggish here. If nothing else, it showed the Unspeakables were capable of interesting enchantments if only they did not pour their efforts into useless mystique.

With a scoff, he headed for one of the doors before the entrance could close, and the circular room started spinning.

A push and he stepped into complete darkness. His feet instantly separated from the floor as his body floated up, and the door behind him slammed closed.

With a flick of his wand, a ghostly lantern appeared above him, banishing the surrounding darkness with an eerie red glow. Everything was misty here, and man-sized dark planets drifted ominously into space, drinking in every scrap of light.

Once again, he had to suppress his interest and sailed through the air, looking for an opening in the polished walls. It must have been a couple hundred yards when he finally chanced on a small arch at the side.

It swung open, and Quirrell found himself in a dimly lit large rectangular chamber reminiscent of a Roman theatre. The soft nibbling at his mind grew far more vicious and persisting, and he could hear the voices that were not there. Even his senses were completely muddled here, and there was a sense of unease.

His gaze shot down, seeing the ominous crumbling arch on the stage, and the whispers grewrabid, even when he completely emptied his mind.

The Veil of Death.

Of course. With a decisive spin, he turned around and reached the door amidst the climbing stone benches. He found himself in the circular room, which spun as soon as his door closed behind him.

It took him another half an hour of wandering through the accursed place before he finally found himself in the Hall of Prophecies.

An enormous, cold chamber filled with towering rafters and dusty shelves heavy with prophecy orbs was again only illuminated by the tricky blue-flame candles from before. Most held a bright, misty flicker that swirled within, but some were dull and lifeless.

Quirrell approached carefully, inspecting the nearest glass orb, trying to force his mind and senses to focus through the quagmire produced by the candle smoke. The wand in his hand helped, if slightly. Ah, if only subterfuge was not required. Alas, he had to leave no imprint of his presence here.

The orb itself was cursed, so verycursed, and it took him some time to ascertain how—only those mentioned in the prophecy could pick it up without having their minds shattered.

Vicious and Clever.

After another hour of wandering, Quirrell finally found what he was looking for on row ninety-seven.

S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.

Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter

To his greatest surprise, the crystal sphere above the label was dull and turbid, just like the handful of fulfilled prophecies.

A hint of red crept into his eyes as Quirrell reached out to touch the orb with his hand, uncaring about the lingering curse.

He grew still for a long minute as the familiar words popped into his mind before nodding to himself; the contents had told him nothing new. But the confirmation was indispensable. It would have been a waste to shift his efforts towards Harry Potter when he had more significant and urgent matters.

The boy was surprisingly skilled.

But so what? Being a good eleven-year-old meant nothing.

Half an hour later, Quirinus Quirrell left the Ministry Building, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

Here are two pictures of Lily Potter that I generated using Midjourney V6:

Chapter 21: Enter the Dogfather

Chapter Text

30th of December, Monday

"Congratulations, Mr Black, you're now officially discharged."

"About damn time," Sirius grumbled as he pulled on a plain black robe. The damned thing was so bland that it would better suit Snivellus instead of a handsome dog like him. The first thing he would do was buy a nice leather jacket… and a wand. His old wand had been regrettably snapped once he was chucked in Azkaban for life. "Also, there's no need for formalities, Ted! We are family, after all."

Especially after his grandfather officially disowned him, Sirius could feel a subtle change in his magic, as if something he didn't even know existed was missing. Now, he was like Andromeda, his favourite cousin—black by blood but perhaps not by magic. Something to celebrate!

"Well, I'm at work, Sirius," Ted Tonks grumbled, smoothing over his white healer robes. "I'm supposed to be professional." Andy's husband was a tall, wiry man with a friendly face and a tired smile.

"Professional, my arse. Those sods left me with nothing to do but stare at the bloody ceiling for over a month. I would have gone mad if I couldn't write letters."

Ted snorted. "Stop whinging, Sirius. Somehow, you managed to retain your sanity fully, but the dementors had sapped your vitality and magic over the years, along with other minor ailments your stay in Azkaban caused. Nothing fatal, but if left untreated, they would add up and would have probably shortened the rest of your life by over a half, eventually causing you quite possibly to lose your mind somewhere along the way."

"Yes, yes, going to live till sixty instead of a hundred and twenty." Sirius waved his hand and twisted his torso, his spine popping just the right way. The sleep-induced healing had him asleep for twenty hours a day and very stiff. "I am very grateful to the ministry and their generosity." The words were even spoken honestly. The ten years lost in Azkaban would never return, but it gave him plenty of opportunities for introspection.

His anger had… cooled off long ago, and now Sirius was glad this whole thing was over and he was free. He could lay the blame at the feet of Pettigrew, Crouch, or even Fudge, but he didn't. Sirius had no love for any of them, but he blamed himself more than anyone else because he had been the one to be fooled and outsmarted. Worse, Sirius knew he could have done things more cautiously, better, shrewder, but he didn't because of that rush of mad rage.

And the damn treacherous rat had laid a simple trap into which he had so foolishly walked. How could he blame anyone else when he had been the one to bungle everything up?

But it wasn't all so bad. Sirius had gotten to see Snivellus and his ugly, sour mug in a cell beside him and for life to boot. Oh, the joys - the vivid memory he would forever cherish. The cherry on top was the traitorous rat getting to sleep in his old bunk.

"Anyway, Andromeda is inviting you to our home if you do not have a place to stay," Ted coughed, bringing him back to the present. "She was thrilled when the Wizengamot cleared you of all charges."

That warmed his heart. Knowing his cousin had not changed much after a decade was good. Truth be told, Sirius regretted not keeping in touch with Andy properly. Still, the war made everything much riskier, and she wisely kept a low profile to avoid unwanted attention. Ted had decided to turn to apprentice in healing because even the Death Eaters weren't foolish enough to break the taboo of targeting the healers.

At first, Sirius had been disgruntled with Andromeda and Ted's refusal to join the war, but now he felt foolish.

Almost all of his friends were dead because of the fighting. His own family had been ripped apart, with barely any survivors left, and his godson was reduced to an orphan. But the Tonkses were happy, and, most importantly, all of them were alive and well.

Still, the war had ended years ago. "Why didn't Andy visit?"

"Some unpleasant nonsense between Houses Black and Longbottom and that old bat Augusta prowling around Saint Mungo's looking for trouble. Andy might be disowned, but she didn't want to tempt anyone foolish enough to challenge her and find herself starting her own blood feud. Even the director put me in the permanent spell-damage ward to keep me away, as none could get past the Auror guard without permission."

"Ah, I see. My grandfather is being a rotten arsewipe again." Ted snorted, but Sirius was just glad he got to tell the old ornery bastard to sod off. He had no taste for the viler games his family loved to play, let alone the darker magicks. If he never got to see them again, he would be happy. "Anyway, forget about the old relics. How're Eros and Nymmie doing?"

"The boy managed to enter the Auror Academy and even caught the attention of old Mad-Eye. Only I'm too worried he takes after you."

"After me?" Sirius snorted and mockingly raised his nose with a faux Malfoy impersonation. "There's nobody else like me!"

Ted's lips twitched, but he shook his head. "Well, unlike you, my son can turn into anything he bloody wants, and he used to bring a different girl back home every damned week, making poor Andromeda want to tear her hair out. I mean, Eros is still doing it, only in his flat. It's a miracle he hasn't sired children of his own yet… I think."

Sirius couldn't help but nod thoughtfully at the grimacing healer - being a metamorph would be a mighty fine tool for picking up witches. Your natural charisma would only be amplified by becoming an Adonis in the flesh. He almost felt envious!

