Chapter Text
Harry hated the school summer holidays.
It was only one week into the six-week summer holidays and his cousin Dudley had already decided that Harry made a far more amusing plaything than any of his many toys or gadgets. Dudley’s favourite games included chasing Harry, punching Harry in the gut and kicking at Harry’s feet. Really, Harry should have been more suspicious when, on the evening of Harry’s 6th birthday, Dudley had called him upstairs to “give him a birthday present”.
Harry had bounded upstairs – filled with giddy excitement because since when did he ever get presents? – when Dudley had wrestled him into a headlock and dragged him, laughing loudly, into the bathroom.
Harry barely had a second to hastily suck in a deep breath before Dudley shoved his head down into the toilet bowl, submerging his face into the water, before gleefully flushing the toilet over and over again. Harry spluttered as water cascaded down onto his head, his glasses falling off in the chaos as he tried to wriggle out from under Dudley’s heavy bulk pressed against his back.
Flush…
Flush…
Flush…
Harry could not breathe. He opened his mouth to scream only for water to flood in, choking him. Panic began to well up in his chest, his heart hammering wildly as Dudley held his face firmly underwater.
Flush…
Flush…
Flush…
“Dudley, stop!” he shouted, but his words were lost in the water, drowned out by the din of the toilet flushing and the water swirling violently and Dudley’s booming laughter, his cousin completely oblivious to the fact Harry could not breathe.
Flush…
Flush…
Flush…
Harry’s lungs were burning, blackness eating into the edges of his vision, his brain screaming for oxygen that was not there. Harry choked on water as he tried desperately to suck in air but drew only water into his lungs. He tried to scream – he was going to die! – tried desperately to use the last vestiges of his strength before he passed out to signal to his cousin to stop, when he felt something hot surge through his chest and explode within him.
The toilet vanished with a pop.
There was a moment of stunned stillness, Harry and Dudley both staring at the spot where the toilet had been just seconds before, before Dudley leapt to his feet and pointed accusingly at Harry, taking a deep breath and screaming at the top of his lungs.
“MUMMY! DADDY! HARRY MADE THE TOILET DISAPPEAR!”
Harry tried to protest, made difficult by the fact he was also busy coughing up toilet water from his airway, when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon opened the bathroom door, frowning at the commotion.
“Duddy, sweetums! What did the nasty boy do–” began Aunt Petunia, wrapping her arms around her son, before her gaze fell on the empty space where the toilet used to be, her face contorting into a horrified scream. “Vernon! Vernon! The toilet! He–”
She seemed unable to continue, dragging Dudley away from Harry, as if Harry had some kind of terrible contagious disease. Uncle Vernon turned to Harry with fury blazing on his red face, spit flying as he grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck.
“What did you do?” bellowed Uncle Vernon.
“Nothing, I swear! Dudley was trying to drown me in the toilet!”
“Where is our toilet? We give you food, clothing and shelter, and this is how you repay us?!”
Uncle Vernon let go of Harry to rip back the shower curtain and pull open the medicine cabinet, looking around wildly as if Harry had decided to hide the toilet there.
“I don’t know what happened!” shouted Harry, tears of frustration welling in his eyes. “The toilet just disappeared. It was like magic!”
This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. The Dursleys went berserk, Aunt Petunia running sobbing in the direction of her bedroom, dragging a shocked Dudley behind her, as Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and began hauling him out of the bathroom and down the hallway towards the stairs.
“You will not engage in any more abnormal behaviour! Understood?” shouted Uncle Vernon, slapping Harry hard across the backside to emphasise his point.
“I didn’t do anything!” said Harry, trying to stamp his foot in anger, a feat made difficult by the fact Uncle Vernon was now half-dragging, half-carrying Harry down the stairs. “Maybe Dudley made the toilet disappear!”
Uncle Vernon looked as though Harry had just suggested Dudley had killed the Prime Minister.
“Don’t you dare blame my Dudley for your freakishness!” yelled Uncle Vernon, before wrenching open the door to the cupboard under the stairs and throwing Harry bodily inside, slamming the door closed behind him.
Harry could hear Uncle Vernon lock the door from the outside and sniffled to himself in the darkness, blindly feeling his way onto his mattress and sitting down, before pulling the cord to turn on the old lamp that hung above his head.
As the dim light illuminated the cupboard under the stairs, Harry froze, his heart suddenly thumping violently.
Sitting at the other end of the bed was a boy – a naked, skinny boy around the same age as Harry, with pale skin and large, wild eyes.
There was nothing.
And then, suddenly, there was everything.
The sound of his heartbeat boomed in his ears; blurry shapes formed in front of him, his new eyes growing accustomed to the dim light; a dry, musty smell assaulted his senses; a fuzzy blankness fizzed in his mind. He was too hot – or was he too cold? It was hard to tell when everything was suddenly happening all at once and it was too much, too much, too much…
Ripped from peaceful nothingness and thrust into this dreadful everythingness, a cry bubbled up in Tom’s throat.
Where was he?
Who was he?
What was happening?
Terror and helplessness swelled in Tom’s chest.
He was newborn, lost, and so, so frightened.
Harry blinked in shock at the newcomer in his cupboard.
The boy looked around the same age as Harry, six years old, with dark curls on his head that formed a sharp contrast to his milky pale skin. He was staring at his hands with dark blue eyes that made Harry think of a stormy sea, flexing his fingers with such rapt attention it was as if he had never seen hands before. The boy was naked, which was a little strange, but even stranger was the way his outline seemed slightly hazy, with a faint white glow that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
Curiosity exploded in Harry’s gut. Who was this strange boy? Why was he in Harry’s cupboard? How had he got here? Hope began to blossom in Harry’s chest. Perhaps this boy was a friend! Harry had never had a friend before, but he had seen other children playing with their friends in the park and he had always yearned for a friend of his own, to love and laugh and play with. As soon as the idea entered his mind, however, it was immediately followed by anxiety. The Dursleys would never let Harry have a friend. They would send this boy away for sure. They hated anything abnormal, and Harry did not think that boys with pulsating auras of light around their edges were what was typically considered “normal”.
Still, the excitement of a potential new friend was too overwhelming to resist, so Harry was about to enthusiastically introduce himself, when he paused, looking at the boy more closely with some concern.
The boy did not seem happy. In fact, now that Harry was paying attention, the boy seemed downright terrified, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes darting everywhere, a frantic look on his face that spoke of raw, primal panic. Then, the boy began to cry; loud, hysterical screams mixed with desperate sobs, snot and tears streaming down his blotchy face, his thin body rocking back and forth, a picture of such misery that Harry felt his own throat clench with anguish.
No one had ever comforted Harry when he had cried, but he had seen the way Aunt Petunia would hold Dudley close whenever he sobbed, soothing him and smothering him with love until his tears would stop and a smile would reappear on his face. Harry had always longed for his aunt and uncle to love him like that, and so he knew that it was exactly what this strange boy needed too, because Harry knew the pain and loneliness of crying alone.
Without hesitation, Harry bounded to the other end of the bed, wrapping his arms around the wailing boy and holding him tight, rubbing a gentle hand up and down his trembling back, letting the boy bury his face into Harry’s shoulder and sob, as Harry promised him steadily and repeatedly that everything was going to be OK, that he was safe, that he was loved. Harry poured every ounce of love and care that he wished he had received from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon into comforting this boy, wanting nothing more than to pull out his heartache and replace it with a sense of calm and safety.
It felt like an age, but after what could have been anywhere between 10 minutes and half an hour, the boy in his arms quietened down, finally pulling away from Harry and wiping his eyes. The boy sniffed, his cheeks a little pink as if he were embarrassed by his breakdown, as he finally took a proper look at Harry. His eyes roved curiously over Harry’s face, before flicking down, taking in Harry’s tatty, second-hand clothes, and then looking down at his own nakedness with a slight frown on his face. Harry must have blinked, because a split second later, the boy was wearing clothes similar to Harry’s own, slightly shabby, but at least covering his modesty. Harry gawked in astonishment.
There was a brief moment of slightly awkward silence, before Harry gave the boy a tentative smile.
“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said softly. “What’s your name?”
The boy frowned, as if Harry had just asked a very difficult question that he had to think hard about.
“Tom…” he said finally. “I think my name is Tom.”
Tom was a curious boy. Harry waited patiently as Tom looked around the cupboard with obvious fascination, crawling around the bed and craning his neck to look at the assortment of random knick-knacks Harry had collected over the years and lined up on the shelves.
“Where are we?” asked Tom.
“We’re in the cupboard under the stairs at number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey,” said Harry, who had recently learnt his postal address and was proud to show off this impressive knowledge.
“But why are we in a cupboard under some stairs?” said Tom, puzzled.
“Oh,” said Harry. “This is where I live.”
Tom’s eyes moved slowly over Harry’s possessions dotted around the cupboard and he nodded with understanding.
“Where did you come from?” Harry asked eagerly, bursting with curiosity about this strange boy who had appeared in his cupboard seemingly out of nowhere.
He found it hard to think that Tom had wandered in off the street. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were extremely paranoid about keeping the front door locked, saying it was important to keep Dudley safe from something they called paedos, whatever they were. But if not through the front door, how had Tom ended up in Harry’s cupboard? Was there some kind of secret passageway in and out of the house? Harry was eager to find out.
“What do you mean?” said Tom, frowning as if Harry had just asked another extremely difficult question.
Harry wondered if perhaps Tom was a little slow, but found he did not mind at all. He re-phrased his question, hoping to make it easier to understand.
“Where were you, before you were here?” said Harry.
Tom sat for a long time with a puzzled expression on his face, his brow furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he considered Harry’s question at length.
“I wasn’t anywhere,” he said finally. “There was no before. I was just born.”
It would certainly explain why Tom had been so upset earlier. Harry knew that babies cried automatically when they were born. But there was one glaring problem that gave Harry doubts. He had met babies before – and they all looked much smaller and younger and did not speak English like Tom did.
“You’re a bit old for a baby,” said Harry.
“I’m not lying!” Tom said angrily, immediately upset.
Not wanting to set him off crying again, Harry interlaced their fingers and gave Tom’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ll ask Aunt Petunia tomorrow morning how babies are made,” said Harry soothingly. “Maybe some babies are born older.”
Seemingly pacified, Tom relaxed.
“Aunt Petunia?” he said.
“I live with my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They’ve looked after me after my parents died in a car crash.”
Tom absorbed this news sombrely, his pale face serious.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” he said softly.
Harry swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He was not sure why he suddenly felt like he was about to cry. Perhaps it was because he could not remember anyone speaking so gently and earnestly about his parents before. Aunt Petunia hated speaking about his parents, her answers always short and terse whenever Harry would ask her something, as if it were an unpleasant task she wanted to get over with as quickly as possible.
“Do you think Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will look after me too?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” said Harry without thinking, because of course he would welcome Tom into the family without a second thought, but as soon as the answer left his lips, he was struck by a sudden stab of doubt and fear.
What if they did not want Tom? They already hated having to look after Harry. They often complained how much it cost them to pay for his clothes and food and general existence. What if they decided they did not want another unexpected child under their roof? Would they turn Tom away and make him live on the streets?
“I’ll introduce you to them in the morning,” said Harry, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “It’ll be fine.”
Tom nodded, seemingly content with Harry’s answer, before stretching his arms over his head and yawning widely.
“Are you sleepy?” said Harry.
“What’s sleepy?” yawned Tom.
Ah, thought Harry. If Tom was a newborn, then of course he would not know what “sleepy” felt like. Every sensation was new to him; everything his first time.
“Lie down, next to me, like this,” said Harry, lying down on the bed to demonstrate.
Tom flopped down next to him, his blue eyes already drooping closed as another yawn escaped him.
“And then you just… relax, I suppose,” said Harry lamely, not quite sure how else to explain how to go to sleep.
Luckily, Tom quickly seemed to get the hang of it, his breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep beside Harry, cuddling up to him unconsciously. Harry did not mind the physical contact in the slightest, a joyous grin slowly spreading across his face as he stared at the boy sleeping peacefully beside him, something warm and fuzzy ballooning in his chest as he came to an incredible, wondrous, glorious realisation.
For the first time in his life, Harry had a friend.
The next morning, Harry was extremely nervous.
He was trying to make him and Tom look as neat and tidy as possible, which was difficult considering the shabby state of the second-hand clothes Harry owned and that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to clothe Tom. Tom stood obediently still as Harry tried to straighten the collar of his shirt and pat down his thick curls.
“We need to be on our best behaviour,” Harry fretted anxiously. “Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia like things to be perfect. Be polite and don’t do anything abnormal that could make them upset or angry.”
These were the social rules that had been drilled into Harry for as long as he could remember. Tom seemed bemused but nodded nonetheless, not complaining when Harry licked his finger to rub some crusty sleep out of the corner of Tom’s eye. Harry looked over them both critically. They looked as good as he supposed was possible. The only slightly odd things about Tom’s appearance were his fuzzy edges and the faintly throbbing white light that seemed to pulse around his outline like a heartbeat, but he did not think there was much Tom could do about that, so it seemed unfair for Harry to bring it up.
“We’ll be OK, everything’ll be fine,” said Tom, trying to sound reassuring.
It took Harry a moment to realise that Tom was echoing the words Harry had said to him over and over the day before, when Tom had been crying hysterically following his “birth”. Harry smiled, touched by Tom’s thoughtfulness, and took the other boy’s hand, before pushing open the cupboard door.
“OK, let’s go,” said Harry, bracing himself mentally as he led Tom to the kitchen where he could already hear the Dursleys having breakfast.
He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped into the room, standing ramrod straight in the doorway as a sign of respect.
“Good morning, Uncle Vernon. Good morning, Aunt Petunia. Good morning, Dudley,” said Harry politely.
The Dursleys barely spared him a glance. Aunt Petunia was busy spreading marmalade on Dudley’s toast, as his cousin craned his neck to watch the TV in the corner of the room. Uncle Vernon snorted derisively at Harry’s greeting, not bothering to look over as he shovelled down his full English breakfast, his gaze firmly on the newspaper in front of him, skimming through the sports section.
“Oh yes, it’s a wonderful morning, or it would be, if I didn’t have to go toilet shopping later and organise a plumber to sort our bathroom out,” Uncle Vernon said sarcastically.
Harry cringed. He had forgotten all about the vanishing toilet, so overshadowed had it been by Tom’s sudden arrival. Still, there was nothing he could do about that now, so instead he simply cleared his throat, trying to get his relatives’ attention.
“Um, everyone, this is Tom,” said Harry loudly. “He was born yesterday in my cupboard. Can… can he live with us, please?”
At this, all three Dursleys turned towards him in astonishment, Aunt Petunia looking around the room wildly whilst Dudley stared at him stupidly. Uncle Vernon went from pink to red to purple so fast that Harry took an involuntary step back.
“What are you talking about, boy?” barked Uncle Vernon. “Did I not make myself clear yesterday when I said no more abnormal behaviour?”
Really, this was completely ridiculous, Harry thought indignantly; it was not Harry’s fault that Tom had been born.
“Tom, do you want to say hello?” said Harry hurriedly, hoping they would warm up to Tom once they had spoken to him.
“Good morning, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley. It’s nice to meet you,” said Tom, stepping forwards and smiling angelically at each member of the household as he introduced himself, as they had practiced in Harry’s cupboard earlier.
Strangely, however, the Dursleys did not visibly react to Tom at all.
“What is this nonsense?!” shouted Uncle Vernon, looking firmly at Harry. “I will not have you spouting this drivel in my kitchen!”
“What?! It’s not nonsense. Tom needs to live somewhere!” said Harry, gesturing towards Tom.
At this, Dudley suddenly burst into laughter, pointing at Harry as if he were the funniest thing he had ever seen, tears of mirth forming in his eyes as he slapped the table with malicious joy.
“Harry’s made up an imaginary friend!” squealed Dudley, howling with laughter. “What’s the matter, Harry, can’t find any real people who want to be friends with you?”
Harry stamped his foot in frustration. Why was his entire family acting so blind?!
“What are you talking about?” said Harry. “Tom’s standing right there!”
At this, Uncle Vernon stood up with a roar, stomping around the kitchen table and marching towards Harry… right through Tom.
Harry stared in shock as Uncle Vernon walked straight through Tom’s space as if he were a ghost. Tom gave a shout of distress, looking down at himself in horror, touching his chest frantically as if checking he were solid.
“Tom!” shouted Harry.
Tom’s eyes scanned the kitchen frantically.
“Hello! Can you hear me?” shouted Tom, running over to Aunt Petunia and waving his arms above his head.
She did not react at all, not so much as blinking when Tom clapped his hands loudly in front of her face.
“Are you going to start behaving, or do you need to spend some time in your cupboard?” said Uncle Vernon, placing his hands on his hips as he looked down at Harry, apparently oblivious to the way Tom was now screeching and running around the kitchen in a panic.
In an act of desperation, Tom tried to grab the carton of orange juice on the kitchen table and throw it on the floor, only for his hand to pass straight through the carton. Tom stared at his hand for a moment, before sweeping his arm across the table, trying to knock over the entire breakfast spread, to no avail. In a last-ditch attempt, Tom reached out to try to hit Dudley on the shoulder, only for his hand to pass straight through Dudley’s body, causing Tom to gawk at his hand once more. Turning to Harry with a wild look in his eyes, Tom ran towards him, gripping Harry’s arm tightly in a way that certainly felt solid and real to Harry.
“What’s happening?! Am I real?” cried Tom. “I’m not imaginary, am I? Tell me!”
“You’re real, Tom, you’re real,” Harry reassured him hurriedly. “Please don’t cry.”
With a howl of anger, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the kitchen, throwing him into his cupboard. Harry tumbled onto his bed, Tom stumbling in beside him, having kept a painfully tight hold of Harry’s arm.
“You can come out and have breakfast once you’ve decided to stop this Tom nonsense!” hissed Uncle Vernon, slamming the door shut, before stomping back to the kitchen and rejoining the others for breakfast.
In the slivers of morning sunlight peeking through the grill in the cupboard door, Harry and Tom stared at one another in horror.
Over the rest of the summer holidays, they ran experiments to try to solve the mystery of Tom.
One noisy experiment, which involved Tom shouting, clapping his hands and stomping his feet on the floor, led to the discovery that no one apart from Harry was able to hear him at all.
They quickly discovered that no one but Harry was able to see Tom either; not Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, the postman, the milkman, the neighbours or any of Dudley’s friends who came over to play over the course of the summer holidays. It was as if Tom were completely invisible to them, seen only by Harry.
Another experiment revealed that whilst Tom and Harry felt absolutely solid and real to one another, Tom was unable to touch or physically interact with anyone or anything else. Tom was unable to touch people (apart from Harry), move objects or even feel them with his hands. He would simply pass through anything he tried to touch – which they discovered included the nifty ability to walk through walls, once Tom gathered up enough courage to try it.
This discovery initially disturbed them both greatly – how was Tom supposed to eat or drink if his mouth passed straight through food and water?! – until they learnt that he did not seem to need to eat or drink, or go to the toilet.
About halfway through the summer holidays, they discovered that Tom seemed to be tethered to Harry through an invisible bond. He could not wander further than about 20 metres away from Harry in any direction. This did not seem to bother Tom too much, who mostly just liked to stay right beside Harry.
They made a mental list of each new discovery, puzzling over each new oddity they unearthed.
“What does it all mean?” Tom asked one day.
“Maybe it means you’re special,” suggested Harry.
Being invisible, being inaudible, being unable to physically interact with anything – Harry knew all these things about Tom were strange, but he absolutely did not care. He was simply thrilled to finally have a friend.
Harry learnt almost immediately not to mention Tom to anybody. Talking about him just made Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia angry and made Dudley taunt Harry about going mad. But again, Harry did not care, having too much fun with his new friend to be much bothered about his relatives’ opinions.
When they were not busy running experiments, Harry and Tom enjoyed simply talking or playing together. Tom enjoyed books – both picture books and books with simple written stories – which Harry was easily able to steal from Dudley’s bedroom since Dudley had no interest in reading whatsoever. Harry preferred more energetic games like running and jumping and climbing. They both enjoyed sneaking around and spying, either on the Dursleys or the neighbours, with Tom having the huge advantage of being able to walk through walls and then sneak back to report to Harry everything he had witnessed.
Harry could not remember a happier summer. Tom was wickedly funny and very clever. Tom kept Harry company as he did his chores. Tom made sarcastic remarks about the Dursleys at the dinner table, taking full advantage of the fact they could not hear him to sometimes be spectacularly rude, making Harry have to stifle his giggles as he ate. Even being punished by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was not so bad anymore, because he no longer had to suffer alone.
Harry learnt this near the end of the summer holidays, when he accidentally smashed a vase that had apparently been expensive and made by some famous designer. Aunt Petunia shouted at him that he was not to have any dinner, and Uncle Vernon hit him repeatedly on his backside with his belt.
This was the first major punishment Tom had witnessed. He had stared in disbelief and then fury, shouting at Uncle Vernon to stop, trying to drag the man away, although of course his hands simply passed right through him. Afterwards, as Harry sniffled in his cupboard, lying on his side so as not to put any pressure on his bruised bottom, Tom had wrapped him in a tight hug, rocking him and stroking his back gently, murmuring soothing words into his ear, just as Harry had done when Tom had first appeared in his cupboard after his “birth”.
“It’s OK, Harry, it’s OK. Everything’ll be alright.”
Harry wormed out an arm and held Tom’s hand tightly. He knew it was childish, but he was six, so he supposed that gave him a free pass. Finally, when his tears ran out and most of the ache had faded from his body and his heart, he sighed and rested his head wearily against Tom’s.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Tom.
Notes:
HELLO: Hi there, I hope you enjoyed chapter 1 of this story! This is my first multi-chapter Harry Potter fic and I am super-excited to share it with you all! It’s going to run from the age of six all the way through Harry’s Hogwarts years, so buckle up and enjoy the (long) ride.
HOW OFTEN WILL THIS BE UPDATED? I have already created a plot plan for how this story will go, and I will post each new chapter as I write it. I aim to post a new chapter every week or two.
GET EMAIL NOTIFICATIONS OF UPDATES: Just click the “Subscribe” button at the top of the page to get an email notification whenever I post a new chapter!
THOUGHTS: Did you enjoy the first chapter? Are you interested to see where this goes? What are you most excited about? I love hearing from readers. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will span approximately a year and we’ll see Harry and Tom’s growing friendship, as well as some strange happenings that they cannot explain…
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Chapter Text
Before he knew it, it was September; the summer holidays were over and Harry was back at school, starting Year 2 at St Grogory’s Primary School.
He had never previously been overly enthusiastic about school – but that was before he had Tom. It turned out that Tom loved school. He loved learning and seemed to absorb everything like a sponge, quickly catching up on everything Harry had learnt in Reception and Year 1, like numeracy and literacy.
Once he had mastered how to read, Tom demanded that Harry go to the school library during break times, so that they could read together. Harry did not mind. Dudley and his gang of bullies never stepped foot in the school library, so they were safe there. It quickly became Harry and Tom’s favourite place.
Harry himself was not that into reading (he was much more of a practical learner), so they quickly formed a natural routine where Harry would choose a book off the shelves that interested him, and then they would lounge about on the colourful bean bags together. Tom would read the book out loud, getting Harry to turn the pages when necessary, and afterwards they would talk about what they had learnt and quiz one another to see who could remember the most (Tom almost always won).
Learning had never been so fun! Miss Robins, his teacher, was impressed by his rapidly improving schoolwork. One day, after Harry got full marks on a geography test, Miss Robins asked him to stay briefly behind after class.
“You’ve been doing really well this term, Harry,” praised Miss Robins. “At this rate, I think you could be top of the class by the end of the school year!”
Harry swelled with pride, his little chest puffing up as he smiled. Frankly, he was amazed. He had never excelled at school before, having been pretty average throughout Reception and Year 1. He knew it was all thanks to his library sessions with Tom and subtly gave Tom a little nudge of thanks with his elbow.
“I suppose I’ve been bitten by the learning bug,” smiled Harry modestly, since he obviously could not mention his invisible friend.
At this, Tom made exaggerated biting motions, pretending to be a vampire, and Harry fought to hold back his explosive giggles until they were both safely out in the corridor.
“We should ask Miss Robins how babies are made,” Tom said thoughtfully one day. “We still don’t know why I was born so much older than other babies or how I ended up in your cupboard.”
Harry hummed excitedly. They had discovered many things about Tom over the last few months, but they were no closer to understanding exactly where Tom had come from or why he was so different from other people. Asking Miss Robins seemed like an excellent idea! Perhaps if they could figure out the mystery of how Tom had come to be, it would explain some of the strange things about him, like why no one else was able to see or hear or touch him. Miss Robins was so smart, she had to know.
After literacy class one day, Harry hung back as the rest of the children rushed to the dining hall to have lunch. Tom stood excitedly at his shoulder, nudging Harry impatiently to speak.
“Miss Robins? Can I ask you something, please?” said Harry sweetly.
Miss Robins turned around from where she had been wiping the blackboard and smiled when she saw Harry.
“Of course! What is it, Harry?”
Tom was practically quivering with excitement beside him, always ravenous for new knowledge, but particularly this knowledge, which could unlock the mystery of his existence. He bounced on the balls of his feet, urging Harry to ask the question.
“How are babies made?” said Harry.
For some reason, Miss Robins suddenly seemed rather flustered, her round cheeks turning pink as she wiped her hands on her jumper, dusting off the chalk that had got on her fingers from the blackboard.
“Oh! Erm, that’s a big question. Are you sure you want to talk about it with me, rather than your aunt and uncle?” she said.
Harry frowned with confusion.
“Of course, you’re much cleverer than my aunt and uncle!” he said. “Anyway, they don’t like it when I ask questions.”
Miss Robins frowned slightly at that last point, but did not say anything, gesturing for Harry to sit down on one of the brightly coloured chairs, before sitting down opposite him.
“Well, I suppose I can share the basics,” she said kindly. “So, erm, when a mummy and daddy love one another very much, they sort of… join together. The daddy has a seed, and it swims into the mummy and joins up with one of her eggs. Then the egg grows and grows into a baby in her tummy, and when it’s big enough, she pushes the baby out, and the baby is born.”
Harry thought about this very hard. It made sense, in a vague sort of way, although he definitely had not seen a mummy in his cupboard when he had first met Tom.
“Are all babies small?” he asked, trying to puzzle out the confusing thoughts swirling in his head. “Or can some babies be born when they’re, I dunno, six years old?”
Miss Robins laughed gently.
“Oh, there’s only a limited amount of space in a mummy’s tummy!” she said kindly. “That’s why babies are so small. They come out of mummy when they’ve run out of room. That’s why you don’t meet children your age who’ve just been born.”
“What about me!” Tom said indignantly, although of course Miss Robins could not hear him.
“But… but… what if a baby was born really big?” said Harry. “Like my size?”
Miss Robins cocked her head to the side, looking a little confused.
“A baby your size wouldn’t fit inside a mummy’s tummy, Harry,” she said. “You’re far too big.”
“There must be another way,” said Tom, thinking fast. “After all, I don’t remember a mummy being there when I was born. It was just you and me.”
Harry nodded quickly. Tom was right. There must be another method.
“What if there’s no mummy?” said Harry.
Miss Robins thought about it for a moment.
“Well, I suppose sometimes two daddies can decide they want to have a baby,” she said slowly, “but they’ll have to ask a very kind woman if she will grow the baby in her tummy for them, until it’s time for the baby to be born. All babies grow in ladies’ tummies, Harry.”
Harry and Tom exchanged looks of bewilderment. This did not make any sense at all. There had definitely been no ladies present when Tom had appeared.
“What other ways can babies be made?” insisted Harry. “Can a person just… appear out of thin air?”
“Um, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before…” said Miss Robins, looking slightly mystified by Harry’s question.
“Are some babies born invisible?” asked Harry suddenly.
“Er…”
“Or visible only to certain people?”
“Harry…”
“Ooh! I’ve got it! Are there some types of babies that get more solid over time?”
By now, he was practically bouncing in his chair with excitement.
Miss Robins suddenly broke out into a wide, genuine smile.
“You have a wonderful imagination, Harry!” she said. “Is this for a story you’re writing?”
“What…?” said Harry, stumped by the sudden change in conversation.
“If you’re writing a story, you can make up whatever wonderful things you like,” Miss Robins said brightly. “You don’t have to be limited by real-life biology.”
“What?” said Harry, dismayed by the way the conversation was getting derailed. “No, I’m asking because–”
“I think if you have any more questions about how babies are made, you should ask your aunt and uncle,” said Miss Robins, already standing up and ushering Harry towards the door. “But I’d love to read your story once you’ve written it, if you’ll let me.”
“But–”
“Lunch time, Harry. You need fuel for that big brain, remember?” smiled Miss Robins kindly, as she led him out of the classroom and towards the dining hall.
Later, back home in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry and Tom went over what they had learnt.
“I wasn’t a normal baby,” said Tom, looking puzzled. “I wasn’t born in the normal way.”
Harry cuddled up to his side, enjoying the warmth given the cooling November temperatures. It would have been nice to have unlocked the mystery of Tom’s birth, given that Tom’s birth had apparently been rather unusual, but personally he did not mind that Tom was different.
“You’re just special,” smiled Harry. “I think you’re cool just the way you are.”
Tom smiled back.
For now, that was enough.
Before they knew it, it was mid-December, and St Grogory’s Primary School broke up for the Christmas holidays.
One morning, Harry and Tom were sleeping peacefully in the cupboard under the stairs, when Dudley’s shouting and thunderous footsteps from the floor above woke them abruptly from their slumber.
“Mummy! Daddy! Wake up! It’s SNOWING!” Dudley yelled gleefully.
Harry immediately sat up with excitement, a grin spreading across his face as he grabbed Tom by the hand and dragged him out into the lounge, pulling open the beige curtains to reveal Privet Drive covered in the thick blanket of white. Tom gasped beside him, his dark blue eyes widening in shock as he stared out at the wintery scene.
“What’s that?” he said.
Harry realised with a jolt that this was Tom’s first winter, meaning the other boy had never seen snow before. Harry let out a little squeal of joy, already thinking about all the things he wanted to show Tom later – snowballs, snowmen, snow angels – the possibilities were endless!
“It’s snow!” said Harry, jumping up and down and hugging Tom enthusiastically. “We can play in it later!”
A smile began to spread over Tom’s face. Harry’s excitement was infectious, and even having to sit through breakfast where Uncle Vernon complained about how much extra it was costing them to heat the house because Harry lived there (“Does it even make a difference?” Tom retorted rudely) could not dampen Harry and Tom’s spirits.
A little over an hour later, all five of them were bundling into the Dursleys’ car (“We can’t leave Harry at home, Vernon, he could destroy the house!” sniffed Aunt Petunia) to go and play in the snow in a nearby park. As Dudley talked loudly about how he wanted to build the biggest snowman in the world, Tom perched on Harry’s lap, staring out of the car window in amazement as the snow-covered streets slid by.
When they finally arrived at the park, it was already fairly busy with families. As they all clambered out of the car, Dudley grabbed Uncle Vernon’s hand and started to drag him towards a fresh patch of snow.
“Stay in the park. Don’t wander off,” said Aunt Petunia, looking down at Harry as if he were a particularly disgusting slug, before walking away to join her husband and son.
Harry grinned at Tom and the two of them headed towards the other end of the park. The good thing about Harry’s aunt and uncle not really caring about him was that they usually left him alone, so long as he followed whatever rules they set out for him. Making sure he was close enough that they could see him, but far enough away that he was out of earshot, Harry finally turned to Tom and spoke.
“What do you think?” grinned Harry.
Tom was still busy gawking at all the snow that surrounded them, staring at the snowmen that people were building and the way the thick layer of white completely covered the ground. Tom squatted down to try to touch the snow, examining it closely with fascination.
“Can you feel it?” Harry said curiously, looking at the way Tom’s hand passed through the snow without leaving the slightest disturbance.
“No,” said Tom. “What does it feel like?”
“Cold,” said Harry, taking off a glove and shoving his bare hand into a mound of snow. “Sort of wet.”
“Weird,” laughed Tom.
“Look at this!” said Harry excitedly, slipping his glove back on and forming a perfectly round snowball, before hurling it at Tom’s midriff.
It passed through him harmlessly, but Tom gave a squawk of surprise.
“Hey, that’s not fair! I can’t do it back!” he pouted.
That, thought Harry smugly, was precisely the point.
With a cackle, he began chasing Tom through the snow, hurling snowballs at him. Tom ran away as fast as he could, alternating between shouting at Harry and collapsing into helpless giggles. Harry threw snowball after snowball at him, his aim surprisingly accurate, each snowball whizzing through Tom’s body. He must have got Tom at least a thousand times (although Tom would later insist it was surely no more than 30), before Tom finally had a brainwave.
A sly look in his eye, Tom remembered that although he could not touch the snow, he could certainly touch Harry. A moment later, he wrestled Harry to the ground and clumsily grabbed Harry’s hand, making him throw a snowball into his own face, with a triumphant “ha!” of victory. The two of them fell breathlessly to the ground, lying next to one another, breathing hard, their cheeks red and aching from laughing so much.
Once Harry had finally caught his breath, he nudged Tom with his foot.
“Look at me, look,” he urged, waiting until Tom rolled over onto his front and fixed him with his piercing blue-eyed stare, before grinning and moving his arms and legs back and forth through the snow, creating a little snow angel where he was lying.
Tom cocked his head to the side.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Just wait, look at this,” Harry said excitedly, getting carefully to his feet and stepping back to reveal the snow angel imprint left behind.
Tom looked amazed, his eyes lighting up and dimples forming in his cheeks as he smiled. He crouched down to trace his fingers along the edges of the snow angel’s wings, although Harry knew he was not really able to feel it.
“Can you do one for me?” Tom asked shyly.
Harry made a happy little noise, flopping back down onto the snow, delighted to oblige. Carefully, he created a second snow angel directly beside the first one, before standing up and admiring his handiwork.
“Our snow angels are best friends, just like us,” said Harry, pointing to the way their wings overlapped slightly, as if they were holding hands.
This seemed to please Tom immensely, who smiled joyfully, wrapping his arms around Harry and jumping with excitement.
They continued playing for what felt like hours. At one point, it started snowing again, and Harry showed Tom how to catch snowflakes in his mouth, demonstrating by sticking out his tongue and squealing whenever he would feel a little speck of cold dissolve in his mouth. Tom copied him, and although the snowflakes would simply pass straight through him, Harry would cheer enthusiastically whenever a flake would fall through Tom’s outstretched tongue.
It was the best playtime in the snow Harry could remember having in his entire life.
Who knew having a friend could make such a difference?
Soon, the Christmas holidays were over and they were back at St Grogory’s Primary School.
They quickly got back into the swing of lessons. Tom became obsessed with division and multiplication tables in numeracy, and Harry threw himself enthusiastically into painting flowers in art. They continued spending their break times in the school library, and Harry found himself enjoying learning more and more. He loved lounging on the colourful bean bags and listening to Tom read out loud for him. He loved their quizzes and talking with Tom about what they had learnt. He chose books that sounded cool to him, on topics ranging from volcanoes to Ancient Egypt to maths.
Everything was going normally, until one grey day in March, when the school librarian was off sick with the flu, meaning the school library was sadly closed. Harry and Tom reluctantly went out into the playground, quickly scanning their surroundings for Dudley and his gang of bullies, not wanting to attract his attention. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be their lucky day, because no sooner had they stepped foot outside, than they heard Dudley’s loud battle cry.
“There he is! Get him!”
Harry and Tom immediately bolted across the playground, ducking and weaving through the other children as Dudley and his gang charged after them. Harry could hear the five boys’ cruel laughter as they chased after him, using their numbers to corral him like a fish.
Harry’s heart pounded sickeningly in his chest, fear building inside him. He had managed to avoid Dudley’s gang all school year, taking refuge in the school library with Tom, but it seemed his absence had only made them keener to catch him than ever. His eyes darted frantically for a safe space where he could hide, cursing the open design of the playground.
“The bins!” shouted Tom, pointing towards the big bins outside the doors of the school kitchens.
Yes! Hope spurted in Harry’s chest. There was a small gap between the bins, small enough for Harry, but too narrow for Dudley or any of his friends to fit. Putting on a burst of speed, he sprinted towards the bins, before letting out a shriek of fear when Dudley’s friend Piers Polkiss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, pushing aside a group of Year 1 girls to make a grab at Harry’s school jumper. Harry felt the tips of Piers’ fingers graze his back, throwing himself forwards to leap into the gap between the bins – when he suddenly found himself sitting on top of the chimney on the school roof.
He blinked in astonishment, looking at Dudley and his friends down below, their upturned faces looking like small white circles from his elevated position. He leant forwards slightly, trying to understand how he had gone from the kitchen bins down below to apparently perching on the school roof. Tom’s hand suddenly grabbed him tightly by the arm, his fingers digging in so hard it was almost painful.
“DON’T MOVE!” screamed Tom. “Do you want to fall?!”
“I wasn’t going to fall!” Harry said petulantly, although he went back to sitting up straight, perhaps seeing the wisdom of not leaning over too far.
“How did we end up here?” moaned Tom, still holding onto Harry with a death grip. “Oh God… Oh God…”
Harry tried to turn his head to the side to look at Tom, concerned by the way he sounded so stressed.
“Don’t move!” Tom shouted again, looking both angry and horrified at how Harry was so nonchalantly moving around. “Hold onto the chimney! Don’t let go!”
“You’re so bossy,” giggled Harry, but did as Tom said nonetheless, holding onto the chimney firmly with both hands.
Honestly, now that the initial shock had worn off, Harry was quite enjoying himself. He was not afraid of heights, and it was rather fun to see the school and the playground from a different perspective. He could see birds flying in the distance, and looked with interest at the trees and the roofs of the houses that sprawled out beyond the school boundaries in all directions. He tried to work out which direction Privet Drive was in, curious if he could see his house.
“Do you think our house is that way?” said Harry, letting go of the chimney to point in a westerly direction.
Tom made a noise that was half shriek, half angry spluttering sound, and Harry blushed, a little embarrassed how he had forgotten the “hold onto the chimney” rule so quickly.
“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly.
“Harry,” said Tom, through gritted teeth. “Do. Not. Move.”
Down below, a group of worried and shocked-looking teachers had gathered. Miss Robins was amongst them, clutching at her cardigan in distress. She looked up in bewilderment, cupping her hands around her mouth as she shouted up to him urgently.
“Stay where you are, sweetie! The fire brigade are on their way!”
Tom sagged with relief beside him, although he did not loosen his grip on Harry in the slightest.
“Relax, Harry, we’ll be OK. Don’t move. Keep holding onto the chimney stack. I think I can hear the fire engine coming now. Stay still…” rambled Tom.
Harry pretended to huff with annoyance as Tom continued bossing him about and telling him what to do, but he could not hide his smile as Tom repeatedly told him in about ten different ways to stay still, fussing over him and refusing to relax until Harry was safely in the sturdy arms of a large fireman.
It was nice to have someone who cared about him.
Later that evening, after being shouted at by Uncle Vernon for “climbing on school buildings”, Harry and Tom discussed what had happened earlier in the day from the sanctuary of their cupboard.
“I was running from Piers, and then… I was on the roof,” said Harry. “I don’t know how it happened. Maybe a gust of wind carried me up there?”
“Wind can’t do that,” said Tom, frowning. “This was something different. Something… special.”
“It’s happened before!” said Harry, suddenly remembering. “I made the toilet disappear, the day you were born!”
Honestly, he had almost forgotten about the vanishing toilet, given that Tom’s arrival had overshadowed it so dramatically.
“What?” demanded Tom. “You never told me!”
After Harry finished filling Tom in on the story of the vanishing toilet, Tom hummed thoughtfully to himself, regarding Harry with interest.
“We should call it the Gift,” Tom said finally.
“Why?” said Harry.
“Some people are gifted at maths or writing,” said Tom. “Your Gift lets you fly onto the school roof and vanish toilets.”
“The Gift…” said Harry, pondering it carefully. “It’s very strange.”
Tom laughed.
“Aren’t we all a bit strange?”
In what felt like no time at all, the school year was over, the summer holidays began, and suddenly, it was Harry’s 7th birthday.
On the morning of the big day, Harry woke up and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, to find that Tom was already awake and grinning at him widely.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” shouted Tom, hugging him so enthusiastically that Harry almost fell off the bed.
Harry laughed and hugged him back, feeling genuine excitement for his birthday for the first time in his life.
“Since I can’t give you a real present,” said Tom, sounding slightly miffed about that fact, “my gift to you is that we’ll do whatever you want all day.”
In the last year, they had both learnt a lot about compromise. Tom being able only to interact with Harry meant that Harry felt some obligation to make sure Tom felt happy and content, but Tom also (sometimes reluctantly) recognised that he could not totally monopolise Harry’s time. They had naturally developed a sort of give and take, trying to balance their needs, taking it in turns to decide what they should do when they had free time. Giving Harry free reign to choose all the day’s activities was therefore a big deal.
As Harry pulled on his clothes and thought about what he wanted to do for his birthday, he realised with a jolt that it was exactly one year since Tom had appeared in his cupboard. It had been the best year of his life, he realised, because for the first time in his life, he had been able to share it with a friend.
“I don’t care what we do, so long as we’re together,” said Harry, unable to stop the soppy smile that decided to take over his face.
“That’s not a real answer!” said Tom indignantly.
They were interrupted from their conversation by Aunt Petunia knocking on the cupboard door and telling Harry to hurry up and eat breakfast because she wanted him to help her paint the walls of the lounge that morning. As Harry ate a quick breakfast of toast and milk, it seemed the Dursleys had completely forgotten it was his birthday. The morning passed at a torturous pace, Harry helping Aunt Petunia paint the lounge in what seemed to him to be an almost identical shade of beige.
By the time he was finally released from the (in his opinion, pointless) task, it was the afternoon, and Harry and Tom bolted out of the house before anyone else could invent some new job for Harry to do.
“Let’s go and get an ice cream,” said Harry decisively. “A birthday ice cream!”
He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tattered £5 note that he had been saving for a special occasion. (Tom had encouraged Harry to steal it from Dudley several months prior, after Dudley had wrongly blamed Harry for licking all the icing off one of Aunt Petunia’s fruit cakes.)
“Good idea!” said Tom, grinning and falling into step beside Harry.
They began meandering their way through the streets towards the local park where they knew there would be an ice cream van. The hot July sun beat down on them, a hazy mirage rising up from the hot tarmac of the roads and pavements. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth of its rays, trusting Tom not to let him walk into anything. The walk took a little longer than they had been expecting, partly because they did not want to walk fast in the hot temperatures, and partly because they frequently got distracted by things like neighbourhood cats that demanded to be petted and rose bushes that simply had to be sniffed.
By the time they arrived at the park, Harry was more than ready for his ice cream, and joined the long queue of children at the ice cream van.
“What flavours are there?” asked Harry, who was too short to see over the group of children in front of them.
Tom craned his neck to see. They had noted with interest that Tom seemed to be growing at the same rate as Harry, but he was a couple of inches taller, and he used his extra height now to peer over the heads of the children in front of them and look at the board listing all the ice cream flavours available.
“Vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, mint and chocolate chip, rum and raisin, and raspberry ripple,” listed off Tom.
“Chocolate! Chocolate!” Harry said excitedly, ignoring the strange looks the children in front were giving him as he seemingly had half a conversation with himself.
Around ten minutes later, Harry was clutching his chocolate ice cream as he sat on a bench at the edge of the children’s play area. He paused briefly to savour the moment, trying to sear it into his brain. The sun was shining, there were no Dursleys to be seen, he had his chocolate ice cream, and most importantly of all, he had his best friend by his side. His heart felt as though it might burst. He was so, so happy.
“Your ice cream’s melting,” said Tom, breaking his reverie.
Harry came back to his senses, licking his hand where chocolate ice cream had started dripping down his fingers, before swiping his tongue in a long stripe along the generous ball of refreshingly cool ice cream. He hummed happily to himself, before offering a lick to Tom, feeling it was only polite.
Tom tried to lick the ice cream, but predictably his tongue passed straight through the delicious treat. Tom shrugged slightly. Neither of them had expected anything different. After all, in the entire year since he had been “born”, the only thing Tom had been able to touch was Harry.
“Can you taste it at all?” Harry asked curiously.
“No,” said Tom, shaking his head. “What’s it like?”
Harry stared at his ice cream, taking another lick of it to try to figure out how to put it into words other than something stupid like “om nom nom” or “woohoo, ice cream”.
“Yummy,” he said eventually. “Sweet.”
“What’s sweet?” said Tom.
Tom had no frame of reference for flavours, Harry realised. He had never eaten anything before, had never tasted anything on his tongue. He did not know what sweet was, in the same way Harry had no way of knowing what it felt like to live at the bottom of the sea.
“I don’t know how to describe it,” Harry said honestly. “It’s nice though.”
“Do you like it?” said Tom.
“Mm-hmm,” nodded Harry, taking a huge slurp of his rapidly melting ice cream to prove his point, before realising that it really was starting to melt out of control in the high heat, and licking frantically at his fingers.
Tom laughed at his antics, cuddling into his side and throwing his arms around Harry’s middle affectionately.
“Then I like it, too,” he declared.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for the kind comments and kudos you guys left on chapter 1! I’m so thrilled you’re enjoying this story and hope you continue to fall in love with reading it as much as I’m falling in love with writing it <3
TIE IN WITH CANON: Readers of the Harry Potter books may recognise the school roof incident, which is briefly referred to in chapter 2 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone! I thought it would be fun to expand on that canon event in this chapter. Well done if you spotted this little Easter egg!
THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? Any favourite bits you want to squee about? It was good fun for me to flesh out Harry and Tom’s personalities and friendship in this chapter - I hope you enjoyed it too! Feel free to let me know your thoughts, it’s always wonderful to hear them :)
TEASER: The next chapter will also span one year and will see Harry perform some more accidental magic, as well as Tom displaying a special (slightly terrifying) ability for the first time…
TUMBLR: Want to say hi on Tumblr? I am ao3-elle1991 over there, feel free to check out my blog, I love to re-blog amazing Harry Potter fanart and chat with people <3
Chapter Text
Before long, the summer holidays were over, and Harry was back at St Grogory’s Primary School, starting Year 3.
His new teacher for Year 3 was an eccentric older woman called Mrs Baker who liked wearing long colourful dresses and often spiked her hair up like a hedgehog, much to Harry’s fascination. She was very different from Miss Robins, less soft and motherly, but more energetic and boisterous. She had a very different vibe, but once they had time to adjust to her teaching style, both Harry and Tom decided they liked her very much.
One day in late September, Mrs Baker told Harry and his classmates that they were going to have a very important lesson.
“Today, we’re going to be learning about stranger danger,” said Mrs Baker. “Has anyone ever heard of stranger danger before?”
Harry shook his head, casting a sneaky look around at his classmates to find that they all looked just as mystified.
“Does anyone know what a stranger is?” asked Mrs Baker.
The class sat in silence, everyone feeling a little shy and unwilling to put their neck out with such an unfamiliar topic.
“Is it someone who acts strange?” someone suggested, after a long pause.
“A good guess, but not quite!” said Mrs Baker.
“Is it someone who looks strange?”
Once again, Mrs Baker shook her head.