At least for once, Andromeda had chosen her son's name more than aptly. Alas, poor Nymphadora seemed to have drawn the short straw there.

"And how's Nymmie doing in school?"

"A Hufflepuff prefect, just like her dad!" Ted puffed out his chest proudly. "Thankfully, despite having the same talents, she doesn't take after her brother. I don't think Andromeda's heart could take it."

Sirius stretched again and made way for the door, followed by Ted. "Alright then. I suppose I'll come over. I haven't seen Andy and the sprogs in a decade. Doesn't help I have no idea what happened to my flat in Bristol."

"We'll be glad to have you for the new year," Ted nodded while leading him towards the atrium. Looking around, Sirius couldn't help but notice the white hallways were quite empty. "What do you intend to do now?"

"Buy a new wand," Sirius instantly replied. While he could still turn to Padfoot, he felt naked without a wand. "Try to visit my godson. I haven't thought much further than that."

"Well, you have plenty of time to figure it out. With the ministry and Crouch's restitution, you won't have to worry about gold for a long, long time."

Sirius had no idea how to be a godfather, but Harry was the only thing he had left. Peter was in prison, James and Lily were dead, and so were all of his other friends from school and the Order. There was Moony… but Remus had not shown his face. Surely, his friend had heard about his exoneration?

Sirius rubbed his brow. "Hey, Ted. Does the reception have a visitor registry?"

"They do."

Just as they were going down the white marble steps of the main staircase, Sirius's gaze pinned a young, lithe nurse with a dark honeyed braid. He even twisted to look behind and couldn't help but whistle as she disappeared around the corner. "Merlin, look at that arse!"

"Sirius," Ted said with a pained voice, hiding his face in his hands. "I am a married man, damn it!"

"Some looking never hurt anyone," Sirius tutted. Why did everyone have to be such prudes? Even James had grown all prim and proper after marrying Lily. "Do you know her name, perchance?"

31st of December 1991

Tuesday

To his great satisfaction, Azkaban had not made his skills grow rusty - Sirius had already bagged a date with Madelyn for the coming weekend. On the other hand, he still had to take a long list of foul-tasting potions for another bloody month. Which was fine since Ted had promised to help him brew them. Worse, Moony had not written or visited Saint Mungo's, and Sirius failed to find his friend in their old haunts.

Any owls sent to Remus returned almost immediately or didn't fly away, as if he was too far away or hiding. Sirius was sure the werewolf would be waiting for him outside Saint Mungo's, but alas.

It was as if Moony had just disappeared… or died. Even Ted and Andromeda had heard nothing of the final Marauder.

The contrast with his godson, who had written the first day after the trial, was too stark. Harry was a toddler the last time they had met, and he probably didn't even remember him well!

Still, Sirius had many other things to do, for he couldn't rely on his cousin's generosity forever. His flat in Bristol was in terrible condition, and he needed to pay off the muggle bills and fees. Using a Confundus Charm was tempting, but that would be far too complicated; too many people to charm and too many documents to forge. There was also the risk of losing access to the muggle amenities, and he had gotten fond of the muggle telly and radio. Besides, Sirius had spent the better part of his formative years fighting lunatics who abused muggles like that, and he would not fall to their level just out of convenience.

At least he had managed to get a new wand without a hitch. Olivander never disappointed, and in ten minutes, Sirius was a proud owner of a new wand - a Brazilian olive and dragon heartstring, eleven inches and rigid.

Apparating to Hogsmeade, he quickly made his way down the road to the massive Hogwarts gate. The air was filled with dancing ribbons of snow, covering the ground with an even thicker veil of white, making him shiver and button up his leather coat. The seeping cold brought unpleasant memories, and Sirius hurriedly slammed on the large iron knocker.

"Bloody Scottish Highlands," he groused, trying to keep his fingers from freezing. Hogwarts was not half as cold in his memory. He cast a warming charm upon his clothes, but the damned thing dissipated from the winter chill a few heartbeats later, much to his chagrin. Or he was just rusty. Or did he need to break in his new wand, and Remus would have been a perfect opponent for a duel…

A few minutes later, the gate creaked open slightly, revealing Hagrid's shaggy beard above. The gamekeeper looked just as Sirius remembered him - enormous and jovial.

"Ah Sirius, I'm glad ter see yeh. What brings yeh ter Hogwarts?"

He smiled fondly at Hagrid's familiar dialect. "I wish to speak to Dumbledore and meet my godson."

"Harry? Well, then, come in," Hagrid said, pushing the heavy oaken gate, ploughing the heavy snow aside and allowing Sirius to slip in. "How have yeh been?"

"Can't complain," Sirius shrugged as they walked past towards the castle's main entrance. It felt rather empty, probably because of the winter holidays. "You?"

"Same old, same old." The gamekeeper patted his crossbow, and Sirius noticed the giant bag lugged over his shoulder. "Was just 'bout ter head inter the forest ter gather some unicorn hair an' acrumantula webbing fer Petrov. Poor man seemed mighty interested in the stuff, 'tis all over the forest."

"Petrov?"

"The new caretaker after Filch died ter those trolls. Nasty business, that." Hagrid's jolly face turned sombre.

Sirius remained silent, for he had nothing good to say about the grouchy old squib. The Samhain troll attack at Hogwarts had been all the rage, and he did read with interest about the whole affair in the scarce few moments he was awake in Saint Mungo's. At least Shacklebolt was generous enough to bring him the daily prophet occasionally, even if he was unwilling to enter the room and chat while on guard duty. Who would have thought that Snivellus would go barking mad after teaching a bunch of unruly brats for a decade?

However, the number of other crimes Snape had been pardoned for at the war's end was sobering to read about. Sirius knew Severus Snape was a nasty piece of work, but it was entirely different to see it unveiled and confirmed. Worse, Dumbledore had reached out to get Snivellus a bloody pardon for it all, but Sirius got to rot in Azkaban without anyone batting a bloody eye.

He knew he had not made many friends, and his family name was a dark burden to bear, but it still rankled him.

They finally approached the entrance, and Sirius couldn't help but whistle at the enormous metal statues flanking the colossal door. "That wasn't here the last time I visited; it looks like bloody orichalcum!"

"Aye, Dumbledore got'em over a month ago from somewhere," Hagrid bobbed his head, dark eyes regaining their shine as he glanced at the enormous winged felines covered by wicked spikes and sharp scales. "They look like they would make a mighty fine pet, don't they?"

"Right," Sirius coughed as he glanced at their enormous maws filled with razor-sharp teeth that reminded him of a row of cursed daggers from his father's collection in Grimmauld Place. "Say, what happened to my bike?"

The enormously tall man rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Ergh. Gave it ter Arthur since he was interested in muggle gadgets."

Damn, that was yet another place to visit. At least Weasley wasn't too bad, but only Merlin knew what new enchantments or additions his bike had now. At least Arthur was easy to get along with. "Fret not," he told the gamekeeper, who was still looking guilty as they approached the great staircase. "Have you seen my friend Remus Lupin lately, perchance?"

"It's been near a decade, I reckon. Dumbledore might know, though." Where in the bloody hell had Moony disappeared?

The halls of Hogwarts were just as he remembered them, if far emptier. They barely saw a handful of students on their way up the seventh floor. Sirius frowned; the school felt too empty even for a winter holiday.

On the seventh floor, they were met with Professor McGonagall, stacks of parchment floating behind her. The Scottish witch still had her usual strict face but looked far older than Sirius remembered - streaks of grey were running through her hair, and wrinkles could be seen around her eyes.

"Ah, Mr Black, I'm glad to see you in such good spirits after your unjust incarceration," the Transfiguration mistress nodded, but the edge of her lips twitched. "I hope you're not here to cause mischief again."

"Me?" Sirius recoiled in mock outrage, grasping his heart theatrically. "I would never! Also, it's Sirius for you, Minnie."

Minerva sighed, completely unimpressed at his seductive wink. "I'm old enough to be your grandmother, you incorrigible boy. At least Azkaban has not dampened your spirits."

"Yeah, well, I'm just built different," he professed honestly, only to receive a sceptical snort while Hagrid stood to the side awkwardly. Shaking her head with exasperation, the old Transfiguration mistress continued down the hallway, followed by the floating trail of papers.

A minute later, Sirius and Hagrid arrived before the gargoyle.

"Wham bars," the gamekeeper muttered, and the statue leapt aside as the wall behind it split in two, revealing the spiralling stone staircase behind. "See yeh 'round, Sirius. I got me some work ter do in the forest."

With a friendly pat on the shoulder that made Sirius's knees buckle dangerously, Hagrid headed down again with a spring in his step. With a groan, the Marauder forced his now quivering legs to move onto the moving staircase. How had Lily called this thing again? Esca-something. The damn word simply would not appear in his mind.

Sirius had just arrived before the polished oak door and was about to touch the brass griffin knocker when interrupted by a powerful "Enter."

The door swung open, revealing the familiar headmaster's office. Dumbledore was sitting in his fancy chair, toiling over stacks of parchments, but he looked far older than Sirius remembered, with his hair and beard turned completely white. Yet there was a sharp decisiveness in his movements.

"Ah, Sirius, I'm glad to see justice prevailed," the old warlock greeted him warmly, putting down his quill. "Lemon drop?"

"No thanks," Sirius declined by habit. Fawkes was on his perch to the side, looking at him curiously with smouldering black eyes.

The older man looked slightly pained by the quick rejection, yet his eyes remained hard, and the usual twinkle within was absent. "I am afraid I have to ask for your forgiveness. I could have fought to have your trial go through the Wizengamot, but I left you to Crouch's swift war tribunal and even testified about your position as the Secret Keeper. Alas, your ruse was slightly too good, and my prejudice had caught up to me in my old age, and I had thought the worst after twelve muggles were killed."

The earnest blue eyes spoke of how truly Dumbledore felt remorseful over his unjust incarceration, yet it only caused Sirius to clench his teeth in frustration. Now he could see where his unlamented family's dislike of the headmaster stemmed.

One thing was for sure; he wouldn't be joining any secret Orders or doing the old warlock any favours anymore. He should have done like Andromeda and stayed away from the whole mess, pulling James and Lily away, too.

"You were far from the only one," he sighed wearily, earning himself a sorrowful smile. Sirius tried not to hold a grudge despite his disgruntlement. Dumbledore had gathered a hefty backing and plenty of power at the war's end. Yet, the old headmaster was being bloody honest about his shortcomings. It was disarming in an odd manner that made Sirius grudgingly respect him, if in a different way.

The world wasn't fair, he knew. Still, knowing Dumbledore used his influence to get a pardon for Snivellus, of all people, it tasted sour on his tongue. Regardless, Sirius knew he ought to be respectful, especially since he had come here with a request. It was not wise to hold a grudge against a powerful warlock like Dumbledore's, at least not a visible one. He might be willing to forgive, yet he would never forget that his ten years of imprisonment could have been averted if the man sitting on his high chair had taken it upon himself to ask bloody why.

The headmaster was still a man not to be trifled with, but his foolish, blind worship was now gone. Despite his power, Dumbledore was a man like any other, and he certainly erred like one.

At least now the traitorous rat and the murderous bat were neighbours in Azkaban if nothing else.

They stared at each other for a handful of long, silent minutes. There was a heaviness to the headmaster's gaze he had not seen before, and the old man had not even attempted to read his mind once. Yet Sirius recklessly stared at the wizened old man in the eyes, daring him to do it… even as his back had gone cold with sweat. The air became so heavy that Sirius struggled to breathe; his knees shook, and his hands began to tremble, yet he maintained eye contact with the headmaster. Even the thrice-cursed dementors weren't so oppressive, and he had used their sinister aura and the endless drudgery to train and train his mind out of boredom.

Yet not once was there even the lightest brush upon his mind.

As if dispelled, the powerful presence disappeared, and Dumbledore looked like a jovial old man again as he unwrapped a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth. "So, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"I have some queries for you, headmaster," the words rolled off his tongue in a much more subdued and bland tone than he intended, his Occlumency killing his emotions.

Dumbledore gracefully inclined his head. "By all means, ask away."

Bloody hell, talking to Dumbledore for thirty minutes had been exhausting, as if he had gone a few rounds against a dragon. The old man was far more intense than he remembered, and Sirius had walked out of the headmaster's office with his robes damp with sweat.

Still, the old warlock had been open and forthcoming, yet even he had no word from Remus. Even Fawkes couldn't flame to Moony's location, but the headmaster did promise to try and reach out to his contacts abroad to see if he could be found.

At least he got permission to meet with his godson. As he waited in an empty classroom for Professor Flitwick to fetch Harry, Sirius blanched as reality hit him like a drunken hippogriff. He had no idea how to bloody raise a kid and knew nothing about his godson besides the little tidbits from the letters exchanged. And even there, Harry had not been particularly wordy, only giving a few brief details while inquiring about Sirius' wellbeing.

The creak of the door announced Harry's entrance, and all Sirius could do was stare. His godson was a short, cautious boy; he looked much like a mini-James but lacked the glasses and possessed vivid yet haunting green eyes the same shade Lily possessed. His gaze seemed too old on him, and there was wariness to his mannerism that made Sirius ache. Was James so short as a first-year?

"Hello," the boy greeted quietly. "You're my godfather."

Sirius couldn't help but chortle at the precocious words and proudly slapped his chest. "Yep, that's me, Sirius Black! How'd you like my Christmas gift?"

"I loved it." Harry's face brightened, his guarded posture easing.

"I'm glad. I had to pull some strings to get that broom. Nimbus only agreed when they heard it would be a gift for you." Contrary to what he expected, his godson grimaced at the reminder of his celebrity status, and an uneasy silence descended upon them. "So… there's not much we could have said in our letters." Sirius rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. This would have been so much easier if his godson had been easygoing like James, but the earnest focus and lack of mischievous smile were all Lily. "Tell me about yourself, Harry."

"Well, there's not much to tell. I grew up in Surrey with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and… I like magic." It was painfully short, said with a tone that reminded Sirius of his own words when he spoke about his home. Lily's sister had never been pleasant, and probably pranking that fat muggle husband of hers wasn't the best thing Sirius had done. Or maybe he hadn't pranked him enough?

"Like magic? If half of what Flitwick told me on the way here, you're Merlin reborn," Sirius snorted, trying to lighten up the mood, but only earned himself a nonchalant shrug. Right, so humble to boot, and it wasn't just some false modesty. Lily's son, indeed.

Still, he knew he should not have expected as much after seeing Harry for the first time in ten years, but it pained him nonetheless. Patience… he would slowly earn his godson's trust.

But how?

What would Sirius have wanted back when he was eleven? It most certainly wasn't pity or uncomfortable questions.

He coughed, trying to cover the fact that he was feeling completely out of his depth. "So… do you want to come live together with me?"

"Sure," the agreement came instantly with a broad smile. That was so quick, and Harry had not even asked where he lived. Sirius skittishly ran a hand through his dark hair; why was this so bloody familiar?