“A stranger is what we call a person we don’t know,” she explained. “They don’t have to act or look strange to be a stranger. In fact, most strangers can look and behave totally normal! Everyone, repeat after me, a stranger is someone you don’t know.”
“A stranger is someone you don’t know!” Harry chanted with the rest of his class.
“Very good,” said Mrs Baker. “Now, the very important thing we’re going to learn today is this: how to stay safe from dangerous strangers.”
The class erupted into whispers, some fearful, some excited, but all very engaged in learning about such a dramatic-sounding topic.
“Sometimes, a stranger might try to talk to you,” said Mrs Baker. “Everyone, this is very important! Pay attention to rule number one: don’t talk to strangers. Repeat that after me.”
“Don’t talk to strangers!” chorused the class.
Harry put his hand up.
“But if they talk to us, and we ignore them, isn’t that rude?” he said.
“It’s OK to be rude to strangers!” said Mrs Baker. “You don’t have to be polite to everybody.”
Harry frowned, a deeply uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had drilled it into him for as long as he could remember that manners were incredibly important. They got very angry with him if he ever behaved rudely or failed to show proper respect by being impolite. He puzzled this over for a long time in his head, missing a large chunk of what Mrs Baker said next. By the time he zoned back in, she seemed to have moved onto a different topic.
“Other times, a stranger might ask you to go off with them, either by walking away with them or by getting into their car,” Mrs Baker was saying. “And now we learn rule number three! Don’t go off with strangers!”
“Don’t go off with strangers!” the class chorused.
Rule number three, Harry thought with dismay. He had been so busy thinking about rule number one that he had completely missed rule number two!
“A dangerous stranger might try to trick you into going off with them,” said Mrs Baker, gently but seriously. “They might pretend to know your parents or say they have something interesting to show you – but they could be lying!”
“Why?” asked Tom, poking Harry urgently. “Harry, ask Mrs Baker why!”
Harry put his hand up obediently.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because some strangers aren’t very nice,” said Mrs Baker. “Some strangers are bad people known as predators.”
Urgent whispering once again broke out amongst the class. Once Mrs Baker regained everyone’s attention, they spent the rest of the lesson doing some roleplay exercises, with Mrs Baker pretending to be a stranger trying to talk to them or entice them away, and various children going up to the front of the class to have a go at practicing what to do to stay safe.
When the bell rang for break time, Harry and Tom made their way to the school library as usual, meandering their way through the bustling corridors, deep in conversation about what they had just learnt.
“I want to learn more about what a predator is,” said Tom, frowning. “Mrs Baker didn’t really explain it much.”
They reached the school library, pushing open the swinging door and walking into their familiar oasis. However, instead of making their usual beeline for the bookshelves, today they walked over to the main desk. Lilian, the friendly school librarian, was seated behind the desk as usual, giving Harry a warm smile when he stopped in front of her.
“Hello, Harry!” she said. “Everything OK?”
“Yes, Miss, thank you,” Harry said politely. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Of course, dear! What is it?”
Harry cast a sidelong glance at Tom for moral support, who nodded encouragingly.
“What’s a predator?” asked Harry.
“This is for a science lesson, is it?” said Lilian.
Harry was not actually sure what kind of subject “stranger danger” fell under, but he supposed it could be science. It definitely did not feel like numeracy or literacy or history or geography.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Lilian got up from her desk and rummaged about in a filing cabinet, before pulling out a sheet of paper and laying it flat on the desk so that Harry could see it clearly. On it was a simple diagram showing a plant, followed by an arrow pointing to an insect, and then an arrow pointing to a mouse, and finally an arrow pointing to an owl.
“This is a food chain,” explained Lilian. “The plant gets eaten by the insect; the insect gets eaten by the mouse; and the mouse gets eaten by the owl. We call the animals that get eaten prey. And we call the animals that do the eating predators.”
Fear and shock lanced through Harry, his insides suddenly feeling horribly like jelly. He looked at the picture of the food chain and abruptly imagined a dangerous stranger taking the place of the owl, and himself taking the place of the mouse.
“So, predators… they eat–” said Harry, cutting himself off, unable to say the word children.
“That’s right,” said Lilian, giving Harry the piece of paper with the food chain on it.
Harry took it, feeling a little sick, and then scurried away to a quiet corner to discuss with Tom what they had just discovered. Harry looked down at the piece of paper depicting the food chain fearfully, not understanding how Lilian had talked about it so calmly.
“Mrs Baker said strangers are dangerous because they can be predators who want to get children,” said Harry, distressed. “Lilian said predators are animals that eat smaller animals. Tom, strangers eat children!”
Tom immediately clasped Harry’s hand, looking around the school library vigilantly, as if a stranger might be lurking amongst the bookshelves. He looked just as disturbed as Harry felt, his usual cool and calm demeanour shattered, his eyes wild.
“What if… someone tries to… eat me?” said Harry, mortified to find that his lower lip was wobbling as tears pricked at his eyes.
“No,” Tom said immediately, wrapping his arms around Harry tightly and squashing Harry against his chest. “I’ll never let anyone eat you, Harry. If anyone tries… They’ll have to eat me first.”
Several months passed, and stranger danger slid from the forefront of their minds, until one very rainy Saturday in November, when Uncle Vernon gave Harry a £1 coin and ordered him to walk to the newsagents and buy a newspaper.
“The car’s being serviced at the garage,” complained Uncle Vernon. “Get us the Daily Mail and come back, no funny business.”
Harry looked out of the window at the howling wind and driving rain and pouted.
“Why can’t you get it?” he whined.
“Are you blind? Because it’s raining!” shouted Uncle Vernon.
“But–”
“Do as your uncle tells you, Harry,” said Aunt Petunia shortly. “It’s only a 10-minute walk. You’ll be fine.”
Knowing it was pointless arguing, Harry pulled on his coat and bobble hat and wrapped his scarf around his neck, stuffing the £1 coin into his pocket. When he opened the front door, he was almost knocked back by the force of the wind, shivering immediately as a cold gust blew straight through his flimsy coat and trousers.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Tom, grimacing. “The faster we get it done, the sooner you’ll be back in the warm and dry.”
Harry nodded and together they hurried through the streets towards the newsagents, staggering slightly as they were buffeted by the strong winds. Harry shivered violently. It was the most miserable weather he had ever experienced. His fingers were red and numb with cold. He felt like his clothes were already water-logged and sticking to his skin, sucking the body heat out of him. He was cursing Uncle Vernon with all the worst words he knew (“Stupid, buggering poo-head!”), when a white van pulled up beside him, the window rolling down to reveal a middle-aged man sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Do you want a lift?” called the man, giving him a smile.
Harry blinked in surprise.
“Oh, er, no, thank you,” he said, feeling uncomfortable.
“Are you sure? You look wet. It’s nice and dry in here,” said the man.
“I don’t want to get your van wet,” mumbled Harry, wishing the man would stop talking to him.
“What are you doing?! This man is a stranger! We’re not supposed to talk to him,” hissed Tom, snatching up Harry’s hand and trying to pull him away.
“Bye,” said Harry to the man, turning as if to walk off.
“I have some puppies in the back of the van, do you want to see?” said the man.
Harry paused, confused by the sudden change in conversation.
“Er, what?” he said.
“I’m going to check,” said Tom. “This man feels iffy.”
With that, Tom let go of Harry’s hand and confidently walked through the wall of the van and disappeared from view. Harry fidgeted self-consciously, feeling strangely naked and vulnerable without Tom by his side.
“Hey, we know one another, don’t we?” said the man, looking at Harry intently, that strange smile still fixed on his face. “I’m friends with your dad. I saw him just the other day. You can trust me.”
Harry suddenly felt sick, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands hot and sweaty despite the freezing temperatures. This man did not know Harry’s father, or even if he once had, he had definitely not seen him “just the other day”. Harry’s father had been dead for the past six years. This man was not a friend. He was a predator, which meant he must be out prowling for his next meal: Harry.
“Um… Um…” stammered Harry, his legs suddenly turning to jelly as fear overwhelmed him.
Like a shark sensing blood, the man suddenly vaulted across the passenger seat and threw open the van door, clamping a hand over Harry’s mouth and dragging him towards the back of the van. Harry screamed with terror, the sound smothered by the man’s hand and whipped away by the howling wind.
At that exact moment, Tom walked back through the wall of the van, frowning to himself.
“There’s no puppies, Harry, he–” said Tom, before startling with shock as his eyes fell on Harry being dragged towards the back of the van. “NO!”
Tom immediately ran forwards, pummelling his fists against the man, but of course, his arms simply passed straight through the man’s body harmlessly.
“Let him go! Let him go! You can’t have him!” screamed Tom, his eyes widening with panic as the man threw open the back of the van.
Harry met his gaze, his green eyes wide and terrified as he felt the man picking him up off the floor – before noticing something very strange seemed to be happening to Tom. The fuzzy white outline that usually pulsated faintly around Tom like a heartbeat was throbbing brighter and brighter, until suddenly there was a blinding flash of light.
The man holding Harry screamed as his coat burst into hot, angry flames.
The man immediately let go of Harry, shouting and thrashing around wildly as he tried to remove his burning clothing. Harry staggered away, almost falling over, before Tom grabbed him by the hand and hauled him down the road as fast as they could run.
Harry sprinted faster than he had ever run in his life, fear and adrenaline powering him forwards, Tom right by his side, clutching his hand tightly. They reached the end of the road, pausing a moment to look back, seeing the man had finally ripped off his burning coat and thrown it on the ground.
“Keep going,” urged Tom, pulling him forwards around the corner, out of sight of the predator.
They ran back in the direction of Privet Drive. Damn the newspaper. Uncle Vernon could shout all he wanted; Harry was not going to risk his life for it. They ran through the driving rain and shrieking winds. Harry’s legs ached. He was tired and wet and frightened, but he kept running and running and running, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man. They ran all the way back to Privet Drive, not stopping until they were back on the doorstep of number four.
Finally feeling safe enough to relax, Harry flung his arms around Tom and hugged him tightly, all his pent-up emotions suddenly flooding through him all at once.
“Thank you,” sobbed Harry, rain mixing with his tears. “Thank you. You did the fire, didn’t you? You saved me.”
“It’s the Gift…” said Tom, realisation dawning on him slowly. “I have it, too.”
November slipped into December, Christmas came and went (the Dursleys gave Harry a paperclip for his Christmas present), and before they knew it, it was January.
January brought with it bitterly cold temperatures, an Arctic blast freezing Britain with -10°C temperatures. Even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia recognised the need to keep Harry warm for his well-being, but in typical Dursley fashion, they did not want to buy him anything new, instead going through Dudley’s extensive wardrobe to see if there was anything their son had outgrown that they could pass on to Harry.
After some rummaging, Aunt Petunia unearthed a particularly hideous old jumper of Dudley’s, nodding to herself as she inspected it. She came downstairs, finding Harry playing in the lounge, and held up the proffered clothing.
“I’ve found you a jumper,” she said.
Harry looked up, his mouth falling open with dismay as his gaze fell on the jumper. It looked absolutely atrocious: poo-brown with ugly orange bobbles and full of holes. Harry shook his head with horror, looking up at Aunt Petunia beseechingly.
“I can’t wear that,” he said.
“Don’t be silly, of course you can!” said Aunt Petunia stiffly, sitting down next to him and attempting to pull it over his head.
Harry squirmed with discomfort and helplessness. He already knew that Dudley would laugh himself silly when he saw Harry in his ugly old jumper. He hated it with a passion. He hated the stupid jumper. He hated that it would give Dudley yet another excuse to bully him. He hated that his aunt and uncle could not be bothered to go to the shop and buy him just one nice item of clothing, when they showered Dudley with presents constantly.
As these thoughts swirled miserably through his head, he realised that the jumper Aunt Petunia was trying to jam over his head was uncomfortably tight. He made a little noise of protest. It really did feel exceptionally small. In fact, if he did not know better, he would have sworn it was getting tighter and tighter around his head, squeezing at his skull, pinching his ears. Aunt Petunia seemed to be struggling too, panting slightly as she tried to force the jumper over the crown of Harry’s head, before finally pulling away and staring at the jumper in her hands in disbelief.
Harry gawked at it in shock. The jumper, which had definitely looked Harry-sized just a minute earlier, now looked as though it would fit nothing larger than a glove puppet. Both Harry and Aunt Petunia blinked at the tiny jumper, dumbfounded.
“It must have shrunk in the wash,” said Aunt Petunia firmly, as if trying very hard to convince herself of something, before shooting Harry an annoyed look. “We’ll have to go to the shops to get you something.”
She huffed and left the room, making a show of complaining to Uncle Vernon that they had to make an unscheduled trip to the shops in the freezing temperatures, leaving Harry and Tom alone in the lounge.
“Did it… shrink?” whispered Harry uncertainly, not wanting the Dursleys to hear him.
Tom nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.
“It must be the Gift…” he said.
A freezing January eventually gave way to a blustery February and a drab March, and then it was April, with its typical see-saw swings between sunshine and showers.
As had become their routine, Harry and Tom continued spending their break times in the school library, reading and learning together, whilst also avoiding Dudley and his gang, who were as stupid as they were mean, and thus never stepped foot in there.
On this particular day, however, Dudley was not at school. He was stuck at home with chickenpox, and so Harry and Tom decided to take advantage of this rare opportunity to actually venture outside and play in the school playground during break time.
The other children largely ignored Harry. They all knew he was hated by Dudley, and even in the bully’s absence, they did not want to do anything that they thought might displease him, like play with his weirdo loner cousin. Harry did not care. He did not need them, not when he had his invisible best friend, who was smarter and funnier and much more interesting than any of them anyway.
They skipped through the playground, running around together carefree, before looking up when a deep rumble of thunder trembled through the vast sky. Large black clouds were brewing overhead, and as Harry looked up, a large fat raindrop fell and burst on his nose. He blinked in surprise, before his face broke out in a grin, watching as the rain began to fall, first a few random raindrops splashing on the tarmac of the playground, and then a torrent, the heavens opening up and tipping their contents earthwards.
Many of the other children began squealing and running inside, swarming at the school doors, wanting to get back to the warmth and dryness of their classrooms. Harry ignored them, grabbing Tom’s hand and jumping joyfully in the puddles that were rapidly forming.
“Splish-splash! Splish-splash!” sang Harry, watching with excitement as he caused a tidal wave with his feet.
Harry’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Tom was grinning too, running and jumping with Harry in as many puddles as possible, even though Tom himself could not cause so much as a ripple. They made a game out of it, Harry trying to splash and kick and sweep water at Tom, and Tom trying to leap and dodge out of the way. They were fairly evenly matched; Harry a wild cannonball of energy, Tom as graceful as a gazelle, hopping and skipping away artfully.
The rain quickly soaked through Harry’s school uniform, his vision becoming completely blurred as his glasses became covered in water, his usually messy hair sticking smoothly to his head as if he had just dunked his head into a bathtub full of water. He was utterly drenched, but for precisely that reason, he did not care about the downpour. It was not as if he could get any more wet, so he was free to play with Tom with wild abandon, the rest of the world melting away until there was only the playground of St Grogory’s Primary School, the two of them becoming completely consumed by their game.
They were having so much fun, giggling and screaming with such delight, that they did not hear Mrs Baker trying to call Harry inside for the longest time.
And if perhaps they ran in the opposite direction, pretending not to hear her, just to cram in a few more minutes of pure joy in the torrential English April rain – honestly, who could blame them?
Harry seriously wondered if the Dursleys had forgotten his date of birth at some point and then felt too embarrassed to ask him when it was, because on Harry’s 8th birthday, the only thing Aunt Petunia said they were going to do was the weekly grocery shop at their local Tesco supermarket.
After an exceptionally long and boring trip in the car (“Blasted road works,” sniffed Aunt Petunia), Harry and Dudley trailed after her as she went methodically through the Tesco aisles, ticking items off on her shopping list as she went. Dudley complained loudly about how they did not have enough chocolate, something that Harry did not think would be such a problem if Dudley could simply refrain from eating every single sweet in the house the moment it appeared.
As they approached the bakery section, Harry eyed the birthday cakes hopefully, wondering if perhaps Aunt Petunia was planning to surprise him with a birthday treat of his choice.
“That chocolate cake looks nice,” said Harry, smiling sweetly, hoping he was being subtle enough to not seem greedy, whilst also giving Aunt Petunia the perfect opportunity to spring her surprise.
Aunt Petunia barely gave him a glance.
“We don’t have any baked goods on the list,” she said, giving the shopping list a little shake.
Harry nodded, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face. It was not even about the cake. Sure, he loved cake as much as any other self-respecting eight-year-old, but what he really wanted was simply a “happy birthday” from his family, some sign that they loved him, even if he was not as good as their golden child Dudley.
Tom seemed to pick up on his glum mood immediately, slipping his hand into Harry’s and giving it a squeeze.
“Who cares about cake? We’ll celebrate your birthday later by sneaking out and playing on the swings in the park,” said Tom, trying to sound upbeat.
Harry gave him a grateful smile, appreciating the effort Tom was making to cheer him up. At least Tom remembered his birthday. They were just about to leave the bakery section when a tiny man wearing a violet top hat suddenly gave a loud squeal of excitement, staring at Harry’s forehead with wide eyes.
Before Harry was able to react, the man sank down into a deep bow, bending at the waist, having to hold onto his top hat to prevent it from falling off his head. Harry gawked in amazement as the man righted himself, a huge grin of pure happiness on his old, wrinkled face.
“The happiest of birthdays to the saviour of our world!” squeaked the man loudly, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “We’re all truly grateful!”
Harry stared at the man with astonishment, his mind whirling with shock and confusion. Who was this man? How did he know it was Harry’s birthday? And what on earth did he mean by the saviour of our world?! Harry was just about to open his mouth to let all these questions tumble out, his mind bursting with curiosity, when the tiny man began to scurry away, much faster than Harry would have thought his little legs could carry him.
“Do you know that man?!” said Aunt Petunia, suddenly standing in front of him, her face pale and her eyes darting around fearfully.
“What?” said Harry, trying to lean sideways to see past her. “No, but–”
Without warning, Aunt Petunia snatched up his and Dudley’s hands, looking around wildly, as if she expected to see more people like that curious little man.
“We’re leaving,” she said, sounding a little hysterical, abandoning their shopping trolley and starting to drag Harry and Dudley as fast as she could towards the exit.
“Wait!” said Harry, twisting around, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had wished him a happy birthday.
“What about our shopping? I want my chocolate!” wailed Dudley, tears already starting to stream down his face as he stamped his feet, refusing to move.
And then, to everyone’s disbelief, Aunt Petunia did something she had never done before: she scolded Dudley.
“Quiet!” shouted Aunt Petunia, shocking Dudley into silence. “You’ll do as I say. We’re leaving.”
Harry scanned the shop helplessly for the tiny man in the violet top hat as he was whisked out of the shop by Aunt Petunia. He wanted to shout out to this man, to ask him how he knew Harry, to ask him what he meant by what he said. But Aunt Petunia was too strong, relentlessly dragging him and Dudley to the car and then tearing out of the car park, wheels screeching in a most un-Aunt-Petunia-like way.
Harry and Tom stared at one another in amazement in the back seat, the same question written plainly on both their faces:
What on earth was all that about?
Notes:
THANK YOU: Ahh, you have no idea how motivating and wonderful it has been to read your comments on the first two chapters. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave such lovely words <3
TIE-INS WITH CANON: Fans of the Harry Potter books may recognise two scenes in this chapter that took their inspiration from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. The ugly shrinking jumper and the tiny man bowing to Harry in the supermarket are both very briefly mentioned in the book, so I thought it’d be fun to expand on both those scenes in this chapter. Well done if you spotted those 2 Easter eggs!
THOUGHTS: Things ramped up a bit in this chapter - Tom performed his first accidental magic (setting the predator’s coat on fire), there was the strange encounter with the tiny man in the supermarket, and Harry and Tom had more fluffy moments together (playing in the rain). What are your thoughts on this chapter? Did you have any favourite bits? I love hearing your thoughts, so don’t be shy!
TEASER: The next chapter will see Harry discover a new hobby that he falls head over heels in love with…
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username ao3-elle1991 if you fancy saying hello or giving me a follow on there :)
Chapter Text
Apparently, in Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s eyes, Harry being eight years old meant he was now old enough to take over the gardening. The Dursleys hated gardening, thinking it a tedious and plebeian chore, and were only too happy to palm it off onto Harry, giving him strict instructions on how he was to mow the lawn and tend to the flowers, expecting nothing but the best.
Most eight-year-olds would balk at the idea of being given such a time-consuming and labour-intensive chore, but for whatever reason, Harry absolutely adored it. With every day that he spent tinkering about in the garden, at the weekends and after school, he fell deeper and deeper in love with his plants. There was something incredibly special about nurturing something with his own two hands and watching it slowly transform into something beautiful.
Tom was slightly bemused by Harry’s newfound obsession with gardening, but was patient and encouraging nonetheless, diligently reading aloud books on flowers when Harry would pull them off the shelves during their break times at the school library.
At home, Tom would lie lazily on the grass, watching as Harry would throw himself into nurturing the garden; mowing the grass, planting flowers and pulling up weeds. Over time, the garden became Harry’s pride and joy – an oasis of green grass and sweet scents and bumblebees buzzing amongst the blossoms. Aunt Petunia even offered a rare compliment, commenting on how their garden was looking much nicer than any of their neighbours.
As the flowers bloomed and Harry looked out at the beautiful riot of colour he had created, he was filled with so much happiness he thought he might burst.
The first sign of trouble was when, one day, Dudley could not stop giggling. It was a Saturday morning and everyone was enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talked amongst themselves about their plans for the weekend. Harry was already daydreaming about going out into the garden and watering the flowers and seeing just how nice and colourful they looked today. Across from him at the kitchen table, Dudley was in a weirdly excitable mood, casting sneaky glances at Harry and trying to smother explosive snorts of laughter.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” asked Harry, frowning.
Dudley looked extremely pleased with himself, puffing up his chest as if he knew the world’s juiciest secret.
“Oh, you’ll see,” said Dudley, shooting him a smug grin, before letting out another cackle of laughter.
Harry rolled his eyes, helping himself to more toast and smothering it with strawberry jam, as he tried to tune out his annoying cousin. Life at the Dursleys had become much more bearable since he had been tasked with the gardening. Now, he had something incredibly enjoyable to do at home, something that also had the added bonus of his family leaving him alone much more than before, since none of them had any interest in helping him in the garden.
After Harry finished his breakfast and brushed his teeth, he changed into his gardening clothes and filled up his watering can at the kitchen sink. He was surprised by Dudley suddenly appearing at his side, the other boy practically vibrating with excitement.
“Are you going to the garden now?” asked Dudley.
“Er, yeah. Why?” said Harry, bamboozled by Dudley’s sudden interest in his activities.
Dudley did not usually give two hoots about Harry, unless he was playing a game of Harry hunting or trying to steal something from his plate.
Dudley did not reply, simply letting out a squeal of excitement and following Harry along the hallway as he headed for the front garden. Trying to ignore his bothersome cousin, Harry unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the doorstep, before stopping dead, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
His beautiful flowers lay scattered across the lawn, their petals torn and trampled, their roots scraggly and ripped where they had been pulled roughly from the earth. His carefully tended flowerbeds had been butchered; each plant that he had loved and nurtured for months, destroyed. Harry could not breathe. He felt as though his heart had been scooped out, leaving him hollow and bleeding. He stumbled forwards, a small sob of horror escaping his lips as he fell to his knees, desperately trying to gather his murdered flowers towards him, as if his touch could fix their broken stems and ruined beauty.
Behind him, he was vaguely aware that Dudley was laughing himself silly on the doorstep, delighting in how he had got Harry with his cruel prank. Tom turned towards Dudley slowly, his face taut and white as he shook with rage. With a snarl, Tom marched towards Dudley, his eyes bright with hatred as he put his hands around Dudley’s throat and attempted to throttle him. Unfortunately, his hands simply passed straight through Dudley’s neck, which only seemed to enrage Tom further.
“Horrid, nasty, evil little pig!” hissed Tom, his voice rising with every syllable. “I’m going to rip your head off, pull your trousers down and shove it straight up your fat, sweaty, stinking–”
“Tom…” whimpered Harry.
Tom’s neck instantly snapped in Harry’s direction. He abandoned Dudley on the doorstep, rushing over to Harry and crouching down beside him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly.
Harry was almost hyperventilating, his heart aching with shock and grief for his flowers, his garden, his green oasis that he had nurtured with every ounce of love in his body. His tears came thick and fast, blurring his vision, his throat aching as he heaved great, racking sobs.
“Harry,” murmured Tom. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”
Harry pulled himself from Tom’s embrace and picked up one of the flowers, gently turning it over in his hands, the lump in his throat growing larger and larger as it flopped about lifelessly with its crippled stem. With a scream, he hurled it away, before throwing himself onto the ground and kicking and hitting the ground with his hands and feet, crying and wailing inconsolably, utterly lost in his grief.
That evening, after all the flowers had been put in the green wheelie bin and Dudley had been told off for ruining the garden by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, Harry lay listlessly in bed beside Tom in the cupboard under the stairs.
The initial shock had worn off, leaving behind a sluggish sort of depression, interspersed with the occasional fit of crying. Images of Harry’s precious flowers all torn up and destroyed kept flashing across his mind’s eye, leaving him upset and restless. Even Tom, who had not particularly cared much about the garden itself, was affected by Harry’s mood, holding Harry’s hand comfortingly as Harry sniffled beside him.
“Things will get better, I promise,” vowed Tom. “One day, we’ll kill all the Dursleys and run away.”
Tom sometimes said violent things like this when he got angry. Harry was not quite sure what to make of it. He supposed Tom simply felt a lot of big emotions and did not always know what to do with them.
“No killing,” pouted Harry.
“Not even Dudley?” said Tom, sounding disappointed.
Harry poked him in the side with displeasure.
Tom sighed.
“Fine,” said Tom. “One day, we’ll leave Mrs Figg’s cat poo in their shoes and run away.”
Harry giggled.
“And live happily ever after?” he said.
“Of course,” smiled Tom. “Happily ever after.”
And even though they both knew it was make-believe, Harry found he felt a little better.
The next day, Harry was awoken by Tom shaking him excitedly, a giddy look of disbelief on his face.
“Harry, wake up!” urged Tom. “Harry, you have to see this!”
Harry blinked and sat up slowly, rubbing his hands over his bleary eyes.
“What is it?” he said, his throat scratchy and his head still fuzzy with sleep.
“Something amazing has happened!” said Tom, his face flushed with triumph. “Come on!”
Still half-asleep and very much confused, Harry let Tom drag him out of bed and down the hallway. By the time he finally felt awake enough for his brain to kick in, he realised that Tom was impatiently waiting for him to open the front door. Harry folded his arms, the hurt of the previous day rushing back to him as memories of his ruined garden resurfaced.
“I don’t want to go back out there,” said Harry stubbornly. “I’m not doing it.”
“Trust me, you’ll want to see this,” implored Tom.
Harry drummed his fingers on the door handle, confused. He trusted Tom, completely and without question. If Tom thought Harry needed to see whatever was on the other side of that door, Harry believed him, although he could not possibly fathom what good could come from seeing his poor garden destroyed all over again. With a sigh, he unlocked the front door and stepped outside, only to be stopped in his tracks by shock for the second time in two days.
Yesterday evening, the flowerbeds had been empty and barren, Aunt Petunia having gathered up the tattered remains of all the flowers that Dudley had ripped up and put them in the green wheelie bin to be collected by the council. Harry had cried and cried and cried when he had looked out of the window to see his precious garden so depressingly bare. Not a single flower had survived, every scrap of colour gone – but now…
Now, impossibly, incredibly, the flowerbeds were bursting with life. The flowers were back, bigger and stronger and wilder than before, overflowing the borders of Harry’s tidy flowerbed, their unruly stems reaching determinedly for the sky, their colours bolder and more vibrant than ever. It was as if they were rebelling against ever having been pulled up, their crushed stems strong once more, their torn-off petals back and bright and firmly re-attached.
Harry rushed outside, running to his flowerbed and dropping reverently to his knees. His vision blurred with tears, a lump growing in his throat as love and happiness swelled like a balloon in his chest.
“But, how…?” said Harry, unable to contain his astonishment.
He had seen the flowers yesterday. They had been dead, crushed and torn up by his pig-headed cousin Dudley, irreparably and irreversibly damaged. They could not be alive. It was impossible. And yet… and yet… here they were, colourful and beautiful and alive, as if yesterday had been nothing more than a bad dream.
“It’s the Gift,” breathed Tom, his eyes bright with excitement as he stared at the resurrected flowers. “You did this, Harry. You loved your flowers so much that you brought them back from the dead.”
A smile spread slowly across Harry’s face, tears of relief and joy pricking at his eyes as he ran his hands gently over the petals of the impossible flowers growing all around him.
“They grew back,” he whispered, his heart filled with happiness and wonder.
A week later, Harry was on the bus with Aunt Petunia, en route to the dentist for his regular check-up, when they came to a stop at a red traffic light. Harry rested his forehead against the window, his fringe pushed up, enjoying the way the vibrations of the engine rattled his head as he watched the passersby walk along the pavement.
It was a sunny day, and he was feeling good. His garden was looking beautiful again, and although a week earlier Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been shocked to see the flowers had somehow come back and re-planted themselves overnight, they had not punished Harry for it, perhaps acknowledging that their garden did look nicer than the neighbours’ this way (although Harry did overhear them later, having a muffled argument where he could just make out the word “freakishness”).
Presently, he was watching the people walking past the bus, his attention wandering, when a wild-looking old woman stopped on the pavement on the other side of the bus window and waved merrily at Harry. Harry blinked in astonishment, staring at this woman with shock and curiosity. She had messy white hair and was dressed from head to toe in long green robes, with a long wooden stick tucked behind her ear. In her arms was a cauldron, poking out of the top of which was an eclectic mix of flowers and plants.
Harry’s heart began to pound, a wild kind of excitement building in his chest as he took in the woman’s green robes and the stick behind her ear and her armful of plants and came to the only reasonable conclusion: she must be the Goddess of plants; the kind and beautiful and generous deity who had brought Harry’s flowers back to life.
Ignoring Aunt Petunia’s frantic attempts to draw his attention away from the Goddess, Harry waved back at the woman enthusiastically, mouthing the same words to her over and over again, until the traffic lights changed and the bus finally pulled away:
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Notes:
THANK YOU: Wow, the love this story is getting is blowing me away! Thank you so much for reading, and an extra special thank you to everyone who’s left such kind comments and kudos, it’s such great motivation to know you’re enjoying this story :)
TIE-IN WITH CANON: A wild-looking woman dressed in green and waving at Harry on the bus is mentioned very briefly in chapter 2 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I thought it’d be fun to expand on that and tie it into this fic! Well done to any eagle-eyed readers who noticed that Easter egg <3
THOUGHTS: A shorter chapter than normal, but still a lot squeezed in! What did you think of this chapter? Harry discovered his love of plants, Tom showed a bit of his aggressive side, and Dudley was a real pig head. And yet more accidental magic from Harry. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, I love reading your reactions and commentary!
TEASER: The next chapter will see Harry get inspired about what he wants to be when he grows up, and Tom develop a new hobby that he gets slightly obsessed with. Feel free to let me know if you’ve got any guesses as to what either of those could be ;)
TUMBLR: Want to tumble with me amongst the wild meadows of Tumblr? I am ao3-elle1991 over there!
Chapter Text
Harry was now nine years old, and life had settled into a steady kind of rhythm.
At school, he was the top of his class, thanks to all the time he spent reading with Tom in the school library. He did not have any other friends (everyone was scared of Dudley, and they all knew Dudley hated Harry), but Harry did not care. Why would he want anyone else, when he was so happy with his best friend Tom?
At home, he had his chores and his garden to keep him busy. Much to Harry’s pleasure, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had banned Dudley from interfering in the garden; not because they particularly cared how upset Harry had been when Dudley had pulled up all the flowers, but because they did not want their garden to look bad compared to the neighbours’. Harry considered it a win, content with the peace of mind that his garden was now safe from his horrible cousin.
All in all, life was good. Not spectacular, but certainly better than the first six years of his life, when he had been all alone and miserable without Tom. Harry was content. Everything was fine.
Really, he should have known it was going far too well.
One wintry Saturday afternoon in December, Harry and Tom were at home, playing at the top of the stairs. Harry was crouched over his squad of toy soldiers, whilst Tom was laid on his belly, the two of them talking passionately about the best strategy for the soldiers to complete their heroic mission of abseiling down the stairs and escaping from the danger zone (upstairs) to getting to safety (their cupboard). They were both so engrossed in the game, so focused on the toy soldiers and their mission, that they did not see Dudley sneak up behind Harry and give him a playful shove.
“Boo!” laughed Dudley.
Harry’s world tipped upside down, his stomach flipping horribly as he went from crouched on his haunches to suddenly pinwheeling through the air, a scream of fear tearing from his throat as he crashed down the stairs. He felt his body bouncing painfully against the steps and the wall, before he finally smacked into the floor at the bottom of the stairs, reaching out instinctively with his arm to break his fall.
His arm snapped.
Harry immediately let out a scream of pain, white hot agony shooting through his limb, the bones of his forearm breaking clean in two. Pain unlike anything he had ever experienced exploded through him. His vision went fuzzy at the edges, his body convulsing with huge wet sobs as he clutched his broken arm to his chest.
He was faintly aware of a cacophony of noise and chaos at the top of the stairs. Dudley was screaming in shock. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were running towards the sounds of the commotion. Tom tore down the stairs in a panic, before skidding to a halt beside Harry.
“Harry? Harry! Oh God, your arm…” said Tom, his face paling as his gaze fell on the unnatural angle of Harry’s arm.
Harry was in so much pain he could barely see, his vision blurring with tears as he bawled his eyes out.
“It hurts! It hurts! Make it stop!” Harry screamed.
“Vernon, fetch the cordless phone,” said Aunt Petunia, who had reached Harry at the bottom of the stairs and was staring at his clearly broken arm with undisguised shock.
“What?” said Uncle Vernon, who was standing with his mouth hanging open, apparently stunned into inaction.
“The cordless phone!” shouted Aunt Petunia impatiently, her harsh tone seeming to snap her husband out of his horrified trance. “The boy needs an ambulance!”
Uncle Vernon hurried towards the lounge, returning moments later with the cordless phone, passing it to Aunt Petunia who was now kneeling beside Harry and gently stroking his hair in a most un-Aunt-Petunia-like way. As she dialled 999 to call for an ambulance, Harry could not stop crying, almost delirious with pain as he clutched his broken arm in agony.
“It hurts! Make it stop!” he sobbed.
Beside him, Tom was almost in tears, frustrated by his inability to help when Harry needed it. He rubbed his hand up and down Harry’s back, powerless to do anything else.
“It’s OK,” said Tom, although his voice was shaking. “The ambulance is coming. The doctors, they’ll… they’ll fix you.”
“It hurts!” screamed Harry, barely listening, before one coherent thought suddenly pierced through the fog of pain. “Use your Gift,” begged Harry, turning to Tom, not caring if the Dursleys could see him apparently talking to himself. “Use your Gift to put me to sleep, please.”
He did not know if it would work. Tom had only been able to use his Gift once before, to set fire to the predator’s coat when the man in the white van had tried to abduct Harry. He could see the fear and uncertainty in Tom’s eyes, but Tom obeyed wordlessly, placing his hands on either side of Harry’s head. Tom closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, his brow furrowed in concentration, drawing on something buried deep inside of him: the Gift. The soft glow that surrounded Tom began to pulsate brighter and brighter, just as it had done when Tom had used his Gift to create the fire.
“Sleep,” said Tom, pressing his fingers gently against Harry’s temples.
Harry thought he saw Tom’s aura pulse once with brilliant white light – and then, he thought no more.
Tom watched Harry slump sideways as a surge of white light rushed down Tom’s arms and entered Harry’s head. Harry’s eyes slid closed, the pain and anguish instantly melting off his face as he slipped into a Tom-induced sleep.
For a moment, Tom was frightened, afraid that he had done something wrong and killed Harry, before noticing to his relief the gentle rise and fall of Harry’s chest. He let out a shaky breath, resisting the urge to immediately wake Harry up again to make sure he was alright, not wanting Harry to suffer the unbearable pain of his broken arm.
Aunt Petunia looked horrified at Harry’s sudden unconsciousness, not being able to see Tom or the white light that had pulsed brightly when Tom had used his Gift, talking rapidly on the phone to the ambulance service. Tom tuned out the Dursleys, taking Harry’s non-broken arm and gently holding his hand, wishing there was a way he could fix Harry’s arm and make it all better.
The ambulance arrived within ten minutes, the paramedics loading Harry onto a stretcher and wheeling him into the back of the ambulance. Tom hurried anxiously alongside them, climbing silently into the back of the ambulance with Aunt Petunia. As the ambulance whizzed away from Privet Drive, blue lights flashing and siren wailing, Tom crawled carefully onto the stretcher to lie beside Harry, wrapping his arms tightly around him as the paramedics worked around them. He was careful not to jostle Harry’s broken arm, trying to find comfort in the fact that Harry was not in pain so long as he was asleep.
“It’s OK, Harry,” whispered Tom. “You’ll be alright.”
They arrived at the Royal Surrey County Hospital about quarter of an hour later, the paramedics rushing him into A&E, one of the wheels of the stretcher squeaking madly. Tom clung to Harry anxiously, doing his best to listen as the paramedics spewed a load of medical jargon to the doctors and nurses who were now crowding around Harry.
They noted his obviously broken arm, but seemed more concerned about the fact he was asleep and not waking up, asking Aunt Petunia if she had witnessed the accident and if it was possible Harry had banged his head when he had fallen down the stairs. Tom listened guiltily, knowing Harry’s head was absolutely fine, but even if they had been able to see him, he could hardly explain that he had used his mysterious Gift to put Harry into a deep sleep in order to provide pain relief.
“Just fix his arm,” Tom said loudly, even though he knew they could not hear him.
“Can you hear me, sweetheart?” said one of the nurses, reaching straight through Tom’s body to take Harry’s uninjured hand. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, Harry.”
Harry continued sleeping peacefully, his body lax, his eyes not responding when a doctor gently lifted up one of his eyelids to shine a torch into his pupil.
“We need to do a CT scan of his head,” said a doctor. “Possible brain trauma.”
“What? No! Just fix his arm!” said Tom.
Tom watched in dismay as someone rushed off to liaise with the radiology department. He quickly turned back to Harry, poking him gently in the side, trying to wake him up.
“Wake up, Harry!” he said. “They’re going to scan your head. You have to wake up and tell them it’s just your arm that’s hurting.”
Harry did not respond, still sleeping deeply, not moving so much as an inch when the medical staff began wheeling the stretcher towards the radiology department, the stretcher rattling noisily beneath them with its squeaky wheel.
Tom watched helplessly as they prepared Harry to go into the CT scanner – a bizarre machine that looked like a large white doughnut. As a final act of desperation, Tom tried to summon the power of the Gift once more, wanting to wake Harry up, but it would not come, the Gift remaining frustratingly out of reach and beyond his control.
He stood awkwardly to the side as the doctors scanned Harry’s head and puzzled over the results. There was no brain damage, of course, and when they attached electrodes to Harry’s head a little later, his brainwaves revealed he was simply asleep, although they were baffled as to why he was not waking up given the noisy hospital environment and all the medical staff poking at him.
“His arm, just fix his arm!” said Tom, frustrated that they seemed obsessed with Harry’s mysterious unconsciousness.
Hours later, after what felt like a dozen specialists came and puzzled over why Harry would not wake up, they finally scanned his arm and placed it in a splint. (Although here, too, Harry’s condition seemed to be causing confusion, as Tom caught snatches of yet more bewildered conversation, with the doctors flummoxed as to how he was seemingly healing at an unbelievable speed.)
“Come on, Harry, wake up,” whined Tom. “This is weird. They keep worrying about your brain.”
Tom yawned, glancing at the clock, noting with a start that it was almost midnight. Had he ever stayed up beyond midnight before? Tom did not think so. His eyelids drooped. Gosh, they really did feel exceptionally heavy. He crawled into the hospital bed beside Harry. He would rest his eyes, just for a couple of minutes, he decided. It had been a long, stressful day.
He was snoring within seconds.
Harry blinked awake languidly, feeling the most relaxed and well-rested he could remember being in his entire life. He yawned lazily, enjoying the way the morning sunlight streamed in through the window and hit his face. Tom was dozing beside him, curled against his side, one arm thrown out over Harry’s tummy. Harry smiled happily, feeling wonderfully fuzzy and content.
Wait a minute… Sunlight?
He jolted out of his sleepy haze, looking around at his surroundings, anxious as to where he was, since he was very clearly not in his cupboard under the stairs. Looking down, he saw that he was in a very basic but clean-looking bed, dressed in a thin blue gown. There was something around his arm, and he was attached to several beeping machines which seemed to be measuring his vital signs. Looking around the room, there were around five other beds, each with their own child occupant hooked up to their own machines, some with their parents sitting by their bedsides.
He must be in hospital, he realised, his confusion instantly banished as he remembered Dudley’s push and Harry’s subsequent fall down the stairs. He remembered asking Tom to use the Gift to put him to sleep to give him a reprieve from the pain, and realised with a spurt of excitement that it must have worked, since everything between then and now was simply a fuzzy haze of sleep.
He shook Tom awake excitedly, intent on asking him about the Gift, curious as to how Tom had managed to control it and what exactly had happened. Tom stirred and opened his eyes blearily, before letting out a squeal of delight when he saw Harry was awake, throwing his arms around him enthusiastically.
“You’re awake!” said Tom. “How are you feeling?”
Harry was just about to reply when a large middle-aged man wearing a white coat and a sunshine yellow suit walked into the room, a stethoscope hung around his neck. Upon seeing Harry awake, he hurried over, a large warm smile on his round face.
“Harry!” boomed the man. “My name is Dr Lancaster. How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare yesterday!”
As he spoke, the man peered at Harry’s vital signs, before shining a torch into both his eyes.
“A scare?” said Harry, blinking at the bright light.
“We couldn’t get you to wake up!” said Dr Lancaster, before giving a little chortle. “We even had a little look at your brain using a special machine, but it just looked like you were sleeping.”
“You looked at my brain? Cool! Can I see?” asked Harry, fascinated.
Dr Lancaster’s eyes lit up and he removed a sheet from the stack of documents at the foot of Harry’s bed to show him, letting Harry gawk at the CT scan of his brain. Harry looked at the little squiggles of his brain folds, wondering which bits did what and how. He pointed to various parts of the scan, asking question after question which Dr Lancaster answered enthusiastically. Harry decided he liked Dr Lancaster immensely. The man was warm, kind, patient and fun.
“Your mental faculties certainly seem to be working fine,” said Dr Lancaster, scribbling down a note on his clipboard. “Has anything like that ever happened to you before, Harry? Falling asleep at strange times and not waking up for a while?”
Harry shook his head, not knowing if or how he should explain Tom and their mysterious Gifts.
“Well, the main thing is, you’re feeling better now,” said Dr Lancaster, giving him a kind smile. “Which just leaves us with the issue of your arm.”
“Is it OK?” asked Harry, looking down at his arm, which was in a splint.
He remembered the excruciating pain he had felt when it had broken. It had hurt so much he had feared he might die. Thankfully, it did not hurt at the moment, although Harry rather suspected that was to do with the drip in his arm, which he reckoned must contain painkillers.
“It’s broken,” said Dr Lancaster honestly. “But we’ve put it in a splint and it’s not serious enough to need surgery. As I was saying to your aunt earlier, I’d like to keep you in hospital just a little longer for observation because of your big sleep, but then you should be fine to go home with your arm in a cast. Honestly, your arm’s healing faster than anything we’ve ever seen before in this hospital. It’s almost like magic!”
At that moment, Aunt Petunia walked into the room, a cup of vending machine coffee clutched in her hand. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and looked tired and drawn. Harry realised with a jolt of surprise that she must have come to the hospital and stayed with him all night. At Dr Lancaster’s last words, she blanched, visibly flinching and almost dropping her cup of coffee.
“What are you saying to my nephew?!” she said shrilly.
“Ah, Mrs Dursley!” said Dr Lancaster, turning to her with a smile. “I was just telling young Harry here how well his arm seems to be healing. It’s quite remarkable. In all my 20 years of working in paediatrics, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“I see. Very good,” said Aunt Petunia, still looking tense.
“Can I listen to my heart?” interrupted Harry, pointing at Dr Lancaster’s stethoscope.
Dr Lancaster chuckled, gently putting the earpieces in Harry’s ears and letting him place the chest piece on his own chest. Harry listened to the ba-doom, ba-doom of his heart, fascinated and curious, until regrettably, Dr Lancaster had to take it back and continue on his rounds, checking up on the other children on the ward. Harry watched with fascination as he went about his duties, examining the patients, talking to them with that warm voice and big smile of his, and prescribing their medicine.
A little while later, Aunt Petunia went to go to the toilet, and Harry used the brief opportunity of being alone with Tom to whisper to him in excitement.
“Did you see Dr Lancaster? He was helping everyone; making them all feel better!” said Harry excitedly.
Tom blinked with bemusement, nodding in agreement, although he did not seem to be experiencing the same surge of excitement and enlightenment that was making Harry’s heart sing with joy at that moment.
“Tom, I want to make people feel better too!” said Harry, desperate to make him understand.
Comprehension slowly dawned on Tom’s face, and he turned to Harry with a smile, a look of fondness mixed with respect and surprise on his face.
“I think you’d be good at that,” said Tom.
Harry flopped back against his pillow with a smile, looking around the ward with a faraway expression on his face, imagining himself walking around in a white coat like Dr Lancaster, helping the children to feel better so that they could go home and be happy and healthy.
“When I grow up, I want to be a doctor,” Harry said earnestly.
Within a day, Harry was discharged from the Royal Surrey County Hospital with his arm in a cast.
Dr Lancaster gave Aunt Petunia strict instructions on how often she should give Harry his painkillers and when they should come back to have a check-up and remove the cast. Harry heard him telling her to get in touch with the GP if Harry had any other unexplained periods of unconsciousness, although Harry knew of course that there was nothing wrong with him in that regard; it had just been Tom using his Gift.
“Goodbye, Dr Lancaster,” said Harry, giving him a high five with his good arm. “Thank you for looking after me.”
“Not at all, Harry! You be careful on those stairs, OK? We don’t want any more accidents, even with your magical super-healing-speeds!” joked Dr Lancaster.
For some reason, Aunt Petunia made a shrill noise that sounded almost like panic, grabbing Harry by his good hand and hauling him out of the children’s ward and towards the main exit of the hospital.
Before Harry could figure out the possible reason for her strange behaviour, they stepped out into the car park and Harry saw that whilst he had been inside, there had been the first snow of the winter. He grinned as he crunched fresh snow under his shoes, lifting his feet up to look at his footprints.
“Vernon is waiting for us in the visitors’ car park,” said Aunt Petunia stiffly. “Hurry up.”
They trudged through the hospital car park, slowed down by the icy conditions and biting wind. Aunt Petunia marched ahead of him, obviously wanting to be back in the warmth of the car as quickly as possible. Harry had just spotted the Dursleys’ silver car at the far end of the car park when a passing bald man in a very long purple coat suddenly did a double-take and stopped in front of Harry, before letting out a squeak of excitement and shaking Harry’s good hand enthusiastically.
Harry made a small noise of protest, but before he could ask the man who he was or why he was shaking Harry’s hand, the man was already striding off without a word, looking thrilled with himself, as if Harry were some famous celebrity who he had just had the honour of meeting. Aunt Petunia was back by his side in an instant, a look of fear on her face as she craned her neck to look at the receding back of the strange man in the long purple coat.
“Did he speak to you?” she demanded. “Did he say anything… abnormal?”
Harry shook his head with astonishment, still trying to get his head around what on earth had just happened. Aunt Petunia did not look reassured, her eyes still darting around, frightened, as if she thought more of these strange people were going to pop up and start speaking to Harry. She took his hand in an iron grip and ushered him quickly towards the car, almost sending him toppling when she shoved him into the back seat next to Dudley. As she slid into the front passenger seat beside Uncle Vernon, her eyes were still looking around the car park wildly, as if she were deathly afraid.
“Drive, Vernon, drive!” she implored.
Uncle Vernon looked at her with concern.
“Are you OK, dear?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“A freak…” she began, before shooting an anxious look at Harry in the back seat and shaking her head. “I’ll tell you later, Vernon. Let’s just go.”
As Uncle Vernon pulled out of the hospital visitors’ car park and they began the dull drive back to Little Whinging, Harry and Tom exchanged surreptitious glances of confusion in the back seat.
What was it about the strange man in the long purple coat that had so unsettled Aunt Petunia?
Winter gave way to spring, spring blended into summer, and before they knew it, it was Harry’s favourite time of the year, when the garden was in full bloom and his flowers were in their glorious prime.
Everyone seemed to be in a good mood: Harry was delighted to see the fruits of his labour in the garden; Dudley was looking forward to the summer holidays and talking about all the things he was going to do in his six weeks off school; Uncle Vernon had just received a hefty bonus at work for closing some big contract; and Aunt Petunia had recently become obsessed with ballroom dancing, having been convinced to watch some old Come Dancing VHS tapes by her friend Yvonne.
To Harry’s surprise, Tom seemed to take an extremely keen interest in Aunt Petunia’s ballroom tapes. Whenever they would hear the Come Dancing theme tune playing in the lounge, Tom would be off like a shot, running to sit on the sofa beside Aunt Petunia and watch with rapt attention the couples on the screen as they did the waltz, the tango, the foxtrot, the quickstep, the samba, the cha-cha, the rumba.
In the evenings, Tom would talk for hours about the dances he had seen, the way the dancers moved, how they made him feel, Harry nodding along politely as sleep weighed down on his eyelids. At other times, when Harry would be busy doing homework or tending to his garden, Tom would dance by himself, practicing the moves, humming along to himself as he moved to the music in his head.
Harry did not quite understand Tom’s sudden interest with dancing, but he tried to be a patient and encouraging friend nonetheless, remembering the way Tom had provided bemused but endless positivity when Harry had become obsessed with plants the year prior.
One day, much to Harry’s surprise, the Dursleys’ announced that they were going out for the afternoon and that he was to be trusted to behave himself at home alone for four hours. With strict instructions not to play with the oven or the gas hobs or do anything else that could “destroy the house”, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley all piled into the car and drove off to enjoy the afternoon at a waterpark.
As Harry and Tom stood at the lounge window and watched the car disappear out of view, Tom suddenly turned to Harry with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Dance with me,” said Tom.
“What?!” said Harry.
“You heard! Come on, dance with me!” begged Tom. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll be bad at it,” said Harry, his cheeks turning pink. “I don’t know the steps!”
“I don’t care if you’re bad at it,” Tom said stubbornly. “I’ll show you how to dance.”
There was not much Harry could argue against that. Besides, even though dancing held no appeal to Harry personally, he could tell how much it meant to Tom, and it was not as if Tom could dance with anyone else, seeing as the only person he could touch and interact with was Harry. And so, that was how Harry ended up pushing the sofa and the armchairs to the edges of the lounge, clearing a large open space in the middle of the room for them to dance. Tom made him turn on the radio, encouraging him to fiddle with the tuner until they found a radio station that seemed to specialise in classical music.
Harry felt a little silly at first, completely out of his depth as he stumbled and bumbled around the room as Tom guided him. He kept stepping on Tom’s toes, forgetting the steps and feeling astonishingly uncoordinated for someone who was usually OK at sports. He was anxious that Tom might get annoyed at him, but Tom was a surprisingly patient teacher, showing him the steps and counting out the rhythm to the music.
As the summer sun made its lazy way across the sky, they danced and danced and danced around the room. Harry was not very good, but Tom did not seem to mind. In fact, he looked happier than Harry had ever seen him. He moved gracefully in time to the music, getting lost in the rise and fall of the melody, the crescendos and decrescendos, the legatos and staccatos.
As they stepped and twirled around the room, Harry took in Tom’s pink cheeks, the way his eyes were bright with happiness, and decided he would dance with Tom every day, if it would make Tom this happy. If Harry’s garden was his happy place, then this was Tom’s, moving in time with the music and throwing his heart and soul into the dance.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much everyone for your love and excitement for this story. Reading your comments and hearing you squee about the boys is the most amazing motivation. I’m glad you’re enjoying seeing them grow up together!
TIE-IN WITH CANON: The bald man in the long purple coat who shakes Harry’s hand before walking away without saying a word is very briefly mentioned in chapter 2 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. It was fun to work that into the hospital car park scene in this story. Well done to any book readers who spotted this little Easter egg!
THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? Why do you think Tom can access “the Gift” at some times but not others? What do you think of Harry’s ambitions to become a doctor? Did you expect Tom to love dancing? Please let me know your thoughts and theories, I love hearing from you!
TEASER: The next chapter will see Harry and Tom have a big argument, and we will learn something that Tom is very insecure about…
TUMBLR: Fancy having a chat, sending any questions, or seeing some cool Harry Potter fanart? Feel free to head over to my Tumblr at ao3-elle1991, if any of that tickles your fancy!
Chapter Text
Harry was now ten years old, and it was the final week of the school summer holidays. Harry and Tom were excited to be starting Year 6 at St Grogory’s Primary School the following Monday, always keen to gain new knowledge and expand their horizons. Now that Harry had decided he wanted to become a doctor, he vowed to pay extra special attention in Science, wanting to learn as much as possible about biology and the human body.
He and Tom were lying on their backs in the back garden, talking quietly amongst themselves, when Aunt Petunia stuck her head out of the back door and called Harry inside. Harry got to his feet and trudged in reluctantly, annoyed that she wanted him indoors on such a beautiful summer’s day.
“What?” he said, perhaps more moodily than was necessary.
“You need a haircut,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I can’t send you off to school next week looking like that.”
“What’s wrong with it?” said Harry, running a hand through his messy black hair.
“It looks like a bird’s nest!” said Aunt Petunia. “Get in the chair.”
It was then that Harry realised that one of the dining room chairs was placed in the middle of the kitchen, with sheets of newspaper covering the fabric of the seat. He looked suspiciously from the out-of-place chair to the kitchen scissors he had just noticed in Aunt Petunia’s hand and stared at her in disbelief.
“You can’t cut my hair; you don’t know how!” he said. “Why can’t we go to our normal hairdresser?”
“Because she never cuts it short enough! Get in the chair, Harry. I don’t have all day,” said Aunt Petunia angrily.
Realising it was perhaps not in his best interests to enrage his aunt whilst she was brandishing a sharp pair of scissors, Harry sat down on the chair, wincing when she yanked his head back to get him into a better position.
“You’ll make it look nice, won’t you?” Harry said anxiously.
Aunt Petunia did not reply, immediately getting to work on Harry’s thick, unruly hair. Harry sat perched on the chair, trying not to squirm or fidget as the snip snip snip of the scissors danced around his head. Tom stood off to the side, watching as Aunt Petunia hacked away at Harry’s hair, his expression becoming more and more concerned as time went on. Anxiety began to grow in Harry’s stomach as questions piled up in his mind. Why did Tom look so uncomfortable? Why was there so much hair on the floor? In fact, had Aunt Petunia ever even cut anyone’s hair before?!
About 10 minutes later, Aunt Petunia stepped back, seemingly pleased with her handiwork. Dread curdling in his stomach, Harry looked over at Tom, trying to decipher just how bad it was from the look on his face. Tom was trying hard to keep a neutral expression, but Harry knew him well enough to know that Tom was not at all happy with Aunt Petunia’s efforts. Dudley was less subtle, immediately bursting into hysterical laughter the moment he walked into the kitchen for a snack and saw Harry sitting there.
“Mummy, that’s amazing!” howled Dudley, looking as if all his Christmases had come at once. “Why did you leave his fringe?”
“To hide that horrible scar, of course,” said Aunt Petunia.
Harry could not take it anymore. He ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into the bathroom. He had to know. He had to see the damage for himself, even if he knew he would hate it. The moment he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he burst into tears. Aunt Petunia had hacked off all his hair apart from his fringe. He looked almost bald, his previously thick black hair now sheared off unevenly. He looked ridiculous. He looked like a freak; like some kind of scientific experiment gone wrong.
“Everyone at school is going to laugh at me,” Harry sobbed to Tom, who had just followed him into the bathroom and enveloped him in a tight hug.
“If they try, I’ll burn them all,” Tom said viciously, his eyes bright with emotion.
Harry was too upset to even tell Tom off, turning away from the mirror, not wanting to see his humiliating haircut for a moment longer.
That evening, he cried himself to sleep, tossing and turning restlessly, plagued by mental images of his classmates taunting him, until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.
He woke up groggily the next morning, managing to lie there peacefully for all of five seconds before memories of the previous day came flooding back. He sat bolt upright in bed, a sickening feeling of anxiety rocketing through his body. His hands automatically flew up to his head, needing to feel the damage, even though he knew he was almost bald – when, to his shock, his fingers met long, thick hair that flopped messily in all directions.
His gasp of amazement must have been loud enough to wake Tom, because within seconds, the other boy was stretching and yawning beside Harry, before Harry heard the sharp intake of breath that indicated Tom could see what Harry could feel.
“It’s grown back!” exclaimed Tom.
Harry grabbed a small broken mirror that the Dursleys had given him, snatching it up from where he kept it under his bed, and turned on the dim light, turning his head this way and that to gawk at his reflection in astonishment. It was as if Aunt Petunia had done nothing at all! His hair was as thick and long and messy as ever, if not even longer than it had been before Aunt Petunia had taken her scissors to it. Relief and joy washed over him, all his anxieties about being laughed at at school the following week melting away.
“Oh, thank God,” said Harry, letting out a huge sigh of relief.
“It must be the Gift!” Tom said excitedly, scooting closer to Harry so he could touch and examine Harry’s hair for himself, marvelling at the way it had grown back. “The Gift made your hair grow back.”
“But why?” said Harry, puzzled by the seemingly random nature of the Gift.
As far as he could tell, there was no pattern that he could decipher. There had been no repetitions in how the Gift had manifested itself, and neither Harry nor Tom seemed to have any conscious control over it. It was an extremely confusing and mysterious state of affairs. Tom seemed to be having similar thoughts, because he had that look on his face that Harry liked to call his “thinking face”.
“We need to consolidate our knowledge of the Gift,” Tom said finally. “There must be some logic to it.”
About five minutes later, they were both sat cross-legged on the bed, a notebook placed between them.
“The first time I used the Gift, I made the toilet disappear,” said Harry, scribbling it down in the notebook:
Vanishing toilet.
“The second time, I was running away from Dudley and his gang and ended up on the school roof,” he continued.
School roof.
“Urgh, don’t remind me, that was horrible; we were so high up,” groaned Tom.
“And now, the Gift made my hair grow back,” said Harry, scrawling in the notebook in his messy handwriting:
Hair grown back.
“Where’s the logic in all that?!” said Harry, dismayed by how random it seemed.
Tom stared at the notebook for a long while, his brow furrowed in concentration, muttering quickly under his breath as he wrestled with the problem. Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes wide with realisation.
“You were drowning!” he said triumphantly, as if that solved everything.
Harry blinked at him with confusion.
“Er… what?” he said.
“You were drowning in the toilet, so the Gift made the toilet disappear,” said Tom, speaking quickly with excitement. “The Gift saved you!”
Harry’s eyes widened, his heart suddenly beating faster as the pieces started falling into place.
“And when Dudley and his gang were chasing you, you were scared, so the Gift put you on the roof, so you’d be out of their reach,” said Tom. “The Gift saved you again!”
“And last night, I was so worried about people at school laughing at me because of my haircut, that the Gift made my hair grow back!” said Harry, almost bouncing with excitement. “The Gift is protecting me whenever I’m in danger or scared!”
“Exactly!” said Tom, grinning triumphantly, visibly thrilled to have finally solved the mystery of the Gift. “Oh my God, I think we’ve cracked it!”
“The Gift is something inside me, protecting me. I’m causing it,” said Harry, turning the thought over in his mind with relish. Now that they had worked it out, it seemed so obvious. Then, suddenly, he had a brainwave. “Hey, do you think you’re part of my Gift, too?”
At this, Tom went very still, a small frown appearing on his face.
“What do you mean?” said Tom.
“Well, you protect me, too!” said Harry.
The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was becoming.
“You think I’m part of your Gift?” said Tom, not smiling.
“Think about it, it makes sense!” said Harry excitedly, too caught up in his fantastic new idea to notice the look on Tom’s face. “You can do special things too, but they’re all about protecting me as well! When you set the predator’s coat on fire, you saved me from being taken by him! When you put me to sleep after I broke my arm, it was because I was in too much pain! You protect me and make me happy. Can you imagine how miserable I’d be if it was just me and the Dursleys?”
“You think I’m just an extension of you?” said Tom, his voice rising, blotches of colour appearing high on his cheeks. “Another example of your Gift?”
“I mean, you can’t touch anything apart from me,” said Harry thoughtfully, turning over the new idea in his head. “No one else can see or hear you. You can’t move more than 20 metres away from me. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“You don’t think I’m real?!” shouted Tom, suddenly leaping up off the bed and standing bolt upright, trembling with emotion.
“Wait, what?” said Harry, surprised and confused by Tom’s reaction. “No, I didn’t mean–”
“You didn’t make me up! I’m REAL! I know I am! I’m ME! I’m not just some… some stupid… figment of your imagination!” shouted Tom, choking on angry tears.
Harry stared at him in shock. Apart from when he had first been born in Harry’s cupboard, Harry did not think he had ever seen Tom cry. His heart crumpled. He reached out a consoling hand towards his friend, desperate to soothe him, unsure how it had all suddenly gone so wrong. Tom flinched away from him angrily, jerking out of Harry’s reach.
“Tom…” said Harry, hurt.
“Don’t talk to me!” hissed Tom, his face wet with tears, before storming straight through the wall of the cupboard and out of sight.
Harry sat in stunned silence, alone, guilt squeezing around his heart.
What had he done?
Tom stormed out of the cupboard and kept going, marching through the wall of the house and out into the front garden. He stomped his way down the pavement of Privet Drive, passing several houses, his emotions boiling and swirling inside him, like a swarm of angry bees. He wanted to walk and walk and walk, until he was as far away from Harry as possible, but of course, as soon as he reached his 20-metre limit, he jerked to a halt, unable to escape Harry’s orbit. He let out a frustrated scream, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he fought, to no avail, to move beyond the boundaries of his 20-metre perimeter. For the first time, it felt like a prison.
“You can’t control me!” Tom shouted angrily, even though he knew Harry could not hear him, back inside the house. “I’m not some stupid part of you! I’m me! I’m real! I’m separate!”
He kicked viciously at a neighbour’s garden gnome, his foot passing harmlessly through the terracotta clay figurine. For some reason, this only enraged him further, a red mist descending as he attempted to kick and grab and smash the innocent garden gnome, his flailing limbs a whirlwind of rage. Nothing happened, of course, the garden gnome sitting there vacantly as Tom’s hands and feet passed harmlessly through it.
“Fuck!” screamed Tom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
It was a very bad word he had learnt only a few days before, having overheard Uncle Vernon say it when the man had badly stubbed his toe on one of Dudley’s toys. Tom normally did not like bad language, but it felt appropriate now, when he felt so overwhelmed with anger and upset and fear. With one final, almighty kick at the garden gnome, Tom crumpled to the floor, all the fight draining out of him as his temper tantrum came to an end, sobbing into his hands. He must look singularly pathetic, he realised, thankful for once that no one could see or hear his plight.
After several long minutes of sitting on the pavement crying, Tom could feel himself starting to calm down. He rubbed his sleeve over his face, feeling more than a little gross from the amount of snot and tears on his skin. He stood up, feeling a little foolish, not entirely sure what to do now. He did not want to go home just yet. He was still upset with Harry, and the last thing he wanted was to have another fight.
He knew he needed to think long and hard about what had just happened. Harry’s words had awakened uncertainties and insecurities that Tom had buried and ignored for far too long. Hey, do you think you’re part of my Gift, too? Harry’s innocent idea hurt so much precisely because Tom feared it might be true.
Who was he? What was he? Could he be a figment of Harry’s imagination? An imaginary friend that Harry’s Gift had made up, so that Harry would not be lonely? It would certainly explain why no one else was able to interact with him, but what would that mean for Tom himself? Was he real? Did he exist? Or was he just a part of Harry? A part of Harry’s personality that he had suppressed, perhaps, for whatever reason?
The very idea made Tom’s stomach churn. It felt intrinsically wrong. He felt very much that he was his own person. He just knew. He had a separate personality, separate interests, a separate name, for God’s sake. But that did not change the fact there were undoubtedly important questions that he did not know the answers to. Who was he? Where had he come from? Why was he so different from everyone else? He knew so little about himself – and it scared him. He hated not knowing such fundamental things about his own existence.
One of the neighbours had accidentally left their garden sprinkler on overnight and it had caused puddles on the pavement and road. Tom walked over to the nearest puddle and squatted down in front of it. He poked his finger in the middle of it, an uneasy feeling roiling in his stomach as he failed to cause even the tiniest ripple. Could he be something that Harry’s Gift had invented? Was he just a part of Harry, in disguise?
He stared at his reflection in the puddle, examining his features, trying to mentally compare himself to Harry. They looked totally different, he concluded finally. Although they both had black hair, Harry’s was messy and stuck up in all directions, whilst Tom’s was easily tamed into neat waves and curls. Harry had startlingly green eyes, whilst Tom’s were a stormy blue-grey. Harry tanned easily in the sun, whilst Tom was fairer, his undertone cooler. Harry was short, Tom was tall. Their facial bone structure was entirely different. They did not even look like brothers, let alone the same person.
For the longest time, he stared at his reflection in the puddle, all his questions and anxieties rising to the surface, forcing Tom to face them, to accept them, after burying and ignoring them for so long. He reached out and touched the puddle gently, wishing his reflection would speak and give him all the answers he was looking for.
“What am I?” whispered Tom.
Spending the day apart from Tom was horrible. Harry felt as though he were missing a limb. He knew Tom could be no further than 20 metres away, but he felt so desperately alone that he might as well have been stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. Time seemed to drag. Everything felt so boring and hollow without his best friend by his side.
Harry felt completely overwhelmed by guilt. How could he have been so thoughtless and inconsiderate? He had known Tom was sensitive about the strangeness of his condition, but he had grossly underestimated the extent of it. It must have been incredibly hurtful for Tom to hear Harry suggest that he was in any way not real. He yearned to go out and find Tom, so that he could apologise, but Tom had said that he did not want to speak to Harry, and Harry wanted to respect his boundaries.
And so, Harry spent a miserable day alone, wondering where Tom was and what he was doing, not even caring when Aunt Petunia decided to punish him for growing his hair back overnight by not giving him any meals.
That evening, as Harry lay back in bed, one hand rubbing his rumbling stomach, he heard Tom creep back into the cupboard and lie down next to him. Harry’s heart pounded, his anxiety spiking. He could feel Tom’s warmth beside him, could vaguely make out the familiar outline of his face in the darkness. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but he did not know how Tom was feeling, so he kept his hands to himself and swallowed past the lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” whispered Harry. “I know you’re real.”
There was a long pause, and for one horrible moment, Harry thought that Tom still did not want to speak to him. Then:
“I accept your apology,” said Tom, a little stiffly.
Harry let out a breath he had not even realised he was holding.
“When we go back to school next week, I want to go to the school library,” continued Tom. “See if there are any books about people like me. I know we’ve looked before, but maybe we missed something.”
Harry nodded frantically, willing to do whatever was necessary for things to go back to normal between them. He bit his lip, feeling a little stupid, not knowing what to say.
“Are we still best friends?” said Harry after a little while, hating the way his voice wobbled childishly.
There was a beat of silence, then Harry heard Tom shifting his position beside him.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” said Tom.
He still sounded a little annoyed, but then Tom reached out in the dark and took Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers like they had done ever since they were little. Harry finally relaxed, grounded by the feeling of Tom’s hand in his own. How could he ever have thought Tom was a simple manifestation of his Gift, when he was so different from Harry; so complex and human and distinct?
As Tom rolled them both over so that he was spooning Harry from behind, Harry knew without words that all was forgiven, that things were back to normal between them. As he drifted off to sleep with the familiar warmth of his best friend pressed against his back, he vowed they would scour every single book in the school library for clues about Tom’s condition.
He had taken Tom for granted, he realised, somehow missing his insecurities – that ended now.
Much to their disappointment, they did not learn anything useful about Tom’s condition in the school library. Despite their extensive efforts, they could find no references to people who were visible to some people but not to others, or people with special abilities, or anything remotely relevant. The closest they could find was a short book about ghosts, but they decided that did not really fit with what they knew about Tom, since Tom could not remember a life before he was born in Harry’s cupboard, and he was aging at the same rate as Harry, which did not seem to be the case with any of the ghosts in the book.
In fact, the next time anything even remotely interesting happened was a full nine months later, on 23 June, which was Dudley’s 11th birthday. Harry’s usual babysitter, Mrs Figg, had broken her leg, meaning that Harry got to tag along with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley and his best friend Piers Polkiss on Dudley’s birthday trip to the zoo. As they all stepped out of the car and joined the queue for ice cream at the zoo entrance, Harry could not believe his luck.
He had an absolutely incredible morning, looking at various animals including gorillas, monkeys, meerkats, tigers, leopards, parrots and giraffes. He and Tom walked a slight distance from the Dursleys and Piers, close enough that they could see him but far enough away that they left him largely alone.
“Look, it looks like Dudley,” Harry whispered to Tom, sniggering as he pointed at a large gorilla scratching its head.
“Don’t be rude,” said Tom, with a smirk. “That gorilla is much better looking than your cousin.”
After an amazing lunch in the zoo restaurant, where Harry got to finish Dudley’s first knickerbocker glory after his cousin demanded a new one because his first one was not large enough, they traipsed into the reptile house, a cool, dark building with all kinds of snakes and lizards slithering and skittering behind the glass. The Dursleys and Piers went in one direction, so Harry automatically headed for the other, when Tom suddenly gripped his arm tightly.
“Do you hear that?” demanded Tom.
Harry cocked his head to the side, wondering what on earth Tom could be referring to. There was the chattering of families all around them, the faint whir of electrical equipment, and a few hisses from some of the snakes behind the glass, but Harry did not know why Tom would be making such a fuss about any of that.
“What?” said Harry, confused.
Tom’s eyes widened and he dragged Harry over to the glass, peering in at a large snake that was slithering over wood and stone, hissing as it went. Tom’s mouth hung open, looking absolutely shell-shocked as he stared at the snake. Harry peered politely into the enclosure, slightly bemused by Tom’s reaction, when Harry did not think the snake was any more or less amazing than any of the other exotic animals they had seen all day.
“It’s a cool snake,” said Harry. “But–”
“She’s talking,” interrupted Tom, his voice hushed and reverent. “Listen to her!”
Harry stared at him in utter bafflement. He turned to the snake, which was indeed hissing to itself as it slithered along, but he could not make out anything that sounded anything like words or language. He was just about to laugh and congratulate Tom on messing around and successfully fooling him, when Tom opened his mouth and hissed at the snake. At the same moment, the faint white light that usually throbbed in time with Tom’s heartbeat began to pulse brightly, just as it had previously whenever Tom had used his Gift.
“Tom, I think this is another special ability!” Harry said excitedly. “Look at your glow!”
Tom looked at the bright white aura that pulsated around him with astonishment, before hissing again at the snake. The snake, just like all the people around them, did not react to Tom’s presence, but it did not need to for Tom and Harry to realise that this was indeed a special moment. Seeing Dudley and Piers meandering in their direction, Harry quickly ducked out of the reptile house and ran a short distance away with Tom, wanting to have a private conversation immediately.
“Were you able to understand the snake?” said Harry urgently.
Tom stared at him with confusion.
“Of course!” he said. “Couldn’t you?”
Harry shook his head.
“It just sounded like hissing to me. What was it saying?”
“She was talking about dinner time and how she hoped it’d be a big juicy mouse,” said Tom.
“You’re kidding!” said Harry incredulously.
“I’m not,” said Tom, frowning slightly. “You really couldn’t understand her?”
“Nope,” said Harry, shaking his head. “And when you talked to her, it just sounded like you were hissing, too.”
Tom seemed very interested by this, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. Harry could practically see the cogs in his head whirring.
“This is fantastic!” Tom said suddenly. “This is something specific we can research! Our scope before was too wide. Talking to snakes is something specific and searchable!”
Harry’s eyes widened with excitement. If talking to snakes was something specific to Tom (and his ilk), it could be a vital clue to understanding exactly what he was.
They left the zoo later that afternoon in a jubilant mood. As Uncle Vernon drove them all home, Harry and Tom kept exchanging little looks of excitement. At the zoo, they had learnt far more than mere facts about wild and exotic animals; they had learnt an important hint that could help them unravel the mystery of Tom once and for all.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Ahh, the love you guys are giving this story really warms my heart! Thank you so much to all of you reading along, and an extra special thank you to those of you kind enough to leave such wonderful comments and kudos - I appreciate you all <3
TIE-IN WITH CANON: Readers of the books may recognise Harry getting his hair hacked off by Aunt Petunia, only for it to all grow back overnight, as this was very briefly mentioned in chapter 2 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. It was fun to expand on that scene in this chapter! You may also recognise the trip to the zoo, although we diverged from canon quite significantly in this fic in that whilst Tom could understand and talk to the snake, Harry could not (which makes sense, when you consider exactly what Tom is).
THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? What did you think of their fight? Did you expect it to all blow up so hard? What did you think of poor Tom’s reaction? It was a really fun chapter to write, I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments section below :D
TEASER: The next chapter will see Harry receive his Hogwarts letter and discover the true nature of “the Gift”…
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name ao3-elle1991. Feel free to drop a message, send an ask, follow etc, if you enjoy Harry Potter (and Marvel) content!
Chapter Text
One week later, at the beginning of July, Harry’s life changed forever.
It began like any normal Saturday. The Dursleys and Harry were having breakfast in the kitchen. Harry was wolfing down his scrambled eggs on toast, his mind already wandering to what he was going to do in the garden that day. Dudley was stealing extra pieces of bacon when his parents’ eyes were averted. Uncle Vernon was reading the newspaper. Aunt Petunia was nibbling on some toast, whilst keeping an eye on a tub in the sink where she was currently dyeing some of Dudley’s old clothes grey so that they could form part of Harry’s new school uniform.
In September, Harry was going to start secondary school at the local comprehensive, Stonewall High. The school did not have the best reputation, but Harry did not care, because for the first time in his life, he was going to go to a different school to Dudley, and the idea made his heart leap with joy. Imagine – going to school without the constant looming threat of his bully of a cousin! It made his soul sing.
Just then, they heard the sound of the post flopping onto the doormat. After a short argument over who should fetch it, Harry traipsed through the hallway to the front door, with Tom coming with him to provide company. There were three items of mail, which Harry picked up and leafed through nosily. There was a postcard from Aunt Marge who was on holiday in the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope which looked like it contained the electricity bill – and a letter for Harry.
Harry stared at the letter with open-mouthed shock, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The envelope was unlike anything he had ever seen before – thick and yellowing and almost like parchment. There was no stamp, and the address was handwritten in dark green ink. And what a disconcertingly specific address it was:
Mr H. Potter,
The Cupboard under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey.
“What is it?” asked Tom, who had noticed Harry had gone very still as he stared at the post.
Dumbfounded, Harry showed the envelope to Tom, whose eyes widened with astonishment as he read Harry’s name and address.
“I never get mail,” whispered Harry, not wanting the Dursleys to overhear him.
“Hide it in your cupboard,” Tom said immediately. “Don’t let the Dursleys see it. They’d just try to steal it.”
Realising Tom was right, Harry nodded and surreptitiously slipped the letter into his cupboard on the way back to the kitchen, before innocently handing Aunt Marge’s postcard and the electricity bill to Uncle Vernon.
As the Dursleys continued their boring conversation, Harry was barely listening, utterly consumed with wild, burning curiosity about the letter currently tucked away safely in the cupboard under the stairs.
Who on earth was writing to him?
The morning passed with excruciating slowness. Harry knew he had to act naturally in order to avoid attracting the Dursleys’ suspicion, so he forced himself to spend the morning gardening, as he usually did. Mowing the lawn and tending to the flowers, usually activities that brought him equal amounts of joy and peace, suddenly felt maddening. Did it always take this long? Why did time have to pass so slowly? His mind was consumed by thoughts of the letter. He was desperate for his morning chores to be over, those few hours feeling like a thousand years.
When he was finally finished in the garden, Aunt Petunia asked him to help her prepare lunch, getting him to cut the vegetables to go in a large chicken Caesar salad she was making for the whole family. Harry wanted to scream. He cut the vegetables as quickly as he dared, wanting to speed things along without looking suspicious or accidentally cutting himself. Lunch finally served, the Dursleys converged on the kitchen, tucking into the salad, ignoring Harry as usual. Harry wolfed down his food, rivalling Dudley in his eating speed, as Tom paced anxiously between the kitchen and their cupboard. His plate finally clean, Harry carried it over to the sink and washed up, before turning innocently to Aunt Petunia.
“Please can I be excused?” he said.
Aunt Petunia barely spared him a glance, waving a hand vaguely in his direction as she talked to Uncle Vernon about something incredibly boring. Harry took it as his cue to leave, walking as quickly as he dared to his cupboard, before sliding inside and closing the door. He turned on the dim overhead light, before immediately grabbing the letter from where he had hidden it under his pillow earlier. Tom stood beside him, peering over his shoulder as Harry held the envelope in trembling hands.
“Open it!” urged Tom. “We have to see what it says!”
Harry did not need telling twice. He turned over the envelope, breaking apart a dark red wax seal that seemed to be stamped with some sort of coat of arms. Two sheets of thick, yellowing paper were inside. Harry unfolded them carefully, his heart pounding as he began to read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry read the letter three times over, his eyes as wide as saucers, his mouth open in disbelief. It had to be a prank. It had to be. And yet… And yet… It all made sense. All the strange things that Harry had been able to do – like making the toilet disappear, resurrecting the dead flowers, flying onto the school roof, making his hair grow back – it all made sense if you believed in magic.
“My God… It’s magic…” breathed Tom, his eyes bright with excitement as he read the letter over Harry’s shoulder. “The Gift is magic! We’re wizards, Harry!”
A huge grin began to spread across Harry’s face, elation and wonder and excitement exploding within him. He was magical! He was not a freak; he was a wizard! And there was a school for children just like him, where he could learn and grow and make friends! Somewhat embarrassingly, Harry burst into tears of joy, quickly stifling the sound by burying his face into Tom’s shoulder, so as not to draw the attention of the Dursleys. Tom flung his arms around Harry exuberantly and let out a loud cheer, too high on euphoria to care about decorum.
“Harry, maybe all magical people are like us!” said Tom excitedly. “You know, coming in pairs – one visible and one invisible. Maybe it’s a wizard thing!”
Harry did not think it was possible to feel any happier, but somehow Tom’s words managed it. That must be it! They had always yearned to know what Tom was and why he was so different, and this must be the answer. Witches and wizards must come with an invisible companion. Their situation must be normal in the wizarding world! Harry looked down at the letter again, scanning it eagerly.
“What does it mean, we await your owl?” said Harry, pointing to the last sentence.
Tom cocked his head to the side.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve not heard that phrase before. Maybe it means we have to reply? I can’t think what else it could mean.”
Harry nodded. It was the only logical explanation, although it was a very funny phrase. He wondered if it was commonly used in the magical community. Realising what he therefore had to do next, he stowed the letter carefully back under his pillow, before placing his ear against the cupboard door. The Dursleys were still in the kitchen, finishing off their leisurely lunch. Making sure to be as quiet as possible, Harry snuck out of the cupboard and padded upstairs to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s study, where he swiped a sheet of paper, an envelope and a first class stamp. Stuffing them into his shorts, he fled back down to his cupboard, heart pounding from the thrill of it.
Shutting the cupboard door behind him, Harry sat down on his bed and smoothed out the sheet of paper on a book which would give him a hard enough surface to write on. He grabbed his school pencil, before pondering his reply.
“What should I write?” he asked.
“Say you want to go!” said Tom.
Harry began writing on the sheet of paper, a spurt of excitement going through him as he thought to himself: This is really happening! As he wrote, he and Tom thought of more and more questions, writing them down as they popped into their heads. The resulting letter was quite disjointed and random, but Harry hoped it would suffice. The two of them bowed their heads over their reply, reading it to make sure they were completely happy with it.
Dear Ms McGonagall,
Thank you for your letter, it was a big surprise!
Yes please, I really want to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!
I never knew magic was real before now, so I have some questions, if that’s alright.
Where is Hogwarts? Your letter didn’t say the address. I live in Surrey (that’s south of London, in case you don’t know!). If Hogwarts is a long way away from my house, will I be allowed to live there? Actually, please can I live there anyway, even if you are nearby? I would rather live anywhere but with my aunt and uncle!
Related to that, how am I supposed to get there? I’m worried because I don’t know if my aunt and uncle will drive me, because they don’t like it when I ask for things. In case they won’t take me, is there a school bus or something?
Also, I have an invisible best friend, and he can do magic too. Is that normal for magical people? Do we all come in pairs?
Also, I’ve read the list of school supplies, but it doesn’t say where to buy them from. I’ve never seen magical things sold in shops before. Please can you tell me where to go? I have £27 saved up in my piggy bank. Will that be enough? If not, what should I do? I don’t have any more money, and my aunt and uncle don’t like to spend money on me.
Thank you in advance. I am sooo excited!
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
“That’s a good letter,” said Tom, sounding pleased.
Harry thought so too, giving a little squeal of excitement, before folding it carefully and sliding it into the envelope. It was only after he had sealed it that he realised they had a problem.
“What are we supposed to write on the envelope?” he said, dismayed. “We don’t know the address!”
Tom bit his lip, looking just as stumped as Harry felt.
“I suppose we just have to write Ms McGonagall and the name of the school,” Tom said finally. “We don’t have anything else to go on.”
Feeling a little anxious, Harry scribbled on the front of the envelope:
Ms Minerva McGonagall,
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He stuck a first class stamp on the top-right corner of the envelope, and a few minutes later, he and Tom were sneaking out of the house, walking quickly to the nearest postbox, paranoid about the Dursleys swooping in and ruining everything.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Harry said anxiously.
“Yes,” said Tom, trying to sound confident. “The Royal Mail is very reliable.”
They finally reached the bright red postbox. Harry carefully read the notice on the outside, which said that the next collection was at 5pm. Reaching up, he slid the envelope through the rectangular slot, listening as it fell with a soft thump into the pile of letters inside.
Now, they just had to wait.
They did not have to wait long.
The very next day, Harry was sitting cross-legged on his bed in the cupboard under the stairs, doing what he did every Sunday morning: homework. Today, he was tackling some algebra, which he was actually finding pretty enjoyable, having turned it into a game where he would race Tom to work out the answer.
They were whispering about question 4 on the homework, when they heard three sharp knocks at the front door. Harry did not think anything of it, assuming it was probably one of Dudley’s friends, still focused on his homework as Aunt Petunia walked from the kitchen to the front door. Through the door of his cupboard, he could hear a muffled conversation at the front door – and then, Aunt Petunia screamed.
Harry froze, all thoughts of his maths homework forgotten as his heart started pounding wildly. He heard Uncle Vernon running towards the front door, sounding like an elephant rampaging through the house. Harry exchanged a scared look with Tom, not knowing what to do. He did not like Aunt Petunia, but he did not want her to be hurt, but what could he do to help? He was only ten, and he had no idea what had happened on the doorstep to make her scream.
“I demand you leave at once!” he heard Uncle Vernon shout furiously. “Your kind aren’t welcome here!”
Your kind? Harry had heard Uncle Vernon make prejudiced remarks about various groups of people whilst watching the news on TV – about immigrants, about gay people, about certain politicians – but he had never heard him dare say anything directly to anyone’s face before. Feeling less afraid now, as it just sounded like an argument, rather than an actual attack on Aunt Petunia, Harry pressed his ear against the cupboard door, eavesdropping.
“... just want to speak to him!” said an unfamiliar-sounding woman with a Scottish accent.
“You’ve made a mistake,” said Aunt Petunia, sounding panicked. “There is no Harry Potter living here!”
Harry blinked in astonishment, staring at Tom in the dim light of the cupboard.
“Is this number 4 Privet Drive?” said the Scottish woman.
“Yes…”
“And are you Petunia and Vernon Dursley?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“Then stop this nonsense and let me in at once!” demanded the stranger.
“Harry, she must be from Hogwarts!” Tom said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Who else would be coming here to see you?”
Heart pounding with nerves and excitement, Harry pushed open the cupboard door and stepped out into the hallway. At the loud creak of the cupboard door, three heads at the front door turned in his direction: Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and a tall, thin, older woman dressed in a long green tartan coat, who was standing on the doorstep.
“Harry Potter?” said the woman, before anyone could stop her.
Harry nodded, feeling a little awkward, twisting his hands together nervously.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”
“What were you doing under the stairs?” said the woman, looking at him vigilantly over the top of her glasses, taking in his shabby clothes and skinny appearance.
“That’s where I live,” said Harry, feeling his cheeks go slightly pink with embarrassment.
At this, the woman fixed Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia with an absolutely furious glare, before sweeping past them and marching straight into the house, coming to a halt in front of Harry and holding out a hand, business-like. Harry shook it, amazed at her brazen entrance. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked halfway between being enraged and terrified, not knowing what to do about this woman who had just stormed into their house.
“My name is Professor McGonagall,” she said. “I’m the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m here to answer the questions in your letter.”
At this, she held up the letter that Harry had posted the previous day. Harry’s face lit up with a grin. Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. Uncle Vernon had gone a strange purple colour and was making spluttering noises as he stared stupidly between Harry and the letter. Tom let out a noise of victory.
“I told you the Royal Mail were reliable!” crowed Tom, pleased as punch.
Dudley came bumbling down the stairs, wondering what all the commotion was about. Everyone ignored him. Professor McGonagall turned to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and fixed them with a withering glare.
“I’ll be speaking to Harry, now,” she said icily. “You’re welcome to stay, or if you don’t wish to be present, you’re welcome to go.”
Harry gawked at her in amazement. Never had he ever heard anyone speak to the Dursleys like that before, let alone in their own home. His amazement increased tenfold when instead of arguing back, the Dursleys practically ran from the house, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia grabbing Dudley and whisking him towards the car as he asked loudly what was going on, Aunt Petunia rambling on about an impromptu trip to the seaside.
As the front door swung shut with a click, the house became very quiet. Harry suddenly felt very aware that he was standing awkwardly in the hallway, alone with a stranger. What was he supposed to say? He had a million questions. Professor McGonagall seemed to have no such anxieties.
“Shall we find somewhere more comfortable to talk?” she said confidently. “I assume there’s a living room somewhere?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” said Harry, hurrying forwards and leading the way into the lounge, perching on an armchair as Professor McGonagall sat down on the sofa. Then, he blushed furiously, having forgotten his manners: “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall, giving him a kind smile, perhaps sensing his anxiety.
The smile instantly transformed her face. Her wrinkles, which at rest made her look rather stern, now crinkled in a way that made her look friendlier and more approachable. Harry felt himself relaxing immediately, sinking into the armchair a little more comfortably.
“Is magic real, then?” he blurted out.
“It is,” smirked Professor McGonagall – and then, she transformed into a tabby cat, before turning back into her human self and casually straightening her coat.
Harry’s jaw dropped, staring at her with such astonishment that Professor McGonagall chuckled.
“So, the things I can do, that’s magic, too, then?” he said eagerly.
“What kind of things can you do?” she replied.
“All sorts!” said Harry. “I made the toilet disappear once. And I made the flowers grow back after Dudley pulled them all up. And I flew onto the school roof. Oh, and I made my hair grow back after it was all cut off!”
“Yes, that’s magic,” said Professor McGonagall. “Making flowers grow is particularly powerful magic. Well done, Harry.”
Harry puffed up with pride, a broad smile on his face. Now that he had started, he could not stop the questions from coming tumbling out.
“How do witches and wizards get their magic?” he asked curiously.
“We’re born with it,” said Professor McGonagall. “Some witches and wizards come from all magic families and are known as pure-bloods. Others have a mixture of magical and non-magical ancestry and are known as half-bloods. Others have no magical ancestry at all and are the first in their family to be blessed with magic; these people are known as Muggle-borns. Muggles are what we call non-magic folk.”
“Does it make a difference, being pure-blood or half-blood or Muggle-born?” said Harry.
“No,” said Professor McGonagall firmly. “I’ve been teaching at Hogwarts for decades, and I’ve seen for myself that blood status has no correlation with magical ability. Some witches and wizards are prejudiced against Muggle-borns, but they’re bigots.”
“So, I’m a Muggle-born,” said Harry absent-mindedly, wondering why the universe had chosen him to bless with magic.
At this, an expression of shock appeared on Professor McGonagall’s face. She stared at him for a long moment, before speaking carefully, as if she were choosing her words very deliberately.
“What do you know about your parents, Harry?” she said.
“Only that they were drunks who died in a car crash,” said Harry, shrugging. “They didn’t love me enough to stay safe on the roads.”
It was what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had told him ever since he was tiny. He had long ago come to terms with the fact his parents had cared more about drinking than staying alive for him. A myriad of emotions passed quickly over Professor McGonagall’s face: shock, disbelief, anger and, finally, sadness. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if readying herself for something terrible. Harry looked at her with an expression of confusion and concern.
“Are you OK, Professor?” he asked.
Professor McGonagall fixed him with a gentle, pitying look.
“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Harry. It seems your aunt and uncle have been lying to you,” she said. “Everything was explained to them in a letter when they took you in as a baby. They were supposed to tell you everything, when you were old enough to understand…”
Harry’s stomach was churning. He felt as though he might be sick. What had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon been lying about? Why was Professor McGonagall looking at him with such a look of devastation? Tom, perched beside him on the armchair, took his hand. Harry gripped back tightly.
“What are you talking about?” said Harry, his voice small.
“Your parents weren’t drunks. They didn’t die in a car crash. And they loved you very, very much,” said Professor McGonagall. “Your parents were magical. A witch and wizard by the names of Lily and James Potter. They were good people; extraordinary people, in fact. They were murdered by a dark wizard called… You-Know-Who. It happened when you were a baby. After they were killed, you were brought here, to be raised by your aunt and uncle, as they were your only remaining relatives. They were supposed to tell you, to care for you, to love you as their own…”
Harry felt as though he were falling. The pit seemed to have dropped out of the bottom of his stomach. His parents were murdered? All his life, he had thought they had died in the most mundane of circumstances; a mixture of bad luck, alcohol, and a wet, slippery road. To find out that they had been murdered was worse; far worse. Had it hurt? Had they been scared? And why? Why, why, why?
“Who’s You-Know-Who?” he said numbly.
“No one in the wizarding world likes to say his name,” said Professor McGonagall, looking uncomfortable.
“He killed my parents. I want to know what his name is!” said Harry, surprising himself with his anger.
Professor McGonagall nodded slowly.
“Of course,” she said. “His name was… Lord Voldemort.”
Voldemort. Harry had not known it was possible to hate three syllables so strongly and so immediately. Voldemort had killed Harry’s parents; had cut their lives brutally short. Voldemort had caused Harry to be raised by his horrible aunt and uncle. Oh, how Harry hated him! Even his name sounded evil.
“You-Know-Who tried to kill you too, the same night he killed your parents. The scar on your forehead is from where the Killing Curse touched you,” continued Professor McGonagall. “But something happened. No one quite understands what or how. But you survived. You-Know-Who vanished. You’re famous, Harry. There’s not a person alive in the wizarding world who doesn’t know you as the boy who lived and ended You-Know-Who’s reign of terror.”
Harry’s breath came in short bursts. Voldemort had tried to kill him? Why?! And how on earth had Harry survived? Suddenly, he remembered all those strange encounters with people over the years, who had seemingly known him. The tiny man in the supermarket. The Goddess of flowers outside the bus. The man in the hospital car park. They must have been witches and wizards, he realised, recognising him by his scar as the boy who lived. He was famous for having survived a murder attempt as a baby.
He did not even realise he was crying until Professor McGonagall passed him a tissue and rubbed his back consolingly. Once he finally finished crying, he blew his nose loudly, his face puffy and red.
“Is Voldemort dead?” he asked.
Professor McGonagall flinched slightly at the name.
“No one knows for sure,” she said. “Most people believe he died, the night he tried and failed to kill you. Others think he may return one day. But for now, he’s gone, and the wizarding world is peaceful.”
They sat in silence for a little while as Harry absorbed everything. He was overwhelmed. There was so much to digest; so much of his own history he had not known until now. The idea that Voldemort might still be alive frightened him. What if he came back? What if he started killing people again? What if he came after Harry again? He did not want to think about it anymore, so he cleared his throat and changed the topic.
“Is it normal for magical people to have invisible friends?” he asked.
Beside him, Tom sat up a little straighter, leaning forwards to hear Professor McGonagall’s reply.
“No,” she said, sounding confused.
Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Are you sure?” he asked, trying not to let his desperation show. “I… I have an invisible best friend and he can do magic, too. We wondered… Well, we wondered if all magical people come in pairs. You know – one visible and one invisible.”
For some reason, Professor McGonagall was looking at him with a mixture of concern and pity.
“I see,” she said gently. “Were you very lonely, growing up?”
“What?” said Harry, confused. “No – because I had my friend.”
“Your invisible friend?” said Professor McGonagall.
“Yes.”
“And no one else?” Professor McGonagall said gently.
Harry did not really understand what she was getting at, so he did not reply, unsure what response would be appropriate. She pulled out a feather and a scrap of parchment from her coat and scribbled something down that looked suspiciously like: Psychological trauma?
“Well, Harry, there’s a very nice matron at Hogwarts who looks after the students’ physical and psychological well-being,” she said kindly. “Counselling is available to any student who needs it. But I hope you’ll be happy at Hogwarts. You’ll be around lots of children just like you, and I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends. You won’t need to rely on your imagination anymore.”