But then again, he wouldn't want to live with muggles, let alone someone as unpleasant as Vernon and Petunia.

"Well then, I have a flat in Bristol," Sirius hummed. "Or we can live in some of your own houses, I suppose."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Which houses?"

"The Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow and the Potter family house in Wales where your father grew up," Sirius listed. "I think you have some properties abroad somewhere, but I never cared to ask. It's something you ought to check for yourself."

"Uh," his godson abashedly rubbed his neck and finally looked like a confused eleven-year-old boy. "How do I check?"

"Maybe… the ministry has some records or something, or it could be connected to the Floo." Sirius shrugged with uncertainty; he was never good with this bureaucracy sh*te. "But those can only be accessed in person. So, you have plenty of options to choose from. Don't rush to choose now; there's some time until the summer. So, how are you finding Ravenclaw? Made any friends?"

"It's great," Harry began to explain with increased enthusiasm. A few minutes later, Sirius couldn't help but smile. His godson was undoubtedly James' boy, having made plenty of friends of the gentler variety–a true ladies' man! Even Bellatrix's precious little daughter had been undoubtedly charmed by Harry, and the mad bitch would undoubtedly froth with fury if she were to find out. He even branched out and befriended twin girls from Slytherin! Ah, it brought a tear to his eye that his godson was laying the foundations to be the manliest man who would ever walk Hogwarts's hallowed halls.

With Sirius's deft guiding hand, his godson would surely become a legend of his own!

There were no worries with the teachers either; at least Harry had no complaints and was first in the year, and from what little he could gleam, Flitwick was favouring him greatly.

His godson's enthusiasm was infectious, and Sirius smiled and couldn't help but feel that everything was right in the world. Well, not everything, for Harry seemed to lack the penchant for mischief, but it mattered not in the end; he ought to be an honorary Marauder.

Well, there was no time to get his godson started like the present! "When James and I were back in school, we made a pretty helpful map with the help of another friend."

Harry innocently took out a familiar yellow piece of parchment from his pocket. "This map?"

"Oh. Where did you find it? Do you know how to use it?"

"I found it in a locked cabinet," the boy said innocently, but his lips twitched. "And I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Sirius couldn't help but guffaw - his godson was the perfect mix of James and Lily. Undoubtedly, being the teachers' favourite, nobody would suspect him of any mischief. This was bloody brilliant!

It took him a good minute to stop laughing like a loon and wipe the tears from his eyes. "Merlin, we'll make a proper Marauder of you yet."

"Is it true you lived with my grandparents?" Sirius nodded genially. "Can you tell me about them?"

"Well," the Marauder rubbed his chin. "Fleamont was the most amiable man I've ever met. Or at least until I… accidentally turned his favourite slippers into a frog that escaped…" Harry listened with rapt attention as if every word was the secret of immortality as Sirius recalled the happy memories from his childhood.

12th of January 1992

Sunday

Diana awoke to the chatter of her friends with a yawn and rubbed her eyes.

"Are we there yet?"

"In an hour," Morag muttered. "Your parents are mental, Diana." Padma, Goldstein, and Sue Li all nodded in agreement.

All Diana could do was groan. The bloody school tests and exams had been a chore, and most of her winter vacation had been spent studying. But a deal was a deal—her father had only agreed to let her attend Hogwarts if Diana kept up. Still, she had aced all her tests and wrangled herself a promise of the best broom gold could buy for the following summer.

"So, what had you lot so excited?" She groaned out, still feeling drowsy. At least she had managed to cram two days of skiing in the Swiss Alps by the end, even if the flight back to London had arrived early this morning.

"Padma's sister came with this morning's Prophet," Goldstein muttered worriedly, his usual pompousness absent. After a quarrel with Corner, the boy started hanging around in their group and joined their compartment with Sue Li.

"The Wiltshire Warlock has seven new victims as of yesterday," Padma waved a newspaper that was rolled up like a baton. "All muggle children younger than eleven. All were found in their bedrooms mutilated; none of their parents had heard a thing."

That sent shivers crawling down her spine, quickly awakening Diana. "Ugh, damn it. Why doesn't the magical police catch him?"

"Well, certainly not because of lack of trying," Morag shrugged. "Still, things have grown serious if stuff like this has made it to the first page of the Prophet."

"I wouldn't worry much. He might be a murderer, but not a strong one if he's targeting muggle children." The Indian girl took out a bag of pumpkin pastries. "Anyone wants some?"

Seeing that neither of her housemates looked too worried as the desserts went around, Diana began to calm down. Still, a niggling sense of wrongness persisted at the back of her mind, and she didn't have the heart to join them in their idle chatter. The magical world was more dangerous than she first thought.

Even now, the sickening squelch as the trolls grew limp was still fresh in her mind, even if the nightmares were gone. Diana didn't think she could ever forget that one. Still, Harry was only a first year, yet he had no fear even facing the lumbering brutes, so the path forward was clear. Becoming a powerful and feared witch became only more and more appealing.

The rest of the journey was a blur for Diana as she read through the DADA notes again, which somehow always contained nuggets of new helpful knowledge or insight she had not realised before. The same could not be said for The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The defence textbook was outright boring and inappropriately humorous in some places, which only showed how great a teacher Quirrell was.

Before she realised it, they had finally arrived at school after a short ride on the carriages drawn by the creepy draconic horses suffering from anorexia.

Harry and Juno were there, waiting for them by the antechamber, and enthusiastic greetings were exchanged. Her friends looked far more spirited than she remembered, which was great.

Diana's enthusiasm was replaced with a frown as she walked beside Harry, and her eyes inspected the boy from head to toe. She checked his shoes, but it was the same stuff he always wore. It had been less than a month, yet her friend had grown nearly half an inch taller than her. It wasn't bloody fair; now she was the shortest one again.

Was there some secret magical dish they only served during winter vacation that increased height?!

Chapter 22: Apprehension

Chapter Text

25th of January, 1992, Saturday

In a small clearing amidst Bradley's Woods, crimson runes glowed eerily in the darkness from a queer assortment of mossy stones.

In the centre stood a man crowned with silver, his skin fissured like a cracked vase. He was surrounded by three young children arranged on the ground in a triangular position, their heads facing him. Their fearful gazes moved erratically, yet their limbs and tongues refused to budge even an inch despite the lack of visible restraints.

When midnight arrived, death's stench dwindled as light left their eyes. The fissures dotting his bare flesh were knitted together into unmarred pale skin. If that fool Dumbledore could have seen him, he would have said something absurd, like such foul deeds could only be reversed with an act of great remorse.

Red eyes scanned the surrounding woodland as harsh laughter bubbled into his throat, and he removed the silvery diadem from his head, tossing it aside.

Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.

It hit one of the stones where the crimson light waned and crumbled to dust like the broken shell that it was.

As usual, the self-righteous fool was wrong. His soul piece was finally rejoined, although the jagged cracks along his soul would take time to mend. Rowena's trinket was a great catalyst for possessing the body of a willing Quirinus. A useful servant, for now, his soul was used as mortar, as the Diadem's power of clear sight had also been imprinted upon his very soul. An Invaluable ability, for his long time as a wraith, had muddled his mind.

Yet the clarity of mind had spurred introspection he had previously dismissed. The Horcruxes had become as much of a curse as they were a boon. No power or benefit was gained after the first - a warlock with a single anchor was just as immortal as one with five or seven. He had thought himself able to weather the drawbacks, but now he could see otherwise. Seven was a magically powerful number, but the further splits made his magic unstable, diminished his control, and dulled his wits.