Even without turning his head, Harry could see in his peripheral vision that Tom was looking just as upset and disappointed as Harry felt. They had been so sure that their connection – that whatever Tom was – would be normal in the wizarding world. But, it seemed, Tom was just as much an anomaly there as in the Muggle world. Harry surreptitiously took Tom’s hand and gave it a little squeeze, but he dared not ask any more questions, lest Professor McGonagall decide he was too crazy to go to Hogwarts.
Since Harry did not reply, Professor McGonagall busied herself by skimming through Harry’s letter, which she still held in her hand.
“I see you have some questions about Hogwarts and the living arrangements,” she said. “Hogwarts is a boarding school located in Scotland, for witches and wizards between the ages of 11 and 18 from the UK and Ireland. On the first day of term, you’ll take the train from London King’s Cross station, with all the other students. If you wish, you’re welcome to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas and Easter holidays, but it’s standard for all students to go home to their families over the summer holidays.”
“Couldn’t they make an exception for me?” begged Harry, unable to keep the dismay out of his voice.
“May I ask why?” said Professor McGonagall.
“I’d just… rather live at Hogwarts,” said Harry lamely, unsure if or how to explain how much the Dursleys hated him.
Professor McGonagall, it seemed, had an inkling of what he might be thinking.
“Can you tell me about your aunt and uncle?” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry squirmed in his seat, staying silent, growing increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her gaze.
“Harry?” she prompted. “It’s OK. There’s no right or wrong answer.”
“If I don’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all,” Harry mumbled finally, repeating a phrase that Aunt Petunia had once told him whilst slapping him repeatedly across the backside, when he had stupidly said something less than flattering about her new dress.
“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, her nostrils flaring as she scribbled down another note on her scrap of parchment. Reading it upside down, Harry thought it said: Possible abuse? “I’ll speak to the headmaster to see if an exception can be made to allow you to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, but I can’t make any promises.”
Hope flared in Harry’s chest. Even if the chances were low, they were still the best odds he had ever had in his life. Without thinking, he jumped up from his armchair and bounded over to give Professor McGonagall a grateful hug.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Professor McGonagall patted his back gently, before letting him go. Looking back at Harry’s letter, she saw that there was just one more question that needed answering.
“With regards to purchasing your school supplies, I’m here to take you to the main magical shopping district in London,” she said, giving him a smile. “You don’t need to worry about money; you have your inheritance from your parents, and should that not be enough, Hogwarts has a hardship fund for any students facing financial difficulties. Are you ready to go?”
Harry blinked.
“What, now?” he said.
“Unless you have other plans for today?” Professor McGonagall said dryly.
Harry shook his head, his earlier sadness slowly being replaced by anticipation and excitement. Go to the wizarding world’s main shopping district to buy supplies for magic school, or do Mr Jones’ algebra homework? There was no contest.
The train journey from Little Whinging to London could not have taken longer than an hour, but to Harry it felt like an eternity. He was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, bombarding Professor McGonagall with questions about magical London, trying to phrase them in a cryptic way that would not arouse the suspicions of the Muggles sitting nearby. Professor McGonagall answered his questions patiently, a little smile quirking her lips at his obvious enthusiasm.
After getting off the train, Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the busy streets of London, sticking close to her side so he would not get separated from her. For an older lady, she walked fast, and Harry had to hurry so as not to get left behind. Before long, Professor McGonagall surreptitiously pointed to a tiny, grubby-looking pub that was squashed between a large bookstore and a record shop. The sign on the outside said the Leaky Cauldron.
“In here,” she said.
Harry blinked in surprise. Either Professor McGonagall wanted a drink, or this rather seedy-looking pub was the gateway to the wizarding world. Neither was quite what he had expected, but he followed her in nonetheless, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark interior. The Leaky Cauldron was an old-fashioned-looking pub, all rickety wooden furniture and low ceilings and old lamps. But what drew Harry’s attention the most was the people. The various patrons were all dressed very strangely: long robes, old-fashioned clothing, some even wearing pointy hats. They all largely ignored the new arrivals, too busy talking and drinking amongst themselves.
Harry stared in amazement at their attire as he was marched through the pub by Professor McGonagall, not even realising she was leading him straight through the building and out of the back until he was blinking once more in the bright sunlight. They were in a small, walled courtyard with a couple of rubbish bins and lots of weeds that were growing in the gaps between the cobblestones. Then, Professor McGonagall took a wooden stick out of her coat – a magic wand! Harry thought excitedly – and tapped the tip of it three times against the courtyard wall.
The brick in the middle of the wall wiggled, and then suddenly the wall became an archway, Harry and Tom both gasping in unison as Professor McGonagall guided them through the archway into a narrow, bustling street.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” smiled Professor McGonagall.
Harry gawped in amazement at the sight before him. Diagon Alley was a narrow, winding street packed with people wearing strange robes like in the Leaky Cauldron. People were carrying bags of shopping, as well as broomsticks, cauldrons and jars containing bizarre substances that Harry had never seen before in his life. Owls swooped overhead, carrying letters and parcels in their talons. In the shop windows, he could see magical gadgets and trinkets. There were posters with moving pictures in the windows and magically animated displays. Harry felt like his brain might explode from how incredible everything was.
“Wow!” he gasped, his eyes wide as he stood there staring at everything with amazement.
Professor McGonagall gave him a warm smile.
“We’ll have plenty of time to look around everywhere later,” she said. “But let’s start by getting you some money.”
With that, she began marching down the street. Harry had to jog to keep up, constantly getting distracted by magical displays in the windows and the sights and sounds of everything going on around him. It was hard to think that he was still in London. He felt as though he had stepped into another universe, a parallel world where magic was real.
Professor McGonagall led him up a set of sweeping white steps that led to a huge white building with grand bronze doors, above which were the words Gringotts Bank. They stepped through the doors and through a foyer into an enormous marble hall with tall ceilings and ornate windows. Along one wall was a long counter staffed by small, strange-looking creatures sat on tall stools. Professor McGonagall must have seen the confused and slightly apprehensive expression on Harry’s face because she said quietly:
“Gringotts Bank is run by goblins, Harry. Be respectful of them.”
With that, they walked up to a goblin who did not currently have any customers. Harry tried not to stare at the creature’s long nose and large, pointed ears.
“Mr Harry James Potter wishes to make a withdrawal from his account,” Professor McGonagall said clearly.
The goblin leant forwards to peer over the edge of the counter, his eyes scanning over Harry’s face intently. Harry felt himself going red, unused to the attention, remembering what Professor McGonagall had said about him being famous in the wizarding world.
“Key, please,” said the goblin.
Professor McGonagall produced a small gold key from one of her pockets and handed it over. The goblin examined it carefully, running his long fingers along it and holding it up to the light. Exactly what he was checking, Harry was not sure, but everything seemed to be in order, because a moment later the goblin gave a satisfied nod, handing the key back to Professor McGonagall, who in turn gave it to Harry.
“This is yours,” she said.
Harry put the key carefully in his pocket, feeling strangely grown up. He had never been given such a responsibility before.
“Griphook!” said the goblin, summoning a passing colleague. “Mr Harry James Potter is here to make a withdrawal. Vault 687.”
Griphook nodded, gesturing for Harry and Professor McGonagall to follow him. He led them through a side door and into a narrow stone passageway. The corridor was lit with flaming torches in brackets on the walls. There were little metal tracks on the floor, and when Griphook whistled, a rickety old cart came trundling along, with no engine to be seen. Harry deduced that it must be powered by magic.
They all clambered into the cart, and then they were off, the cart zooming along winding passageways at a dizzying speed. It was like a rollercoaster. Harry grinned, enjoying the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped through his hair, the cart making crazy hairpin turns. Tom was having less of a good time, screwing his eyes shut as he gripped Harry’s arm tightly, grimacing and screaming whenever they went over a bump on the track.
After about five minutes, much to Harry’s disappointment but Tom’s great relief, they came to a stop, having finally arrived at vault 687. They all clambered out of the cart, following Griphook as he went to unlock the vault door. As the heavy metal door swung open, a cloud of green smoke came belching out. Harry let out a soft gasp when it finally cleared. Inside the vault were mounds upon mounds of coins. Even without knowing the conversion rate between wizarding money and pound sterling, he knew he was looking at more money than he had ever seen before in his entire life.
“The gold coins are Galleons, the silver coins are Sickles and the bronze coins are Knuts,” explained Professor McGonagall, as Harry put some of the money into a pouch she had just given him. “17 Sickles in a Galleon. 29 Knuts in a Sickle.”
Trying hard to remember all the numbers, Harry stowed his pouch of money in his bag and climbed back into the cart. The return journey was just as fast and rickety as the outward one, Tom screeching whilst Harry laughed as they made their way back up to the surface. After thanking Griphook, Harry followed Professor McGonagall out of Gringotts Bank, blinking as they emerged in the bright sunlight.
“Shall we start by getting your school uniform?” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry nodded, and the two of them entered Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, a clothing shop with a huge selection of robes on display. Harry stared in amazement at some of the robes. There were robes with gemstones sewn into them; robes of the deepest blue and the richest red; robes made out of an otherworldly material that looked like liquid. Even Harry, who had no idea about fashion, knew he was in the presence of a master of their trade. Just then, said master came bustling towards him, a warm smile on her round face.
“Welcome! I’m Madam Malkin. Going to Hogwarts?” she said.
“Yes,” said Harry. “It’ll be my first year.”
“Let’s get you fitted for your robes then,” Madam Malkin said brightly. “I have another young man getting fitted who’s going to be a first-year, too.”
With that, she led him to an area surrounded by mirrors, where levitating measuring tapes were floating in the air next to two customers: an elderly woman who was getting fitted for a ballgown, and a boy around Harry’s age who was getting fitted for some plain black school robes. Harry stood next to the boy, watching in amazement as a measuring tape immediately began flitting about his body.
“Absolutely extraordinary, isn’t it?” said the boy enthusiastically in an upper-class accent. “Look at it float! That thing defies the laws of physics – mind blowing!”
Harry grinned, the other boy’s awe and excitement mirroring his own.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “It’s mad.”
The other boy was slightly taller than average, with warm brown eyes and curly brown hair. He had an open, welcoming face and a kind smile.
“Did I hear Madam Malkin say you’re starting Hogwarts in September, too?” said the boy, looking at him curiously.
“Yeah. I’m Harry; Harry Potter. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Jolly good to meet you, Harry! I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley. Ah! Do you have a Hogwarts Professor showing you around, as well?”
Justin nodded towards Professor McGonagall, who was currently chatting with a very short wizard wearing blue robes.
“Yeah, that’s Professor McGonagall,” said Harry. “She’s helping me buy all my school things. I’d have had no idea where to buy all this stuff otherwise.”
“Yeah, I doubt they sell all this in Marks and Spencer,” chuckled Justin. “The man’s Professor Flitwick. He’s showing me and my parents around and telling us all about the wizarding world. It’s amazing!”
Harry saw a man and woman who were presumably Justin’s parents standing near Professor Flitwick, looking around in obvious amazement at the levitating measuring tapes and the sights of magic through the window that looked out onto Diagon Alley. Harry concluded that they must be Muggles, which meant that Justin must only have learnt about the wizarding world when he had received his Hogwarts letter, just like Harry. Harry felt an immediate affinity with him.
As Justin chattered away, exclaiming at the grand designs of some of the robes around them and asking Harry where abouts he lived and what his favourite subjects had been in primary school, Harry decided he liked Justin very much. He could not remember anyone being so friendly to him before in his life. Just then, Madam Malkin returned, carrying three sets of robes that she had tailored to fit Justin perfectly.
“There you go, my dear,” she said. “My assistant will take your payment at the counter.”
Justin took his robes with an enthusiastic thank you very much, and then turned to Harry, holding out his hand with a beaming smile on his face. Harry shook Justin’s hand, a little spurt of happiness going through him as he realised he had just made a friend.
“It’s been great to meet you, Harry,” said Justin. “Look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts!”
“See you in September!” grinned Harry, before Justin gave him a little wave goodbye and went off with his parents and Professor Flitwick to pay for his items.
Madam Malkin then turned her attention to Harry, noted down his measurements, which seemed to have been magically recorded by her floating measuring tape, and then levitated over three sets of plain black robes, tailoring them with her wand right there in front of Harry. Harry stared in amazement as the robes were magically fitted to his size exactly, his mind boggling at the casual magic he was witnessing before his eyes. Before long, Madam Malkin was handing him his newly-fitted robes with a bright smile.
“There are magical extension charms in the fabric that will make the robes grow as you do,” she explained, before grabbing several sets of plain trousers, jumpers, shirts and ties and handing these to him too. “When you’re sorted into your house at Hogwarts, your robes, jumpers and ties will all automatically change into your house colours. Is that everything, my dear?”
Harry nodded, following Madam Malkin and Professor McGonagall to the counter to pay for his new school uniform. A few minutes later, he and Professor McGonagall were strolling down Diagon Alley once more. They made their way through Harry’s school supplies list.
They went to a stationery shop to buy parchment, quills and ink. They went to an astronomy shop to buy a collapsible brass telescope. They went to an apothecary to buy some basic potion ingredients, a pewter cauldron, a set of brass weighing scales and a set of glass vials. They went to a bookshop called Flourish and Blotts to buy Harry’s first-year schoolbooks, as well as several other books that Harry thought sounded interesting, both Harry and Tom giddy with excitement as they read some of the titles of the books on the shelves. All the while, Harry bombarded Professor McGonagall with questions:
“Why do witches and wizards write with feathers?”
“Do they really ride broomsticks?”
“Can a Muggle accidentally make a potion if they mix the right things together?”
“What’s a Hogwarts house?”
“How hard is it to turn into an animal?”
And on and on and on.
Professor McGonagall answered him with the patience of a saint, happy to satisfy his seemingly endless curiosity. In what felt like no time at all, there was just one final item on Harry’s list of school supplies to get: his wand. They approached a narrow, shabby-looking shop with peeling gold letters over the door, spelling out Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. As they opened the door and stepped inside, a tinkling bell rang somewhere deep inside the shop.
Harry stared around in amazement. The shop was dim and dusty, with thousands of narrow boxes piled on shelves all the way from floor to ceiling. If there was any kind of order to the chaotic mess, Harry could not see it, and it fascinated him. Just then, an old, thin man with wide, silvery eyes shuffled into view, his gaze landing on Harry’s forehead, his expression suddenly coming alive with interest.
“Harry Potter,” he said, in a creaky voice. “Here for your first wand already! Has it really been ten years since…”
He trailed off. Harry shifted uncomfortably, fairly certain the man had been about to comment on it being ten years since the apparently famous day Voldemort had killed Harry’s parents and attempted to murder Harry. Professor McGonagall seemed to be on the same train of thought, because she frowned severely and spoke in a very clipped tone of voice:
“Mr Ollivander,” she said stiffly, in greeting. “Shall we get to business?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” he said, before turning back to Harry. “Which is your wand arm?”
“Erm… I don’t know,” said Harry, unsure how to answer. “I’m right-handed, so my right, I suppose?”
Mr Ollivander got out a tape measure and began measuring Harry’s right arm, his forearm, his height and even the circumference of his head. Harry observed with interest, curious how the wand buying process worked.
“How do I choose a wand?” he asked. “How does it work?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor McGonagall smile, perhaps because she was pleased that Harry was asking good questions, or perhaps because she was pleased Harry’s questions were for once being directed at someone other than her. Mr Ollivander seemed delighted that Harry was taking an interest in wand lore.
“Oh, but it’s not the wizard that chooses the wand, Mr Potter – the wand chooses the wizard!” he said excitedly. “Ollivander wands use cores made of unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings and phoenix feathers, encased in woods made from all varieties of trees. But you see, every animal, every tree, that goes into creating a wand is unique, and so every wand is unique. Each wand is destined for a particular witch or wizard. It’s not entirely clear how or why – it seems to be magical destiny.”
As he spoke, Mr Ollivander began picking boxes from the shelves and stacking them on the counter.
“It feels like only yesterday your parents were here buying their first wands,” he said. “Your mother’s was willow and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches long, very good for charm work. Your father’s was mahogany and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, excellent for transfiguration.”
By now, there were about a dozen different boxes on the counter. Mr Ollivander pushed the first one towards Harry, who opened it, looking curiously at the wand inside. Harry picked it up uncertainly, exchanging a surreptitious look with Tom, who was watching with interest.
“Give it a wave,” said Mr Ollivander.
Feeling a little foolish, Harry waved the wand back and forth, only for Mr Ollivander to snatch it from his hands almost immediately.
“No, try this,” said Mr Ollivander, pushing another box in Harry’s direction.
Harry picked this one up too, waving it like a conductor with a baton, to which Mr Ollivander harrumphed and immediately shook his head. Exactly what Mr Ollivander was waiting for, Harry was not sure. Still, as the pile of tried and rejected wands grew higher, Mr Ollivander seemed to get happier, apparently enthused by the challenge.
“Tricky customer, hmm? No matter! Your wand will be here somewhere; it is destiny, after all…”
Harry tried to concentrate on how each wand felt in his hands, wondering how he would know when he came across his “destined” wand that had “chosen” him, in Mr Ollivander’s words. Each wand felt like dead pieces of wood in his hands, as inanimate as any random twig he could have picked up from underneath a tree. By now, there were around 50 wands in the reject pile, and Harry was beginning to feel anxious. Could there have been a mistake? What if he was not a wizard, after all? What if his Hogwarts letter had been meant for another Harry Potter, the next town over?
Mr Ollivander stared for a long moment at the gigantic pile of rejected wands, before disappearing deep between his shelves, muttering to himself, apparently on the hunt for a specific wand he had in mind. Harry looked nervously at Professor McGonagall. His distress must have been clear on his face, because she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve accompanied plenty of Muggle-born and looked-after children on their first trip to Diagon Alley. Sometimes finding the right wand just takes a while.”
Harry smiled back, trying to dispel the butterflies in his stomach. Tom gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. A moment later, Mr Ollivander returned holding an old, battered, dusty-looking box that looked as if it had been sitting forgotten on a shelf for many decades.
“I wonder… I wonder…” he muttered, before opening the box and holding it out tentatively to Harry.
Harry plucked the wand from its velvet casing and gasped. Warmth rushed from the wand up his fingers, making his whole body feel hot and fizzy with ecstasy. Without thinking, he arced his hand through the air, red and gold sparkles shooting from the tip of the wand and dancing in the air, before slowly fading from sight.
Tom whooped with excitement, reaching out to pass his hands through the dancing lights before they vanished. Professor McGonagall clapped Harry on the shoulder, a happy smile on her face. But Mr Ollivander – his reaction was most strange indeed.
“Curious…” he muttered, staring at the wand in Harry’s hand with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. “I wonder what it means…”
Then, he seemed to snap out of his trance, taking the wand and nestling it back in its box, before handing it to Harry with a too-bright smile on his face.
“Seven Galleons, please,” said Mr Ollivander breezily, as if he were trying very hard to pretend there was nothing the matter.
Harry fished seven gold coins from his pouch and handed them over, before his curiosity could take it no longer, the question bursting out of him.
“Sorry, Mr Ollivander, but what’s curious about my wand?” he asked.
Mr Ollivander faltered, before taking a deep breath, a most serious expression settling on his face.
“I’ve dedicated my whole adult life to wand lore,” Mr Ollivander said softly. “I remember every wand I’ve ever made; every wand I’ve ever sold. The wand I just sold to you, I created almost 60 years ago. Eleven inches, phoenix feather and holly – an unusual combination. The phoenix who gave the tail feather that resides at the core of your wand, gave me just one other feather. I find it… curious that you would be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar.”
Harry’s heart pounded. He felt a little sick.
“My wand is brother wands with… with Voldemort?” he asked, appalled.
Both Mr Ollivander and Professor McGonagall flinched at the name.
“Indeed,” said Mr Ollivander slowly. “It’s strange, how these things happen. Wand lore works in mysterious ways. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Mr Potter. For whatever reason, this wand is destined to be yours. It will serve you well…”
As Harry followed Professor McGonagall out of Mr Ollivander’s shop, he could not help but feel a little unnerved by Mr Ollivander’s revelation. His wand’s core came from the same phoenix whose tail feather resided in Voldemort’s wand. What did it mean? Did it mean Harry was going to become evil, too? Did it mean their fates had always been intertwined? It was making his brain feel fuzzy and distracted, and so he did not realise Professor McGonagall had gone into a general supplies shop and bought him a suitcase until she instructed him to put all his school things inside it.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, reaching for his money pouch. “How much was it? I wasn’t paying attention.”
Professor McGonagall flapped her hand dismissively.
“Consider it a gift,” she said. “Your aunt and uncle should be the ones providing you with a trunk, but based on what you told me, I don’t think they will, will they?”
Harry blushed and remained silent, not wanting to say anything nasty about his aunt and uncle. Professor McGonagall seemed to take his silence as confirmation and nodded, helping him to pile all his school things into the old-fashioned but sturdy-looking trunk. Then, she tapped the trunk with her wand and said something that sounded to Harry like Latin and gave it to him. As Harry took it, he was amazed to feel that it felt as light as a pillow. He gawped in disbelief, amazed that it in fact contained all his schoolbooks, his school uniform, a cauldron, a telescope, his wand and various other bits and bobs.
“I’ve put a feather-light charm on it,” explained Professor McGonagall. “As you can tell, it magically reduces the weight. I thought it’d be useful; I hate seeing people struggle.”
“Thank you,” said Harry, touched and amazed that anyone other than Tom would think to give him a present, hugging her gratefully.
Professor McGonagall seemed surprised by the hug but smiled, nonetheless. Then, she dug into her pocket and handed him a slightly waxy slip of paper. As Harry examined it, he saw it was a train ticket – but what a very strange train ticket it was:
London to Hogwarts
For one-way travel
Platform 9 ¾
Issued subject to the rules and regulations of the Hogwarts Express Railway Authorities.
Professor McGonagall must have seen the confusion on Harry’s face because she chuckled good-naturedly.
“The train to Hogwarts leaves London King’s Cross at exactly 11am on 1 September,” she said. “To get onto platform 9 ¾, just walk straight through the wall between platforms 9 and 10.”
“Walk straight through the wall?” said Harry incredulously.
“Come on, Harry, I do it all the time,” smirked Tom.
Harry glared at him, unable to answer back in front of Professor McGonagall.
“It won’t hurt. The wall is more an illusion than anything,” she said, as if Harry were the one being ridiculous. “Now, that’s all your school shopping done. How do you feel about an ice cream before I take you back home? I haven’t been to Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour in far too long.”
Harry grinned. This was, without a doubt, one of the best days of his entire life.
The Dursleys were home when Harry and Professor McGonagall returned from London. Harry had worried that they would punish him severely for being a wizard and for having outsmarted them by replying to his Hogwarts letter without them even knowing he had received it, but instead they simply ignored him, not uttering a word and leaving him a plate of dinner outside his cupboard door to eat alone. That suited Harry just fine.
That night, Harry lay in bed beside Tom in their cupboard, the two of them excitedly discussing everything they had learnt that day. So much had happened, their minds were spinning. They discussed at length everything they had seen at Diagon Alley. They talked about all the casual magic they had seen, the fascinating displays they had seen in the shops, the books that were now sitting in Harry’s new trunk at the foot of his bed.
Then, Harry’s mind drifted to what he had learnt that morning about his parents. On the one hand, he was glad to know the truth. He found comfort in the fact his parents had loved him, that they had died fighting to save him, rather than having been drunks who had not cared enough about him to bother to drive safely. On the other hand, the fact that they were murdered haunted him, causing his stomach to twist with horror. Tom seemed to be having similar thoughts, because he suddenly gripped Harry’s hand tightly in the darkness.
“What if Voldemort’s still out there?” said Tom, his voice high with fear. “What if he tries to kill you again? I don’t have a body; I won’t be able to defend you. You have to be careful. Promise me you’ll be safe!”
Then, Tom gave a huge, wet sob, before furiously trying to stifle it, apparently not wanting Harry to hear him cry. Harry rolled towards him with concern, wrapping his arms around Tom protectively, rubbing his back, just the way he had when Tom had been born in Harry’s cupboard all those years previously, wailing and crying inconsolably.
“I’m here, everything’s fine,” said Harry softly. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said. Voldemort vanished. The wizarding world is peaceful. I don’t think we need to worry about him.”
It took a while, but eventually Tom calmed down.
“I hope you’re right,” he said quietly.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos and love for this fic! Reading your thoughts on these chapters genuinely brings me so much joy <3
DIVERGENCE FROM CANON: In the books, Harry’s wanders into the kitchen holding his Hogwarts letter, which leads to the Dursleys confiscating it and basically the entire family going on the run to try to evade Hogwarts from contacting Harry, which goes on for so long that Hagrid eventually gets sent to give Harry his letter himself, and then taking him to visit Diagon Alley. In this fic, with Tom around to be a bit cleverer about things lol, it makes sense to me that he’d tell Harry to hide the letter so they could read and reply to it promptly in secret, and hence the events in this chapter unfolded! I hope you enjoyed this divergence from canon!
THOUGHTS: So much happened in this chapter! They finally discovered that the Gift is magic. They learnt that whatever Tom is, is not normal even in the wizarding world. What did you think of their trip to Diagon Alley? We met a significant character who is going to have a prominent role in this fic in this chapter - can you guess who it might be? Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below, I love hearing from you guys!
TEASER: The next chapter will see Harry and Tom go to Hogwarts and get sorted… Which house do you think Harry will be sorted into?
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username ao3-elle1991 if you want to say hello <3
Chapter Text
Over the summer holidays, Harry and Tom read through all their schoolbooks from cover to cover several times over.
They were both absolutely fascinated to learn how spells worked in The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), practicing the incantations and hand movements for hours on end (although without a wand, of course, since Professor McGonagall had explained that underage students were not meant to deliberately use magic outside of school.)
As a big plant lover, Harry was especially thrilled to read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi (“Look, Tom, there are magical plants!”) and Magical Drafts and Potions, as it seemed like potions involved a lot of plant work. Harry was also very taken by Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, oohing and ahhing at all the drawings and descriptions of various magical animals.
Tom, on the other hand, took a special interest in The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Harry had not thought it was even possible, but Tom had managed to become even more protective of Harry since they had learnt that Voldemort had tried to kill Harry as a baby.
As they devoured their schoolbooks, they talked at length about the subjects they thought sounded the most interesting. As the more practical learner, Harry was most excited for the more practical subjects, like Herbology (“An entire subject just about plants!” he exclaimed with delight), Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. As the more academic one, Tom was more interested in the more theoretical subjects like Charms and Transfiguration, wanting to truly understand how magic worked and peer into its inner workings.
As well as their schoolbooks, Harry had bought a few other books that he had thought sounded interesting at Flourish and Blotts.
Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century gave them a good basic understanding of the wizarding world that they were about to enter – although it was a slightly unpleasant surprise for Harry to stumble upon a section about his parents’ murders and his own attempted murder at the hands of Lord Voldemort in chapter 10. Harry had gone quiet and stopped reading after that, not wanting to feel sad about his parents. Tom had given him a long hug.
The book that made them the most excited, though, was Hogwarts, a History. Reading about the castle that was to be their home for the next seven years had both Harry and Tom giddy with anticipation. One great topic of conversation between them was the four Hogwarts houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.
“I wonder how you’ll get Sorted,” Tom said thoughtfully, one day. “The book doesn’t say.”
“Maybe it’ll be some kind of test,” said Harry, a little anxiously. “If it is, I hope it’s in private.”
They were fascinated by the fact the houses seemed to be based on students’ personalities, traits and values. Gryffindors were brave, chivalrous and determined. Ravenclaws were intelligent, creative and curious. Hufflepuffs were kind, loyal and fair. Slytherins were ambitious, resourceful and proud.
“I think they all sound like good houses,” said Tom. “What do you think?”
“Yeah, I think so, too,” said Harry. “Probably I’ll be happy wherever I end up.”
What Harry was looking forward to most of all, though, was finally getting away from the Dursleys. At Hogwarts, he would no longer have to worry about being beaten or starved if he did something that displeased his aunt or uncle. At Hogwarts, he would no longer have to sleep in a dusty old cupboard under the stairs. At Hogwarts, he would finally be free to make friends with other children, with no Dudley around to scare everyone away. It felt like a dream. Harry had to keep reminding himself it was real.
On the last day of August, Harry walked into the lounge, where Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were watching a quiz show on TV. As usual, they ignored him. Ever since the day when Professor McGonagall had come to answer Harry’s questions and take him to Diagon Alley, they had barely said a word to him, seemingly both furious and terrified at the fact that Harry now knew he was a wizard.
“Good evening,” said Harry politely, not wanting to give them any reason to say no to what he was about to ask next. “Please can you give me a lift to London King’s Cross tomorrow morning?”
Faced with a direct question, Uncle Vernon reluctantly looked over at him.
“Why?” he grunted.
“The train to Hogwarts leaves there at 11 o’clock.”
At the mention of the word “Hogwarts”, Aunt Petunia frantically clamped her hands over Dudley’s ears, as if Harry had just started screaming the most awful swear word at the top of his lungs.
“All the magic carpets got punctures, have they?” sneered Uncle Vernon.
Harry did not reply, choosing instead to simply stare at him calmly. Ever since Harry had learnt about magic, he had discovered that the Dursleys were intensely disturbed by him, even if they tried to cover it up with barbs and bullying. After barely five seconds of Harry staring at him unblinkingly, Uncle Vernon gave a shudder and turned away from him.
“Fine,” barked Uncle Vernon. “We leave here at 9 o’clock in the morning. Don’t be late.”
Harry went back to his cupboard with a grin on his face.
Harry awoke the next morning at 6am, his stomach flipping with a mixture of nerves and excitement. In five hours’ time, he would be on the Hogwarts Express, leaving the Dursleys and embarking on the beginning of his wizarding life. It was exhilarating. It was awe-inspiring. It was terrifying. He was buzzing with energy, and after ten minutes, he could not take it anymore, getting up and pulling on his clothes, trying to be quiet since Tom was still sleeping.
Pushing open the cupboard door, he carried his trunk over to the front door (a task made easy thanks to Professor McGonagall’s feather-light charm) and placed it down next to the doormat. Next, he tip-toed to the kitchen and set about making himself a fry-up. If he was going to have the best day of his life, he may as well start it right by making himself a breakfast fit for a King. It was not as if the Dursleys would lock him in his cupboard as a punishment; they were just as eager to get rid of him as he was to leave them.
After a leisurely breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans and fried mushrooms, Harry washed up and began walking slowly around the house. He could hear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia moving about and getting ready upstairs. As Harry wandered around the downstairs of the house, he contemplated the fact that despite living there for ten years, in no way did it feel like home. Home was wherever Tom was; the actual house of 4 Privet Drive held no sentimental attachment. The only parts of the property Harry felt any connection to were the front and back garden.
He unlocked the back door and meandered around the back garden, touching the flowers as he went. It made him a little melancholy, knowing he had to say goodbye to all his precious plants.
“Goodbye, grass. Goodbye, flowers. Goodbye, tree,” he said softly. “I’ll miss you.”
He snuck down the side passage and repeated this ritual in the front garden, saying his goodbyes to all the plants he had nurtured and grown over the years. The plants were the only living things he would miss from Privet Drive, he reckoned. He had asked his aunt and uncle what they were going to do with the garden whilst he was gone, and apparently, they were going to hire a gardener. Harry felt some comfort in knowing the garden would be well-cared-for.
When Harry finally finished saying goodbye to all his plants and came back into the house, the Dursleys were up and having breakfast in the kitchen. If they were surprised to see him coming in through the back door, they did not say anything – but then, they barely said anything to him these days, anyway. Tom was waiting by the kitchen door, shooting Harry a smile when he saw Harry come in.
“Saying goodbye to the garden?” asked Tom.
Harry nodded, his throat a little tight. Tom did not reply; he did not need to – they understood one another perfectly.
Glancing at the clock, Harry decided it was time to brush his teeth and go to the toilet, and then, before he knew it, he was tying his shoelaces and pulling on his coat. Harry picked up his trunk and stepped out of the front door, lifting it into the boot of the car. Tom was buzzing around him like a mother hen.
“Did you pack your wand?” Tom said bossily. “Did you pack all the books? Did you pack your clothes? What about your pair of winter socks with polar bears on them? It’ll be cold in Scotland during the winter.”
Harry hid his smile behind his hand and nodded subtly but did not reply since Uncle Vernon was striding down the drive towards them, not fancying a lecture on his freakish tendency to “talk to himself” during the long drive to London.
“Have you got everything?” barked Uncle Vernon, with none of Tom’s warmth.
“Yes,” said Harry.
“Fine, get in,” snapped Uncle Vernon.
Harry buckled his seatbelt, his right leg bouncing with excitement as Uncle Vernon climbed into the driver’s seat, and then they were off. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were staying at home, apparently seeing no reason to see Harry off. Uncle Vernon did not bother speaking either, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove them towards London. Harry did not mind the silence, looking out of the window with interest as they went through town, countryside, motorway, and then the big city.
They arrived at London King’s Cross station at 10:30am. Harry and Uncle Vernon got out of the car, Uncle Vernon walking around to unlock the boot and remove Harry’s trunk – and then he was off, driving away, wheels squealing, leaving Harry alone outside the busy station without so much as a “goodbye”.
“What a rude bastard,” tutted Tom, using the swear word he and Harry had learnt just a few weeks earlier.
“Who cares, we’re going to Hogwarts,” grinned Harry, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
Picking up his trunk, he and Tom joined the throng of people entering the station. He walked past the big boards that displayed the departure and arrival times without even looking at them, knowing exactly where and when the Hogwarts Express would be leaving, thanks to Professor McGonagall. They arrived at platforms 9 and 10, which were separated by a thick brick wall. Harry felt a frisson of anxiety. It looked very solid. What if he tried to walk through it but ended up crashing into it and injuring himself? Tom seemed to sense Harry’s hesitation.
“Do you want me to go first and come back to tell you what it’s like?” said Tom. “I walk through walls all the time; it doesn’t bother me.”
Harry nodded gratefully, watching as Tom walked confidently through the wall between platforms 9 and 10 and vanished from view. Just then, he heard a friendly shout behind him.
“Harry!”
Harry turned around in surprise, breaking into a grin when he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley and his parents walking towards him, a large Muggle suitcase on wheels trundling behind Justin.
“I thought I recognised your hair,” explained Justin with a smile. “It’s all… all over the place.”
Harry laughed, relieved to see a familiar face.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Harry.
“Are your family not with you?” asked Justin, looking around in confusion, as Justin’s parents greeted Harry warmly.
“Oh, er, they had to go,” said Harry, going a little red, before quickly changing the subject. “Have you heard? We’ve got to walk through the wall separating platforms 9 and 10.”
Justin and his parents stared at the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 with no small amount of anxiety. Harry felt somewhat comforted that he was not alone in feeling completely freaked out at the prospect of walking into a very solid-looking brick wall. Just then, Tom came bursting back out from the wall, his entire face alight with excitement.
“Harry! You’ve got to see this! It’s amazing!” gushed Tom.
“Shall we go together?” said Harry, to the group at large.
Tom looped his arm with Harry’s, as Justin shot him a look of respect.
“Wow, you’re really brave!” said Justin. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Come on, mum, dad; Professor Flitwick said you’d be able to get through the barrier, too.”
Before he could second-guess himself, Harry began marching towards the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10, trying to ignore his pounding heart as every instinct told him to stop. Gritting his teeth, he broke into a jog, Justin and his parents hot on his heels, the wall getting closer, and closer, and closer…
Harry closed his eyes in panic at what should have been the moment of impact, but the painful smack of brick against his face did not come. After a few more seconds of blindly walking, Harry finally felt brave enough to open his eyes, stumbling to a halt as he stared at the incredible sight in front of him.
Platform 9 ¾ was bustling with students and parents. Owls swooped overhead. Cats wound themselves between people’s legs. The Hogwarts Express was a large crimson steam engine, and it was attached to around a dozen crimson carriages that were already starting to fill with students. He had done it! He had got onto platform 9 ¾! Harry gave a happy little squeal, unable to hold back his enthusiasm.
Beside him, Justin was saying goodbye to his parents, hugging them and going a little red when his mother pressed a big kiss against his cheek. When they were finally done, Justin nudged Harry and nodded towards the nearest carriage.
“Shall we find a compartment?” said Justin.
“Sounds good,” said Harry, thankful that (in addition to Tom, of course), he seemed to have made at least one friend. Venturing into the unknown was a lot less scary when he had someone else with him.
Tom watched Justin silently, an appraising look on his face, as if Justin were a puzzle he was trying to solve. Harry led the way onto the carriage, Justin following close behind, finding that the carriage was split into many individual compartments. They soon found an empty one near the end of the train and pushed their suitcases onto the overhead luggage racks, before sliding the door closed and taking their seats opposite each other. Despite the obvious age of the train, Harry thought it was very comfortable.
In no time at all, the Hogwarts Express gave a loud whistle and began to move, pulling out of King’s Cross station and slowly picking up speed.
“I can’t believe we’re going to a magical school!” enthused Justin. “I thought it was a joke, when I first got my Hogwarts letter, but then me and my parents realised that all the weird things that’d happened in my childhood made sense, if magic was real!”
“What kinds of accidental magic did you do, when you were younger?” said Harry, intensely curious and excited to get to talk to another magical child besides himself and Tom.
“Well, for a while when I was seven, I kept making these huge, multicoloured bubbles appear at bath time,” said Justin. “And when I was nine, I turned my dad’s work clothes bright pink. Honestly, my parents and I were totally baffled.”
Harry laughed. Justin’s magic sounded playful and innocent. He wondered if a person’s magic reflected their personality.
“What about you?” asked Justin, apparently just as curious about Harry as Harry was about him.
“Oh, loads of stuff,” said Harry. “When I was six, I made the toilet disappear. And one time, when my cousin pulled up all the flowers in the garden, I made them all grow back. Oh, and then there was the time I ended up flying onto the school roof. I’m still not exactly sure how that happened…”
Justin was an excellent audience, gasping and whooping as Harry explained all the accidental magic he had done over the years. As he finished explaining how he made all his hair grow back after Aunt Petunia cut it off, Justin’s eyes were wide with astonishment.
“Wow, you’ve done loads of magic!” he said. “You must be a really powerful wizard.”
“I don’t know about that,” blushed Harry. “I had no idea what I was doing. It was all accidental.”
“How come you live with your aunt and uncle?” said Justin curiously, after a short pause where they both admired the changing scenery through the window.
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“My parents died when I was a baby,” he said quietly. “They were murdered by a dark wizard.”
Justin stared at him in horror, his hands flying to his mouth. Harry was astonished to see Justin’s eyes actually well up with tears.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry,” stammered Justin. “I hope I didn’t upset you. Oh, Harry. That’s awful. I–”
Harry cut off Justin’s apologies. He was touched by the other boy’s reaction. That he would be so upset for Harry about his parents said a lot about his character. Beside him, Tom seemed to warm up to Justin immediately, visibly relaxing as he looked at the other boy.
“It’s OK, you didn’t upset me,” said Harry hurriedly. “Why don’t you tell me about your family? What do your parents do?”
“Dad’s a university professor at the London School of Economics, which sounds very boring to me,” said Justin, looking relieved that Harry was not upset with him. “Mum’s a human rights lawyer, which I think is much more interesting! I’d like to be involved in human rights when I grow up, I think. Oh, speaking of mum! She packed me way too much lunch. Want to share?”
Justin’s mother had packed him a large assortment of classic afternoon tea food items. Harry stared in amazement as Justin brought out a large Tupperware container filled with little sandwiches, scones and even a few little pastries. Harry was fascinated, having never had a proper afternoon tea before – something which Justin seemed quite shocked by, when Harry said so. Harry got the impression that Justin’s family were rather posh.
As they slowly made their way through Justin’s veritable spread of afternoon tea foods, the scenery outside the window slowly changed from neat, tidy fields to more of a wilderness. After Justin talked about how he wanted to one day work in the field of human rights, Harry mentioned that he wanted to become a doctor, to which Justin brought up the interesting question of whether there were magical doctors who specialised in treating magical diseases. They had just finished the last of the pastries when the door to their compartment slid open and a round-faced boy around their age walked in.
“Sorry to interrupt, have you seen a toad?” he said tearfully.
Harry and Justin stared at him in confusion.
“Er, no, sorry,” said Harry. “Why do you need a toad?”
“I’ve lost him!” wailed the boy. “He keeps getting away from me!”
Harry’s eyes widened as he realised the toad must be this boy’s pet.
“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” said Justin earnestly.
“Thanks,” said the boy, before slouching out of the compartment to keep looking further down the train.
“Poor chap,” said Justin. “I think I’d cry if I lost a pet. Here’s hoping his toad turns up.”
Barely ten minutes had passed before the door of the compartment slid open again. The boy who had lost his toad was back, this time accompanied by a girl with extremely bushy brown hair. She was already wearing her Hogwarts uniform.
“Has anyone seen a toad?” she said bossily. “Neville here’s lost one.”
Behind her, Neville was mumbling awkwardly that he had already asked them.
“No, sorry,” said Harry.
“Well, keep an eye out for it, will you?” said the girl. “And I’d change into your school uniforms, if I were you. I expect we’ll be arriving at Hogwarts soon.”
She and Neville left as abruptly as they had arrived, leaving a mildly surprised Harry and Justin in their wake. Harry felt a little as though he had just been told what to do by a teacher. Nevertheless, as they peered through the window, they saw the truth to the bossy girl’s words. It was getting dark outside, the sun sinking below the horizon.
Harry and Justin opened their trunks, pulled out their plain Hogwarts uniforms and got changed into their trousers, shirts, ties, jumpers and long black robes. Harry remembered that Madam Malkin had said that the tie, jumper and robes would change colour when they were sorted into their houses at Hogwarts. Harry wondered anxiously where he and Justin would get sorted. He hoped they would stay friends, even if they ended up in different houses.
They had just finished getting changed when the door to their compartment slid open again and three boys around their age walked in. The boy in the middle was slim, with platinum blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The other two boys were taller and more thickset, standing on either side of him like miniature bodyguards.
“Everyone’s saying that Harry Potter’s in this compartment,” said the blonde boy. “Is it true?”
The boy had a rude, forceful kind of attitude, as well as a posh, upper-class accent that, although similar to Justin’s, had none of his warmth.
“Yeah, that’s me,” said Harry reluctantly, not liking the way the three new boys were looking at him, as if he were an interesting specimen at the zoo.
“Wow,” said the blonde boy, looking awed for a moment, before puffing out his chest, as if he thought himself very important. “My name’s Malfoy; Draco Malfoy. Oh, and these are Crabbe and Goyle.”
“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” said Justin confidently, holding out his hand to shake the newcomer’s. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Draco turned his gaze from Harry to Justin, a coldness immediately settling over his features.
“Finch-Fletchley?” sneered Draco. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that name before. You’re not a Mudblood, are you?”
“What’s a Mudblood?” said Justin, confused and hurt.
Draco did not even give him an answer, simply turning up his nose and turning back to Harry, as if Justin were not even there.
“You’ll soon learn that some families are better than others, Potter,” said Draco. “You don’t want to go around making friends with Mudbloods and that sort of riff-raff. I can help you there.”
Harry felt hot rage bubbling up inside him. It was obvious that “Mudblood” must be a foul term for a Muggle-born. He remembered what Professor McGonagall had said about some people being prejudiced against Muggle-borns. He had not thought much of it, at the time, but there was no mistaking it now. He had not expected it to be so blatant and ugly. Justin, even without knowing the exact meaning of the word, could obviously tell it was an insult, and looked almost like he was about to cry.
“If you have a problem with my friend, then you can get out,” Harry spat icily.
Draco looked genuinely shocked that Harry would do anything other than agree with him.
“Now, listen here–” began Draco threateningly, but then a woman’s voice echoed through the train, even though Harry could not see any electronic speaker system.
“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train. It will be taken to the school separately.”
With a furious glare in Harry’s direction, Draco stormed out of the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle blundering after him. Justin looked pale and shaky, his eyes wide and bewildered. Harry went and sat down next to him, offering him a tissue.
“Are you OK?” said Harry sympathetically.
Justin hiccupped several times, wiping his eyes with Harry’s proffered tissue.
“What’s a Mudblood?” said Justin, obviously upset. “That Malfoy boy looked at me like I was dirt.”
“I think it’s a nasty name for someone with Muggle parents,” said Harry, grimacing. “But the fact he called you that shows that he’s the one who’s come from a bad family, not you!”
Justin gave him a watery smile, blowing his nose and taking a few deep breaths to compose himself. Harry got the impression this was Justin’s first ever taste of confrontation and felt strangely protective over him.
“Draco’s an idiot, don’t listen to him,” said Harry. “If he’s ever nasty to you again, just tell him to fuck off. Go on, practice it now!”
Justin was visibly starting to cheer up with Harry’s encouragement.
“Fuck off, you… you cockwomble!” Justin said to an imaginary Draco Malfoy.
Harry and Justin immediately collapsed into giggles; Tom smirked. A few minutes later, the Hogwarts Express slowed to a halt, and the boys got to their feet, sliding open the compartment door and joining the throng of students shunting down the corridor to the carriage doors. As Harry stepped down onto the platform, a cool breeze ruffled his hair. Harry pulled his robes around himself for warmth. It was colder here than it had been down in London.
“Firs’-years over here! Firs’-years! Come with me, don’t be shy!” boomed a loud voice with a strong Cornish accent.
Harry turned to see an absolutely enormous man with a wild mane of bushy hair and a thick beard. He must have been twelve feet tall and about the width of a small car. He was holding a large lamp which lit up the dark platform, calling all the first-year students towards him. Harry and Justin squeezed their way through the crowd towards him. Soon, there were around 30 first-year students huddled around the giant.
“Firs’-years! Is that everyone? Alright, follow me!”
The man strode forwards down a steep, narrow path that twisted and turned through the thick forest. Harry and the other first-years had to hurry to keep up with his enormous strides, not wanting to get left behind. After about five minutes of walking, they rounded a corner, and everyone gave a collective gasp of wonder.
The path had opened up onto the shore of a large lake. Mountains cradled the landscape on all sides, and on the other side of the lake, atop a tall cliff, was a large castle with many turrets and towers, windows lit up from the inside and sparkling in the dark night. Harry stared at Hogwarts, entranced. It was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. His heart leapt with excitement. For the next seven years, during the school year at least, this would be his home.
“No more’n four to a boat!” said the huge man.
Harry jerked out of his reverie, noticing for the first time a fleet of small wooden boats on the shore of the lake. Harry and Justin clambered into their nearest boat, along with a short, sandy-haired boy who was chattering away in an Irish accent and a tall, dark boy with a West Ham football club hat jammed over his afro for warmth. The boys introduced themselves as Seamus and Dean respectively, and then the large man shouted “FORWARD!”, and the boats began to glide smoothly over the lake towards the castle.
A hush descended over the first-years, everyone completely in awe of the sight of Hogwarts getting bigger and bigger before them. Harry sneaked a glance at Tom, who had perched himself at the very front of the boat, so that he would not have to sit overlapping any of the other boys. He, too, was gazing at Hogwarts with a look of pure wonder on his face, the sparkling lights of Hogwarts’ windows reflecting in his grey-blue eyes. Harry grinned, his heart swelling with joy.