The changes from a single split were imperceptible, but they had subtly begun to add up along with the other dark rituals he had performed.

Would he otherwise have been afraid of a mere swaddling babe?

He would see it now - Sybill, a true mistress of Divination, had been generous enough with her explanation of her subject. In his hubris, Voldemort had given power to the very prophecy he had sought to avoid.

He shook his head, banishing the inane thoughts; he had greater woes than some young boy.

Quirinus's magic was too feeble, too weak, barely a sliver of what Voldemort could command in his prime. Its flow was also sluggish and unresponsive, like a turbid swamp. Such a glaring problem could take decades to rectify, but Voldemort knew he lacked such patience. Even the lesser lineage rankled him deep, for Quirrell's origins could never compare to the mighty line of Slytherin.

Alas, one body could not host two souls no matter how much Voldemort tried, and it started breaking down. He could figure out a way around such trifles with time, but it was not worth it. If his mind were as muddled as before, he would have probably resorted to something as foolish as killing unicorns for their blood under Dumbledore's nose.

Sacrificing young, innocent muggle children in such numbers had started to attract the attention of the DMLE and was not truly a solution but a less conspicuous way of delaying. Not that they could ever catch him, but the scrutiny was troublesome. None could hope to find Lord Voldemort when he wanted to remain hidden.

Flamel's stone would allow him to reforge his real body anew, even more powerful than before and with no drawbacks. If nothing else, Dumbledore knew he could not resist such an opportunity. And the headmaster was right.

With a swish of his wand, he was adorned in a plain robe, and Quirrell looked at the three lifeless husks that now looked like shrivelled mummies. There was no reason to make the DMLE's job easier, and now he had to return the children from where they had been taken and destroy any trace of his presence here.

The next morning, Quirrell returned to Hogwarts, eyes brown.

Sybill was waiting by the entrance of his office, and he was met with an eager embrace. "Quirinus! How fares your dear grandmother?"

"I'm afraid old age is finally catching up to her," he said mournfully, face filled with regret. "The last bout of dragon pox left her too weak."

"Poor Martha." Sybill nervously pulled on her spangled shawl. "I tried to look into her future, but all I saw was darkness…" Amusem*nt rose within him as he noticed she had not adorned herself with the usual multitude of beads, rings, and other trinkets. It certainly made the Divination mistress easier on the eyes.

"Alas," Quirrell sighed, pulling his office door open. "It is just the way of things. Come on in. Tea or sherry?"

The Divination mistress closed the door behind her and gave him a coy smile, a hint of pink creeping up her cheeks. "Not yet. I missed you."

He lunged forward and hungrily captured her lips as his hands began to remove her deceptively baggy clothing.

Trelawney had no more use, but he had to keep up appearances lest he invited Dumbledore's unwanted scrutiny. It was amusing; the old fool thought Voldemort uncaring of such baser needs and desires. Affairs with other staff members were frowned upon but allowed as long as there were no scandals. And… it did help that Sybill brought him a sliver of pleasure and relief he once deemed useless.

8th of February, Saturday

The Hog's Head Inn was as Dumbledore remembered: dreadfully empty and dirty, as if nobody had bothered to use even the simplest cleaning charm for centuries. Nobody even knew what the floor was made of, for a thick, solid layer of caked sawdust and dirt covered it.

"Albus." His brother's greeting was as frosty as usual.

"Abe," the headmaster nodded mournfully but only earned himself a scoff as he placed two galleons on the ancient wooden till.

Aberforth shooed him with annoyance without even deigning to spare him a glance. "Yeah, yeah, I'll bring over your favourite."

With a sigh, Dumbledore went to the table by the opaque windows, where the only patron sat—a stout figure wrapped in an ordinary brown cloak.

"Albus," Moody greeted him as his magical eye erratically moved around. Doubtlessly, the old Auror watched the street outside through the opaque window. "Glad you could make it."

"Always a pleasure, Alastor," Dumbledore nodded as he conjured himself with a clean chair. "I'm afraid my time is rather limited as of late."

The duties of a deputy headmaster were far more cumbersome than he remembered. Alas, it had to be done, and he had yet to find a suitable and willing candidate for the position. It was a prestigious but demanding post and the headmaster's right hand, but perhaps that was why no one was willing to take it. His reputation had not been the best lately, yet he still hoped Fillius would change his mind.

Aberforth came over with a bottle of Bungbarrel Spiced Mead and gruffly left it on the table. Albus conjured a glass and poured himself the dark amber liquid.

"The DMLE has turned into a hornet's nest," Moody took a small sip from his flask. "The Wiltshire Warlock leaves even more bodies in his wake, and we can't catch a whiff of the dark mage. Rumour is that even the muggle minister has started to get worried. Fudge breathes down our necks, demanding results. Fawley keeps delaying his retirement. I imagine this fiasco has wounded his pride."

"Oh?" Dumbledore pulled on his beard, took a swallow of mead, and smiled. It was just the right balance of sweetness, warmth, and spiciness. "Is this the source of talks about increasing the DMLE budget for the first time in ten years?"

"Quite possibly. It's a welcome thing, but it wouldn't do squat, I tell you." Alastor's scarred face twisted into a scowl, making him look even fiercer. "The perpetrator is like a ghost. All scrying failed. He leaves no traces, only corpses that look like dark ritual victims, which we only find after or when the muggles do. Can you believe it?"

The old veteran shook his head. "Nobody has heard anything about suspicious ongoings, only the usual old faces and known crooks who lack the daring. All the contacts and spies in Knockturn Alley come empty-handed. Whoever is sacrificing so many operates on his lonesome. I've asked around, and the hardline traditionalists in the Mot are confused and wary."

"Sounds like someone skilled with plentiful knowledge of the muggle world and Magical Law Enforcement."

"That's what I thought too. But no one can say Fawley isn't stubborn - he swept the Department for leaks and found none. Now, we operate on new protocols." Moody's voice had a trace of satisfaction, but his eye was still flinty. "Yet the killings continue, and we can't do a bloody thing about it, no matter how hard Fudge is breathing down our necks. We've been setting traps, and squads are standing ready at night, waiting for a whiff of an attack. Even the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has been pulled into this. Fawley is pulling off all stops to no avail."

"It is sad to hear," Albus said mournfully. "But my duty and skills lie first and foremost as an educator. Your acumen in criminal investigation and apprehension outstrips mine by far."

Alastor took a heavy gulp from his flask and sighed. "Aye. But your connections reach far."

"I shall make some inquiries. But my influence has waned of late." He had even started considering resigning from his position as Chief Warlock, but his heart was reluctant. It was his last foothold in the Ministry, keeping him abreast of the Wizengamot.

"A spy is useless in the spotlight," Moody snorted. "For all his wits, Snape is a moron. What did he think would have happened by not only taking but using Lily's wand? I saw the investigation transcript - he even brewed whiskey mixed with a mild dose of forgetfulness potion. It makes him perfect for a set-up. But perhaps it is for the better." Alastor, of all people, understood why he had brought Snape to his side but still did not like it.

"I am of a similar opinion," Dumbledore grimly agreed. "I have… suspicions that Voldemort might be returning."

"So you warned me back then. He isn't truly dead, eh?" Alastor's eye started erratically spinning as if looking for enemies. But the inn was empty except for them—Aberforth had gone out to sweep the snow from the alleyway. "Are you going to gather the old squad again?"

"Not just yet. Voldemort… is proving elusive despite the trap I have set for him. Staying in the shadows, waiting and biding his time to strike." Albus took another sip of mead; this time, the warm sweetness was dull on his tongue. "For now, all I have is conjecture and fears."