The little boats were fast approaching the cliff face on which Hogwarts stood. For a moment, Harry thought they might crash into it, but then the fleet passed harmlessly through a curtain of ivy that concealed a cave entrance at the bottom of the cliff. Soon, the boats reached an underground harbour, and everyone clambered out of the boats onto solid ground.
Once everyone was ready, the giant man once again led the way up a stone passageway, until the stone turned to grass underfoot, and they found themselves climbing a flight of stone steps that led to a huge wooden door that must be the main entrance to Hogwarts castle. Harry and the other first-years watched with bated breath as the huge man knocked three times on the front door. The door swung open at once, revealing Professor McGonagall standing there in a set of smart emerald robes. Harry grinned at the sight of her, giving her a little wave.
“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said the giant respectfully.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here,” she replied.
She gestured for the first-years to follow her, leading them inside through a huge entrance hall with vaulted ceilings into a smaller side chamber. Harry could hear the sound of hundreds of voices coming through a door to the right – the rest of the students must already be in there, he realised.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall to the roomful of first-years. “The start-of-term banquet will begin soon, but first, you must be sorted into your houses. The four houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. These houses are an important part of life at Hogwarts, where you’ll foster deep bonds of friendship and camaraderie. During your time at Hogwarts, you will have lessons with your housemates, eat at your house table, sleep in your house dormitories and get to socialise in your house common room. Throughout the year, you will have the opportunity to earn house points for good behaviour. Conversely, any poor behaviour will lose points. At the end of the year, the house cup will be awarded to the house which has earned the most points. In a few minutes, we will enter the Great Hall, and you will be sorted in front of the rest of the school. Please wait quietly.”
She left the chamber. Harry’s heart began hammering wildly with nerves. The Sorting Ceremony was something that he had discussed at length with Tom. Hogwarts, a History had not given away any clues as to how the sorting actually worked, but knowing that it was to happen in front of the entire school made Harry sick with worry. Beside him, Justin also looked a little green.
“I expect I’ll be sorted into Hufflepuff,” said a tall, skinny boy with dark blonde hair, several feet away from Harry. He spoke with a loud, confident attitude that bordered on arrogant.
“Hufflepuff?” sneered Draco Malfoy.
“I’m the Heir of Hufflepuff, don’t you know? Zacharias Smith. You may have heard of my family? We’re direct descendants of Helga Hufflepuff herself!”
At this, Draco’s previously derisive attitude changed immediately. He looked impressed.
“You’re a direct descendant of one of the founders of Hogwarts?” Draco said eagerly. “Yours must be one of the oldest pure-blood families in the UK! Pleasure to meet you. I’m Malfoy; Draco Malfoy.”
Zacharias and Draco shook hands firmly.
Harry looked at them distastefully.
“How on earth is it impressive who your ancestors are?” said Tom, rolling his eyes, even though only Harry could hear him. “You have literally no control over it.”
Before anyone else could join in Draco and Zacharias’ conversation, Professor McGonagall returned, giving the first-years an encouraging smile.
“Follow me,” she said.
Like a swarm of signets following a mother swan, the first-years trailed after Professor McGonagall as she led them into the Great Hall. Harry was not the only one who gasped. The Great Hall was a huge, beautiful room with stone floors, glittering stained-glass windows and a huge, vaulted ceiling that was bewitched to look like the night sky. Floating candles hovered above four long tables – one for each house – where the older students were already seated. At the front, the teachers were sat along a fifth table that was on a slightly raised stage. It was onto this stage that Professor McGonagall led the first-years. Harry watched as she magicked a wooden stool out of thin air and placed it in the centre of the stage, before she placed on the stool a very old and tatty-looking hat. Harry noticed that all the older students seemed to be staring at the hat, so he turned to look at it, too.
“What’s all this about?” murmured Tom.
And then, the hat began to sing.
“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You may belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”
There was a hearty round of applause as the Sorting Hat finished its song. Harry let out a sigh of relief. All he had to do was put on a hat! Although, he did wish he could do it in private, rather than in front of the entire school. What if the hat decided he was not brave or smart or loyal or ambitious enough to be worthy of any of the houses? Once the applause had died down and the hall was quiet once more, Professor McGonagall unfurled a long roll of parchment.
“When I call out your name, come forward, sit down and place the Sorting Hat on your head,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah.”
A willowy girl with blonde pigtails walked forwards on shaking legs and sat down on the stool, pulling the Sorting Hat onto her head. It was so large it covered her eyes. There were a few moments of silence, and then:
“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the Sorting Hat.
The trimmings on Hannah’s robes and jumper transformed into yellow, and her tie morphed into the Hufflepuff stripes of yellow and black. The table on the right of the hall applauded, and Hannah scuttled off to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.
“Bones, Susan.”
Susan marched forwards, jammed on the Sorting Hat, and about ten seconds later:
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
Susan grinned and went to sit next to Hannah.
“Boot, Terry.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Brocklehurst, Mandy.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
Terry and Mandy went to join the table second from the left, the trimmings on their robes and jumpers turning blue, their ties transforming into the Ravenclaw stripes of blue and bronze.
“Brown, Lavender.”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Lavender skipped over to the table on the left, the edges of her robes and jumper turning red, as her tie morphed into the Gryffindor colours of red and gold.
“Bulstrode, Millicent.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
Millicent marched to the second table from the right, the trimmings on her uniform turning green, as her tie transformed into the green and silver stripes of Slytherin.
“Corner, Michael.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Crabbe, Vincent.”
As Crabbe walked forwards, Harry recognised him as one of Draco Malfoy’s friends who had come to his and Justin’s compartment on the train.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Crabbe strutted over to the Slytherin table, and then:
“Finch-Fletchley, Justin.”
Beside him, Justin gave a little whimper of fear.
“Good luck,” whispered Harry.
Justin gave him a weak smile, before walking forwards and sitting down on the stool. The Sorting Hat had barely touched the top of Justin’s curly brown hair when it immediately shouted:
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
Harry found himself clapping along with Hufflepuff house as Justin took his seat at the Hufflepuff table opposite Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.
“Finnigan, Seamus.”
The short, sandy-haired Irish boy from Harry’s boat walked forwards.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Goldstein, Anthony.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Goyle, Gregory.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
As Harry watched the second of Draco Malfoy’s sidekicks make his way to the Slytherin table, Harry found himself hoping that the Sorting Hat would not want to put him there. He did not fancy having to spend all his time around those two bullies.
“Granger, Hermione.”
Harry recognised Hermione as the bossy girl with the bushy hair who had helped Neville try to find his toad on the train.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Greengrass, Daphne.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Longbottom, Neville.”
Neville almost tripped over the hem of his robes as he made his way to the stool. Harry was relieved to see that he had found his pet; he was clutching a large, warty toad in his hands. Neville sat down on the stool and put on the hat, and then… silence. Harry had noticed that the Sorting Hat sometimes took more or less time to decide which house was best suited to each student, but as the seconds turned into minutes for Neville, Harry wondered for the first time what exactly the hat was doing as it sat there silently on their heads.
“GRYFFINDOR!” the Sorting Hat shouted finally.
Neville was apparently so relieved to have been sorted that he walked over to the Gryffindor table still wearing the hat, and had to jog back five seconds later, his face as red as the new trimmings on his robes as he placed the hat back on the stool.
“MacDougal, Morag.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Macmillan, Ernest.”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
“Malfoy, Draco.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
Right, Harry decided. He absolutely did not want to go to Slytherin. He did not think he could make it through a week, let alone an entire school year, without punching Malfoy in the face, if he had to spend every waking hour with him.
“Moon, Lily.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Nott, Theodore.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Parkinson, Pansy.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Patil, Padma.”
The first of a set of twin girls stepped forwards.
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Patil, Parvati.”
The second twin sat down on the stool.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Perks, Sally-Anne.”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
And then, finally:
“Potter, Harry.”
The Great Hall immediately broke out into whispers. Tom gave Harry’s hand a quick squeeze of encouragement. Feeling simultaneously as though he was about to faint and be sick on his shoes, Harry stepped forwards on wobbly legs and sat down on the stool. Tom stayed faithfully by his side for moral support; Harry was glad for his presence. Heart hammering and hands slick with sweat, Harry tentatively pulled the Sorting Hat over his head. The sound from the Great Hall was deadened immediately, and a small voice spoke in his ear.
“Well, well, well. In over a thousand years sorting Hogwarts students, this is the first time I’ve met two boys in one head.”
“You can see me?” Tom said immediately.
“Of course,” said the Sorting Hat. “Did you not listen to my song? There’s nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can’t see…”
Harry knew that Tom must be feeling the same mixture of shock and excitement that he was at that moment. In all the time that Tom had been alive, this was the first time anyone other than Harry had been able to detect Tom’s presence or speak with him.
“This is amazing! No one else has ever been able to see Tom before,” Harry thought excitedly. “Do you know what he is? Why can no one else see him?”
The Sorting Hat gave a little chuckle.
“Whilst I may be powerful, I’m not sure even I fully understand exactly how or why Tom is in your head, Harry,” said the Sorting Hat. “Although this does make the task of sorting you rather more interesting.”
“How so?” thought Harry.
“Why, you’re two boys sharing one body! I will make a decision for each of you individually, and if there’s any conflict, you will need to discuss the best solution between yourselves.”
“Any conflict?” said Tom. Harry could hear the frown in his voice.
“Indeed, indeed… Your personalities are rather different, wouldn’t you say? I sense you may be best suited to different houses.”
Harry felt anxiety begin to claw madly at his insides.
“I sense you’re nervous. Shall we start with you, Harry?” said the Sorting Hat kindly.
“OK,” Harry thought timidly.
“You’re quite a difficult one, Harry. A kind heart, a good mind, a competitive streak and a good amount of resilience. In short, qualities that would place you well in any of the four houses.”
“Not Slytherin,” thought Harry, thinking of the way Draco Malfoy and his two sidekicks had treated Justin on the train.
“Not Slytherin, hmm? You could be great there, you know. But perhaps you’re right. I’m sensing that competition and ambition aren’t what drive you the most, are they? No, above all, you’re kind. You embraced the strange new boy who appeared in your cupboard without question. You used your magic to help those flowers grow. You never once plotted revenge against the Dursleys, even though they arguably deserve it. You aspire to be a doctor when you grow up; to help others, to save lives, to make the world a better place. Oh yes, I think, if you were alone in your head, I would feel very confident in placing you in Hufflepuff!”
Harry’s heart gave a happy kind of leap. Hufflepuff would mean he would get to be with Justin, too.
“But you’re not alone in your head, are you?” continued the Sorting Hat, sounding incredibly interested. “You have a cohabitant. Tom, let’s turn to you. You have a brilliant mind, a thirst for knowledge, a desire to learn and master the very core of magic. You’re driven to achieve, to be the best at what you do. Slytherin may suit you to some extent, but I think Ravenclaw is where you would truly thrive.”
Harry twisted his hands in his lap anxiously. He was best suited to Hufflepuff; Tom was best suited to Ravenclaw. Where did they go from here?
“Indeed, Harry, where do we go from here?” said the Sorting Hat, and Harry jumped, unused to having his mind read. “I think that needs to be a discussion between you and Tom.”
For a moment, there was a long pause, and then Harry took a deep breath, trying to think it all over.
“Tom, if you’d be happiest in Ravenclaw, I’m happy to go there,” thought Harry earnestly. “I’m sure I’d like it, too. I bet we’d have loads of fun having library sessions with the Ravenclaws, like we did at primary school.”
There were a few seconds of silence as Tom thought over Harry’s offer. Harry knew he must be sorely tempted. But when Tom spoke, he sounded determined.
“No. You need to be the priority here, Harry. You’re the one who everyone’s going to see and talk to. You’re the one who’s going to have to be with your housemates all the time. If Hufflepuff is where you’d thrive, Hufflepuff is where you should go. I stand by what I said over the summer holidays: they’re all good houses. I’m happy with Hufflepuff. We don’t need you to be in Ravenclaw to study hard and be top of our year.”
Harry gripped the sides of the stool tightly. This was an important decision. He did not want to rush it.
“Are you sure?” thought Harry. “Because I really don’t mind Ravenclaw. If you’d be happiest–”
“That’s quite enough of that,” said the Sorting Hat, and for some reason, it sounded delighted. “Your loyalty and devotion to one another is one of the most wholesome things I’ve ever seen in all my many years sorting Hogwarts students. There’s no doubt in my mind, in fact, that both of you would be absolutely perfect for… HUFFLEPUFF!”
The Sorting Hat shouted out the last word for the entire Great Hall to hear. Harry pulled off the hat, dazed and astonished, as gasps and applause erupted throughout the hall. The Hufflepuff table on the right cheered madly as Harry stumbled towards them, the trimmings of his robes turning yellow as his tie transformed into stripes of yellow and black. He collapsed on the bench beside Justin, who gave him a tight hug.
“You were on that stool for a good ten minutes!” said Justin. “Everyone was saying it’s one of the longest hat-stalls ever!”
A smile slowly began spreading across Harry’s face as his sorting began to sink in. He was in Hufflepuff, with Justin, where they valued kindness, hard work and loyalty! Happiness swelled in his chest. Tom squeezed onto the bench beside Harry and gave him a warm smile, letting him know without words that he was absolutely fine with them being in Hufflepuff rather than Ravenclaw. Harry had to fight not to burst into tears of gratitude and joy right then and there.
He was still riding an adrenaline high as the remaining students were sorted, barely registering the results as the Sorting Hat shouted out the final houses.
“Smith, Zacharias.”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
“Thomas, Dean.”
Dean the West Ham fan from Harry’s boat walked forwards.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Turpin, Lisa.”
“RAVENCLAW!”
“Weasley, Ronald.”
A gangly red-haired boy with a smudge of dirt on his nose walked to the stool.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Zabini, Blaise.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
As Blaise Zabini took his seat at the Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall picked up the stool and Sorting Hat and marched them off the stage. An old wizard with a long white beard and half-moon glasses got to his feet. He was at the centre of the teachers table, and as the rest of the school fell into a respectful silence, Harry deduced that this must be the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.
“Welcome, everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our marvellous feast, I have a few short announcements to make. First, please note that the forests around Hogwarts are forbidden to all students. Second, no magic should be used in the corridors between lessons. And finally, this year, please be aware that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds for everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. Now, enjoy the feast!”
Professor Dumbledore sat down jovially, as if he had not just delivered the most bizarre and unnerving start-of-term speech possible. Before Harry could think about it any further, however, huge mountains of food magically appeared on the golden platters in the centre of the table. There were roast meats, vegetarian haggises, roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips, peas, Yorkshire puddings and boats of rich gravy. Harry’s mouth watered at the sight of it. Everyone started piling food onto their plates. As Harry bit into a mouthful of perfectly succulent roast chicken, he moaned with amazement. Never had he ever been given food this nice before.
“A very painful death? Is Professor Dumbledore being serious?” said Hannah anxiously, the willowy girl with the blonde pigtails, who was sitting opposite Harry.
“Maybe he’s just being dramatic to make sure people follow the rule,” said Susan, who was short and stout, with short brown hair and brown eyes. “I’ve heard he’s a bit mad!”
A handsome older boy who was sitting to their right chuckled good-naturedly. He had neat blonde hair and warm brown eyes.
“Professor Dumbledore is a little mad, but he’s a genius and a good egg,” said the boy. “I’m Cedric Diggory, by the way, third-year. Welcome to Hufflepuff!”
The first-year Hufflepuffs – Harry, Justin, Hannah, Susan, Ernest and Zacharias – all smiled and said hello, a little shy.
“I say, is that a ghost?” said Justin suddenly, pointing to where a silvery, transparent man at the Gryffindor table seemed to be showing off his partially-severed head.
“Oh yeah, that’s Nearly Headless Nick,” said Cedric. “He’s the ghost of Gryffindor tower. Hogwarts has loads of ghosts. I’m sure you’ll meet the Fat Friar soon enough – he’s the resident ghost of Hufflepuff house.”
As they ate, the conversation turned to their families. It turned out that Zacharias and Ernest (who insisted they call him Ernie) were both pure-bloods, and Hannah and Susan were both half-bloods, so all four had grown up in the wizarding world, with a full understanding that magic was real. Ernie, Hannah and Susan were all fascinated to hear Harry and Justin’s perspective as people who had grown up having no idea what their accidental magic was, bombarding them with questions.
Slowly, the conversation turned to the topic of Hogwarts itself and how the Sorting Ceremony had unfolded. Harry noticed that Zacharias, for all his bravado in the chamber before they had been brought into the Great Hall, had so far been rather quiet. Harry decided to be nice and include him in the conversation.
“Are you happy to be in Hufflepuff, Zacharias?” Harry said, smiling. “I heard you saying before that your family is descended from the founder of Hufflepuff house.”
For some reason, Zacharias shot Harry a filthy glare that took Harry completely by surprise.
“Of course! This house is my birthright. I’m surprised you were sorted here, though,” Zacharias said coldly.
“Why?” said Harry, utterly bewildered.
Was he such an unusual Hufflepuff? The Sorting Hat had seemed confident that it was the most suitable house for him.
“Everyone knows that the Potters have been in Gryffindor house for generations!” said Zacharias, as if Harry were being deliberately stupid.
“Oh… I didn’t know that,” said Harry, feeling a little flustered and uncomfortable.
Tom gave Zacharias a cold look.
“It can’t all be based on genetics, though,” pointed out Justin. “We just saw the Patil twins get sorted separately into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor!”
The conversation quickly moved on to lessons and what they were most looking forward to learning at Hogwarts. Harry tried his best to join in, finding Justin, Ernie, Hannah, Susan and even Cedric the third-year all absolutely lovely and easy to talk to. He tried to push away the slightly bad vibe he got from Zacharias, not wanting a silly thing like a weird boy to ruin the best day of his life.
By the time everyone had finished their food, Harry was pleasantly full, his eyes drooping as all the excitement of the day seemed to catch up with him. He was ready for bed. Soon, the left-over food vanished from the tables, and everyone got to their feet. Harry clambered off the bench and followed the line of Hufflepuffs as they exited the Great Hall and headed down a flight of stairs to the basement level.
As they walked, a delicious aroma of food got stronger and stronger, and Harry surmised that the kitchens must be somewhere in very close proximity. They came to an abrupt halt in front of a stack of barrels in a nook at the side of the corridor.
“First-years, pay attention,” said an older girl who had a Prefect badge pinned to her robes. “This is the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. Tap this barrel to the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff.”
She demonstrated, rapping her knuckles rhythmically against the barrel. Harry watched in astonishment as the lid of the barrel swung open, revealing a passageway for them to crawl through. As Harry crawled through and straightened up in the Hufflepuff common room, he gave a gasp of awe, his heart filling with warm joy as he gazed around the beautiful space.
Hufflepuff common room was round and low-ceilinged, with cosy sofas and rugs and plants everywhere. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the mantelpiece above it was made out of beautiful wood adorned with carvings of badgers. There were round doors all along the walls, which Harry presumed led to the dormitories, and enchanted windows which showed a peaceful meadow scene, even though Harry was quite sure they were actually underground.
“Wow,” whispered Harry, exchanging a look of amazement and wonder with Tom.
The Prefects herded the first-years towards a squat, plump woman with short grey hair who was standing in front of the fireplace. She had a warm, welcoming smile on her face and looked genuinely happy to see each and every one of them. Harry immediately felt at ease in her presence, smiling back as she gathered everyone around her.
“Welcome, first-years! I’m Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff house. It’s a pleasure to welcome you all into the Hufflepuff family! I hope you’ll all be very happy here. I’m going to schedule individual meetings with all of you in a few weeks’ time, to see how you’re all settling in, but in the meantime, if there’s ever anything you need, no matter how big or small, please just come and find me! Starting a new school can be a challenge, but I’m here to help make this transition as easy as possible for all of you.”
“Thank you, Professor Sprout,” chorused the first-years gratefully.
Professor Sprout gave them all a motherly smile, before pointing to two of the round doors that led off from the common room.
“Hannah and Susan, your dormitory is this one here. Justin, Ernie, Harry and Zacharias, your dormitory is that one there. The rooms should have magically adjusted to the right size and configuration,” she said. “Get a good night’s sleep. Your timetables will be handed out at breakfast tomorrow and your first lesson will start at 9 o’clock!”
Harry and the other first-year boys walked into their dormitory, finding that the room had indeed magically configured itself to accommodate four fancy beds with drapes around them. Their suitcases had already been brought in. Harry was pleased to see that his bed was next to Justin’s and as far away from Zacharias’ as possible. There was another door which they found led to a bathroom which had four individual toilet cubicles and four individual showers, along with a shared sink area. Fighting back yawns, the boys brushed their teeth, used the facilities, and got changed into their pyjamas.
“Goodnight, everyone,” said Harry, pulling back the drapes around his bed so he could crawl inside.
“Night, Harry, see you tomorrow!” said Justin. “Night, boys.”
“G’night, all,” said Ernie.
“Night,” said Zacharias, nodding to everyone but Harry – although Harry did not notice, already having pulled his drapes closed and slipped under his covers.
Tom lay beside him, a huge smile on his face. Harry threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. This was the best day of his life. He had escaped the Dursleys, come to Hogwarts, been sorted into a wonderful house – but most importantly of all, he had got to share the whole day with his best friend.
“Thanks for being OK with Hufflepuff,” whispered Harry. “I hope it’s not too disappointing for you not to go to Ravenclaw.”
Tom shook his head immediately.
“I meant what I said. All the houses are good. If Hufflepuff’s where you belong, I don’t want to be anywhere else,” said Tom.
Harry smiled gratefully. His heart felt twice its normal size, so filled was he with happiness and thankfulness. He closed his eyes and snuggled beneath his soft patchwork quilt. He fell asleep within seconds.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your amazing comments on the last chapter - it was so much fun to read your predictions about which house Harry would end up in! Well done to those of you who correctly predicted he would be sorted into Hufflepuff <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: You may have recognised some of the characters’ lines, and the Sorting Hat song, from the books - well done if you recognised them! But there were also some big divergences from canon in this chapter, which are ripple effects from earlier changes I made in this fic. Unlike in the books, Harry in this fic knew exactly how to get onto platform 9 ¾, so he did not need to ask the Weasley family for help. He also already knew Justin from his earlier trip to Diagon Alley, so he decided to sit with him on the train, instead of Ron. And of course, the biggest divergence here is the fact Harry was sorted into Hufflepuff! I hope you agree that it’s a good fit for this Harry. Harry in this fic has learnt to be incredibly kind and considerate, having an invisible best friend to accommodate. And with Tom’s presence having acted as a psychological buffer against the Dursleys’ abuse, he is less “tough” than his canon equivalent.
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed this chapter - it was certainly fun to write! What did you think of Harry’s sorting? Are you excited for him to be in Hufflepuff? How do you think this will change things, if at all? As always, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section, I love reading your thoughts, theories and reactions! <3
TEASER: The next chapter will cover Harry’s first week at Hogwarts, as he gets his first taste of the different subjects, meets his teachers, and gets to know his classmates.
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username ao3-elle1991. I like to share beautiful Harry Potter and Marvel fanart that I come across - feel free to give me a follow if that sounds like your kind of thing!
Chapter Text
Harry quickly realised he had rather underestimated his level of fame in the wizarding world. He noticed it as soon as he left his dormitory the next morning: the stares; the whispers; the not-so-subtle pointing. As he and his dorm-mates walked from the Hufflepuff common room to the Great Hall for breakfast, he overheard snippets of various conversations as he walked past other students.
“There he is!”
“Harry Potter?!”
“Shh, he’ll hear…”
“I can’t believe he’s in Hufflepuff.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Did you see his scar?”
As Harry and the rest of the first-year Hufflepuffs entered the Great Hall, there was a momentary hush as everyone turned and craned their necks to stare, before they quickly began talking loudly, as if to pretend they had not just collectively ogled the spectacle that was apparently Harry Potter. As Harry sat down at the Hufflepuff table opposite Justin, he could feel his face was red with embarrassment.
“Are you famous or something?” said Justin, confused.
“Something like that,” muttered Harry, not particularly in the mood to explain his miraculous survival of a murder attempt as a baby.
Partly to distract himself, and partly because he was ravenous, Harry began piling beans, bacon, mushrooms and toast onto his plate. Opposite him, Justin began chattering away about which subjects he was most looking forward to. They were about two-thirds through their breakfasts and had just started talking about the coolest-sounding spells they had read about, when they were startled by several people nearby screaming.
Alarmed, Harry looked up at where a first-year Ravenclaw girl was pointing, and promptly dropped his knife and fork in shock as he watched about a hundred owls swooping into the Great Hall. As Harry watched with bewilderment, the owls circled down over the tables and began dropping letters, parcels and newspapers to their recipients. A few seats away, Cedric the third-year caught a newspaper and thanked his owl politely, giving it a piece of bacon before it flew off. Seeing Harry and Justin staring, he chuckled good-naturedly.
“Owls are used to deliver post in the wizarding world,” explained Cedric. “You’ll get used to the morning delivery soon enough.”
“Wow!” said Justin, his eyes wide with amazement.
“Can I borrow your newspaper when you’re finished with it?” asked Harry, looking at the rolled-up newspaper, curious about what constituted news and current affairs in the wizarding world.
“You can borrow it now, if you like,” smiled Cedric, passing it to Harry. “Just find me in the common room or something when you’re finished with it.”
With that, he turned to talk with his third-year friends, and Harry unrolled the newspaper and laid it out on the table between himself and Justin so they could both read it. Harry immediately regretted it. Taking up most of the front cover of The Daily Prophet was a moving photograph of Harry himself, that looked as though it had been snapped without his knowledge on platform 9 ¾. The front page read:
Hogwarts Shocker: Harry Potter Sorted Into Hufflepuff!
Written by Rita Skeeter, Gossip Correspondent
The wizarding world has been left reeling as tragic hero, 11-year-old Harry Potter, was reportedly sorted into Hufflepuff house in a shocking turn of events at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last night.
Young Potter, whose parents were both Gryffindors, and whose Potter ancestors have famously all been sorted into Gryffindor for the past 200 years, threw out the family rulebook by being sorted into Hufflepuff after a reportedly record-breaking hat-stall.
Harry Potter, who was briefly seen by this Gossip Correspondent on platform 9 ¾, cut a tragic figure as he bawled his eyes out in an apparent outburst of hysterical emotion…
Harry could not read any more. Embarrassment, shock, confusion and offence warred within him. He had not been crying on platform 9 ¾!
“What on earth’s this rubbish?” he spluttered.
Zacharias turned to look at what Harry was talking about. His gaze briefly fell on the front page of The Daily Prophet and then he immediately turned away without a word, a look of rage on his face. Susan Bones glanced at the front page and waved her hand with a dismissive snort.
“Ignore it,” said Susan. “Everyone knows Rita Skeeter articles are a load of bollocks. Her readers are a bunch of gullible idiots.”
Feeling more than a little flustered, Harry hurriedly opened the newspaper to the second page, relieved to see that there was no mention of himself. Instead, a small article mentioning Gringotts Bank caught his eye. He pointed it out to Justin, knowing that the other boy must be familiar with the bank too, having presumably been taken there by Professor Flitwick to exchange pound sterling for wizarding money.
Gringotts Break-In Latest
Written by Andy Smudgley, Reporter
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown.
Gringotts’ goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
“Who’d be mad enough to break into Gringotts?” said Tom, who had been reading the article over Harry’s shoulder.
Before Harry could reply, a smiling Professor Sprout appeared at the Hufflepuff table to hand out their timetables. Harry took his timetable eagerly, all thoughts of the Gringotts break-in already slipping from his mind. Across the table, Justin leant forwards to check that their timetables were the same – they were.
“We have Herbology first!” said Harry excitedly, subtly angling his timetable so that Tom could read it. “I love plants,” he explained to Justin, who smiled in response.
In no time at all, the bell that marked the end of breakfast sounded, and the noise of hundreds of children getting to their feet filled the Great Hall. Buzzing with anticipation, Harry swept The Daily Prophet into his bag and joined Justin, Ernie, Hannah, Susan and Zacharias as they headed towards the exit, following the Hufflepuff Prefects as they led the way to the greenhouses.
It was time for his first lesson – and Harry could not be more excited.
Herbology took place in Greenhouse 1 behind Hogwarts castle. For this class, the Hufflepuffs were being taught alongside the Gryffindors, so as Harry traipsed into the greenhouse and took his place around the long, wide table that ran down the centre of the greenhouse, he recognised Seamus and Dean from the boat ride across the lake, as well as bushy-haired Hermione and round-faced Neville from the Hogwarts Express.
Professor Sprout banged noisily on a plant pot to get everyone’s attention, waiting for the class to fall silent before starting.
“Welcome to Greenhouse 1, first-years! My name’s Professor Sprout. In our Herbology lessons, you’ll learn how to take care of various magical plants and fungi, as well as what properties they possess, and what they’re used for.”
Harry was almost vibrating with excitement. An entire lesson about magical plants, and according to his timetable, he had Herbology three times a week! He could dance with joy.
“Let’s dive straight into it! Does anyone have any ideas what magical plants can be used for?” asked Professor Sprout.
Three hands immediately shot into the air: Harry, Hermione and Neville’s.
“And what might your name be, young man?” Professor Sprout said warmly, smiling at the round-faced Gryffindor.
“N-Neville Longbottom, Professor,” stammered Neville, his voice shaking slightly with nerves as everyone turned to look at him. “Magical plants are used in healing and medicine.”
“Well done, Mr Longbottom!” said Professor Sprout enthusiastically. “You’re absolutely right. Five points to Gryffindor.”
Neville grinned, a look of delighted disbelief on his face, as if he had not expected such a positive response.
“Anyone else?” said Professor Sprout. “Yes, young lady, what’s your name?”
“Hermione Granger. Magical plants have been used extensively in potion-making for the past two thousand years,” said Hermione, reciting from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi word-for-word.
“Very good, Miss Granger, another five points to Gryffindor!” said Professor Sprout.
Harry put his hand down, disappointed; he had been going to say potion-making.
“Don’t forget food,” hissed Tom, who had squeezed himself into the gap between Harry and Justin.
Harry put his hand up again brightly.
“Yes, Mr Potter! Do you have another use of magical plants for us?” smiled Professor Sprout.
“Yes, Professor,” said Harry eagerly. “Some magical plants are used as food. They often grow larger and faster than their non-magical counterparts.”
“Correct!” cried Professor Sprout. “In fact, all the fruits and vegetables served at Hogwarts’ mealtimes are fast-growing magical plants grown right here on Hogwarts’ grounds. Five points to Hufflepuff, Mr Potter.”
Harry puffed out his chest with pride. He had just answered his first ever question correctly, and he had earned five points for his house whilst he was at it! Tom grinned maniacally beside him, his eyes bright and frenzied. Harry had to fight back a laugh. He should have known; the house points system had awoken a feral sense of competition in Tom.
Professor Sprout then used her wand to float over about a dozen different magical plants in plant pots of various shapes and sizes, placing them down on the table in the middle of the greenhouse. Everyone crowded around to look as she pointed to each one and explained that by the end of the school year, they would know exactly what every single one of these plants was and how to look after them. Harry’s enthusiasm was matched only by Neville, whose confidence seemed to have been buoyed significantly by his correct answer at the beginning of the lesson. Both boys gazed with delight at every plant Professor Sprout pointed to.
“Now, before we start learning about our first plant, let’s go over something very important. Something that underpins everything you’ll learn about Herbology throughout your entire time here at Hogwarts. What are the five ingredients needed to successfully grow a healthy plant?”
The class was silent as they pondered Professor Sprout’s question. Harry vaguely remembered reading about it in the foreword of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, but he could swear there had only been four ingredients listed. Hermione Granger seemed to be on the same train of thought.
“But there are only four key elements mentioned in our textbook!” she said, sounding mildly scandalised that either the textbook or the teacher must be wrong. “The seed, soil, sun and water.”
Professor Sprout waggled her finger at Hermione good-naturedly.
“There’s more to learning than just memorising the inside of a textbook,” said Professor Sprout. “It may not be written down anywhere, but after so many years tending to plants, I know there is an important fifth element that is just as important as the rest. Can anyone guess what it is?”
Harry thought deeply. He remembered the garden at 4 Privet Drive. He remembered his precious flowers, and how distraught he had been when Dudley had ripped them up. He remembered crying for them, his heart aching, grieving so hard his magic had taken over and brought them back to life. Could it be…
“...love?” said Harry, immediately feeling stupid as everyone turned to stare at him.
But Professor Sprout clapped her hands with delight, looking as though she could burst into song with happiness.
“Excellent, Mr Potter! Ten points to Hufflepuff! Remember this well, everyone: to successfully grow a healthy plant, you need all five ingredients: the seed, soil, sun, water, and love.”
Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall in a large classroom on the ground floor of Hogwarts castle. Unlike Herbology, in Transfiguration, first-year students from all four houses were learning together. Harry chose to sit at a desk beside Justin, getting out his copy of A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration and his wand and arranging them on the table in front of him.
Professor McGonagall exuded a natural aura of authority that ensured the students were silent and paying rapt attention as she stood at the front of the classroom.
“Welcome to your first Transfiguration lesson,” she said, her voice carrying clearly throughout the hushed room. “Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”
Then, she waved her wand and transformed her desk into a pig and back again. There were audible gasps of amazement as the class marvelled at the impressive display of magic, everyone now eager to get started transfiguring their own pieces of furniture into farm animals. Much to everyone’s disappointment, however, it turned out that they would not be learning how to do that kind of advanced magic until they were much older.
The first half of the lesson was spent taking down a complicated set of notes, and then Professor McGonagall walked around the classroom, placing a match on the table in front of each student. Harry picked his up and examined it. It was just a completely average match, nothing remarkable about it at all.
“I want everyone to spend the rest of the lesson applying the theory you’ve just learnt to try to turn your match into a needle,” instructed Professor McGonagall. “You may begin.”
Harry picked up his wand, incredibly excited. After waiting patiently (or impatiently, if he were being honest with himself) all summer long, he was finally able to use his magic wand! As he picked up his wand, he felt the same comfortable and familiar warmth go through his fingers that he had felt in Ollivanders. A little overzealously, he waved his wand and pointed it at his match, trying to turn it into a needle.
Nothing happened, aside from the match giving a feeble little wiggle. Harry picked it up and examined it. It looked exactly the same.
“You’re waving your arm around too much, do it more like this,” said Tom bossily, demonstrating the movement with his own arm.
Harry tried to copy Tom’s arm motion, but it did not make any difference. He tried again and again and again, casting a sneaky look around the classroom to see if anyone else was having more success. They were not. He paused momentarily to wipe his sweaty hands on his robes, before trying again.
“Hold your wand looser in your hand,” said Tom.
Harry gritted his teeth. And then, a few minutes later:
“Speak more clearly,” said Tom. “Make your wand movements more exact.”
“Shut up, you’re not helping,” snapped Harry, frustrated by his lack of progress.
“What?” said Justin, confused. “I didn’t say anything!”
“Oh, er, sorry,” said Harry, turning red. “Just talking to myself.”
Tom folded his arms sulkily, refusing to speak for the rest of the lesson as Harry kept trying to transfigure his match.
At the end of the lesson, Professor McGonagall made her way around the desks and examined each student’s match. No one had managed to make any changes to their matches, until she reached Harry and Justin’s table. She picked up Harry’s match, which was still very much brown and wooden, but had become elongated and slightly narrower at one end.
“This is decent progress for a first attempt,” she said. “Well done. Five points to Hufflepuff, Mr Potter.”
Harry grinned, pleased that his elongated match was considered decent progress. Professor McGonagall continued making her way around the classroom, stopping again in front of Hermione Granger’s desk and holding up her match for everyone to see, a rare smile on her usually-stern face.
“Can everyone see how Miss Granger’s match has become silver and pointy at the end? This is what you should be aiming for,” said Professor McGonagall. “Very good, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor.”
Hermione smiled and puffed out her chest, looking very pleased with herself indeed.
On Tuesday, Harry had his first Charms lesson. This, again, was a class where first-year students from all four houses were being taught together. As Harry took his seat, he recognised the teacher, Professor Flitwick, as the wizard who had been showing Justin and his family around Diagon Alley back in early July. Justin gave the man a jovial wave, which Professor Flitwick returned with a bright smile.
Professor Flitwick was an old man who was so short that he had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk. At the start of the lesson, he took the register, and when he reached Harry’s name, he gave an excited little squeak and fell off his pile of books out of sight. After that somewhat embarrassing start, he regained his composure and had them all attempt to make something – anything at all – come out of their wands.
“Anything at all?” asked Padma Patil, the twin who had been sorted into Ravenclaw, a little confused. “It doesn’t matter what?”
“Indeed, anything at all, my dear!” said Professor Flitwick, in his squeaky voice. “The purpose of today’s lesson is simply to get you all comfortable with doing magic and using your wands!”
With that said, a very fun class began, as everyone waved their wands about and tried to make something come out of the end. It was an unconventional approach to say the least, but Harry could not deny that it worked. Everyone was becoming more and more confident with holding and using their wands – himself included – and it was incredibly cool and interesting to see what kinds of things people naturally produced from the ends of their wands.
A stream of huge soapy bubbles poured out of the end of Justin’s.
A jet of fire erupted from the end of Seamus Finnigan’s.
Beautiful flowers blossomed out of the end of Lavender Brown’s.
A thick rope of rich velvet shot out of the end of Draco Malfoy’s.
Harry eventually managed to produce a shower of golden sparkles that danced in the air before slowly fading away.
By the end of the lesson, every single student had managed to produce something, even the less confident ones like Neville Longbottom (he produced a single, ginormous leaf) and Lisa Turpin (she produced a shower of buttons in the final few minutes of the class).
Professor Flitwick praised each student enthusiastically for their successes, and everyone left in an excited, jubilant mood, buoyed by the confidence that each of them was able to do something.
Harry grinned. Every single lesson thus far had been fascinating. In fact, from what he had seen, it did not seem possible for classes at Hogwarts to be dull at all.
He was proven wrong that afternoon in History of Magic.
History of Magic was taught by the ghost of an extremely old man named Professor Binns. Apparently, about a hundred years ago, he had fallen asleep in front of the fire in the staff room, and when he had got up, he had simply left his body behind.
Harry would have thought that having a ghost as a teacher would automatically make the lesson interesting, but he was wrong. Professor Binns had a complete lack of charisma, speaking in a droning, monotone voice that had everyone practically falling asleep at their desks. Even Tom found him boring, which was quite a feat, given Tom’s voracious thirst for knowledge.
“This man is completely incapable!” Tom said despairingly, when Professor Binns failed to notice that Goyle had literally fallen asleep on the front row and was now snoring loudly, to the amusement of the students immediately around him.
Harry silently agreed, finding his attention wandering as Professor Binns droned on about some old magical treaty that had been signed in 1308. Harry’s gaze flitted around his classmates. History of Magic was another subject where first-year students from all four houses were being taught together. He entertained himself by watching the shenanigans of the others.
By the end of the lesson, Terry Boot had successfully flicked a piece of chewing gum through Professor Binns’ torso without him noticing, Dean Thomas had sketched a cool drawing of a sports car, and Hannah and Susan had built an origami house on their table out of a piece of spare parchment.
As the class finally filed out of the classroom, Harry gave a wide yawn. He was not the only one who looked as though they were about to fall asleep.
“Gosh, that was a slog, wasn’t it?” said Justin.
“I think this is a class where we’d be best off learning straight from the textbook, rather than listening to Binns,” scoffed Tom.
“Yeah,” agreed Harry, replying to both Justin and Tom simultaneously.
Wednesday brought with it Harry’s first ever night-time lesson.
Astronomy took place at midnight at the top of the Astronomy Tower, which was the tallest tower of Hogwarts castle. First-year students from all four houses wrapped themselves up in their cloaks and trekked up the long spiral staircase, all finding themselves a little dizzy by the time they emerged at the top, where they were greeted by Professor Sinistra.
Professor Sinistra was a tall, slim witch with long dark hair and beautiful robes that were embroidered with little moons and stars. The students began by setting up their telescopes (Neville had forgotten his, so he had to share with his house-mate Ron Weasley) and then everyone spent a little while fiddling with the knobs that controlled their telescopes’ focus.
The rest of the lesson was spent looking at various celestial bodies in the night sky – the moon, the planets, the stars, the comets – as Professor Sinistra explained that in these lessons, they would learn how the movements of these celestial bodies could be interpreted to tell the future and to amplify certain types of magic. It seemed that Astronomy intersected with multiple other branches of magic, something that Tom in particular seemed to find fascinating.
Harry was enjoying looking at Jupiter through his telescope, admiring the planet’s impressive stripes, when he became aware of a snoring sound coming from somewhere behind him. He turned around to see that Neville had fallen asleep in his chair (it was past midnight, after all) and was now drooling down his chin as he snored.
Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Zacharias Smith all noticed and laughed loudly, causing Neville to wake up with a jerk, the round-faced Gryffindor immediately becoming flustered and embarrassed at having dozed off.
“Aww, diddums, did the little baby fall asleep?” said Pansy in a mocking baby voice, causing Draco and Zacharias to laugh even harder.
“Shut up, Pansy,” said Ron brusquely, putting a hand on Neville’s shoulder.
“Yeah, don’t listen to them, Neville,” said Harry, giving Zacharias in particular a glare; he felt that, as a Hufflepuff, Zacharias should be kinder. Zacharias glared right back.
“Is there a problem here?” said Professor Sinistra, sweeping over and interrupting before things could get more heated.
“No, Professor,” they all chorused, none of them particularly wanting to get into trouble during their first week.
But, at the end of the lesson, after they had packed away their telescopes and were going back down the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, Zacharias elbowed his way past Harry in a way that Harry was not entirely sure was accidental.
On Thursday morning, the first-year students from all four houses had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Everyone was excited. There was something about the subject that just sounded incredibly exciting. As they walked in and took their seats, Ernie Macmillan was talking loudly about how he had once fought a kelpie in a pond when he had been a young child, obviously trying to sound impressive. Harry sat at a desk with Justin, nodding politely as Ernie’s story became more and more embellished.
It came as something of a relief when Professor Quirrell entered the classroom and took his place at the front, starting the lesson by asking the students to be quiet so that he could take the register. Professor Quirrell was a pale, nervous-looking young man who wore a large purple turban and spoke with a pronounced stammer. Eventually, he reached Harry’s name in the register, his eyes widening slightly as he read it aloud.
“Harry P-P-Potter,” he said, his face twisting into a pained grimace that Harry assumed was a nervous tic.
“Here, sir,” said Harry.
“Ow!” cried Tom simultaneously, clutching at his head, his eyes screwed shut with pain.
Harry turned towards him in alarm, only just stopping himself from asking out loud what was wrong. He did not want to look mad by talking to himself. Covering his mouth and whispering as quietly as he could, he glanced at Tom urgently.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
Tom was hunched over and shaking slightly. After a moment, he gave his head a little shake, before letting out a long exhale and slowly lowering his hands.
“I don’t know. I felt weird. Like a sharp pain in my head,” said Tom. “It’s gone now.”
He still looked a little pale and shaky. As the lesson began, Harry found it difficult to concentrate on what Professor Quirrell was saying. He kept shooting anxious glances in Tom’s direction. Tom had never had a headache before. In fact, in all the time he had been alive, Tom had never suffered any kind of physical ailment or experienced any type of pain. Harry supposed it was an advantage of not having a physical body. But then why – and how – had Tom felt pain in his head just now? Tom seemed to notice Harry’s attention was on him rather than the teacher and scolded him lightly.
“Listen to Professor Quirrell,” said Tom. “We can talk later.”
Reluctantly, Harry switched his attention back to Professor Quirrell, who was now talking about how his turban had been gifted to him by an African prince as a token of appreciation for getting rid of a troublesome zombie.
“Wow! How did you do that?” asked Seamus enthusiastically.
But Professor Quirrell did not seem to want to talk about it, blushing pink and looking out of the window to comment on how nice the weather was for September. The rest of the lesson was similarly disappointing. The subject matter was interesting, but Professor Quirrell himself seemed nervous and jumpy, sometimes going off on tangents, before abruptly coming back to himself and reading directly from the textbook. Harry wondered if perhaps this was his first time teaching. He supposed all teachers had to start somewhere.
When the bell rang for the end of the lesson, Harry packed away his textbook, notes and quill, before turning to his Hufflepuff friends and speaking as casually as possible.
“I’m going to the toilet,” said Harry. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for lunch.”
“Alright, see you, Harry!” said Justin.
Harry hurried out of the classroom, heading for the nearest boys’ toilets, where he slipped in and headed for the stall at the end. Closing the door behind himself and Tom, he turned to his friend urgently.
“What happened back there?” said Harry. “Are you alright?”
Tom frowned, rubbing his hand across his forehead at the memory of what had occurred in Professor Quirrell’s classroom.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It just happened for a moment. Like, a sudden sharp pain in my head. Then it was gone. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
Harry placed his hand on Tom’s forehead gently. He did not feel like he had a fever.
“Do you feel OK now?” said Harry.
“Yeah,” said Tom, giving Harry an appreciative smile as Harry examined him closely. “I’m fine now. It was just… weird.”
Harry went down to join the other first-year Hufflepuffs for lunch, squeezing into a gap at the Hufflepuff table between Justin and Cedric the third-year, before helping himself to a ham and cheese sandwich.
“How’s your first week going?” said Cedric, giving the first-years a charming smile which made Hannah giggle.
“Good, thanks!” said Justin enthusiastically. “Everything’s so interesting. Well, apart from History of Magic, I suppose.”
“Oh yeah, I understand. Professor Binns isn’t exactly the most… engaging teacher, is he?” said Cedric. “What do you have after lunch?”
“Double Potions with the Ravenclaws,” said Susan, pulling out her timetable and examining it.
“You want to be on your best behaviour in Potions,” warned Cedric. “Professor Snape is very strict. He doesn’t tolerate people messing around in his class.”
“Professor Snape? I’ve heard of him,” said Ernie. “Isn’t he Head of Slytherin house?”
“That’s right,” said Cedric. “He favours them, just so you’re warned. When a Slytherin does well in his class, he’ll give them five points, but if it’s someone from any other house, he’ll only give them one!”
“What a git!” said Susan indignantly. “That’s so unfair.”
Cedric and his third-year friends laughed. They all clearly agreed.
“Yes, well, just reframe your expectations,” Cedric said soothingly. “Do well and you may even earn a point for Hufflepuff. Even one point from Professor Snape is high praise.”
As they walked down to the dungeons after lunch, Harry could not help feeling a little anxious for his first Potions lesson. He wanted to meet Professor Snape’s high expectations. Aside from Herbology, Potions was one of the subjects Harry was most looking forward to. He had read both Magical Drafts and Potions and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi at least three times over the summer holidays. He just hoped it would be enough.
The dungeon where Potions classes were held was small and cramped, which explained why only two houses were taught down there at a time. As the first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws took their seats, the door opened and Professor Snape walked in, the class immediately falling into silence. Professor Snape had shoulder-length greasy black hair, dark eyes, a long hooked nose, and a dour expression on his sallow face. He exuded a natural authority that kept the class easily under his control.
He began the class by taking the register, and when he reached Harry’s name, his lip curled into a slight sneer.
“Ah yes. Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity,” he said.
Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. Professor Snape’s tone was far from friendly. Not wanting to anger him further, if for some unknown reason the teacher had already decided he did not like Harry, Harry replied as calmly as possible:
“Here, sir.”
Professor Snape did not look up, completing the rest of the register without further comment. Once he had finished, he put the register aside and drew himself up to his full height, his dark eyes sweeping across the class, taking in their nervous expressions.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he said. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
It felt like a pre-prepared speech that he was used to delivering every year. Several of the students exchanged surreptitious looks, their eyebrows raised. Even without words, everyone was clearly thinking the same thing. Professor Snape was intense.
“Potter!” said Professor Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry’s heart jumped to his throat at being the sudden focus of Professor Snape’s intense gaze. Still, he knew this – Tom had been practically militant about them reading together and quizzing one another’s knowledge over the summer.
“It makes the Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry said timidly. “It’s a very powerful sleeping potion.”
For a moment, Professor Snape’s eyes widened in what looked almost like shock, before his frown returned fiercer than ever.
“And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” demanded Professor Snape, as if to test whether Harry’s first correct answer had merely been a fluke.
“From the stomach of a goat, sir,” said Harry, slowly increasing in confidence. “It’s a stone that can be used as an antidote to most poisons.”
Something flickered across Professor Snape’s face. For a moment, Harry could have sworn he looked almost haunted, before he quickly smoothed out his features.
“And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” hissed Professor Snape.
Harry frowned. Was this a trick question?
“I… I wasn’t aware there was a difference, sir,” he said. “Aren’t they just two different names for the same plant?”
Professor Snape stared at him for a long moment, his face contorting as if wrestling with several strong emotions. Harry smiled up at him as sweetly as possible. He had really loved reading his Potions book; he wanted to get on well with his Potions teacher. Professor Snape tore his gaze away from Harry, addressing the rest of the class with a cold look.
“Well, why aren’t the rest of you copying this down?” he demanded.
There was the sudden noise of everyone rummaging in their bags for their parchment, ink and quills.
“One point to Hufflepuff, Ev– Potter,” spat Professor Snape, as if it pained him to give out points to any house other than Slytherin, “for being slightly above the usual level of moron that usually graces this dungeon.”
It was not exactly a compliment, but Harry grinned brightly to himself nonetheless, knowing from what Cedric had said at lunchtime that this was the best anyone from Hufflepuff could realistically hope for.
The rest of the lesson went more normally. Professor Snape got them to write out the instructions for a simple potion to cure boils, and then had them work in pairs to concoct said potion. Harry and Justin worked together, weighing and preparing all the ingredients carefully, before adding them into the cauldron in the exact way specified by the instructions. Tom helped, saving them twice from adding ingredients too early and spoiling the potion. By the end of the lesson, everyone had managed to brew the potion to some level of success, something they were all thankful for, knowing that when potions went wrong, they tended to go badly wrong.
Harry was not sure if he was imagining it, but he felt as though Professor Snape was deliberately avoiding looking at him. Having had time to think it over during the lesson, he wondered if the reason Professor Snape had been so hard on him at the beginning was to show him that he would not be getting any special treatment just because he was famous. Not wanting there to be any bad blood between them, Harry made sure to pass by Professor Snape as all the students filed out of the dungeon at the end of the lesson.
“Thank you for a good lesson, sir,” Harry said softly. “I really enjoyed it.”
Professor Snape’s jaw twitched, but he did not reply.
Friday morning dawned bright and sunny. As Harry ate a leisurely breakfast of porridge mixed with strawberry jam, the conversation around him turned to flying. Hufflepuff first-years were to have their first Flying lesson that morning with the Ravenclaws, something that Ernie, Susan, Hannah and Zacharias were all very excited about. All four had grown up in the wizarding world, so all four had flown before, and the way they talked about it made it sound like the best thing ever.
Tom seemed uncharacteristically on edge.
“Do brooms have height limits built in?” asked Tom, pestering Harry incessantly to find out the answer. “What if something goes wrong and you keep going up forever and end up in space?”
Harry eventually asked the question out loud, although he immediately regretted it, when Zacharias laughed in his face.
“What, are you scared or something?” sneered Zacharias.
“No!” said Harry indignantly – because he wasn’t; it was Tom who was being weird and over-protective about the whole situation.
“I heard Neville Longbottom fell off his broom in Gryffindor and Slytherin’s first Flying lesson yesterday,” said Hannah in a hushed voice. “Apparently, he broke his wrist.”
They all craned their necks to stare at the Gryffindor table, where Neville was eating scrambled eggs on toast with Ron, Dean and Seamus. From this distance, it was difficult to see if he looked injured or not. Tom looked a little pale.
In no time at all, breakfast was over, and the first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were walking together out of the castle and into the grounds for their first Flying lesson. They could see Madam Hooch waiting for them in the distance, two neat lines of brooms already laid out for them. Tom tugged on Harry’s arm. Harry glanced furtively around, before casually slowing his pace and falling behind the others.
“What?” whispered Harry.
“I don’t like this,” said Tom, looking a little sick.
“You don’t like what?” said Harry, bewildered.
“This!” hissed Tom, gesturing wildly with his arms. “It’s not safe! What if it goes wrong? What if you fall off? What if you don’t fall off and it takes you up to space?!”
“I’m sure that won’t happen,” said Harry, thinking Tom was being rather silly; honestly, he worried about Harry’s safety far too much.
“You don’t know what’ll happen!” said Tom hotly.
But Harry could not reply, because he and the rest of his classmates had finally reached Madam Hooch and the two neat lines of brooms. Madam Hooch was an athletic-looking woman with short grey hair and yellow eyes. She greeted them all with a bright smile.
“Welcome to your first Flying lesson!” she said. “Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”
Madam Hooch had a very direct communication style, but Harry found that he liked that. They all arranged themselves so that they were standing next to a broomstick. Harry was between Justin and Hannah, and opposite a Ravenclaw girl named Mandy Brocklehurst. Tom stood behind Harry.
“Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘up’!” said Madam Hooch.
Harry looked down at the broom on the floor. It looked old, with some of the twigs on the tail sticking out at odd angles. He stuck his hand over his broom.
“Up!” he said.
The broom immediately jumped up into his hand. Harry looked around delightedly. He had done it on his first attempt! To his surprise, he realised he was the only one who had. Over the next five minutes, the rest of the class managed to call up their brooms to their hands, with Justin and a Ravenclaw named Morag MacDougal being the final two to do so.
Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to properly mount their brooms and hold on correctly so that they would not slip off the end. Harry whispered for Tom to climb on behind him and hold on around Harry’s waist. Tom did so, his arms wrapping around Harry like a vice. Madam Hooch walked up and down the two lines, examining their grips carefully and correcting them if they were doing it wrong. Harry was pleased to find that he was doing it right without trying.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three, two, one…”
“No!” shouted Tom, in a panic.
Harry almost fell over when Tom tried to wrestle Harry off his broom from behind, his arms still wrapped tight around Harry’s waist. Harry looked around frantically. Everyone else was kicking off and rising into the air.
“What are you doing?” hissed Harry, desperately trying to hold onto his broom and maintain his balance as Tom tried to tackle him to the ground.
“I don’t agree to this!” said Tom.
“What are you talking about?” Harry whispered desperately.
People were starting to stare at him. Everyone else was hovering in the air. Madam Hooch frowned and started walking towards Harry.
“You can’t do this!” said Tom, panic and fear clear in his voice. “I… I’m scared of heights!”
Harry’s jaw dropped. What?! And Tom had only decided to tell him this now?! Although now he thought about it, perhaps what Harry had assumed was simply Tom worrying about Harry’s safety on the broom, had actually been Harry’s misinterpretation of Tom’s own fear. Then, unbidden, the memory of the time they had ended up on the roof of St Grogory’s Primary School floated across his mind. Tom had been terrified. Harry had thought he had been terrified for Harry’s safety, but apparently, he had been terrified of heights.
“Is there a problem, Mr Potter?” said Madam Hooch.
“Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” Tom begged frantically.
Harry could hear the blind panic in the other boy’s voice. Everyone was staring at Harry. A smirk was forming on Zacharias’ smug face. Harry swallowed.
“I… I can’t do it,” said Harry, not daring to look Madam Hooch in the face. “I refuse to fly. You can give me detention if you want, but I’m not flying.”
Then, he dismounted his broom and threw it to the ground. Tom hugged him and buried his face in Harry’s shoulder. Harry could tell by the way his shoulders were shaking that he was crying. He took Tom’s hand as discreetly as he could and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“Scared of heights?” said Madam Hooch, looking a little surprised, but seeming to take Harry’s nod at face value. “OK. There’s always one or two. I won’t force you. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
And so, Harry spent the rest of the lesson watching his classmates. After he had calmed down, Tom looked a little sheepish and embarrassed.
“Sorry,” Tom said quietly, as they watched the others fly in a large, slow circle.
Harry shook his head. If he were being honest with himself, he had been looking forward to flying – but that had been before he had understood Tom’s fear of heights.
And, given the choice between flying and Tom, he would choose Tom – every time.
At the end of the first week, there was the customary start-of-term staff meeting. Professor Dumbledore smiled around at the teachers who were all gathered around a rickety table, offering around lemon drops, before kicking off the agenda.
“Welcome back, everyone! I hope you all had a good, relaxing summer,” he said, beaming around at them all.
Professor Quirrell tittered nervously.
“Shall we go department by department?” said Professor Dumbledore. “Are there any students who are doing exceptionally well? Any students who require extra support? Any other business to raise now? Minerva, why don’t you kick us off?”
“No drastic changes over the summer with any of the second- to seventh-years,” she said. “As for the first-years, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter seem to show particular promise. Both were able to alter their matches during their first Transfiguration lesson. None of the others are displaying any particular problems at this stage that can’t be explained by a lack of experience or confidence.”
There were murmurs of agreement amongst the other teachers.
“Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom are all showing aptitude in Herbology,” chipped in Professor Sprout. “Potter and Longbottom in particular seem to have a passion for the subject.”
“Is this the same Neville Longbottom who melted a cauldron into a lump of molten metal and caused a major incident in his first Potions lesson?” sneered Professor Snape. “He may be the worst student I’ve taught in all my years here at Hogwarts.”
“All the more reason to provide him with extra support!” retorted Professor Sprout.
Professor Dumbledore reigned everybody in before things could get more heated, going methodically through the departments, from Potions, to Charms, Astronomy, History of Magic (Professor Binns talked about several students who had graduated over 20 years ago), Defence Against the Dark Arts, Divination, Muggle Studies (Professor Burbage asked for permission to bring in something called a computer to show the students), Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and finally, Flying.
“Any updates from you, Madam Hooch?” asked Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling.
“I’ll be running Quidditch trials for the house teams next week,” announced Madam Hooch, looking excited. “There should be some strong teams this year. As for the new students, there was just one student who was too afraid to fly this year: Harry Potter.”
Professor Dumbledore felt his stomach drop like a stone.
“Harry Potter was too… afraid to get on a broom?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“I’ll admit I was surprised, given his father’s talent for flying,” said Madam Hooch. “But there’s always one or two students per year who refuse to fly. It’s not unusual.”
“I see,” said Professor Dumbledore gravely.
“I’ve overheard a plot by Fred and George Weasley to blow up a Hogwarts toilet,” growled Argus Filch, the caretaker. “Permission to give them detention for the rest of the year as a preventative measure?”
“Permission not granted,” said Professor Dumbledore.
Filch scowled.
“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll let you all enjoy the rest of your evenings,” said Professor Dumbledore. “We shall reconvene every fortnight, as usual. Any urgent business, don’t be afraid to come and see me in the meantime. Severus, can you stay behind for a moment, please?”
The teachers all got to their feet and began filing out, Professor Snape staying behind as instructed. Professor McGonagall remained where she was seated, too.
“May I speak with you, also, Albus?” she said. “There’s a safeguarding issue I’d like to discuss.”
The last teacher left the room, closing the door behind them, leaving Professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall alone. Professor Snape opened a copy of Potions Weekly and buried his long nose in the magazine. Professor McGonagall turned to Professor Dumbledore with a serious expression on her face.
“Which student is it that you have concerns about, Minerva?” asked Professor Dumbledore.
“Harry Potter,” said Professor McGonagall sombrely. “I went to visit him at his aunt and uncle’s house over the summer, after he sent me a worrying piece of correspondence in response to his Hogwarts letter.”
She took out Harry’s letter from her robes, laying it down flat on the table for Professor Dumbledore to read. He read Harry’s childish handwriting.
“As you can see, he mentions it being a ‘big surprise’ to learn that he’s a wizard,” said Professor McGonagall. “His aunt and uncle told him nothing about our world! He also asks if he can live at Hogwarts during the summer holidays because, and I quote, he ‘would rather live anywhere but with his aunt and uncle’. He also mentions that his guardians don’t like it when he asks for things, and don’t like to spend any money on him. I’m worried about neglect.”
“Ah, but children have a tendency to exaggerate, do they not?” said Professor Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall scowled severely.
“When I went to visit him at 4 Privet Drive, he was living in a cupboard, Albus!” she snapped. “The cupboard under the stairs! He was visibly malnourished, in ill-fitting clothes that were full of holes, and when I asked him about his relationship with his aunt and uncle, he replied that if he has nothing nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.”
Professor McGonagall was becoming more and more animated. From where Professor Dumbledore was sitting, he could see that Professor Snape’s eyes were not moving behind his copy of Potions Weekly.
“His aunt and uncle told him that his parents were drunks who died in a car crash because they didn’t love him enough to stay safe on the roads!” continued Professor McGonagall. Professor Snape twitched behind his magazine. “Do you know the kind of psychological damage that kind of message can do to a child? He was told, repeatedly, through their words and through their actions, that nobody loved him! And if you want even more evidence that he’s traumatised, how about the fact he has an imaginary friend? An imaginary friend, at the age of 11! That is not what you’d expect from a healthy child brought up in a loving environment! I need to raise the obvious question here: is this really the best place for the boy to live?”
Professor Dumbledore kept his expression neutral.
“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions, Minerva,” he said evenly.
Professor McGonagall’s jaw dropped.
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded.
“I said, you’re making a lot of assumptions about things you don’t know for sure,” he said. “Perhaps he enjoys the cosiness of living in the cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps he is simply a creative child whose imaginary friend is part of his rich imagination. Perhaps he was exaggerating when he said he had nothing good to say about his aunt and uncle. Did he explicitly tell you that he was being abused or neglected by them?”
“Well, no, but–” began Professor McGonagall.
“Then you’re making assumptions,” said Professor Dumbledore, cutting her off. “I won’t be making changes to any child’s living arrangements without solid evidence from that child themselves that they’re in a situation that requires intervention.”
Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared. Without a word, she got up, snatched Harry’s letter off the table to tuck it back into her robes, and marched from the room.
Professor Snape closed his copy of Potions Weekly slowly, his face carefully blank. When Professor Dumbledore probed gently into his mind, he was met by impenetrable Occlumency shields.
“You wished to speak with me, Headmaster?” said Professor Snape coolly.
“Yes,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your enthusiastic and wholesome responses to the last chapter. It makes me so happy that you’re enjoying reading this fic just as much as I’m enjoying writing it!
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: Fans of the books may recognise a few lines of dialogue and a few details from the classes from chapters 8 and 9 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Well done if you spotted these; it was fun to expand upon the few details we learnt into books and adapt them into full scenes that take into account the differences in this fic! There were also some major divergences from canon, most notably Tom momentarily feeling pain in Quirrell’s presence, Harry getting all the answers correct to Snape’s questions in Potions, and Harry refusing to fly due to Tom’s fear of heights.
FORESHADOWING: Tom’s fear of heights was foreshadowed in chapter 2, when Harry and Tom end up on the school roof thanks to Harry’s accidental magic. Tom was much more afraid of falling off the roof than Harry was, holding onto Harry tightly and talking in a very obviously stressed way. Well done to anyone who picked up on this and guessed he was specifically scared of heights and not (just) for Harry’s safety!
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Did you enjoy all the lessons? Did you notice a certain interesting newspaper article? What do you think of Harry’s developing relationships with his peers? What did you think of Tom’s head pain? Did you notice what Snape almost called Harry after he got the answers to his questions right? What do you think of Harry’s refusal to fly (it obviously means he won’t be the Quidditch star that he was in canon) for Tom? What did you think of that staff meeting at the end? I’d love to hear your thoughts, reactions and theories in the comments section below <3
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the rest of September and will focus on Harry’s blossoming relationships with his new friends as he settles into life at Hogwarts.
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name ao3-elle1991 :) Feel free to come and say hi!
Chapter 10
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was the Saturday after their first week at Hogwarts, and to celebrate their first full week in the magical world, Justin invited Harry to have a picnic lunch together in the castle grounds. They grabbed some sandwiches and a bowl of strawberries from the Great Hall and walked down the stone steps onto the sloping grass. The weather was perfect: cornflower blue skies and a gentle breeze. They wandered around for a little bit, looking for a nice spot, before eventually settling down on a flat bit of grass that overlooked the lake.
As they relaxed and made a start on their lunch, Harry felt a warm, fuzzy feeling expanding in his chest. It took him a moment to realise that he was achingly, whole-heartedly, blissfully happy. Here he was, in a world that accepted him, where he was free from the Dursleys, where he had friends. Harry from a year ago would never in a million years have dreamt that this would one day be his life. He wished he could go back in time and hug his younger self and tell him: “Hang in there, young Harry; it gets so much better!”
They finished their sandwiches and then started on the strawberries, balancing the bowl on the grass between them. Justin gave a happy sigh, stretching out to lay on his side so he could relax whilst keeping the lake, Hogwarts and Harry in his eyeline. Harry lay down on the grass, too.
“What a place,” Justin said happily, gesturing at everything around them. “The castle, the lake, the forest – it’s all so amazing, isn’t it?”
“It’s magical,” smiled Harry. “I’d never have imagined I’d end up somewhere like this, growing up.”
“Right?! In another life, I’d be at Eton, right now,” said Justin. “Don’t get me wrong, I know Eton’s amazing – but I’m glad I ended up here, aren’t you?”
Harry thought about what his life would have been like, had he not received his Hogwarts letter. He would probably still be living in the cupboard under the stairs, still living with a family that hated him, going to the local comprehensive, Stonewall High. Instead, he got to be here. He got to lay on the grass with his friend and eat strawberries as they reminisced about their first week learning magic.
“Yeah, I’m glad I’m here,” said Harry, unable to keep the smile off his face.
Justin reached into the bowl for a strawberry, nibbling at it absent-mindedly. Then, when he was finished, he reached for another and offered it to Harry, dangling it over his mouth, twirling it from its stem. Harry opened his mouth and took it from him, laughing when Justin made a slightly grossed-out noise when Harry accidentally licked Justin’s fingers.
Tom frowned.
“I’m really glad we’re friends,” smiled Justin. “It makes Hogwarts feel like home.”
The happiness in Harry’s chest ballooned. He was deeply touched by Justin’s words. He felt the same way.
“I’m really glad we’re friends, too,” said Harry.
At the start of the second week of term, Cedric invited the first-year Hufflepuffs to come and watch the try-outs for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.
“I’ll be trying out for Seeker,” Cedric said enthusiastically. “It's Tuesday evening, 5 o’clock. Do you guys want to come along and watch? It’s always good fun, and I’d love the support!”
And so that was how Harry, Justin, Ernie, Hannah and Susan found themselves leaving the Hufflepuff common room on Tuesday evening, intent on heading towards the Quidditch pitch where the try-outs were to take place. On their way out of the Hufflepuff common room, Zacharias piped up from an armchair by the fireplace.
“I’m surprised you’re going, Potter. You realise the stands are high up, right?” he said, with mock concern.
“Ignore him,” muttered Justin, letting Harry crawl first through the barrel that concealed the Hufflepuff common room entrance.
“Yeah, sitting in the stands is totally different from having to balance on a broom, you’ll be fine,” said Ernie, giving Harry an encouraging slap on the back.
As they walked out of the castle and down the grassy slope that led to the Quidditch pitch, Ernie and Susan explained to Harry and Justin how the game of Quidditch worked. Apparently, it was a competitive sport played on broomsticks, with seven players per team and four balls. Ernie was just explaining how catching the Snitch was worth 150 points, when they spotted a group of first-year Slytherin students walking in the opposite direction.
Harry recognised Draco Malfoy, his sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. They had obviously just finished watching the Slytherin Quidditch team try-outs. As soon as they noticed Harry, the four Slytherins immediately nudged one another and started laughing amongst themselves.
“Ooh, there he is! Spineless little Potter, too scared to get on a broom!” crowed Pansy.
“Didn’t expect you to be such a wimp, Potter!” said Draco, a nasty sneer on his face. “Then again, maybe a big clue was when you were sorted into Hufflepuff!”
Harry felt himself go red. Apparently, news of his refusal to comply during his first Flying lesson had spread. He did not appreciate their tone of voice.
“Piss off,” spat Harry.
“Or what?” said Draco, jutting out his chin arrogantly.
“Or we’ll knock you out!” said Susan aggressively.
Harry watched in astonishment as Susan flung off her cloak and stepped forwards, her fists raised, as if she were going to start fighting Draco right then and there. Susan was short, but she was strong and sturdy, with the physique and stance of a rugby player. Harry had no doubt that if she were as fit as she looked, she could wipe the floor with Draco easily. Draco seemed to realise this too, because his pale blue eyes widened slightly with fear, before he quickly covered it with a derisive laugh, moving away whilst giving them a rude hand gesture. The other Slytherins followed him back towards the castle.
“As if I’d fight a girl,” they heard Draco scoff, as he walked off.
When the Slytherins were finally out of earshot, Harry turned to Susan, who was pulling her cloak back on as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.
“Wow! Thanks. You didn’t have to do that…” said Harry, touched and a little embarrassed that he had triggered such a scene.
At St Grogory’s Primary School, no one had ever stood up for him when he was being bullied by Dudley and his gang. In fact, he was so used to it, that it had never even crossed his mind that someone might actually volunteer to defend Harry here at Hogwarts. He did not even know Susan all that well! A little bubble of gratitude and affection for the stout little tomboy swelled in his chest.
“We’re Hufflepuffs!” said Susan, as if that explained everything. “We’re loyal. We stick together.”
With that, she linked arms with Harry and Hannah, marching them off towards the Quidditch pitch at a brisk pace. Tom immediately linked with Harry’s other arm, not wanting to be left out. A broad grin spread over Harry’s face as they walked. Never in his life had he ever been part of a group of friends. It was thrilling. It was amazing. It was intoxicating.
They soon arrived at the Quidditch pitch, finding good seats in the middle of the stands. Ernie had been right – even though they were high up, sitting on a bench in the stands was a totally different experience from having to balance on a broom. Harry gave Tom an anxious little glance to make sure he was OK, but Tom seemed to be fine. They were sitting far enough away from the front that they could not see the drop at the edge of the stands. Satisfied that Tom was not about to start freaking out, Harry turned his attention to the pitch.
About a dozen older Hufflepuff students were currently on the ground, holding their brooms as they spoke with Madam Hooch. Then, the trials began, with aspiring Chasers trying to score goals whilst aspiring Keepers tried to block them. Harry did not know any of the players personally, but it was still great fun to watch. Harry and his friends cheered for every successful goal and every successful save, and after about an hour, once all the aspiring Chasers and Keepers had had a go, they all landed on the ground and Madam Hooch spoke to them, presumably to tell them which of them had been successful and chosen for the team. Everyone who had tried out seemed to accept her decision, the group all shaking hands with one another, before walking off the pitch.
Next up were the aspiring Beaters. Never having seen Quidditch before, Harry and Justin (and Tom) had a nasty shock the first time a Bludger suddenly changed direction in midair and started flying towards them. They screamed and dove under their seats, whilst Ernie, Hannah and Susan all laughed themselves silly at their overreaction. Harry, Tom and Justin soon realised that Bludgers were supposed to do that, and that the Beaters and Madam Hooch would make sure they were perfectly safe in the stands, and after that, Harry found the rest of the Beater try-outs quite enjoyable to watch.
What Harry was most looking forward to, however, was watching Cedric fly. Aspiring Seekers were going last, and it turned out that Cedric was the only one trying out for the position, after last year’s Seeker had graduated over the summer.
“I mean, he’s obviously going to get the position, but I hope he’s good, otherwise Hufflepuff’s stuffed,” said Ernie, with his trademark honesty.
He need not have worried. Even Harry, who knew nothing about Quidditch, could tell Cedric was excellent as soon as his try-out began. Madam Hooch had a bag full of golf balls and began throwing them hard in every direction. Harry screamed and gasped with excitement as Cedric raced after them, catching each and every one before they hit the ground. After about half an hour with the golf balls, Madam Hooch released a tiny golden ball, the Snitch, and made Cedric look away whilst it fluttered away, before instructing him to find it as quickly as possible. Cedric circled the pitch for about ten minutes, scanning the skies carefully, before suddenly going into a dive and catching the Snitch about one metre from the ground, pulling up just in time not to plough into the grass.
Harry cheered with wild excitement, clapping his hands and waving his Hufflepuff scarf above his head in celebration.
“Cedric! Cedric! Cedric!” he chanted, the others soon joining in around him.
Tom remained silent, a strange, moody look settling over his face that Harry did not notice, since his gaze was fixed firmly on Cedric, who was now back on the ground with Madam Hooch. Cedric heard the chanting first-years and turned in their direction with a smile, giving them a bow.
“Let’s go down!” said Susan.
The first-year Hufflepuffs all headed for the stairs down to the pitch, skipping and chattering excitedly on their way. They soon burst out onto the pitch and made a bee-line towards Madam Hooch and Cedric. As they approached, Madam Hooch raised Cedric’s arm into the air victoriously.
“May I introduce… your new Hufflepuff Seeker!” she said.
Cedric blushed at the attention, but the huge grin on his face could not hide how pleased he was with the result.
“You were wicked, Cedric!” said Ernie.
“Absolutely amazing!” said Justin.
“Hufflepuff’s going to win the Quidditch Cup this year, for sure!” gushed Hannah.
“Definitely,” said Susan.
“That dive! Wow! You were great!” said Harry enthusiastically.
They were all talking over one another in their excitement, but Cedric seemed to hear them all nonetheless, because he thanked them all profusely for their support, giving them all a round of high-fives.
The mood as they all walked back to the castle together could not have been more joyous.
Half-way through the second week, a list of extracurricular clubs appeared on the notice board in the Hufflepuff common room. There were a wide variety of different clubs available, including Gobstones Club, Art Club, Theatre Club, Knitting Club, Wizard Card Collectors’ Club, Rat Race Club, a Frog Choir, and Clubs related to all the main subjects. Harry let out a loud gasp of excitement when he saw there was a Herbology Club, immediately signing up with a huge grin on his face.
Herbology Club took place in Greenhouse 8 every Friday afternoon, after normal school hours, between 4pm and 6pm. As Harry walked down towards the greenhouses on Friday afternoon for his first ever Herbology Club, he had a spring in his step. Tom, who had been a little quiet lately, seemed happy too. None of the other first-year Hufflepuffs had been interested in joining Herbology Club, so Harry and Tom were walking down alone, and they seized the opportunity to talk freely.
“I wonder what kind of plants we’ll get to see,” said Harry enthusiastically.
“I don’t know, but I bet they’ll be fascinating,” said Tom. “After all, these aren’t just plants; they’re magical plants.”
Then, as they continued talking, Tom looped his arm with Harry’s and only let go once they reached the greenhouses. As Harry walked into Greenhouse 8, he saw Professor Sprout surrounded by a surprisingly small group of students. Apparently, Herbology Club was not the most popular. There were five older Hufflepuffs who Harry did not know, four Ravenclaws, one Slytherin and one Gryffindor. As Harry got closer, he recognised the Gryffindor as Neville Longbottom. Neville was standing a bit awkwardly, his posture stiff, staying silent as the others chatted around him, obviously intimidated by the fact that the others were all older students who he did not know.
“Hi Neville,” said Harry, going over to stand with him, since it seemed they were the only two first-years who had signed up for Herbology Club.
Neville saw him and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. He seemed relieved to finally see someone who he recognised, although he still looked painfully shy and awkward, his round face pink and flustered.
“Oh, hi Harry,” stammered Neville. “Er, I think it’s just us from our year. How… how are you?”
“I’m good,” smiled Harry, trying to put Neville at ease. “How’s your wrist? I heard you broke it during Flying. Are you alright?”
Neville seemed surprised but touched by Harry’s concern. He smiled and rolled up his sleeve, showing off his wrist, which despite having an impressive bruise, looked definitely not broken.
“I’m fine now, thanks for asking!” said Neville, seeming to get more confident, his voice no longer shaking. “Madam Pomfrey fixed the broken bones in about half a minute. She was amazing!”
Harry’s eyes widened, impressed and intrigued to hear about magical healing.
“Wow! That’s really cool!” said Harry. “I’m glad you’re better. Broken bones are so painful.”
Neville nodded and gave him a bashful smile. Just then, Professor Sprout banged on a plant pot to get everyone’s attention, smiling warmly around at everyone.
“Welcome back, Herbology Club!” she said. “I hope you all had a great summer. We’ve got two new first-years joining us today! Everyone, please give Harry and Neville a very warm welcome.”
“Hi Harry! Hi Neville!” chorused the older students, giving them both kind smiles.
“What we do here at Herbology Club is grow plants that will be useful for the Hogwarts community,” explained Professor Sprout, addressing the first-years. “That includes growing fruit and veggies for the kitchens, growing plants with healing properties for the hospital wing, growing ingredients for the potions cupboard, and growing flowers to make the grounds look beautiful in the summer. Sound good?”
“Yeah!” said Harry and Neville enthusiastically, in unison.
They looked at each other in surprise, not having expected to reply so perfectly in sync, and then giggled. Any residual tension and awkwardness between them broke immediately. As Professor Sprout walked around and gave everyone their tasks (Harry and Neville were given the simple task of planting magical year-round strawberry seeds into 50 plant pots), they began bonding over their love of plants.
“Back at my aunt and uncle’s house, I was in charge of the front and back gardens,” said Harry, as he began carefully planting the magical strawberry seeds. “I made these gorgeous flower beds with roses and lavender and marigolds and pansies and all sorts.”
“Wow! That sounds amazing,” said Neville, his face lighting up as they talked about plants. “Gran let me have my own little section of the garden, too. I love roses! We’ve got white, peach and pink ones in our garden. But we have magical flowers, too! We’ve got a magical kind of daffodil that makes a trumpeting noise in April, and a magical plant called a cattus ambulare that’s fluffy like a cat and goes walking around at night.”
“You’re joking!” said Harry, his jaw dropping.
Neville giggled at Harry’s incredulity, shaking his head.
“No, it’s true!” insisted Neville. “There are loads of varieties of magical plants. I was so pumped when I saw we have Herbology three times a week. Tell me more about your garden back at home. Did you have lots of bees come to see your flowers? Gran hates bees, but I really like them.”
And so, they talked and talked, delving into their favourite plants and their fantasy gardens and the most interesting plants they had read about. By the time Professor Sprout came around at the end of Herbology Club to check how everyone was getting on, Harry felt as if he had known Neville for far longer than just two weeks. Professor Sprout was pleased to see that both Harry and Neville had planted all the magical strawberry seeds she had provided, examining their handiwork with an impressed look on her face.
“Very good, boys!” she praised. “Absolutely perfect job, well done. This’ll keep us in strawberries for plenty of mealtimes to come!”
Harry and Neville both puffed up with pride. Five minutes later, as they walked back towards the castle, their conversation turned to lessons.
“What subjects are you liking the most, so far?” asked Neville.
“Herbology, of course,” smiled Harry. “Charms seems fun too. And Potions is interesting, even if Professor Snape’s a bit intense. What about you?”
Neville visibly shuddered at the mention of Potions.
“I hate Potions,” said Neville. “Professor Snape hates me. Herbology’s my favourite subject, but I agree about Charms being fun. Professor Flitwick’s really nice.”
“I’m most interested in Transfiguration and Charms,” piped up Tom, as they walked up the stone steps and into the Entrance Hall.
Harry simply fixed a smile on his face and did not respond. Had Tom forgotten that Neville could not hear him? They came to a stop at the bottom of a staircase that Harry often saw the Gryffindors going up at the end of the day; presumably their common room was up in that direction.
“It’s been really nice getting to know you today,” smiled Neville, a little shyly. “Are we… are we friends?”
“Of course!” said Harry, a warm fuzzy feeling filling his chest as he pulled Neville in for a parting hug. “We should hang out more.”
He gave Neville a little wave as the other boy went up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. Then, Tom nudged him in the side.
“You didn’t tell Neville what my favourite subjects are,” pouted Tom.
Harry blushed, an awkward, slightly embarrassed feeling flaring in his chest. Did Tom not realise Harry could not mention his existence without sounding completely mad?
“Oh, er, well, you know–” began Harry, before catching sight of Justin and Susan heading in his direction, on their way to dinner, having just finished Theatre Club.
“Harry!” said Justin, pulling Harry into a hug as soon as they drew level. He seemed to be in an excellent mood. “Oh, Theatre Club was amazing! I’ve got to tell you all about it! Are you hungry? Do you want to eat now? It smells like pizza tonight. I’m ravenous!”
Falling into step beside them, Harry joined Justin and Susan as they headed into the Great Hall for dinner, the mouth-watering smell of fresh pizza beckoning them in. They sat down at the Hufflepuff table, excitedly swapping stories about Theatre Club and Herbology Club as they ate their pizzas.
Harry did not notice the look of disappointment on Tom’s face.
In no time at all, it was the beginning of Harry’s third week at Hogwarts. It was Monday evening, and Harry, Justin, Ernie, Hannah and Susan were hanging out on the floor of the Hufflepuff common room, lazily rolling a ball between them that someone had bewitched to sporadically emit brightly coloured smoke. Zacharias was away having his start-of-term one-to-one meeting with Professor Sprout in her office, so Tom had settled into the gap in the circle they had saved for Zacharias for when he returned.
As the group socialised, their conversation turned to their favourite hobbies.
“I love painting,” said Hannah. “Watercolours in particular. You can make colours look so pretty in watercolour! And I love animals. We have a pet Kneazle at home. She’s called Buttercup and she’s so cute!”
At this, Hannah pulled out a moving photograph from her bag, passing it around the circle. Everyone oohed and ahhed as they passed it around. When it reached Harry, he saw that it showed Buttercup snuggled comfortably in a delighted Hannah’s lap. Buttercup the Kneazle looked like an abnormally large, fluffy cat with golden fur and intelligent-looking eyes. Harry smiled.
“What about you, Susan?” said Hannah, putting the photo carefully back in her bag when Harry handed it to her. “What’re your favourite things to do?”
“I love sports,” said Susan, grinning broadly. “Flying’s great. Muggle sports like rugby and football are fun, too. Anything that involves moving around, really. I hate sitting still.”
“Fancy doing ten laps of the common room?” joked Ernie.
Susan threw a cushion at Ernie’s head.
“What do you like to do then, Ernie?” she said, sticking out her tongue.
“Have you heard of the British Wizarding Debate Club?” said Ernie, obviously trying to sound impressive. “There’s a junior division which I’ve taken part in before. It’s basically a debating competition and it’s very good fun.”
“That’s the most pompous thing I’ve ever heard,” groaned Susan, although the good-natured twinkle in her eye betrayed her amusement.
“It sounds fascinating to me!” said Justin, without a hint of irony. “Think you’ll enter again this year?”
“Probably not. My parents want me to focus on my education,” smiled Ernie, putting the last part in air quotes. “What about you, Justin? What do you like to do?”
“Oh, I love the theatre!” said Justin, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “Both watching and performing. There’s something so exhilarating about it! And I love a good board game, too. There’s nothing better than a bit of friendly competition over a board game on a rainy day. I say, are there any wizarding board games I should know about? I only know the Muggle ones.”
As Harry sat and listened to his new friends gossiping about their hobbies, it struck him just how different yet absolutely wonderful they all were – and how fond he was of each and every one of them.
There was confident, friendly, cheerful Justin; pompous, outspoken yet loyal Ernie; the tough, sporty tomboy Susan; and soft, gentle, lovely Hannah. And outside of Hufflepuff, there was shy, sweet Neville, too; Harry definitely felt like they had become friends at Herbology Club. How lucky was he, to have met and made friends with such a lovely bunch of people? He smiled to himself, feeling all warm and gooey inside.
Then, suddenly, he realised everyone was staring at him, as if waiting for him to speak. He had the horrible feeling someone had just asked him a question. He blushed, realising he had been vacantly staring off into space for the last several minutes whilst thinking fondly about his new friends.
“Sorry, what?” he said. “I got distracted…”
“I said, what about you, Harry?” giggled Hannah. “What’re your favourite things to do?”
Harry went a bit pink, unused to the attention, but enjoying it immensely, nonetheless. After all those years with the Dursleys, he was not used to anyone other than Tom being interested in him.
“I love plants and gardening,” said Harry. “I was in charge of the front and back gardens at my aunt and uncle’s house. I was so excited when I realised there was an entire subject about magical plants here at Hogwarts! And I like reading. I did a lot of reading during break times at primary school.”
“I love reading, too,” Tom said eagerly, even though only Harry could hear him. Harry stared at him with confusion. “And dancing! I’d dance all day, every day, if I could.”
Tom looked at Harry expectantly. Harry was not entirely sure what Tom expected him to say or do, but thankfully, he was spared from having to react, because at that moment, Zacharias returned to the common room. He saw the first-years gathered near the fireplace and smiled, starting to walk towards them, before noticing Harry and stopping dead in his tracks. Scowling at Harry, he moved away to talk to some second-years instead. Harry ground his teeth in frustration.
“What’s his problem?” groaned Harry. “I feel like he hates me!”
Ernie, Hannah and Susan all went suspiciously quiet. Susan suddenly became extremely interested in playing with the enchanted smoke-puffing ball, whilst Hannah examined her painted fingernails closely. Justin looked just as clueless as Harry did. Harry turned to Ernie, the only one who seemed to know what was going on who had not looked away, waiting for an explanation.
“Well, he kind of does hate you, mate,” said Ernie, looking a little awkward.
“But why?!” said Harry, completely baffled. “I’ve not done anything to him!”
Ernie looked around surreptitiously to make sure Zacharias was not listening, before leaning forwards to whisper to Harry discreetly.
“Zacharias is the Heir of Hufflepuff. That might not mean much to you, but in pure-blood society, it’s a huge deal. Zacharias always assumed he would be the coolest and most famous Hufflepuff when he came to Hogwarts,” explained Ernie. “But then, you got sorted here! The famous Harry Potter, in Hufflepuff! No one was expecting that. I guess Zacharias feels pissed off that you’ve stolen his limelight or something.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” said Harry incredulously. “I never asked to be famous! He’s being ridiculous!”
Ernie nodded sympathetically.
“He is,” agreed Ernie. “Hopefully he’ll get over it soon and stop acting like an arse. He can’t act like a twat for all seven years of Hogwarts, surely!”
Harry fervently hoped Ernie was right.
At the end of his third week at Hogwarts, on Friday evening, Harry had his one-to-one meeting with Professor Sprout, so she could check in on how he was settling into school. He arrived at her office and knocked on the door, pushing it open when she called for him to come in. Professor Sprout’s office was small and homely, with plants and trinkets everywhere and flames dancing merrily in the fireplace. Professor Sprout had set up a little table and two comfy armchairs near the fire, gesturing for Harry to sit down opposite her. Tom went to have a nosy at some bookshelves that lined the back wall as Harry settled down in his armchair.
“Hello, Harry! So good to see you,” Professor Sprout said kindly. “Hot chocolate? Nibbles?”
Harry’s eyes widened in amazement as he saw Professor Sprout had prepared two steaming mugs of cocoa and a plate of chocolate chip cookies for them to share on the little table. He reached for the mug of hot chocolate and took a long sip, closing his eyes as he relished the rich, chocolatey flavour on his tongue.
“Wow, this is amazing! Thanks, Professor Sprout,” he said.
Professor Sprout smiled kindly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that revealed a lifetime of happiness.
“I think all meetings should include hot chocolate as mandatory, don’t you?” she said, her eyes twinkling.
Harry giggled.
“So, how have your first three weeks been at Hogwarts? Are you enjoying yourself? Do you feel homesick at all?” asked Professor Sprout.
“Oh, Hogwarts is amazing!” said Harry, his eyes shining. “It’s the best place I’ve ever been! I’m so happy here. It absolutely feels like home to me.”
Professor Sprout seemed very pleased to hear this.
“Excellent! And have you been getting on well with the other students?” she said. “I see you sitting with Mr Finch-Fletchley a lot, at mealtimes.”
“Yeah, I’d say Justin’s my best friend here at Hogwarts,” said Harry. After Tom, of course, he added in his head, although obviously he could not say that out loud. By the bookshelves at the back of the room, Tom went very still. “And I get along well with Ernie and Hannah and Susan too. Oh, and Cedric the third-year; he’s really nice. And I’ve made friends with Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor, too.”
He decided not to mention the tension between himself and Zacharias. After all, it was not Harry’s fault Zacharias was deciding to act like an idiot, and he did not want to waste time thinking about him. Professor Sprout nodded, apparently pleased with his answer, seeming not to notice that there was one first-year Hufflepuff that Harry had not mentioned amongst his list of friends.
“That’s wonderful to hear, Harry! Your friends will be like your family here at Hogwarts. I’m very glad you’ve already met so many people who make you feel safe and happy,” said Professor Sprout, before rifling through some notes. “Madam Hooch informed me that you’re not taking part in Flying lessons, is that right?”
Harry nodded nervously. Is that OK? he wondered. His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Professor Sprout waved a hand as if physically batting away Harry’s worries.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear! That’s absolutely fine. Flying doesn’t count towards your grades because it’s not a mandatory subject for second-years and above,” said Professor Sprout. “But I can’t have you wandering around unsupervised whilst the rest of your class is busy having Flying lessons every Friday morning. I’ve arranged for you to spend those two hours doing independent study in the library under the supervision of Madam Pince. She expects you to arrive at the library at 9am sharp every Friday, understood?”
Harry broke into a relieved grin. For a moment, he had been afraid that she would force him – and more importantly, Tom – to fly. Independent study sessions in the library sounded perfect! It would give him and Tom some time alone; something he had sorely missed. He tried to catch Tom’s eye to give the other boy an excited look, but for some reason, Tom was not looking at him.
“That sounds good, thank you,” said Harry, realising Professor Sprout was waiting for him to respond.
The rest of their meeting passed quickly, with Professor Sprout praising Harry for the good reports she had received from all his teachers, Harry asking Professor Sprout what her favourite plants were, and the two of them finishing off the plate of chocolate chip cookies.
Soon, it was time for Harry to go, and he made his way back to the Hufflepuff common room, quickly finding Justin on one of the sofas, where he was watching Cedric show off his impressive catching skills with a spare Snitch he had snagged somewhere. As Harry flopped beside Justin on the sofa, the two of them laughing and cheering as Cedric made increasingly more impressive catches, a warm, fuzzy sense of deep contentment settled over him.
Life, at that moment, was absolutely perfect. He had friends. He was happy. What could possibly go wrong?
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, it was awesome to read your reactions to Harry’s first week at Hogwarts! I appreciate each and every one of you who are following this story <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: There were no tie-ins with canon in this chapter, it was all original stuff for this fic!
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed getting to know Harry’s new friends! It was fun to flesh out his friendships with Justin, Neville, Cedric, Ernie, Hannah and Susan in this chapter. Who is your favourite new character so far?
TEASER: Everything seems to be going well, doesn’t it? A little… too well, perhaps? ;)
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name ao3-elle1991! I like to re-blog beautiful Harry Potter fanart that I come across on there, and also answer asks and reply to messages, so feel free to check me out over there if any of that sounds like your kind of jam :)
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It all came crashing down on the last day of September.
It was the evening, and after finishing his Charms homework, Harry played a boisterous game of Gobstones with Justin and Susan in the Hufflepuff common room. The game was a little like marbles, except that the stones were magically enchanted to spray the loser’s face with odorous pus. Harry lost the game spectacularly, getting squirted fully in the face with foul-smelling liquid from Justin’s winning stone. After the three of them burst into gales of laughter, Harry bid Justin and Susan good evening and went to have a shower, before the foul Gobstones stench could permeate his skin and hair.
Harry hummed happily to himself in the shower, relaxing under the spray of the hot water as he rubbed shampoo liberally into his hair. After he was done in the shower, he went over to the sink to change into his pyjamas, before brushing his teeth. Tom sloped over to perch on the sink beside Harry, swinging his legs. Tom had been increasingly quiet lately, but tonight, he seemed to be in the mood to talk.
“Justin’s got a really stupid haircut, hasn’t he?” said Tom sourly.
“Uh…” said Harry, not able to say much else given the toothbrush in his mouth and how utterly confused he was by Tom’s sudden petulance.
“And his voice. He’s so posh! Oh, look at me, I’m Justin and I almost went to Eton!” continued Tom, doing a ridiculous impression of an upper-class accent that Harry did not think sounded even remotely Justin-like.
“So what if he’s posh?” said Harry, confused, spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his mouth. “He’s nice. That’s what matters.”
But Tom did not seem to be listening. He was getting himself more and more worked up, his body language becoming more agitated.
“And he didn’t even know the difference between a hex and a curse in today’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson!” said Tom, as if that personally offended him. “He just sat there like an imbecile when Professor Quirrell asked him!”
“But no one knew the answer to Professor Quirrell’s question,” pointed out Harry. “Not even you. Not even Hermione Granger!”
Tom scowled at the mention of Hermione. Hermione was the only person in their year who even came close to challenging Tom’s intellect, and Tom had therefore developed an intense (albeit one-sided) rivalry with her.
“That’s not the point!” Tom said quickly. “The point is, Justin’s a bit naff, isn’t he?”
Harry blinked, utterly bamboozled by Tom’s slew of sudden and extremely petty insults aimed at Justin.
“I think he’s alright,” said Harry, peering at Tom with some concern. “Are you OK? You’re being a bit… weird.”
This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Tom leapt off the sink, folding his arms defensively, as if Harry had just said something to greatly offend him.
“I’m not being weird! I’m just pointing out facts! Justin isn’t so great! He’s got stupid hair and a stupid voice and he’s nowhere near as smart as me!” said Tom angrily.
Harry stared at Tom, half-wondering if some of the Gobstones liquid had gone up his nose and damaged his brain.
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Harry. “Justin’s my friend. Stop being an arse!”
“Ooh, I should have known you’d stick up for your best friend Justin!” spat Tom. “I bet you think he’s so perfect, don’t you?”
“What are you on about?! You’re my best friend, Tom. You know that,” said Harry, starting to get frustrated.
“That’s not what you said to Professor Sprout,” Tom said immediately. “You told her that Justin’s your best friend here at Hogwarts!”
“Only because I can’t mention you,” spluttered Harry, unable to believe Tom was being so unreasonable.
“Why can’t you mention me?” challenged Tom, his jaw tight. “It made sense back in Little Whinging, when the Dursleys would punish you for acting strange. But the Dursleys aren’t here at Hogwarts! No one’s going to lock you in a cupboard or starve you for talking to me anymore!”
“But–” began Harry.
“Tell me, Harry! Why don’t you talk to me in front of your friends? Why haven’t you introduced me to them? Are you ashamed of me? Or am I just not important to you anymore, now that you’ve got your new friends?” demanded Tom, angry red blotches appearing on his cheeks.