He had observed all of his staff like a hawk. Quirrell and Petrov were suspicious in their own right, but neither looked nor acted like someone possessed by Voldemort. Quirinus showed love for teaching that was far purer than anything Tom Riddle was capable of, and his affection for Trelawney was far more genuine than that of other similar relationships.

Grigori… was just plain greedy in an unashamedly open way. His bids to make some side hustle with Hagrid's assistance had not gone unnoticed, but it was not anything illegal, of course.

The man was heavily overqualified for the caretaker position. Albus had inquired about the move with his contacts abroad, learning that his culling of trolls in his homeland had garnered enmity from certain communities, thus a need to lie low. Still, he could not complain about his work. There was no motive there, and the man had been at the opposite corner of the Continent even until the board had summoned him after Samhain.

Moody's already dire face became even more grim. "Like a serpent in the grass. Do you think he has something to do with our problem?"

"It is… possible. Alas, you seem to be reduced to simply reacting or waiting for your target to make a mistake, just like me." Yet the more time Albus was given to prepare, the more brutal the trap became. Voldemort would certainly be met with more than one unwelcome surprise if he tried anything at Hogwarts again. Sometimes, he felt like a child building his own toy house again.

"I don't like this," Alastor muttered.

"Me neither, my friend. Me neither." Dumbledore stood up and grabbed the unfinished bottle of mead. "But one can only play with the hand they're dealt with. Duty calls, I'm afraid."

He had decided to layer more, even subtler traps for Tom, and this particular one required plenty of time and effort.

Besides, he had to check the Quill of Acceptance and start penning the letters for next year's students. He also had the monthly Wizengamot meeting to chair tomorrow, which could easily take a half day with how long-winded Fudge liked to be.

19th of February, 1992, Wednesday

Harry woke up with a start. The dream, no, nightmare, slipped from his mind like water through a sieve, but one part was seared in his consciousness—a familiar pair of eerie crimson eyes.

Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, Harry slowly shrugged off the covers, carefully lifted the snoozing Nyx from his chest and left her on the bed. She still didn't give any attention to the vivarium unless it was to shed her skin.

Making his way to the mirror, he lit his wand and inspected his forehead. The scar was as faint as ever, so why was he still dreaming about Voldemort?

He touched his brow, but it felt like skin. None of the familiar pain typically accompanied the scar acting up. None of the ragged exhaustion Harry had grown used to, either. In fact, he was feeling quite well-rested, and a glance at his watch told him it was just the time to wake up. Perhaps this was simply a normal dream?

Voldemort was certainly the stuff of nightmares, and Harry knew all too well after crossing paths with the Dark Lord a few times too many.

A thought that brought him to his previous musings. His mother's wand, father's cloak, and the Marauder's Map were with him. Although Harry did not get much use of the last two, while mighty useful for mischief or subtlety, he was up to neither. The Map was a wondrous tool, but he had looked at it for years before and didn't hold his interest anymore. After finding nothing amiss amidst the moving ink for months, Harry had busied himself with more important things like training and reading.

Sirius was free, and they would finally live together; Pettigrew was in Azkaban, and so was Snape. Harry ought to feel happy, and he did… but the feeling of restlessness did not go away. Everything was going well, and maybe that was the problem. Well, not everything; the Come and Go Room remained… hidden.

He knew better than that - things would go awry sooner or later. Samhain and the trolls were a grim reminder that even this world was not as peaceful as it seemed.

Even aside from that, it had been too easy, too simple, and Harry had not yet addressed the dragon in the room.

There was no doubt that the former Potions Professor was a nasty piece of work, but was Snape truly behind the troll attack as the Prophet claimed? Months later, Harry still struggled to make up his mind. It had not been Quirrell either–he had been in the Great Hall, according to everyone, and had even slain a troll.

Voldemort was a looming shadow that had haunted his life, and one Harry could do nothing but face. Running and hiding from the Dark Lord might be possible, but Tom Riddle was not one to give up. Harry knew, and he would have to face him sooner or later. The question was when.

There was not even a shred of doubt in his mind that the Dark Lord was still alive and around in some form. And when Voldemort undoubtedly returned, he would once again be chased down like some rat just for existing.

If the Dark Lord did not possess the back of Professor Quirrell's head, where was he?

Was Voldemort even here at all?

And why was the tense, foreboding feeling at the corner of his mind not going away?

It rankled Harry fiercely, but the unease helped him get out of bed early every morning and train himself to sleep.

Maybe he could tell someone else about all those problems, but then he would also have to explain the whole different life thing in a way that wouldn't make him look like a loon. Merlin, Harry was reluctant to trust anyone with his secrets, let alone expect proper help and assistance. He had tried both before, and it had turned out… poorly.

Harry would have gone to Dumbledore in a heartbeat in another lifetime, but that trust had crumbled when he was left no choice but to walk to his death. Sirius would be his second choice, but his godfather was too big of a hothead, and Harry did not want to risk losing him again. Besides, the world was different, and his previous knowledge could still prove obsolete, like the Room of the Requirement.

With a sigh, he strapped on his wand holster and pulled over his training clothes.

"Sleeve!" Nyx's hiss had him turn to the bed; the serpent had awoken and looked at him with a pair of obsidian eyes.

"I'm going for a run."

"I want to come!"

"Nyx, you've grown too big to hide in my sleeve, and you hate it when I jog," Harry groused. They had this conversation a few days ago, and it seemed she had decided to try her luck again. The black serpent had grown to over two feet and was no longer as thin as a noodle. In fact, Nyx made the arm she was coiled around suspiciously thick and wiggly, and Harry felt like the arm in question was covered in lead.

Predictably, the black snake shook herself with annoyance, hissing up a storm. Yet Harry stood his ground, and a minute later, Nyx glumly flopped on the bed in defeat, looking as if a sad smudge of ink had spilt on his sheets.

"Can't you shrink me like you do with those books?"

Harry swallowed his retort, blinking at the hopeful Nyx. She was right–he was shrinking all his schoolbooks, making them easier to carry in his school bag.

With a thought, the yew wand was in his hand, and he pointed it at the black serpent. "Reducio!"

The spell hit Nyx, washing over her inky scales.

"I don't feel smaller," she hissed, shook herself, and twisted around to look at her tail. "I don't think it worked, Harry!"

"Stay still." Harry clicked his tongue and focused, forcing his magic to pool at the tip of his wand. Concentrating to the limit, he slowly began to weave the wand motion as more and more power was channelled into his wand, "Reducio!"

A blast of light erupted from his wand, landing on the black snake with a loud pop.

"That tickles." Harry looked at the wiggling Nyx, her size completely unchanged. With a wave of the yew wand, he flung a silent shrinking charm on his inkpot on his desk, turning it the size of his nail. What the bloody hell? "Again!"

For the next fifteen minutes, Harry tried every benign charm he could think of on Nyx, but nothing worked, though the black serpent seemed to have the time of her life because magic tickled.

"'m tired." And just like that, Nyx sluggishly coiled around his pillow and started snoozing adorably.

It took some time for Harry to gather his wits and go down the spiral staircase to his common room, where Diana and Juno were waiting.

"You're late," the muggle-born girl groused with a yawn, looking like a tired cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Could'a slept another thirty minutes."

"Got carried away," Harry mumbled apologetically.

"There's something on your mind," Juno noted neutrally.

"Uh, just thinking about stuff." Neither prodded any further, but the two girls kept glancing at him with some concern.

The rest of the day blurred together as he fell into the familiar, mind-numbing routine: jogging, spell practice, breakfast, classes, lunch, more classes, and homework.