“Of course you’re still important to me!” said Harry. “But I can’t just talk to you in front of people. They’d think I’m mad!”
“Since when do you care what people think?” said Tom. “You didn’t care if people thought you were a weirdo at St Grogory’s Primary School!”
“I didn’t have any friends at St Grogory’s Primary School!” cried Harry, his frustration bubbling over into anger. “Dudley made sure of that! I can finally have a normal life here at Hogwarts, with friends who don’t think I’m a freak! Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why are you being so difficult?!”
“Oh, heaven forbid I should want our friends to know I exist! That’s such a big ask, isn’t it?” Tom said sarcastically.
“It is a big thing to ask!” shouted Harry. “How do you think people would react?! They’d think I’m an absolute nutter! Why are you trying to ruin everything?! You’re being stupid!”
“No – you’re being stupid!” shouted Tom. “But fine! If you don’t want to talk to me in public, maybe we shouldn’t talk at all!”
And with that, Tom turned on his heel and stormed through the wall, out of sight. Harry picked up his towel and hurled it after him in frustration, but it simply hit the wall with a soft thump and fell down onto the bathroom floor. Tears of anger and upset welled up in Harry’s eyes. Why was Tom being so unfair? Did he not understand how completely unhinged Harry would look if he talked to Tom in front of other people? Did he not want Harry to have other friends?
Harry picked up his towel and toiletries and stomped back into the dormitory in a foul mood. Unfortunately for him, it was not empty. He abruptly came face to face with Zacharias, who was getting ready for bed. Zacharias looked at Harry suspiciously, his gaze darting between him and the obviously empty bathroom.
“Who were you talking to?” said Zacharias, his eyes narrowing.
“No one,” snapped Harry. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”
Before Zacharias could respond, Harry stomped over to his bed and yanked back the curtains, throwing himself down onto the mattress and punching his pillow with frustration.
How had it all gone so fucking wrong?
The next two weeks were the worst of Harry’s life.
The first morning after their argument, Harry had thought (apparently naïvely) that Tom might have calmed down enough overnight for them to make up and repair their friendship. That notion was swiftly dismissed when he woke up alone, without the familiar weight of Tom cuddling beside him.
It left Harry feeling antsy and unsettled, the feeling of being discombobulated only growing stronger as he continued his morning routine without seeing or hearing any peep from Tom whatsoever. He was so used to the soundtrack of Tom’s chatter as he got dressed, or brushed his teeth, or got his school bag ready for the day, that to go without felt jarring and empty. He tried to focus on what Justin and Ernie were talking about, but he found that it was not the same – not without Tom’s witty asides and sassy remarks.
Logically, he knew that Tom must be somewhere within a 20-metre radius, but Tom had seemingly become a master of stealth at some point and never bothered to tell him, because it was an entire two days before Harry even caught a glimpse of him. Harry spotted him as he walked down to the greenhouses for Herbology, the wide open space of the castle grounds giving Tom nowhere to hide within the 20 metres around Harry that he was able to roam. To Harry’s dismay, Tom was staying as far away from him as possible, 20 metres away, a look of such anger on his face that Harry physically flinched.
It was an entire week before Tom spoke to him. Harry was doing his Transfiguration homework at a table in the library with Justin, Ernie, Hannah and Susan, when Tom walked over and looked coolly down at Harry. Harry’s heart leapt with joy to see him, a bright smile lighting up his face.
“What are you studying?” said Tom.
Harry angled his homework so that Tom could see the title of his essay: Key essentials of transfiguring different materials.
Tom’s eyes burned with anger.
“I’m not here to read. I’m here to talk. What are you studying? You should be able to talk in front of this lot – they’re your friends, aren’t they?” spat Tom.
Harry gritted his teeth, surreptitiously scrawling a message onto a spare bit of parchment:
I can’t!
“No – you won’t,” hissed Tom. “There’s a difference.”
And with that, Tom stormed off, disappearing into the maze of bookshelves. Harry stared after him in anger and disbelief.
Harry’s sour mood did not improve over the second week. In fact, if anything, with every passing day, Harry was feeling worse and worse. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over him, smothering his happiness and leaving a horrible aching feeling in his chest instead. He was upset that Tom was so determined to stay away. He was angry that Tom was deliberately trying to ruin his nice, normal life at Hogwarts. He was frustrated that Tom did not seem to acknowledge Harry’s perspective on the situation at all. And above all, he was cripplingly lonely, cocooned in an invisible forcefield of isolation, trapped in a situation that no one else could possibly know about or understand.
Harry was becoming increasingly irritable and moody, something that did not escape the notice of people around him. When Harry accidentally snapped at Hannah a bit too forcefully in the common room one evening, after she asked the same question three times about their Herbology homework, she scurried away close to tears, Susan jumping up to run after her, shooting Harry an annoyed glare as she passed. Justin watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, before turning to Harry with a concerned expression.
“That was a bit harsh, Harry,” said Justin, keeping his tone light and neutral. “Are you alright? You’ve been a bit quiet the past couple of weeks.”
“I’m fine!” shouted Harry angrily, before immediately burying his face in his hands, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Sorry… Sorry, I’m OK. Just give me a minute.”
He fled to the bathroom before Justin could question him any further, turning on the tap to splash his face with cold water.
If only it were so easy to wash away the painful Tom-shaped ache in his chest.
The next morning, Harry ate his breakfast at the Hufflepuff table, digging into a stack of pancakes topped with banana slices. He sheepishly apologised to Hannah for snapping at her the evening before, as well as to Justin for making him worry, telling them both that he was feeling a little stressed, which technically was the truth, even if he was not revealing why. They both forgave him immediately, giving him looks of sympathy.
“If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you,” said Justin earnestly.
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. How could he possibly tell Justin that he was miserable about his fight with Tom, without sounding like a lunatic and driving him away? It was an impossible situation.
Just then, the morning post arrived, about a hundred owls streaming in through the hatch in the ceiling. Harry was used to the owls by now, and so he only half-watched them absent-mindedly as he tucked into his pancakes. Then, something happened that had never happened before: an owl dropped a letter for Harry on his plate. Harry picked it up in amazement, immediately tearing open the envelope to read the slip of parchment inside.
Dear Harry,
I have arranged for you to have a safeguarding and well-being assessment with Madam Pomfrey at 1 o’clock this afternoon. Please present yourself at the hospital wing, located on the first floor, at your allotted time slot. She will speak to you about your home life and welfare. Madam Pomfrey is a highly experienced matron who has worked in healing and safeguarding for the last 40 years – please rest assured that nothing you say will shock her.
Yours sincerely,
Professor McGonagall
“What’s that? Does that say Pomfrey?” said Zacharias nosily, attempting to read Harry’s letter upside down from his position on the other side of the table.
Harry immediately stuffed it into his bag, glaring at Zacharias fiercely.
“No!” lied Harry. “And don’t read other people’s mail. It’s rude.”
The rest of the morning was a blur. Harry could barely concentrate in Charms and Potions, his insides churning with anxiety about his upcoming meeting with Madam Pomfrey. He yearned to talk about it with Tom, but the mysterious bastard had done his usual disappearing trick and was nowhere to be seen, even though Harry knew he could not be any further than 20 metres away.
Finally, after lunch, when it was just 10 minutes until his appointment, Harry made his way to the hospital wing by himself, getting directions from a friendly talking portrait on the wall. As he walked, he wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, his stomach churning as he tried to ignore the urge to turn in the opposite direction and run.
He had never talked openly about his life at the Dursleys before, notwithstanding what he had let slip to Professor McGonagall when she had come to visit him at 4 Privet Drive. He was not sure he would be able to do it without bursting into tears or being sick on the floor or something equally humiliating.
To try to take his mind off it, Harry kept his eyes peeled for Tom, frequently glancing back down the corridor, becoming increasingly more and more puzzled as to how Tom was hiding from him. After all, he was not invisible – not to Harry, anyway – and if there were a spell to make him invisible, it seemed unlikely that Tom would suddenly have learnt to master it within the last two weeks since they had fallen out.
Before Harry could figure it out, he arrived at the hospital wing, knocking softly on the door and stepping inside. On any other day, he would have been thrilled to see a magical hospital. He would have rushed over to the bookcase where there were books on magical healing, and tried to peek into the cabinet where Madam Pomfrey kept the herbs and potions that were used as medicine in the magical world. Today, however, he was more preoccupied with not bringing up his lunch or buckling at the knees.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling into the hospital wing from her office, a smile brightening up her stern face when she saw him. She was an older woman in a matron’s uniform, with intelligent blue eyes and wavy grey hair that was tucked neatly behind her ears under a white cap.
“You must be Harry,” she said, walking over briskly to greet him. “Good to meet you. I’m Madam Pomfrey. I’m a Healer, although you may be more familiar with the Muggle term – doctor. Would you like to follow me?”
She led him into a small yet light and airy side room that was set apart from the rest of the ward, closing the door behind them to ensure their privacy. She gestured for Harry to sit in a comfortable-looking armchair, before taking a seat opposite him and looking at him closely, her keen eyes lingering momentarily on his broken glasses stuck together with sellotape and his skinny frame. Harry twisted his hands anxiously in his lap.
“Would you like me to fix your glasses?” Madam Pomfrey asked calmly.
“Oh. Erm. Yes, if you can?” said Harry, feeling a little flustered.
Madam Pomfrey snorted, before casually waving her wand wordlessly. Harry gasped in astonishment as the sellotape vanished into thin air, his glasses magically fixing themselves with a quiet pop. He took them off to examine them; they looked as good as new.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Of course,” smiled Madam Pomfrey. “Now, do you understand why you’re here today?”
Harry tried to remember the wording of Professor McGonagall’s letter.
“For a safeguarding and well-being thingy?” he said uncertainly.
“A safeguarding and well-being assessment, yes,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Professor McGonagall told me about what happened when she met you over the summer at your aunt and uncle’s house, as well as what you expressed to her in your initial correspondence after you received your Hogwarts letter. She’s concerned about possible abuse and neglect.”
Harry was starting to feel a little sick. He had never sat down and told anyone about what he had gone through at the hands of the Dursleys. Telling a teacher at St Grogory’s Primary School had felt impossible, and he had had no friends other than Tom to confide in. He had known that if he had dared say anything bad about his aunt and uncle, they would have made his usual punishments feel like a breeze. Madam Pomfrey seemed to pick up on his anxiety, because when she spoke next, her voice was gentler.
“If you are being abused, foster care is an option. But to get that process started, we need to understand exactly what’s happening to you under your aunt and uncle’s care. Does that make sense?”
She was looking at him with a mixture of such concern and scrutiny that Harry could barely take it. He dropped his gaze, trying to organise his swirling thoughts.
“So… If I talk… But then, what if… I don’t want…”
He could not get his words out. His thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess inside him. On the one hand, he wanted to tell her everything, if that was what was necessary to be taken into foster care and never see the Dursleys ever again. But on the other hand, the thought of sharing such deep and painful parts of his past made him feel sick.
What if she decided he was too damaged to help? What if she did not believe him? What if he told her everything, but then got sent back to the Dursleys anyway? What if the Dursleys’ actions had not been abuse at all? What if he should be grateful that they had been so kind as to give him shelter and food and clothing for the past ten years? His throat was tight. He squirmed in his chair, wishing he could just close his eyes and everything would magically become OK.
“I’m sensing that talking might feel a bit overwhelming at the moment, is that right?” said Madam Pomfrey.
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak without bursting into tears. Where on earth was Tom? How was he managing to hide? Harry longed for the comfort of his presence more than anything.
“That’s absolutely fine,” reassured Madam Pomfrey. “How about I ask you some questions, and you can just nod or shake your head? Does that sound OK? If you want to talk, then of course you’re very welcome to.”
Harry nodded tentatively. Just answering questions with a nod or shake of the head did not sound too difficult.
“Very good. Well done, Harry, you’re being very brave already,” said Madam Pomfrey, giving him an encouraging smile, before leafing through some sheets of parchment in her lap. “Let’s start off with some really easy questions. Is your uncle’s name Vernon Dursley?”
Harry nodded. Madam Pomfrey made a note on the parchment.
“And is your aunt Petunia Dursley?”
Another nod.
“And is your cousin Dudley Dursley?”
Nod.
“And you all live together at 4 Privet Drive, is that right?”
Nod.
“Very good, Harry. You’re doing very well.”
Madam Pomfrey pulled out a letter that Harry recognised with a jolt as the one he had penned to Professor McGonagall after he had received his Hogwarts letter. Madam Pomfrey looked down at it calmly.
“You say in your letter that you would rather live anywhere but with your aunt and uncle. Is that because of the way your aunt and uncle treat you?”
For the longest time, Harry did not respond, his heart pounding, his thoughts whirling, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. Slowly, he nodded.
“I thought as much,” said Madam Pomfrey, before fixing him with a direct but gentle gaze. “I’m going to ask you some more in-depth questions about how your aunt and uncle treat you. It may feel overwhelming, so if you want to stop at any time, just say so or raise your hand, OK? It’s very important that you’re honest with me. I’ve dealt with abused and neglected children for the past 40 years. I promise you, you won’t say anything I haven’t heard before.”
Harry felt like melting into the floor. He looked at the wall and nodded.
“Good boy. You’re doing so well, Harry,” praised Madam Pomfrey. “Are your aunt or uncle ever violent towards you?”
Memories flashed before his eyes: Uncle Vernon beating him when he performed accidental magic; Aunt Petunia slapping him repeatedly across the backside when he said something unflattering about her new dress; Uncle Vernon whipping him with his belt until he cried, after Harry had accidentally smashed Aunt Petunia’s expensive designer vase. And so on, and so on, and so on…
Staring at the wall so that he would not have to see the reaction on Madam Pomfrey’s face, he nodded.
“Do they use their hands to hurt you, such as punching or slapping?” she said, her tone calm and neutral.
Trying not to let the pain of the memories show on his face, Harry nodded.
“Do they use their feet to hurt you, such as kicking or stamping?”
Harry thought about it, then shook his head. He could not remember them ever kicking him. They must have known the bruises would be too large and noticeable.
“Do they ever use tools to hurt you? That could be anything from a hammer, to a belt, or even fire.”
Harry nodded.
“A… a belt,” he whispered, to clarify.
“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, Harry,” said Madam Pomfrey sympathetically. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hand flying across the parchment as she took notes. “And how often would you say they hurt you?”
Harry bit his lip.
“I don’t know. Whenever I do something bad. It’s a punishment, you see, to teach me a lesson. They don’t like it when I’m bad. Maybe… maybe once a month?”
“I see,” said Madam Pomfrey gently, writing this down. “Would you like to take a break, or would you like to keep going? It’s completely up to you. You’re in control here, Harry. We’ll go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”
“Let’s keep going, please,” said Harry.
Honestly, now they had begun, he wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
“OK, let me know if you change your mind. We can take a break whenever you want. I’m going to ask about some other types of abuse, now,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Do you understand what private parts are?”
Harry looked at her with horrified embarrassment.
“What?” he said, completely thrown by her question. “I mean, yeah. It’s like… down there.”
“Exactly. Private parts can include a person’s bottom, or a person’s penis or testicles, or a person’s vagina or breasts,” said Madam Pomfrey matter-of-factly. “Have your aunt or uncle ever touched your private parts, or made you touch their private parts?”
Harry shook his head immediately. Even thinking about his aunt and uncle that way made his skin crawl with disgust.
“No,” he said. “Never.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded, making a note on her parchment.
“Very good. I’m sorry for the awkward question. I had to ask,” she said. “Moving on, do they ever say things to deliberately make you upset?”
Harry chewed on his bottom lip, twisting his hands together in his lap. It was a difficult question to answer.
“Well… they hate me, you see,” he said, trying to explain. “They never asked for me to be dumped on their doorstep. They have to spend loads of money putting a roof over my head and feeding me and clothing me, so obviously they don’t like that. I’m a huge burden on them.”
“And do they often tell you what a huge burden they think you are?” asked Madam Pomfrey.
Harry nodded.
“And on the flip side, how often do they tell you that they love you, or say nice things that make you feel happy?” she asked.
Harry blinked.
“Well, they don’t love me–” he began, before realising that he could not go any further, his throat closing up and tightening.
He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, not wanting Madam Pomfrey to see him cry. She handed him a box of tissues and then made a grand display of leafing through her parchment to give him time to quickly wipe his face.
“Would you like to take a break?” Madam Pomfrey said gently.
“No, let’s keep going, please,” said Harry, his voice shaking.
He did not think that if they stopped, he would be able to re-start.
“OK, we’re getting towards the end,” she said. “So, to summarise what we were just talking about, your aunt and uncle have never expressed any love towards you, and instead frequently talk negatively about you and make you feel like a burden? Am I understanding that correctly?”
Harry nodded, feeling strangely ashamed and embarrassed about the fact.
“Thank you. This last section is about neglect,” said Madam Pomfrey. “As with before, if you ever want to stop, just let me know, OK? Do your aunt and uncle ever fail to provide you with enough food and water? That could include failing to provide you with meals entirely, or giving you much smaller portions than your cousin, for example.”
Harry hugged his stomach unconsciously.
“But if… if I’m bad, then I don’t deserve to eat,” explained Harry, thinking about all the times he had gone to sleep hungry, as punishment for being naughty. “It’s so that I learn my lesson and behave.”
“I see…” said Madam Pomfrey. “And how often would you say your aunt and uncle withhold food as a punishment for being bad?”
Harry shrugged. He was constantly making mistakes that made his aunt and uncle angry. Sometimes, it felt as though whatever he did, he would never be good enough for them.
“Whenever I’m bad or ungrateful,” he said. “I don’t know. A few times a week?”
“I see. And have your aunt and uncle ever withheld medical treatment from you?”
Harry shook his head. He remembered the panicked look on his aunt and uncle’s faces when he had broken his arm. For all that they were unpleasant, he did not think they were evil. Aunt Petunia had come with him to the hospital and stayed with him all night.
“They took me to hospital when I broke my arm,” he said. “I’m very grateful to them. They could have easily let me die as a baby, but they didn’t.”
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, as if she had been about to say something and then thought better of it.
“You’re an extremely gracious child,” she said diplomatically, instead. “Professor McGonagall mentioned that when she went to visit you, your clothing seemed old and ill-fitting. Do you think that’s due to financial reasons, or do you think your aunt and uncle purposefully choose not to provide you with good-quality clothing and footwear?”
Harry thought this was a very strange question.
“Only Dudley deserves nice things,” he said, parroting the line Aunt Petunia always used whenever Harry asked her to buy him something.
“I think all children deserve nice things,” said Madam Pomfrey mildly, before fixing him with a beady eye. “Such as a bedroom. Could you describe your sleeping arrangements to me, please?”
It was such a specific question that Harry knew Professor McGonagall must have already tipped Madam Pomfrey off about where he slept. For some reason, he felt weirdly embarrassed.
“The cupboard under the stairs,” he mumbled, looking back at the wall so that he would not have to see the look on Madam Pomfrey’s face.
“And do you like it there, or would you prefer to have your own bedroom?” she asked calmly.
“I… well. Erm, I don’t know? A room would be nice, I suppose. Seeing as Dudley has two bedrooms, it feels… unfair that I don’t have a proper room,” Harry said reluctantly.
“You’re doing very well, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey said gently. “Just one last question. Professor McGonagall mentioned that you have an imaginary friend, which she theorises is a trauma response to having grown up so lonely and isolated. Now that you’re at Hogwarts and you’ve made friends with some real children, has your imaginary friend gone away?”
“He’s invisible, not imaginary,” Harry blurted out, without thinking. “And he’s currently being a dickhead and refusing to talk to me because we had an argument.”
Immediately, a hand with softly glowing edges stuck out from the wall, holding up a middle finger. Harry almost leapt up out of his chair. So that was how Tom was managing to hide from Harry! The sneaky bastard was lurking inside the walls! If Harry had not been so pissed off with him, he would have laughed.
“Harry, I know change can be scary, but if your imaginary friend is fading away, that could just be a sign that your mind no longer feels it’s necessary to invent someone to keep you company anymore. That’s a good thing. It shows you’re adjusting to a healthy social life here at Hogwarts,” Madam Pomfrey said patiently.
“He’s not imaginary–” began Harry, before catching himself, not wanting to sound insane. “I mean… never mind. So… what happens now?”
Madam Pomfrey put aside her notes, which she had been scribbling down as Harry had answered her questions. She fixed him with a kind, gentle look. Harry felt strangely uncomfortable. He did not know what to do. He had never seen such soft and genuine concern on the face of an adult before.
“Based on what you’ve told me, Harry, it sounds like your home situation isn’t safe. What you’re describing is abuse and neglect. Your aunt and uncle should have loved and nurtured you. They failed in their duty of care. My next steps will be to inform Professor McGonagall of everything you’ve shared with me today, so that she can move forward with the process of trying to arrange a foster care placement for you. How does that sound?”
Harry sat silently in his chair for a while, struggling to digest what she was telling him. In his heart of hearts, he had always known that the way the Dursleys treated him was wrong. He had seen the way they doted on Dudley and felt a sting of hurt every time they failed to shower him with the same love and care and attention. Nevertheless, it was a big thing to hear it from someone else, to hear the words abuse and neglect said out loud and know for a fact that they applied to him. It made him want to cry all over again, but he did not want to do that, so he just sniffled quietly for a while as he scuffed the floor awkwardly with his shoes.
“OK,” he said, after a while. “Foster care sounds better than going back to the Dursleys.”
“Fair warning, the Ministry of Magic is notoriously slow and bureaucratic,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I don’t know how long the process will take or what exactly it’ll entail. What I can promise you is that Professor McGonagall and I will do absolutely everything in our power to ensure your safety and well-being.”
“OK,” said Harry, feeling a little dazed.
“I’d also like to offer you counselling,” said Madam Pomfrey. “You’ve experienced a lot of trauma. Talking about it can help.”
Harry immediately shook his head. For all he had just shared with Madam Pomfrey, the idea of talking about it in any further detail made him want to shrivel and die.
“I understand. Trusting adults must be very difficult for you,” said Madam Pomfrey sympathetically, not offended at all by his blunt rejection. “If you ever change your mind, my office door is always open to you. And all your teachers are trained to provide high-quality pastoral care, too, if you’d feel more comfortable talking with any of them.”
Harry nodded noncommittally. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was feeling rather stunned and overwhelmed by how much he had just divulged. He wanted to skip History of Magic and just curl up in the safety of his bed for a while.
“OK, thank you, Harry, you may go,” Madam Pomfrey said kindly. “I’m very proud of you. You’ve been extremely brave today.”
Harry nodded stiffly, before getting up and almost running from the hospital wing.
That evening, Harry was in the bathroom brushing his teeth before bed, when he spotted an elbow with softly glowing edges accidentally poking out of the wall. Frustrated, he leant forwards and gave it a hard pinch. Tom yelped immediately, stepping out fully from the wall and glaring at Harry.
“What was that for?” demanded Tom, rubbing his elbow.
“For being an arse,” Harry said sulkily. “It would’ve been nice to have some support in the hospital wing, you know.”
“You seemed to handle it fine by yourself,” said Tom, although he looked slightly uncomfortable.
“It just would have been nice to know you cared!” snapped Harry.
“What, the same way you care about me? Have you told your friends I exist yet?” said Tom, folding his arms.
Harry took a deep breath, barely resisting the urge to grab Tom by the shoulders and shake him.
“What do you think would happen if I just start talking to you in front of everyone? How do you think they’d react?” said Harry, through gritted teeth.
“Nothing would happen! Why would they care? The only thing that’d change is that you’d be treating me like an actual person!” said Tom, as if Harry were the one being stupid.
“Are you serious?!” shouted Harry. “Do you not remember the way the Dursleys reacted when you first turned up and I started talking to you? Uncle Vernon hit me! Aunt Petunia wouldn’t feed me properly for days! Dudley didn’t stop laughing at me for a month!”
“The Dursleys are horrible people!” seethed Tom. “The world isn’t made up of people like them! I bet literally no one at Hogwarts would care if you started talking to me!”
Harry wanted to wring his neck. How could someone as clever as Tom be so thick-headed? He was about to retort with some choice words when there was a knock on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright in there, Harry?” came Ernie’s muffled voice.
“I’m fine!” called Harry, snatching up his toothbrush and toothpaste and turning his back on Tom to storm back into the dormitory, where Ernie, Justin and Zacharias were getting changed into their pyjamas.
He had barely walked two paces towards his bed when Zacharias stepped forwards, blocking his path.
“Who were you talking to?” demanded Zacharias. “We all heard you. You can’t pretend I imagined it, this time!”
“No one, bugger off,” said Harry, trying to sidestep him, but Zacharias was having none of it, moving with him to block him.
“I bet that’s why you went to see Pomfrey, isn’t it?” sneered Zacharias. “I knew I read her name on that letter! Is she trying to fix your brain so that you’re not a nutter anymore?”
“Shut up! I’m not a nutter!” said Harry.
“Who were you talking to, then?” snarled Zacharias. “We’ve all heard you! Muttering to yourself all the time, when you think no one’s watching. You’ve been acting like a proper weirdo since day one! Tell us the truth!”
On any other day, Harry would not have risen to the bait. But today, his mind was so fried from his meeting with Madam Pomfrey, going over every traumatic experience he had endured at the hands of the Dursleys, that something inside him snapped. Before he knew it, the kernel of anger and frustration that had been smouldering ever since his argument with Tom exploded.
“I was talking to Tom, you nosy shit!” shouted Harry.
“Tom…?” said Zacharias, looking momentarily stunned, before a nasty smirk began to form on his face. “Who the hell is Tom? Oh my God, have you got an imaginary friend?!”
“He’s not imaginary, he’s invisible!” said Harry, hot tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. “He’s real!”
Zacharias roared with laughter.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re a nutter!” exclaimed Zacharias, looking delighted. “You’re a freak! An absolute lunatic! You should be locked up in St Mungo’s Hospital!”
Harry felt the violent urge to do something incredibly reckless, like headbutt Zacharias directly in the stupid face, when Justin stepped between them, glaring fiercely at Zacharias.
“I don’t care if Harry has a thousand friends in his head!” said Justin. “He’s still a better person than you’ll ever be!”
Zacharias’ jaw dropped in astonishment.
“Are you seriously taking the side of this nutjob?” said Zacharias incredulously. “He’s a basket case! He’s absolutely mental!”
“Stop calling him names!” snapped Ernie, giving Zacharias a disapproving look. “If he’s mentally ill, that’s not his fault. We shouldn’t laugh at him.”
“I’m not crazy!” shouted Harry desperately.
“Yes, you are,” Zacharias said immediately, giving Harry a cold look of pure disgust. “People like you don’t deserve to be part of society.”
Harry must have blinked, because a moment later, Justin had launched himself at Zacharias, the two of them becoming a windmill of limbs on the floor as they fought one another. Ernie joined in a moment later, trying to get in between them and pull the two of them apart before they caused one another any damage.
Suddenly, the three of them vanished with a bang and a puff of smoke, as the magic of the Hufflepuff dormitories kicked in and transported the fighting students directly to Professor Sprout’s office. For a long moment, Harry stared at the spot on the floor where the three boys had been fighting, the initial shock slowly giving way to horror as the ramifications of what had just happened sank in.
They knew. They all knew that Harry was talking to Tom. They thought he was insane. Zacharias hated him for it. Ernie pitied him for it. Justin had been willing to stand up for him, but Harry had no doubt in his mind that the way Justin viewed him had also been changed forever. A cry bubbled up in his throat, and then, he was bawling his eyes out, the stress of the day catching up with him all at once and leaving him breathless as he cried and cried and cried.
A tentative hand touched his shoulder. Harry turned to see Tom standing stunned and pale-faced in front of him. Tom had a look of such shock, horror and remorse on his face that Harry knew that never in a million years had he expected a reaction like Zacharias’. Harry buried his face in Tom’s chest, clinging to him for comfort as he sobbed. Tom’s arms wrapped around him instantly, rubbing his back and holding him close.
“Sorry,” croaked Tom. “I never thought… Oh Harry, I’m so sorry.”
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! It’s so mind-blowingly wonderful to know you’re enjoying reading this story as much as I’m enjoying writing it <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: This was another chapter without any tie-ins with canon. I hope you enjoyed the relationship- and plot-building in this chapter!
THOUGHTS: As many of you predicted after the last chapter, the inherent tension of Harry and Tom’s situation bubbled over into a full-blown argument between the boys in this chapter. I tried to write it in a balanced way that showed both perspectives. They both had valid reasons for thinking and feeling the way they did - they both unfortunately just completely failed to see if from the other boy’s point of view. What did you think of their falling out? And what did you think about the way it all ended, with the truth accidentally being explosively revealed? I’d love to hear your thoughts, theories and reactions in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the next 2 weeks of plot (from mid-October to the end of October) and will cover the consequences of Harry’s dorm-mates finding out that Harry has an invisible friend. Eagle-eyed fans of the books/films may also realise the significance of the last day of October in Harry’s first year at Hogwarts…
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username ao3-elle1991, if you want to say hi over there!
Chapter 12
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of hushed whispering in the dormitory. Dread curdled in the pit of his stomach. He did not know what to expect, but he did not think it could be anything good. He tried to tune out the whispers, burrowing himself deeper under the covers, stealing as much time as possible for himself before he would have to get up and face the consequences of the evening before.
They knew. Zacharias, Justin and Ernie all knew that Harry had an invisible friend called Tom. The thought of it sent panic surging through his veins. How would they treat him today? Had the news spread already? Harry had no doubt that Zacharias would love to spread the news as far and wide as possible. Harry tried to control his panic, closing his eyes and deliberately slowing his breathing.
“Whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” said a soft voice beside him.
Harry rolled over to face Tom, who was looking just as worried as Harry felt. He had put Harry to bed the night before and held him until he fell asleep, just like when they were little after Harry had received a particularly bad beating from Uncle Vernon. The sheer overwhelming relief of having Tom back had acted like an anaesthetic and helped Harry drop off to sleep almost instantly.
“That is, if you want me to be around,” continued Tom, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “I understand if you hate me. If it weren’t for me existing, Zacharias wouldn’t have–”
“Shut up,” said Harry, putting his finger on Tom’s lips. “It’s not your fault Zacharias acted like a bastard.”
“Are we friends again?” asked Tom, trying hard to control the tremble in his voice.
Harry sighed, before reaching for Tom’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah,” he said. “No more hiding in the walls, you sneaky git.”
Tom let out a huff of relieved laughter. No longer able to delay the inevitable, Harry sat up and pulled back the curtains around his bed. Justin and Ernie were already up and dressed in their school uniforms, whispering with their heads bent together. They both immediately looked up when they heard Harry’s curtains being pulled back, giving him encouraging smiles.
“Morning, Harry! We were just about to wake you. It’s getting a bit late,” said Justin.
Harry looked at the clock, jumping out of bed when he realised he had overslept by 20 minutes. He quickly began getting changed, hopping as he pulled on his socks.
“Where’s Zacharias?” asked Harry, noticing the empty bed at the far side of the dormitory.
“We’re not sure,” frowned Ernie. “He must have got up and gone down to the Great Hall before any of us woke up.”
A fresh spike of anxiety lanced through Harry. He could vividly imagine Zacharias going around every single house table and telling anyone who would listen that crazy Harry Potter had an imaginary friend. His fear must have shown on his face, because Justin and Ernie both exchanged looks of concern.
“Listen, we just want you to know, Ernie and I, we don’t care,” said Justin hurriedly. “I meant what I said last night. You could have a thousand friends in your head, and it wouldn’t bother me. You’re still my best friend. Nothing’s changed.”
Harry felt a lump of gratitude lodge itself in his throat.
“Yeah,” said Ernie, obviously trying to sound encouraging. “I had a grandad that went mad before he died, but we all still loved him just the same.”
Justin stepped on his foot. Ernie winced and went quiet.
“The point is, we’re on your side,” Justin said firmly. “Zacharias was bang out of order, saying all those horrible things.”
“Yeah. How he ended up in Hufflepuff, I’ve no idea,” said Ernie, shaking his head.
“Thanks, guys,” said Harry, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, you don’t have to think about that, because we’re not going anywhere,” smiled Justin warmly.
Harry barely resisted the urge to do something embarrassing like hug Justin tightly and burst into tears against his chest.
“Ready to go?” said Ernie, when Harry finally finished getting dressed and pulled on his shoes.
“Yeah,” said Harry, grabbing his school bag.
They hurried out of the dormitory and through the Hufflepuff common room, crawling out through the barrel and making their way up towards the Great Hall. With every step, panic and dread grew in Harry’s stomach. Was Zacharias in there? How many people had he told by now? To try to take his mind off it, Harry tried to strike up some conversation.
“So, what happened last night, after you all disappeared in a puff of smoke?” he asked.
“We were transported straight into Professor Sprout’s office!” groaned Justin. “Apparently there’s anti-fighting wards covering the entire Hufflepuff quarters. She demanded to know what was going on, but none of us said anything. So, she docked us 10 points from Hufflepuff each and we’ve all got detention every evening for the rest of the month for fighting.”
Harry was surprised to hear that Zacharias had not revealed the reason for the fight to Professor Sprout. He had assumed that Zacharias would be thrilled to tell anyone and everyone the news that Harry was mad, regardless of whether they were staff or student. Perhaps he knew that telling a teacher would not be in his best interests. Harry’s mind turned again to the Great Hall, which they had almost reached, his stomach doing somersaults at the horrifying prospect of walking in and having everyone stare at him for being a nutjob.
“Listen, best to get it over and done with,” said Ernie grimly, seemingly thinking along the same lines as Harry.
“Yeah. If anyone says anything, just ignore them,” said Justin, giving Harry an encouraging clap on the back.
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped in through the double doors of the Great Hall. His heart was pounding, his hands sweating, his stomach churning as he braced himself for an onslaught of mockery and jeering.
Nothing happened. No one turned in his direction. There was no flurry of whispers and pointing. No one shouted that the lunatic had arrived, or pulled offensive faces in his direction. In fact, it did not seem that anyone knew anything different about Harry at all. This, if anything, unnerved Harry even more. Why had Zacharias not played his card and told the entire school? Harry had been certain that he would like nothing more than to trash Harry’s reputation by declaring him insane.
Harry scanned the Hufflepuff table for Zacharias, but he could not spot him anywhere. For one wild, happy moment, Harry wondered if perhaps Zacharias had been expelled or decided to leave Hogwarts, but then, he spotted a set of yellow-trimmed robes sitting at the Slytherin table.
Zacharias was whispering with Draco, the two of them smirking together, obviously relishing their conversation. An uneasy feeling roiled in Harry’s gut. Without thinking, Harry walked over to them. They were both bent over the table, concentrating on something. As Harry drew closer, he thought it looked like they were writing a letter.
Just then, Draco looked up, immediately covering the letter with his school bag and nudging Zacharias in the side. Zacharias looked up and smiled nastily at Harry.
“Good morning, Potty,” said Zacharias. “Sleep well?”
“What are you doing?” said Harry, getting straight to the point.
“None of your business,” Zacharias said smugly. “Piss off.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see people starting to turn in their direction to see what was going on.
Not wanting to attract attention, Harry reluctantly walked away, his mind whirling with confusion and uncertainty.
He had mentally prepared himself for the entire school to mock him.
Somehow, this felt worse.
The next few days were a torturous ratcheting up of tension and anxiety. Harry felt as though he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had an ominous sense that something bad was coming – he just did not know what or when. In a way, he would have preferred it if Zacharias had just got it over with and told the entire school immediately. Instead, the suspense was killing him. It felt as though Zacharias was a cat playing with its meal, enjoying the game that had Harry on tenterhooks.
Harry’s nerves were shredded. He would catch glimpses of Zacharias and Draco together occasionally, but they would simply grin at him enigmatically in a way that made Harry want to bang their heads together. Why were they not doing anything?! As far as Harry could tell, they had not told anyone or done anything to spread the news that Harry had an invisible friend. It made Harry nervous. It was almost as if they had something even bigger and more awful planned, although Harry had no idea what on earth that could be.
“Maybe he’s not going to do anything,” said Justin, trying to be reassuring, when Harry brought this up. “Maybe he’s just enjoying messing with your head.”
Harry nodded, trying to relax. Over the next few days, he almost managed to convince himself that Justin was right. Maybe Zacharias and Draco were all swagger and no substance. Maybe they were not plotting anything, after all. Unfortunately, those illusions were shattered several days later, when Harry was having breakfast at the Hufflepuff table.
Harry was digging into a large slice of grapefruit, as Justin talked about a short play he was doing in Theatre Club, when the owls swooped in to deliver the morning post. Harry ignored the owls. He was so used to them by now that they just melted into the background. Several minutes later, however, something started to feel decidedly strange.
The Great Hall, packed with hundreds of students, had suddenly gone suspiciously quiet. Whispers were breaking out amongst random groups of students all around the hall, and worst of all, they all seemed to be twisting around to stare at Harry. Panic and dread surged through Harry’s gut. He dropped his cutlery, looking around in fear as more and more pairs of eyes turned to stare in his direction.
“What’s happening?” whispered Harry, nudging Justin urgently under the table with his foot. “Everyone’s looking at me.”
Justin, who had been in full flow about Theatre Club, blinked in surprise. He looked around the hall in confusion, a worried expression quickly settling over his face.
“Oh… That’s weird,” said Justin.
Starting to panic, Harry’s eyes swept along the Hufflepuff table, looking desperately at his friends as if they might have the answers. Ernie, Hannah and Susan looked just as mystified as Harry and Justin. A little further down the table, Cedric the third-year was frowning as he looked down at something next to his plate, but before Harry could see what it was, his eyes fell on Zacharias. Harry’s blood froze in his veins when he saw the look on the other boy’s face; it was a look of malicious glee.
“Harry, let’s go,” Tom said suddenly, tugging urgently at Harry’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What–” began Harry, but before he could get any further, he was cut off by a shriek of laughter from the Slytherin table.
“Ooh, Potty’s got an imaginary friend! Bless his little cotton socks!” Pansy Parkinson’s shrill voice easily carried throughout the entire hall.
“Have some respect! The poor little boy’s been through enough!” tearfully retorted a sixth-year Hufflepuff girl.
“Poor kid, he’s lost his marbles!” said a third-year boy at the Ravenclaw table.
“Makes sense, I suppose. Imagine seeing your parents being murdered by You-Know-Who. It’s enough to drive anyone mental…” another boy replied.
Harry’s heart was pounding so hard he felt like he might pass out. He slid down in his seat to try to be less visible, the new angle coincidentally allowing him to see exactly what Cedric had been frowning at earlier. In front of him – and dotted around a dozen different locations throughout the Great Hall – was today’s edition of The Daily Prophet. Harry’s heart dropped when he saw the front page.
The Tragedy and Madness of The Boy Who Lived
Written by Rita Skeeter, Gossip Correspondent
Tragic Harry Potter, the 11-year-old hero of the wizarding world, famously escaped apparently unharmed from an attack which saw both his parents murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ten years ago.
However, it seems the young wizard did not escape that night as unscathed as we all had so dearly hoped. Instead, it can tragically be revealed that young Potter suffers from severe and disturbing mental abnormalities.
His classmates have allegedly been left frightened by Potter’s bizarre behaviours, which include talking incoherently to himself and believing wholeheartedly in the delusion that he has an imaginary friend named “Tom”.
“Everyone feels really sorry for him,” reports Draco Malfoy, a charming and intelligent young Slytherin in the same year as Harry Potter. “But people are scared of him too. He’s completely unhinged. The question everyone’s asking is: is he harmless or is he dangerous?”
“His mind is totally broken,” agrees Zacharias Smith, a fellow first-year whose prestigious family is famous in pure-blood circles for being direct descendants of Helga Hufflepuff. “It’s really tragic. He has hallucinations and it’s heartbreaking to witness. I share a dormitory with him, and he screams and rants to himself all through the night. It’s really worrying.”
Healers at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries have refused to confirm or deny if tragic young Potter is receiving treatment at the facility, which has a ward specifically for those with mental disturbances, citing patient confidentiality laws.
Harry could not bear to read any more. He tore his gaze away from the newspaper. His breath was coming in short bursts. His vision was turning fuzzy at the edges. Realising he was close to passing out from pure shock, Harry lurched to his feet and ran towards the double doors of the Great Hall, Tom and Justin following close behind. Tears blurred Harry’s vision. As he sped past the other students, he caught snatches of their conversations.
“...so tragic...”
“...totally insane...”
“...should be locked up...”
“...but he looks so normal...”
By now, the entire school was openly staring at him, the whispers of hundreds of students getting louder, buzzing like bees.
Harry ran from the Great Hall as fast as his legs could carry him.
The next week was absolute hell.
During lesson times, the presence of the teachers would rein in any intrusive comments or name-calling, but as soon as Harry would step outside into the corridors, or go to the Great Hall to eat, or try to relax in the Hufflepuff common room in the evenings, Harry would instantly be the focus of intense stares, whispers, or outright insults and mockery from the other students.
It felt as though the entire school was either laughing at him or pitying him. Everyone thought he was either insane, intensely traumatised or simply some kind of epic weirdo. Harry withdrew into himself, keeping his head down and walking as quickly as possible from one place to another, trying to minimise the amount of contact he had with other people.
Tom stuck by his side constantly, his viper tongue tearing apart anyone who dared even look in Harry’s direction, spewing out such foul and creative insults that even Harry was shocked. Tom tried hard to shield Harry from the worst of it, physically placing himself between Harry and any groups of students who he spotted pulling “crazy” faces in his direction, so that Harry would not have to see them.
Justin was another lifeline, staying loyally by Harry’s side and reprimanding anyone who was being rude with a cold fury that Harry would never have thought Justin capable of. One day, when Harry was fed up with people staring at him in the Great Hall, Justin calmly piled two plates high with food and whisked Harry away to an empty classroom down the Transfiguration corridor so that they could eat in peace, setting the plates down on a desk and pulling up two chairs so they could sit together.
“Thank you,” said Harry, touched and flabbergasted that anyone would be so kind to him. “But… you can go back to eat with the others, if you want. I don’t want you to miss out because of me. Just because I’m a social leper, it doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Justin firmly, spearing a roast potato on his fork. “You’re my best friend. I want to hang out with you.”
Harry had to duck his head so that Justin would not see the sudden wet sheen to his eyes.
“Anyway, have you heard the news about what happened to Zacharias and Draco?” said Justin, a grim smile twisting his lips as he sliced up some roast chicken.
“No, what happened?” said Harry, tucking into his own roast dinner. It was delicious.
“They’re both in loads of trouble,” said Justin. “Professor McGonagall went absolutely mental at them, screaming at them for being a disgrace to Hogwarts. She docked 50 points each from Hufflepuff and Slytherin and gave them both detention until Christmas. And she’s written to their parents!”
Harry gave a low whistle. Honestly, he had not thought about what the consequences might be for Zacharias and Draco, so wrapped up had he been in the horrible fallout of their actions. It gave him a satisfying feeling of vengeance, knowing that they had not got away with ruining his life scot-free.
“Good,” Harry said viciously. “Shame Hufflepuff lost 50 points, though. It’ll take ages to earn them back.”
“Yeah,” said Justin. “I’ve never seen Professor McGonagall so furious before. She was properly going for them. She was scary.”
Harry wished he had seen it. He smiled. Justin broke out into a relieved grin.
“What?” said Harry.
“It’s nice to see you smile again,” said Justin. “I haven’t seen you smile since, well, you know…”
Harry looked down at his plate. Had he really not smiled all week? It had certainly been a hell of a week, his world completely tipped upside down from the entire wizarding world finding out about his invisible friend against his will.
“You’ve been a true friend, Justin,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “You’ve stayed by my side all week. I just want you to know I really appreciate you. You… and Tom.”
He said the last bit in a rush, his tired mind making a mad and desperate gamble in entrusting Justin with words, freely given, about Tom. Surely, if he could talk openly about Tom with anyone, it was Justin? Because, in the last week, just as Tom had come to understand why Harry had been so reluctant to talk about Tom openly, Harry had also come to understand Tom’s fears and frustrations about being an unspoken secret. Harry knew he could not have got through the last week without Tom’s unwavering support by his side. The least he could do in return was introduce Tom – at least to his very closest and most trusted friends.
“Has Tom… been a good friend, then, this past week?” said Justin, trying to downplay his obvious curiosity.
“Yeah, he’s been insulting anyone who’s said anything bad about me,” babbled Harry, trying to conceal the wild pounding of his heart. “He’s got such a potty mouth. I didn’t even know some of the swear words he’s been coming out with.”
Beside him, Tom was staring at him with a mixture of shock and dawning wonder.
“Wow!” said Justin. “So… you can, like, hear him, as if he’s outside of you? Or is he a voice in your head?”
“He’s outside of me,” said Harry. “I hear him just the same as I hear you.”
“Amazing…” said Justin, staring at him in astonishment. “And do you… I mean, can you see him?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, the tight coil of fear slowly unravelling into blissful relief at Justin’s response.
“Wow! Come on, then, what does he look like?” asked Justin, staring at Harry with rapt attention, no longer hiding his burgeoning curiosity.
Harry looked at Tom, who was staring at Justin with open-mouthed amazement, and smiled.
“He’s our age,” said Harry. “A bit taller than me, maybe around your height? He’s got wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Oh, and he has this pretty white glow that pulses around him like a heartbeat.”
“Gosh,” said Justin, his eyes wide, before suddenly looking around the room wildly. “Is he here with us now?”
“Yeah, he can’t go further than 20 metres away from me,” explained Harry. “He’s currently perched on the edge of my chair.”
“Oh! Erm… Would he like to sit with us? On his own chair, I mean,” said Justin.
Harry looked at Tom expectantly. Tom did not say anything for a long moment, apparently stunned into silence. Then, slowly, he nodded. Harry repeated his request. Tom did not take his eyes off Justin as the other boy immediately jumped up and dragged a nearby chair to their table.
“There you go, Tom,” said Justin cheerfully.
Slowly, Tom got up from the edge of Harry’s chair and walked over to the one Justin had just pulled up to their table, before sitting down, his eyes shimmering with tears.
“Thank you, Justin,” he said stiffly.
“Tom says thank you,” said Harry.
“You’re jolly welcome,” beamed Justin. “I say, how rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself! Justin Finch-Fletchley. Pleasure to meet you.”
Tom promptly burst into tears.
“He already knows who you are,” smiled Harry, not mentioning the way Tom was currently crying and wiping snot and tears from his face to spare his dignity.
“Oh, right, makes sense, if he’s been here a while,” said Justin, looking thoughtful. “Wait, how long have you been able to see him?”
“Since I was six,” admitted Harry. “He was born at the same time as I first performed accidental magic. I suppose my magic woke him up or something.”
“Wow…” said Justin, in open-mouthed amazement, before seeming to realise he was staring and clearing his throat with embarrassment. “Gosh, I hope I haven’t overstepped! I didn’t mean to be rude. I just–”
Harry cut him off by standing up and walking over to hug him tightly, pouring every ounce of heartfelt gratitude he was feeling into the embrace.
“Thank you, Justin,” said Harry, forcing the words out past the large lump in his throat. “You’re a great friend.”