As the sun set and the classes ended, Harry let his legs lead him back to the Ravenclaw tower for more spell practice when he slammed into what felt like a wall.

Just as he flailed on his way down the staircase, a strong hand gripped his wrist and effortlessly pulled him up.

"You must be more mindful of your surroundings, Mr Potter," Quirrell's amused voice shook him alert as Harry's eyes were nailed on the pale fingers that gripped his skin directly.

"Sorry, sir." Harry bashfully rubbed his neck.

"Too much training is no good," the DADA professor hummed thoughtfully as his curious brown eyes inspected him from head to toe. "You ought to try unwinding for a week. I have heard it helps clear your mind. Should you need any assistance or advice, my door is always open."

With an amused chuckle, Quirrell patted his shoulder and continued to the North Tower, where the divination classroom resided.

Harry watched the professor's back as he moved with a spring in his step, but his mind was stuck on the place where Quirrell's fingers had gripped his bare wrist. Any lingering suspicions about the man were dispelled - he did not burn with a touch, as Voldemort did before his resurrection.

There was no turban or face on the back of his head this time, but Harry still clung to his distrust, even if it lessened by the day. Yet now, it was gone–this could not be Voldemort, or his mother's protection would have turned him to ash.

"Oy, Potter, are you fine?" A voice shook him out of his stupor.

An older Hufflepuff boy was looking at him with concern, and Harry realised he had remained stunned in the middle of the staircase.

"Err, I'm good, thanks," Harry reassured awkwardly and continued towards the Ravenclaw Tower, but his mind drifted again.

It just felt… odd to have such a competent Defence professor who wasn't trying to kill him or wasn't a hidden werewolf. And he seemed genuine in his desire to teach - all the students loved him, and even Harry had learned new things in the first-year lessons despite his previous experience. Perhaps Quirrell had been right; a few days of rest would do him good and calm his wandering mind.

There was still a sliver of caution in his heart - the wariness against Defense teachers was ingrained in him after six years. But as nothing weird happened with Quirrell, his suspicions lessened by the day.

Was there even any danger if neither the Defence teacher nor Snape were here to steal the stone?

3rd of March, 1992, Wednesday

Putting on some muscle was far easier said than done, and Petrov refused to elaborate. "Where's the fun if I tell you everything, boy?"

All the training the older-year students knew was for Quidditch. Of course, Ron had started some exercises for beaters, but the results were mixed. Sure, he kind of felt stronger, but that was about it.

Some days, Ron Weasley hated Hogwarts.

Some older Slytherins, Draco Malfoy and his goons had started picking on him - small things, minor jinxes and hexes, and slamming into him in the hallways by accident or the subtle insults. They did it out of sight, of course, so none of the teachers or prefects could tell who was in the right or wrong because it was their word against his.

And it seemed that the school staff had managed to develop an intrinsic sense of distrust against the name Weasley, courtesy of his twin brothers. Even Percy complained about them ruining his chances for Head Boy, selfish berk.

Ron tried avoiding them, of course. His father always taught him not to start a fight. There was this niggling suspicion in the back of his head that this whole thing only made Fred and George prank the Slytherins harder. It didn't help that the other Gryffindor boys were being pillocks about Longbottom, so he stayed away from them.

"If the Gryffindors could afford better brooms, they might have stood a chance against the Hufflepuffs," Draco loudly commented in the hallway while looking at Ron after Gryffindor had just lost yet another Quidditch match. "Of course, with two Weasleys on the team, that's a tall order."

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" Ron sighed when the blonde boy's shoulder slammed straight into him, and the two goons chuckled.

"Merlin, are you deaf, Weasley?" Malfoy's face grew thoughtful. "Though, it wouldn't be a surprise. Your lot is probably too poor to afford a proper broom, let alone a decent healer to fix your hearing."

"You've got a lot of nerve, Malfoy," he scoffed. "My family might not be rich, but at least we're not buying our way into everything."

Ron turned around and went the other direction, unwilling to tangle with the blonde ponce and his two goons. There were better ways to spend his time.

"Maybe if your hippogryph of a mother didn't eat all your food and your father stopped at one or two children, you would have enough money for that broom."

The hallway turned red. Before Ron knew it, he had turned around, and his punch sank into Malfoy's soft nose, and the Slytherin crumpled on the floor with a pained yelp. The surprise on Crabbe's and Goyle's faces was fascinating to see, but the blond boys' wail awoke them from their stupor.

Ron barely managed to jerk his head out of the way of Crabbe's mean hook and retaliated with a jab to the chin, dropping him to the ground. Goyle tackled him, but the red-haired boy elbowed him in the ribs. But the floor slammed into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs and then his hand was pinned under what felt like a mountain while -

"What is happening here?" McGonagall's stern voice cut echoed ominously in the hallway, halting them.

Goyle sluggishly stood up with a cough while Crabbe just lay on the ground, groaning dumbly at the Transfiguration professor.

"Weabley attacked ush like shome shabage brushe, professhor." Ron couldn't hold it back and guffawed at Malfoy's fumbled words, but his joy quickly died down as McGonagall's lips thinned so much they disappeared.

Of course, he lost fifteen points for attacking other students like a common muggle in the hallway, not that the Gryffindors cared beyond him smacking Malfoy a good one. Their house was three hundred points behind even the 'Puffs, and Ron hated how he was now labelled a troublemaker by the Gryffindors, even if it was supposed to be a badge of honour. The disappointed Professor McGonagall gave him a week's worth of detention and promised to write to his Mum if he got into another fight. He wasn't even surprised when the Twins laughed at the whole thing, and Percy scolded him for fighting in the hallways.

Goyle, of course, had gotten off with four days of work in the Greenhouses, and Crabbe and Malfoy got nothing but some tongue-lashing.

"It isn't fair," Ron mumbled quietly. The realisation came to him later - Malfoy deliberately provoked him to successfully start a fight with a teacher nearby. Of course, nobody cared since he was the one to throw the first punch, and the blonde Slytherin, nose already fixed, had proclaimed Ron a rabid dog who would attack anyone on sight for everyone in earshot.

"Of course, life ain't fair, boy," Petrov snorted, exhaling a small cloud of acrid smoke after pulling on his fa*g. "The earlier you learn it, the better."

"So…" the red-haired boy swallowed heavily, trying to push down his apprehension and ignore the smoke stinging his eyes. "what am I supposed to do?"

The evening had come, and Ron had to cut his dinner early to attend the detention at the small antechamber. The caretaker was smoking a fa*g, filling the air with a heavy smell that made Ron cough.

"Patience. We're waiting for one more rulebreaker like you." He would have thought Fred and George would join him, but no, all of their detentions were done with McGonagall. Perhaps Sprout begged off and was sending Goyle over? The thought of spending hours more in the presence of one of Malfoy's cronies made him queasy.

A few minutes later, a blond, first-year Slytherin boy entered the antechamber, and for a moment, Ron thought it was Malfoy. But he was slightly taller, and there was no trace of gloating on his sharp but no less proud face than Malfoy, if with sea-green eyes.

"Greengrass?" The red-haired boy scratched his head. The Greengrass twins and their clique were not half as annoying as Malfoy's lot. And they did not look like the sort to get into trouble, nor did they pick on him. But they were still… snakes.

"Weasley," the Slytherin twin nodded curtly.

"Follow me, you two." Petrov took a last pull of his fa*g and threw it to the ground, where it disappeared with a flick of his wand. The two boys followed as he led them through the hallway out in the dark courtyard. He fished a lantern out of his heavy leather cloak and lit it with a tap of his wand.

"Where are we going?" Ron couldn't help but ask as the caretaker started leading them through the cold darkness. The robes barely warded off the cold, and this was not the way to the Greenhouses as he expected. The castle grounds looked scarier at night, especially as the swinging lantern made all the shadows dance eerily. The stars and the waning moon were hidden between a wreath of clouds, making everything feel even gloomier.

"You could have been scrubbing cauldrons and toilets with a toothbrush," the man let out a nasty, nasal laugh. "But it seems pointless to me. I am generous enough to allow you two to learn some useful new skills."

Ron warily looked around the creeping darkness, the coldness of the night making him shiver. Were there giant man-eating spiders in the Forbidden Forest, as Fred and George had told him? Suddenly, the redhead decided that he would prefer to scrub toilets with a toothbrush.

"Students are… forbidden from venturing into the forest," Damien Greengrass noted neutrally, but his voice felt half a pitch higher than usual.

"Fret not, we're not going to enter. Light up your wands."

While Ron tried to fish out his wand from his robes, Damien muttered a Lumos, lighting up a soft beam of light. Half a minute later, he finally succeeded, but the two streaks of light didn't assuage Ron much. The two boys had huddled closer together, an unspoken agreement to watch their side of the road.

A sigh of relief rolled off Ron's tongue when he saw the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut ahead. Working with Hagrid wouldn't be so bad.

"Grigori?" Hagrid's voice echoed through the darkness as the hut door opened. "Jus' in time."

The gamekeeper, crossbow in hand, had brought his enormous dog and one more lantern.

The two boys followed mutely through the pumpkin patch and into a small clearing by the forbidden forest. A heavy stench struck him, reminding Ron of Charlie's old socks and rotten eggs.

"Trolls," Damien choked out.

"That's right," Grigori's satisfied voice echoed through the night as two enormous grey corpses were revealed just by the tree line.

"They're… dead," Ron grimaced.

"Of course they are. The board of governors pays me extra for every troll slain near the castle. Now, you're going to dismantle them."

"Dismantle them?" Greengrass croaked out weakly, looking particularly green, any trace of pride gone from his face. Ron grimaced at the buckets, jars, and vials neatly arranged around the corpses.

"Why yes, why do you think I had you dress in your worst clothes?" A wide smile split the caretaker's face, which now looked demonic in the flickering lantern. "I dismantled my first troll when I was your age, boys. It's honest work. Troll whiskers, heart, blood, bogeys, head, and spleen are all valuable when harvested fresh."

"Err." Ron tried to suppress the bile rising in his throat. "Can we go and scrub toilets with toothbrushes?"

"No," Petrov barked out. "There's nothing to be learned from mindless sh*te that can be done with a flick of a wand. That housemate of yours, Longbottom, certainly hasn't learned a thing after doing that for months, aside from brushing his teeth better. Don't be squeamish now. Some blood and tears now will save you lots of grief later. Besides, this knowledge can get you out of a gutter if you ever find yourself in a pinch. Moreover, McGonagall and Slughorn agreed. If you don't like it, you can leave, pack your things, and return home."

Why… why was Hagrid nodding from the side? And the way he smiled so happily at them as if this was all a real treat… Then, the titanic gamekeeper deftly hammered a tall stake by the corpses and hung up one of the lanterns before venturing deep into the forest with his dog.

Damien Greengrass stood, grimacing as his gaze wandered back and forth between the fallen trolls and the caretaker. "We don't know anything about butchering or dismantling."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you for free. Once you know how to butcher a troll, you know it all. Here, take these." Petrov handed Ron and Damien a wicked-looking knife half the size of their forearm each. It felt heavy in his hand. "I'll show you how, and the second troll would be all yours. Waste not, want not, my father always used to say! First, you pluck the whiskers - that's the easy part. Then, you have to drain the blood-"

Soon enough, Ron found that trolls stank worse on the inside than on the outside. Half an hour later, both boys had puked out everything there was to puke out in their stomachs as the former monster hunter patiently dismantled the enormous carcass, explaining everything with morbid glee as he made them watch and repeat.

"Not bad," Petrov nodded fondly at them as a twirl of his wand vanished all the puke, but Ron still felt dirty. The filled buckets were then sealed, and the Caretaker placed them by hand in what looked to be a bottomless bag. "If you can stomach dismantling a troll, you can stomach everything, which is an essential skill for any wizard. You can rest five minutes before starting with your own troll. Here, you must stay properly hydrated."

Two muggle bottles of water were thrown by their side. Both boys hastily uncapped them and started chugging it all down. The cool liquid was a balm that washed away the taste of bile in his mouth.

"So," his voice came hoarse, for his throat still felt raw as Ron stared at the pale blonde Slytherin. Damien Greengrass didn't look half as irksome as he did half an hour ago. "What'd you do to earn yourself a detention?"

"Your bloody brothers threw a dung bomb at my sister," the blonde boy grimaced. "When I started, err, chasing them, they led me straight into Professor Slughorn and got me a detention."

It sounded oddly familiar, and Ron felt Greengrass had done much more than chasing to earn his detention.

"Ugh. Fred and George can be a nuisance," he groaned.

"Your brothers have the uncanny skill of walking a thin line between detention and suspension. But you're not half bad yourself, I suppose. For a Gryffindor, that is."

Ron blinked. That was… quite unexpected.

"You're not too bad for a Slytherin either," the red-haired boy decided.

"Break time's over," Petrov's voice cut through the darkness. "Come now, don't dawdle unless you want to stay here all night. The important part is to keep the knife's edge always facing away from your limbs-"

With much effort, the two boys dismantled the troll to the caretaker's satisfaction without cutting themselves up with the heavy knives. It even wasn't that terrible once you got used to the smell. The feeling of flesh and skin parting under the knife's edge felt oddly… satisfying. Ron noticed that all the parts they had painstakingly procured went into the bottomless bag, just like with the first troll. It felt like forever, but the man informed them that midnight had yet to pass as they returned to the castle.

"Good job, you snot-nosed brats." There was pride in the caretaker's words. "You've finally taken the first step into adulthood. Go on now, return to your beds. You need a good night's sleep - a long week ahead of us."

Two groans echoed together at the reminder that it was a whole week's worth of detention as the former monster hunter whistled a jaunty tune on his way to the caretaker's office.

The two of them exchanged glances, which turned into a grimace once they realised their robes were caked with greyish, dried-up troll gore. What had Petrov said… ah yes, it was easier to clean by hand than by magic. In fact, Damine's fancy silken robe looked no different than Ron's own.

Just as Ron was about to make way for the Grand Staircase, Damien pulled him aside, face filled with resolve. "Weasley. You ought to avoid the older Slytherins."

"Uh, what?"

"I've heard… talk in the common room that your twin brothers are becoming a nuisance after sabotaging Terence Higgs twice before Quidditch training. Some of the older years want to get even."

"Fred and George are hard to catch," Ron said, not feeling particularly worried. Even if they got caught, getting knocked down a peg would do them good.

"Well, yeah. But that's why I heard Montague suggest they go after you instead. Just… watch out, okay?"

And like that, Damien Greengrass hurried down to the dungeons, leaving a stunned Ron behind. The warning was unexpected but appreciated. He set his jaw and trundled to the Gryffindor common room. He would need to prepare if the cowards wanted a piece of him instead of his brothers.

It was indeed shaping up to be a long week.

Ron could barely keep his eyes open, and he could already see the cosy bed in the dormitory waiting for him. But first, he had to take a long, warm shower and see if the robes could be scrubbed clean. He only had two more left.