Despite being the instigator of the chaos that had descended upon Harry’s life, Zacharias Smith had not been particularly nasty towards Harry since the article had come out in The Daily Prophet. Perhaps he felt satisfied that he had done enough damage. Perhaps he was reluctant to do anything when Justin had seemingly super-glued himself to Harry’s side. Perhaps he had decided to find himself another hobby other than to make Harry’s life miserable. Whatever the reason, Harry was simply relieved that the boy had decided not to embark on any more unpleasantness.
That relief, unfortunately, was short-lived. On Friday evening, when Harry and Neville were walking back towards the castle after Herbology Club, Harry spotted Zacharias relaxing on the grass with Draco and Pansy. A mixture of panic and hatred flared in his stomach. Keeping his head down, Harry tried to walk past the group without being noticed, but luck did not seem to be on his side, because Zacharias looked up and spotted him, a grin breaking out on his smug face as Harry and Neville drew level with them. Zacharias, Draco and Pansy got to their feet.
“Evening, Potty!” said Zacharias. “We were just talking about what we might dress up as for Halloween next week. I was thinking I might dress up as you.”
“Piss off,” snarled Harry. “Haven’t you got anything better to do than be a knobhead?”
“I’m sure I can whip up a St Mungo’s mental patient costume; you know, a straitjacket kind of thing,” sneered Zacharias. “I’ve already got the facial expression down.”
He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, letting his head loll onto his neck in a grotesque imitation of a mental patient. Beside Harry, Neville immediately stiffened, his face going red as he took a trembling step forwards.
“Stop that!” said Neville, his voice shaking. “Stop it, now!”
But Zacharias ignored him, too busy entertaining Draco and Pansy, who were roaring with laughter behind him.
“My name’s Harry and I’m craaazy,” said Zacharias, his voice an offensive caricature of someone who was mentally unwell. “I hear voices and I go poo-poo on my nice, padded walls!”
It happened so quickly that Harry barely had time to process it. One moment, Neville was standing beside Harry. The next, Neville was punching Zacharias directly in the face. Zacharias immediately crumpled to the ground with a scream, Draco and Pansy crowding around him in horror and concern as blood began to pour from both his nostrils.
“Oh my God!” said Tom, staring at Neville with a mixture of shock and glee.
“Run!” groaned Neville, scrunching up his face with pain as he clutched his hand to his chest.
Harry and Neville fled up towards the castle before the others could think of retaliating, bursting into the Entrance Hall and then running randomly through the corridors until they finally ran out of energy, tucking themselves into an alcove, both of them panting and red-faced as they bent over to catch their breath.
“Bloody hell, Neville!” said Harry, grinning with exhilaration. “That was amazing!”
Harry held up his hand for a high-five, but for some reason, Neville did not reciprocate. Then, to Harry’s horror, Neville’s bottom lip wobbled and tears began to well up in his eyes. Harry blinked in bewilderment, in equal parts concerned and confused for his friend.
“Hey, it’s OK,” said Harry, trying to sound reassuring. “What’s wrong?”
“I couldn’t… let him say… those horrible things… about mental patients,” choked out Neville, tears starting to spill over onto his cheeks.
Harry tentatively rubbed his back, trying to comfort him.
“Yeah, he was really rude,” agreed Harry, still utterly lost as to why exactly Neville was so upset.
Neville fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, trying to wipe his face and blow his nose one-handed, still holding the hand he had punched Zacharias with close to his chest. Harry waited patiently, letting Neville compose himself. After five long minutes, Neville seemed to have calmed down, all the energy seeming to drain out of him. He sat down on a stone bench in the alcove. Harry sat down next to him.
“Do you know why I live with my Gran?” Neville said quietly.
Harry shook his head. He had been curious, of course, but he had not wanted to pry, figuring that Neville would tell him when he was ready.
“When I was a baby, my parents were captured and tortured by You-Know-Who’s followers,” said Neville, his eyes hollow and haunted as he stared straight ahead of him. “They were tortured into madness. They’re permanent residents, now, at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They don’t even recognise me.”
Harry stared at him in horror. Poor Neville. Harry could not fathom how it must feel to see one’s parents reduced to such a state; driven into such insanity that they were unable to recognise their only son.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry, aghast, not sure what else to say.
Neville gave him a weak smile.
“I’m not going to let anyone be nasty to you because they think you have a mental illness,” said Neville, a steely edge to his voice.
Harry nodded. He understood, now, exactly why Neville had punched Zacharias in the face.
“Fucking hell, I think I’ve broken my hand,” groaned Neville.
Harry looked down at the hand Neville had used to punch Zacharias. It did appear to be swelling up.
“Let’s go to the hospital wing,” said Harry hastily, helping Neville get to his feet. “Hopefully Madam Pomfrey won’t ask too many questions. If she does, we’ll just make something up.”
As they walked to the hospital wing, Harry could not help but wonder what it must be like to have parents who were alive but who had been driven out of their minds. How often did Neville visit them? Were they able to interact with him at all, even if they did not know who he was? Harry thought about all the times he had seen Neville giggle and smile during classes and at Herbology Club. To go through such trauma and still be able to smile…
Harry thought Neville might be one of the bravest people he had ever met.
Soon, it was Sunday evening, and Harry was working at one of the tables in the Hufflepuff common room, hastily finishing off a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay that he had somehow completely forgotten about. He was quite pleased with what he had managed to whip up in such a short space of time, and was just working on the final paragraph, when someone flicked the back of his head. Harry whipped around, immediately glaring when he saw Zacharias walking off – apparently, he had flicked Harry purely to annoy him on his way past.
“Wanker,” said Harry, just loudly enough that Zacharias could hear him.
He turned back to his essay and had just dipped his quill in his ink, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Fuck off, you twat!” snarled Harry.
He turned around with a foul look on his face, fully expecting to see that Zacharias had returned, only to see Cedric the third-year standing there with his eyebrows raised in surprise. Harry’s jaw dropped in horror, immediately grovelling, as Cedric smiled and sat down in the seat next to him.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else!” said Harry, blushing with mortification.
“Oh? I could never guess who,” said Cedric innocently, before looking pointedly at Zacharias, who was now lounging in front of the fire with some second-year girls.
Harry giggled.
“Maybe you’re right,” Harry said with a smirk. “Anyway, sorry, did you want something?”
“Can’t I just want to hang out with my little buddy?” smiled Cedric.
Harry blushed. For the last week and a half, he had got so used to people mocking him, laughing at him or staring at him, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone behave normally around him.
“Sorry,” said Harry, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment.
“It’s OK,” said Cedric, looking at him sympathetically. “I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. I know the past week and a half must have been tough for you.”
“Only seven more years to go,” Harry said glumly. “Everyone thinks I’m a freak.”
Cedric waved his hand casually.
“Oh, it’ll all blow over, you’ll see,” Cedric said confidently.
“That’s easy for you to say!” said Harry. “You’re not the one everyone thinks is mental!”
“That’s true,” admitted Cedric, nodding, “but I’d like to share some wisdom with you, if I may?”
Harry put down his quill and pushed his homework aside, giving Cedric his full attention. Tom wandered over too and perched on the desk, curious as to what the third-year boy had to say.
“Hogwarts is just like any other school,” said Cedric. “People love to gossip. But school gossip moves on quickly. At some point, someone else will do something wild or embarrassing or scandalous, and then everyone will lose interest in you and talk about that instead.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked cautiously.
“Definitely. It’ll pass. People are already talking about it less than before,” said Cedric, giving Harry a kind smile. “Anyway, it’s Halloween in a few days’ time! Hogwarts always does an amazing Halloween feast with yummy food and spooky decor. Sometimes the ghosts even put on a play! Try to look forward to that. It’ll be loads of fun – it always is!”
As Cedric got up and walked away, ruffling Harry’s hair affectionately on his way past, Harry found that for the first time since The Daily Prophet’s article had come out, the future felt a little less scary.
Harry took Cedric’s advice to heart, trying to think positively and focus on the fun of Halloween. He carved pumpkins with Justin, made fake blood using beetroots with Neville, and listened to scary ghost stories invented by Tom.
Soon, Halloween itself was upon them. The smell of baked pumpkin wafted through the corridors, making the entire castle smell delicious. The day’s lessons were interesting (they made feathers levitate in Charms; turned leaves into sentient slime in Transfiguration; and brewed colour-changing food dye in Potions), but what Harry was most excited about was the Halloween feast.
That evening, as the Hufflepuffs made their way to the Great Hall, Harry was practically bouncing with excitement. Then, as they entered the cavernous room, Harry’s jaw dropped with amazement.
Beautifully carved pumpkins with candles nestled in their hollow bellies floated above the four house tables, illuminating the hall in a soft orange glow. Hundreds of bats swooped around the hall, fluttering above their heads. Food was piled high on sharing platters in the middle of each house table, offering a delightful assortment of sweet and savoury treats.
Harry sat down between Justin and Cedric, a wide grin on his face as he stared around in wondrous excitement.
“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” said Harry.
“Told you Halloween at Hogwarts was fun,” grinned Cedric.
“I say, this isn’t real blood, is it?” asked Justin, holding up a slice of cake dripping with red gooey liquid.
Soon, the hall was filled with the happy sounds of children feasting and talking excitedly. Harry, Justin, Hannah and Susan swapped stories about how Halloween was typically celebrated in the Muggle and wizarding worlds respectively, each of them equally fascinated by how the other half lived. Harry was just about to tuck into a jacket potato drizzled with baked beans, when the double doors slammed open and Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Great Hall. Everyone fell silent and stared as he ran all the way up to the teachers’ table and collapsed in front of Professor Dumbledore.
“Troll! In the dungeons! Thought you ought to know…” he gasped.
Then, he slid to the ground in a dead faint.
There was pandemonium. Students began screaming, crying, some even pushing one another in their rush to get up and run to safety. Tom gripped Harry’s hand, his face pale and frightened, urging Harry to his feet so that he would not get trampled. Professor Dumbledore raised his wand and exploded several purple firecrackers above his head to command the school’s attention.
“Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!” he boomed.
The Hufflepuff Prefects got to work in an instant, corralling everyone into walking calmly but quickly out of the Great Hall and down the stairs towards the Hufflepuff common room. Harry tried not to panic, although he could not deny the pounding of his heart or the way his stomach flipped with fear as they passed every dark alcove, his mind playing tricks and making him see trolls in every shadowy corner.
His fear only reduced by any meaningful amount when he was finally back in the safety of the Hufflepuff common room. As the common room filled up with Hufflepuffs, the conversation quickly turned to how the troll could possibly have got into the castle in the first place.
“They’re supposed to be really stupid,” said Harry. “That’s what it says in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Surely it can’t have worked out how to open the front doors by itself?”
“Maybe someone let it in as a prank,” suggested Justin. “There are those red-haired Gryffindor twins. They’re always doing practical jokes.”
“Well, if that’s the case, they could have waited until the feast had finished,” complained Ernie.
“Oh, don’t! Someone could die!” Hannah said tearfully.
Susan immediately put a stout arm around her, giving her a comforting squeeze.
“I’m sure nothing like that’ll happen,” said Susan, trying to sound confident. “I bet the teachers will be able to find it and get it out of the castle in no time. We’ll be back in the Great Hall before you know it.”
But as five minutes of waiting turned to fifteen, and then an hour, anxious whispers began to spread around the common room. There seemed to be some activity amongst the Prefects, who were darting in and out of the common room and whispering urgently between themselves.
“Something’s happened,” said Tom, returning abruptly to Harry’s side after having gone off to eavesdrop on the Prefects. “The troll attacked someone. Madam Pomfrey’s trying to save their life, but it’s not looking good.”
Horror and panic rose in Harry’s chest. He quickly relayed the information to Justin, whispering so that no one else could hear them. Then, one of the Prefects rushed back into the common room in tears, quickly being enveloped by a concerned group of seventh-years.
Harry strained his ears to try to listen in to their conversation, but he could not hear them. As it turned out, he did not need to. Word spread like wildfire around the cramped common room, and soon everybody knew the terrible news. Harry heard it in broken fragments from about five different conversations happening around him.
“The troll killed someone!”
“...found a little girl crying alone in the toilets...”
“...a first-year, you say?”
“...poor little Gryffindor girl...”
“...never stood a chance...”
And then, the tragic girl’s name, repeated a dozen different times by a dozen different voices. Harry recognised it immediately, feeling faint with horror. Justin’s mouth fell open in shock. Hannah burst into tears.
Hermione Granger was dead.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter! It was so cool to hear your reactions to Harry and Tom’s argument and falling out. Thank you for all the love <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: In the books, on the way to the feast, Harry overhears from a Gryffindor girl that Hermione has been crying in the girls’ toilets all afternoon, and remembers about her when they’re being evacuated to their dormitories, going with Ron to the toilets to warn her, with the two boys ultimately saving her life as the troll had wandered in there and found her. In this fic, however, Harry was not walking with the Gryffindors to the feast (since he’s a Hufflepuff) and therefore did not know that Hermione was in the girls’ toilets, and therefore did not go to warn her about the troll (and end up rescuing her), resulting in her untimely death. This feels to me like the most likely logical sequence of events (since in the books, Hermione was completely frozen in fear by the troll and only survived because Harry and Ron burst in and took action) and it is obviously a big divergence from canon for this fic!
THOUGHTS: Gosh, what a chapter! I was legit screeching out loud to myself when I wrote parts of it haha. What did you think of Zacharias’ diabolic scheme with The Daily Prophet article? As horrible though it was, at least it showed Harry that both Justin and Neville are real friends. (They will be the core trio of friends in this fic, plus Tom of course!) And gosh, the Hermione twist at the end, R.I.P. girl. Please feel free to share your thoughts and reactions in the comments below, I’d love to hear them!
TEASER: The next chapter will be set in the first half of November and will cover the reaction of Hogwarts’ students and staff to the death of Hermione.
TUMBLR: Want to say hi on Tumblr? I am ao3-elle1991 over there, feel free to pop over! :)
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It turned out that Cedric was right: school gossip really did move on quickly.
The morning after Halloween, no one spared Harry so much as a glance. It was as if The Daily Prophet’s article had miraculously been erased from everyone’s minds overnight. Suddenly, no one cared about unhinged Harry Potter and his imaginary friend. No one paid him any attention at all. Instead, all anyone wanted to talk about was the tragic death of Hermione Granger.
The mood in the castle was heavy and miserable. Everyone was shocked that such a horrific death could occur on school grounds. During lessons, the mood was quiet and subdued. The first-years felt Hermione’s absence keenly whenever a teacher would ask a question, for usually it would have been her hand shooting up in the air, desperate to show off her knowledge. Outside of classes, it was not much better. The Gryffindors were visibly upset, particularly the first-year girls Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil and Sally-Anne Perks, who had shared a dormitory with her – and, for some reason, Ron Weasley.
Zacharias was quietly fuming that everyone’s attention had switched so completely away from Harry, but even he had enough social awareness to know that there was nothing he could do to change it. Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste when he caught Zacharias glaring at him sulkily, deciding at that moment that the best thing he could do regarding Zacharias was simply to ignore him – and to not give him any more ammunition that he could use against Harry. Tom seemed to be on a similar train of thought, because he pulled Harry into an empty classroom one day, so that they could speak together privately.
“Hermione’s death has distracted everyone,” said Tom, a thoughtful look on his face. “This is a perfect opportunity for you to regain your social standing.”
“Hermione’s death was tragic and horrible!” said Harry, upset that Tom did not seem more bothered about the death of their classmate.
Sometimes, he forgot that Tom only seemed to have any meaningful level of empathy with Harry. Tom at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
“Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry. Very tragic and horrible,” he agreed. “But my point is, no one’s talking about how mental you are anymore. We can’t let it start up again, when people get bored of talking about Hermione.”
“So, what do you propose?” said Harry, through gritted teeth.
“Don’t give them any reason to remember,” Tom said seriously. “Don’t talk to me in public.”
Harry could not believe his ears.
“You didn’t talk to me for two weeks because I didn’t want to talk to you in public!” Harry said indignantly.
“Yes, but that was before I knew the facts about how people would treat you,” said Tom. “Now I know. People are horrible. I don’t want to give them any reason to be horrible to you again.”
Harry chewed on his bottom lip anxiously.
“But won’t you feel left out?” said Harry.
“I’m only saying not to talk to me in public,” Tom said pompously. “I think it should be safe for us to speak openly in front of… a select few privileged friends.”
“Like who?” said Harry, a little smile forming on his face.
“Justin and Neville,” said Tom, as if it were obvious. “I think they’ve proven themselves worthy. They stood up for you, when that horrible newspaper article came out. Besides, you’ve already introduced me to Justin.”
Harry thought about it. It made sense. The fact that everyone’s attention had suddenly turned away from him was an unexpected godsend. It would be foolish to throw away the opportunity by talking openly to Tom in front of everyone and reminding them all how “unhinged” he was. Bringing Justin and Neville into their fold seemed like a fair compromise, ensuring that Tom would not feel left out, whilst still being a small enough group that they could conceal the secret of their invisible fourth member. Harry nodded: he would speak openly with Tom, but only when they were alone with Justin and Neville, not in front of anyone else.
“Deal,” said Harry.
The first couple of weeks after Hermione’s death were a sad and strange affair.
Harry had cried when he had first heard the news, and again a week later, when he was lying in bed and had thought suddenly about her parents and how they must be feeling.
Harry had not known Hermione particularly well. She had been the bossy girl with the bushy hair who had waltzed into his carriage on the train, helping Neville look for his missing pet toad. She had been the clever girl in class who had put her hand up every time a teacher asked a question, desperate to prove herself and earn Gryffindor some house points. But he had not really known her.
He had not known her hobbies, or her opinions, or even who her close friends were. He felt sad about the wasted potential of her life. He felt sad for her family and friends. But that was mostly the extent of Harry’s grief. For Harry, having never been that close to Hermione in life, it mostly just felt weird and shocking that he would never see her face or hear her voice ever again.
“What do you reckon happens when we die?” Harry asked Tom one day, as they sat alone on a rock that overlooked the Great Lake.
Tom looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t like to think about it.”
Before Harry could reply, he heard footsteps crunching on the autumn leaves behind them and turned around to see Neville walking towards them, his cloak wrapped around himself for warmth.
“Can I sit with you?” asked Neville.
“Of course!” said Harry, moving aside on the rock to give Neville room to join them. “How are you?”
Neville sighed wearily.
“Morale in Gryffindor’s at rock bottom,” said Neville. “Everyone’s so sad about Hermione dying. We’d all see her every day, and now… It’s really upsetting.”
Harry grimaced, giving Neville a sympathetic squeeze around the shoulders.
“Sorry,” Harry said softly. “I didn’t even know her that well and I’m sad about it. I can’t imagine what it’s like in Gryffindor house.”
“It’s even worse in my dormitory,” admitted Neville, glancing around to make sure no one was around to overhear them. “Ron blames himself for what happened. He’d said something nasty about Hermione earlier on in the day, and she’d heard him. That’s why she was crying in the girls’ toilets when the troll broke in.”
“What?! But he had no way of knowing a troll would break in and find her! It’s not his fault what happened,” said Harry, shocked and appalled that Ron would feel responsible for Hermione’s death.
“Yeah, that’s what we’ve all been trying to tell him,” said Neville. “But he’s really depressed. He cries all through the night and he’s even offered to be expelled to Professor McGonagall. She refused and sent him to Madam Pomfrey for counselling and psychological support instead.”
Harry looked out over the Great Lake, trying to imagine what it must feel like to know that one’s actions accidentally led to such tragic consequences. Ron’s guilt must be enormous, however misplaced it may be.
“Lavender, Parvati and Sally-Anne are really upset too,” continued Neville. “They feel guilty because they knew she was crying in the toilets, but they completely forgot about her when the troll broke in, what with all the panic and stress of the moment. By the time they remembered, it was already too late.”
Neville wiped his face on his cloak.
“Sorry,” he sniffed, looking a little sheepish for having dumped all of this on Harry. “Gryffindor Tower’s just a really grim and depressing place, at the moment.”
Harry gave him a quick hug. He was glad that Neville had felt able to come and talk openly about it with him. It was surely better than keeping it all bottled up inside.
“Listen, you’re welcome to come and hang out with me whenever you want,” said Harry. “If it ever feels overwhelming in Gryffindor Tower, just come and find me. I like spending time with you.”
Neville gave him a grateful smile. It looked as though some of the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Thanks,” Neville said softly.
It was two weeks on from the death of Hermione Granger, and Professor Dumbledore rubbed a weary hand over his face as he sat at his desk in his office, the stress and constant activity of the last two weeks having taken its toll on him. He was not the only one who was exhausted. Professor McGonagall was seated on the other side of the desk, dark bags under her eyes, a large mug of coffee clutched in her hands.
The two professors had seen a lot of one another since the death of Hermione Granger. They had worked together tirelessly to strengthen the castle’s protective wards, adding a new ward specifically to repel trolls, in an attempt to prevent such a tragedy from ever happening again. It had been magically exhausting work, the intricate magic requiring intense concentration for hours at a time, day after day. Neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor McGonagall were particularly young, and so they were feeling the effects of magical exhaustion in their creaking joints and aching muscles.
But that was not all. The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had been bombarding Professor Dumbledore with owls, insisting that they set a date for Hermione’s inquest. It was standard procedure, of course, following the death of a student – but it was not what Professor Dumbledore needed right now; not when he had more pressing matters to attend to, like strengthening the protections around the Philosopher’s Stone.
He was going to ask if the inquest could be postponed until the end of the school year, after the students had sat their exams. It was a valid request, in his opinion. He would explain that it was important he remain at the school at least until the exams were over, to ensure the school ran smoothly, to uphold Hogwarts’ academic excellence. It would also give the Aurors ample time to conduct their investigation, which he knew would likely be a lengthy process.
The Aurors had already started the process of gathering evidence for the inquest. They were currently arranging interviews with Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell, as they were the ones who had found and killed the troll in the girls’ toilets, as well as with Madam Pomfrey, who had tried so valiantly to save Hermione’s life after the attack. Sadly, the girl’s injuries had been unsurvivable.
Knowing the sheer amount of evidential paperwork the Aurors would have to compile, Professor Dumbledore was optimistic that Fudge would agree to push the inquest back to June or July. That should give Professor Dumbledore plenty of time to ensure the protections around the Philosopher’s Stone were impenetrable.
On the other side of the desk, Professor McGonagall dabbed her eyes discreetly. That morning, the two of them had met Hermione Granger’s parents, releasing her body to them in a devastatingly small coffin, expressing their heartfelt condolences on behalf of the entire Hogwarts community. Professor Dumbledore knew that Professor McGonagall, too, must be haunted by that meeting. He knew he would never forget the parents’ anguished, wailing sobs for as long as he would live.
“How are the Gryffindors doing?” Professor Dumbledore asked wearily, knowing the death must have taken a heavy toll on the students.
“They’re understandably very upset,” said Professor McGonagall, wiping away her tears and sitting up straight as she switched to professional mode. “Ron Weasley is receiving intensive psychological counselling from Poppy. I’m also planning on referring Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown for some counselling sessions. Sally-Anne Perks’ parents sent an owl this morning, informing me of their wish to withdraw her from Hogwarts so they can homeschool her instead. They don’t feel it’s safe for her to remain here.”
“Very well,” sighed Professor Dumbledore. “I’ll arrange for the relevant paperwork to be sent over to your office.”
“Also, if I may, I have an update on Harry Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, all traces of her previous tiredness disappearing as she talked.
“What about him?” Professor Dumbledore asked politely.
“I arranged for Poppy to carry out a safeguarding and well-being assessment on him,” said Professor McGonagall. “He is being abused, Albus. He must be taken into care.”
Professor Dumbledore sighed deeply. He had hoped to keep the reason why Harry must stay with the Dursleys a secret, for security purposes, but it seemed Professor McGonagall was not going to back down.
“It’s not that simple,” he explained. “It’s important that Harry lives with his maternal blood relatives. I placed a Bond of Blood Charm on him as a baby. That means that the magic of his mother’s sacrifice will protect him from Voldemort, as long as he considers 4 Privet Drive home.”
“That’s simply not acceptable!” cried Professor McGonagall. “Serious physical and psychological harm are being done to the boy every second he lives in that house! There must be other ways to protect him that don’t involve him living in an abusive household.”
“There’s simply no other practical solution,” said Professor Dumbledore, imploring her to see sense. “The boy needs protection. He’s at high risk from attack by Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself. Without the protection afforded by the Bond of Blood Charm, he would need protection that is equally as powerful. He would need to be in the care of incredibly magically powerful witches or wizards, with combat experience, who would be willing and able to fight and defend him if necessary.”
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but Professor Dumbledore held up his hand, powering on with his point.
“Furthermore, his caregivers would need to be properly vetted to look after children,” he continued, “but they must be able to care for him without being blinded by his fame and spoiling him. They must be available to look after him throughout the entire six-week summer holidays. And they must be willing to put their home under the Fidelius Charm to keep him hidden, meaning they must be willing to accept that no friends or family can visit their home whilst the boy is under their roof.”
Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared dangerously.
“If you know anyone who fits that incredibly niche set of criteria, then of course you’re welcome to direct them to the Ministry of Magic, so that they can apply to take the boy into care,” said Professor Dumbledore, a little more sarcastically than was perhaps strictly necessary. “But they would need to tackle a mountain of paperwork. You know how slow and bureaucratic they are at the Ministry of Magic.”
“But, if such a person existed and were able to jump through all the bureaucratic hoops at the Ministry, you would not oppose it?” said Professor McGonagall, her tone icy. “You would let the boy be released from the care of his abusive relatives?”
Professor Dumbledore gave her a bemused smile.
“Of course, I would not oppose it,” he said – because no such person exists, he added in his head.
Professor McGonagall stood up and held out her hand.
“Do you swear it, on your magic?” she said, a steely look in her eye.
Professor Dumbledore stood up and accepted her handshake. There is no such person, he thought confidently to himself.
“I swear it, on my magic,” he said.
A zap of magic like an electric shock sparked where their hands were joined.
The vow was made.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your amazing reactions to the last chapter! Not to sound like a complete sadist (I’m nice, I swear!), but it was incredibly entertaining for me to see all your lovely variations of “what the hell?!” flooding into my inbox in reaction to the Hermione plot twist at the end ;)
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: There is one incredibly obscure tie-in with canon in this chapter. Sally-Anne Perks is mentioned in the sorting ceremony in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, and then never mentioned again for the rest of the entire book series. I always wondered where she went and why, and I thought that her parents pulling her out of Hogwarts after hearing about Hermione’s death was a neat way of resolving this canon plot hole and explaining her disappearance in the context of this fic.
THOUGHTS: Many of you asked what the consequences of Hermione’s death would be, so I hope this chapter helped to answer that question in a satisfying way. The Aurors are doing their investigation, there will be a formal inquest, and Dumbledore will be expected to explain what happened and what has been done to prevent it from ever happening again in front of the Ministry of Magic. Ron is also feeling incredibly guilty. What are your thoughts and reactions to this chapter? And what did you think about Dumbledore and McGonagall’s conversation and vow at the end?
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the second half of November and will see Tom being a very curious boy and trying to figure out two mysteries that have been niggling at him since the start of term… Any guesses what they might be?
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr, if you fancy saying hello over there <3
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was late November. The days were getting shorter and colder. The lessons were becoming more interesting, now that the first-years had mastered the basics of magic. And, as the school community slowly grew used to the reality of Hermione’s death, a sense of normality gradually began to creep back into their daily lives.
There were still reminders of what had happened, though. Like one day, when Harry and his classmates had just finished a Potions lesson, and were on their way up to the Great Hall for lunch. As they climbed up the steps from the dungeons and walked into the Entrance Hall, they came across around a dozen witches and wizards, carefully inspecting the front doors.
They were adults, but Harry was certain they were not Hogwarts staff members. He had never seen them around the castle before. They were all dressed in identical long red robes with gold trimmings. There was some kind of logo on their left breast pocket, but they were too far away to see what it was.
“Who are they?” Harry asked quietly. “What’s that funny uniform?”
“That’s an Auror’s uniform, that is,” said Susan, peering at them curiously.
One of the Aurors saw them staring and shooed them away. They scurried into the Great Hall, cramming themselves around one end of the Hufflepuff table to continue their conversation.
“What’s an Auror?” asked Justin.
“They’re like the magical version of the police in the wizarding world,” explained Susan. “They investigate crimes involving magic and catch Dark witches and wizards. My Aunt Amelia oversees them. She’s Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“But why are there Aurors looking at the front doors?” said Hannah, puzzled.
“They must be investigating how the troll got in on Halloween,” realised Harry. “It is weird that it was able to enter the castle by itself. Trolls are meant to be really stupid.”
They lapsed into sombre silence, all of them remembering the girl who had met her end that terrible Halloween night. It was only right that the circumstances surrounding her death were being investigated thoroughly. It was what Hermione Granger deserved.
A few days later, it was Friday morning, and whilst his classmates had their weekly Flying lesson, Harry went for his regular independent study session in the library under the supervision of the librarian, Madam Pince.
As usual, Harry set up his books and parchment at one of the tables by the window, before making a start on a long and boring essay about the dragon trade for History of Magic. Tom sat beside him, chipping in and making suggestions on key points to include in his essay to make it better. Harry smiled. He loved this – library time with Tom. It gave him a sense of nostalgia, reminding him of all the times they had hung out at the library at St Grogory’s Primary School, every break and lunch time.
After covering two feet of parchment in cramped writing about the dragon trade in the 18th century, Harry finished his homework, feeling pleased to have got it done and out of the way before the weekend. Realising he still had around 30 minutes left before Madam Pince would let him leave for lunch, he began wandering the aisles. Tom trailed after him, the two of them peering at the many interesting and sometimes bizarre titles of the books on the shelves. Once they were far enough away from Madam Pince that they were out of earshot, Tom spoke.
“I want to do more research into what I am,” said Tom. “I know we tried back in the Muggle world, but things are different now. We have access to books about magic! There must be something on these shelves that holds some clue as to what I am.”
Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully.
“Whatever you are isn’t normal even in the magical world, though,” he pointed out. “The Sorting Hat’s been sorting students for over a thousand years and it said we were the first time it’d come across two people in one head.”
Tom froze, his eyes widening as he gazed off into the distance. Harry could practically see the cogs whirring in his head.
“You’re right…” breathed Tom. “But Harry, you’ve just mentioned something very important: the Sorting Hat.”
“What about it?” said Harry, trying and failing to keep up with Tom’s racing thoughts.
“The fact the Sorting Hat was able to see and hear me is a clue!” said Tom, his face flushed with triumph. “We need to understand how that Hat works! What exactly does it detect, when a student puts it on? Because whatever it’s seeing, that must be what I am!”
Harry’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Tom was right! He was a genius! How had they not thought of that before?
Reinvigorated with a sense of purpose, they marched through the shelves in search of information about the Sorting Hat. After a few minutes, they slowed down.
There were literally thousands of books in the Hogwarts library.
This was going to take a while.
A few days later, it was Sunday evening, and Harry and Justin were relaxing in the Hufflepuff common room in front of the fire, when Justin’s eyes suddenly widened when he caught sight of something on the other side of the room.
“Gosh, are they playing magical chess?” Justin said excitedly.
Harry twisted around to see what Justin was looking at. At one of the little wooden tables, Hannah and Ernie were concentrating on a chessboard between them. As Harry watched with astonishment, one of Hannah’s pieces moved without anyone touching it, clobbering one of Ernie’s pieces across the head and flinging it off the chessboard. Justin leapt to his feet with excitement, making a beeline for Hannah and Ernie.
“Is that magical chess? How does it work?” said Justin, almost vibrating with excitement.
Harry followed, curious about the game. He had never played conventional chess before, let alone the magical version.
“Oh, yeah, this is wizard’s chess,” said Ernie, giving Justin a bemused smile. “It’s the same as the Muggle version, as far as I know, except the pieces move. Watch. Pawn to E7.”
As they watched, Ernie’s pawn marched forwards to square E7, plonking itself down there. Hannah let out a squeal and immediately captured Ernie’s pawn, causing Ernie to pout dramatically.
“Can we watch?” begged Justin.
“Sure,” said Hannah, giggling at his enthusiasm.
Justin pulled up a bench and sat himself down on it, watching the game with an enraptured expression on his face. Harry sat down beside him. Tom settled down on the bench too, looking at the chessboard curiously.
“Do you know the rules?” said Justin.
Harry shook his head.
“I’ve never played before,” he admitted.
“Gosh, really?!” said Justin, sounding shocked. “Oh, it’s such a fun game! I was Captain of Chess Club at my old school!”
And with that, he launched into a complex explanation of the rules, dissecting the different chess pieces and the different ways they were allowed to move around the chessboard. It was all rather overwhelming to Harry, but Tom was listening with rapt attention, nodding along with everything Justin was saying. Harry could immediately tell that Tom was fascinated. Chess must be a game that was right up Tom’s alley, Harry realised, what with its focus on strategy and intelligence.
Once Justin had finished his lengthy explanation, Harry had slightly more of an idea of what was going on – although, if he were being honest with himself, the most fun part of Ernie and Hannah’s game was, in Harry’s opinion, watching the chess pieces move around and hit one another. After about half an hour, Hannah won the game quite decisively, squealing with excitement. Ernie shook her hand politely, before announcing he was going to have a shower and then go to bed.
“Do you want to play, Justin?” smiled Hannah. “I think I can squeeze in another game before bedtime.”
Justin looked as though he had just won the lottery, his face lighting up into one huge grin as he leapt up from the bench and practically ran to take Ernie’s recently vacated chair. Tom leant forwards eagerly, keen to watch a match from start to finish, now that he knew the rules.
Hannah and Justin’s game was more brutal and fast-paced than Hannah and Ernie’s had been. Harry could immediately tell that Justin was a talented and experienced chess player (although he did get told off by the chess pieces once or twice, when he forgot they were magical and tried to move them himself). Justin ended up winning within 20 minutes, and Harry gave both Justin and Hannah a little round of applause as they shook hands.
Wizard’s chess, he decided, was pretty cool.
“What do you think’s behind the forbidden door?” said Tom, one day.
“What?” said Harry, who was buried in maps of the solar system and had been getting frustrated as he attempted to plot Pluto’s orbit for his Astronomy homework.
He pulled his head out of the pile of cosmic maps and tried to shift his concentration to what Tom was saying. His mind swam with residual thoughts of planetary movements and complicated maths.
“The door to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side,” said Tom. “Dumbledore mentioned it at the start-of-term banquet.”
“Yeah, he also mentioned that it’s out of bounds to anyone who doesn’t want to die a very painful death!” said Harry, appalled that Tom would even be thinking about such a terrifying door.
“Yeah, so, what do you reckon is behind there?” Tom said eagerly.
“I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” Harry said firmly, turning his attention back to his Astronomy homework.
Tom did not bring up the door again for another couple of days, and Harry assumed he had moved on from it, until suddenly Tom brought it up when they were walking alone together down towards the greenhouses for Herbology Club.
“Dumbledore must have been exaggerating when he said that corridor was dangerous,” said Tom. “There’s no way they’d actually put something deadly inside a school. That’d be insane!”
Harry glanced around to make sure no one was around to hear them.
“I don’t know. He seemed pretty serious,” said Harry. “There must be some reason why students aren’t allowed.”
“Why don’t we go up there and have a little look?” said Tom.
“What?!” said Harry. “No!”
“Just a little peek through the keyhole!” begged Tom.
“We’re not going to the terrifying death door,” Harry said flatly.
To Harry’s relief, they finally reached the greenhouse, and the conversation between them ended as Harry stepped inside and greeted the other members of Herbology Club.
Tom managed to refrain from bringing it up for a whopping three days after that, but his curiosity could not be contained, and one evening, when Harry was brushing his teeth, he brought it up again.
“Maybe someone did a spell and it went wrong and now the entire corridor’s full of raw, wild magic,” suggested Tom. “Or maybe someone set off a really powerful Dungbomb and now it smells so bad that it’s a health and safety hazard.”
He did not need to specify which corridor he was talking about. Harry groaned around his toothbrush. He knew that Tom could be obsessive. His ability to focus intensely on a goal was one of his key strengths. He just did not know why Tom had to fixate on the blasted corridor of death.
“Why are you so curious about what’s behind that stupid door?” grumbled Harry, keeping his voice low so that the others would not hear them from the dormitory.
“How are you not?” said Tom. “It’s a big, juicy mystery! Don’t you want to solve it? I need to know.”
“Now I understand why the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Ravenclaw,” complained Harry. “We can’t know everything, Tom.”
“Not with that attitude!” Tom retorted.
Harry rubbed a tired hand across his eyes.
“I’m not opening that door,” he said, his tone final.
Tom pouted, but he did not argue. An entire week passed, and Harry breathed out a mental sigh of relief that Tom finally seemed to have dropped the topic of the mysterious door. Everything was blessedly normal. That was until, one day, when Tom suggested they go along a secret passageway that he had spotted behind a tapestry during those two weeks when he and Harry had fallen out and Tom had resorted to walking inside the walls to avoid him.
“I don’t know where it goes, but it looks fun!” Tom said innocently.
Harry could not resist the temptation of a secret passageway, so he snuck behind the tapestry with Tom, and they began walking along the narrow little passage. They came to a rickety flight of wooden stairs and climbed them in single file, finally emerging into a corridor that, according to the signs on some of the doors, seemed to be Ancient Runes classrooms for the upper years.
“That was cool!” said Harry.
“I think the way back to the rest of the school is this way,” said Tom, leading him along the corridor.
After about five minutes, they came to a cavernous stairwell with many criss-crossing staircases, and as Harry’s gaze fell on the forbidden door, he finally realised what Tom was doing. He swung around to face him with a look of shock and disbelief.
“You’re trying to take us to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side!” Harry said furiously.
“What?” said Tom, his eyes widening with exaggerated innocence. “Harry, I would never!”
“Oh my God, you’re the worst,” groaned Harry.
“Although, coincidentally, the door is right there,” said Tom, pointing up the single flight of stairs that separated them from the door that led to the out-of-bounds corridor. “We could just… have a little look?”
“I can’t believe you led us here!” said Harry. “Did you plan this entire thing? You did, didn’t you! You knew that that secret passageway led us to this part of the castle!”
“I had no idea,” insisted Tom, although he could not quite meet Harry’s eyes. “This is just… a happy coincidence.”
“Oh my God, we’re going to get in so much trouble…” said Harry, looking around anxiously.
They were alone, but Harry did not know how long that would last. He did not fancy having to explain to a teacher what he was doing lurking near the forbidden third-floor corridor.
“Well, we’re here now, so we might as well check it out,” said Tom, striding confidently up the stairs towards the forbidden door.
Harry scurried after him, his eyes darting around wildly. They came to a stop outside the door. Tom’s face was alight with feverish curiosity. Harry’s heart pounded.
“I don’t like this!” Harry hissed anxiously. “I don’t want to open the door!”
“You don’t have to open it,” said Tom, trying to sound reassuring. “Just… stand outside, and I’ll walk through the door and take a look at what’s in there.”
After an agonising moment of indecision, Harry nodded, unable to think of any reason to stop Tom from walking through the door and snooping around. Tom did not have a body, after all; it was not as if anything could hurt him. Tom gave a squeal of excitement as Harry finally nodded his consent, giving him a quick hug before marching through the solid door and out of sight.
It was suddenly very quiet without Tom by his side. Harry shuffled anxiously on the spot, his heart beating frantically inside his chest as he kept his eyes peeled for any teachers or Prefects who might be on patrol. He strained his ears to hear what might be happening on the other side of the door, but he could hear nothing, the thick wood not allowing any sound to escape. After about a minute, Harry was starting to feel frantic.
“Hurry up!” he hissed, as loudly as he dared. “You’ve been ages!”
At that moment, Tom came bursting out of the door, almost colliding with Harry in his haste. He grabbed Harry by the arm and began hauling him away from the door as quickly as possible. They ran down a flight of stairs and down several corridors, before Tom finally skidded to a halt, his face flushed with excitement.
“There’s a huge three-headed dog in there!” Tom said triumphantly. “It’s standing on a trapdoor!”
Harry’s eyes widened with shock. Out of everything he had imagined Tom might say, it had not been that.
“What?” said Harry. “Wait, a trapdoor? Why?”
Tom’s eyes shone with excitement, his brilliant mind whirring as the pieces started slotting into place.
“It’s guarding something.”
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter! It was interesting to see all your theories about who Professor McGonagall might have in mind to be Harry’s caregiver! Hearing your thoughts and getting such lovely and encouraging feedback really warms my soul, thank you so much <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: There were two tie-ins with canon in this chapter. Firstly, at the beginning of this chapter, Susan revealed that her Aunt Amelia is Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which is the case in the books. Secondly, the reveal of what’s behind the mystery door! It played out very differently from canon, but Harry now knows what’s behind the door on the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. I hope you enjoyed how it went in his fic!
THOUGHTS: Do you think researching the Sorting Hat will lead them to finding out what Tom is? And what did you think about the boys discovering what’s behind the mysterious door? I’d love to hear your thoughts, feelings and reactions, so please feel free to share them in the comments section below :D
TEASER: The next chapter will take us into December and will see Harry get to celebrate his first Christmas at Hogwarts!
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the username ao3-elle1991. I re-blog beautiful Harry Potter fanart over there, so feel free to check out my blog if that sounds like something you’re interested in :)
Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
For a week, all Harry and Tom could talk about was the three-headed dog and what on earth it could be guarding. With no clues to go on, each guess became more and more fantastical, ranging from the bones of Lord Voldemort, to books of forbidden magical knowledge, to Professor Dumbledore’s record collection. Harry made Tom tell him everything about the room the three-headed dog was living in, in case it provided any hints, but according to Tom, it was just a completely ordinary room, aside from its monstrous canine inhabitant.
One day in early December, Harry was sitting cross-legged on his bed, rummaging about in his school bag for a fresh bottle of ink, when his fingers brushed against some crumpled newspaper at the bottom of his bag. Confused, he pulled it out, recognising it after a moment as the copy of The Daily Prophet he had borrowed from Cedric on his very first day of school. Harry blushed, feeling a little foolish for having kept hold of it for so long. He had got so swept up in the excitement of starting his lessons, he had completely forgotten to give it back to Cedric.
“Is Cedric in the common room?” Harry asked Tom, who was currently practicing the arm movement for the Leg-Locker Curse.
Tom walked through the wall into the common room, returning around ten seconds later, shaking his head.
“No,” he said. “Why?”
Harry held up The Daily Prophet.
“Well, we may as well read it, before giving it back,” said Tom, sitting down on the bed beside Harry and peering over his shoulder.
Harry realised the front page was simply the embarrassing article Hogwarts Shocker: Harry Potter Sorted Into Hufflepuff! and hurriedly opened it to the second page. He was half-way through reading an article about an illegal dragon smuggling ring being busted, when Tom gasped loudly beside him. Harry looked at him in bewilderment.
“What?” said Harry.
“The Gringotts break-in,” breathed Tom. “I completely forgot…”
Harry looked at the article Tom was pointing at. He vaguely remembered reading it back in September.
Gringotts Break-In Latest
Written by Andy Smudgley, Reporter
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown.
Gringotts’ goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
“What about it?” said Harry, not cottoning on as to why Tom was looking so excited.
“The three-headed dog is guarding something, right?” said Tom.
“Yeah…” said Harry.
“What if it’s guarding the thing that someone tried to steal from Gringotts?” said Tom.
Harry’s eyes widened with shock. It made sense. He nodded slowly, his mind absorbing this new information.
“But what could it be?” said Harry.
“I don’t know, but if someone tried to steal it from Gringotts, and now the owner has hidden it behind a massive three-headed dog, it must be really valuable. Or really dangerous. Or both!” said Tom.
Harry did not feel very pleased that it was being hidden in their school.
A week later, Harry was having breakfast with his friends at the Hufflepuff table, when he noticed Professor McGonagall was slowly making her way around all the house tables, holding a quill and a sheet of parchment. What was she up to? He watched her curiously, chewing absent-mindedly on a croissant as she slowly made her way along the Hufflepuff table. Finally, she drew close enough that Harry could hear what she was saying.
“Would anyone like to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays?” she asked, quill at the ready.
Harry’s face immediately lit up with excitement.
“Ooh! Me, please!” he said.
Professor McGonagall stopped beside him and leaned on the table to add Harry’s name to the list of students who would be staying at the castle over Christmas. His was the only name on the list so far, Harry noticed. He supposed the other students all had loving families they must be looking forward to going home to. Harry tugged on Professor McGonagall’s sleeve.
“Do you know if I’ll be able to stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays, too?” he asked hopefully.
On the other side of the Hufflepuff table, Justin frowned.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you any update on that yet,” Professor McGonagall said sympathetically. “But rest assured that plans are in motion. I’ll let you know as soon as I have any news.”
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, before continuing her way down the Hufflepuff table. Harry tried not to feel too disappointed about the lack of movement on his summer living arrangements. Instead, he concentrated on the fuzzy feeling of happiness that was blossoming in his chest. He was going to spend his Christmas holidays at Hogwarts! For the first time in his life, he would get to spend the holidays in a place that felt like home, with no Dursleys around to spoil things and make his life miserable.
The rest of breakfast passed quickly, with Harry listening with amusement to a story Ernie was telling about the time he had once made an angel figurine with unintentionally enormous breasts for a wizarding charity event making Christmas gifts for disadvantaged Muggle children. Justin remained uncharacteristically quiet. After breakfast, the first-years began the long trek to the Charms corridor, when Justin pulled Harry aside into an alcove. Harry blinked up at him in confusion. Justin got straight to the point.
“Why don’t you want to go home to your aunt and uncle?” asked Justin, looking concerned.
Harry blushed. He had not thought about the fact that others may have overheard his conversation with Professor McGonagall. He waved his hand, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, it’s not a big deal,” said Harry.
“Yes, it is!” said Justin. “Your aunt and uncle should be giving you a happy home that you want to go back to!”
“Well,” said Harry, shrugging uncomfortably. “Maybe that’s what home is like for you. Your parents probably love you. It’s not always like that for everyone.”
Justin’s expression was becoming more and more horrified.
“Are you saying your aunt and uncle don’t love you?” said Justin, flabbergasted.
“You have to understand, they never wanted me,” said Harry, becoming increasingly flustered as he tried to justify his situation. “I was just randomly dumped on their doorstep one night. I get why they’re so nasty to me.”
He clapped his hands over his mouth in horror. He had not meant to say the last bit out loud. He did not want the humiliation of Justin knowing just how mistreated he was by the Dursleys. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. This conversation was rapidly spiralling more and more out of control. Justin’s mouth dropped open in shock at Harry’s admission, but he quickly recovered.
“What do they do to you that’s nasty?” asked Justin.
“It doesn’t matter!” Harry said desperately. “Forget I said anything!”
“No,” snapped Justin, his tone uncharacteristically forceful. “Tell me, Harry!”
Harry looked down at the ground. He did not want to see Justin’s reaction. Feeling like the worthless piece of filth the Dursleys constantly reminded him he was, he spoke in a monotone voice.
“They always say how much they hate me,” he said miserably. “Sometimes they beat me. Sometimes they starve me. Pomfrey and McGonagall know, so maybe they’re doing something about it, I don’t know.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Justin launched himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that was so tight it was almost difficult to breathe. Harry stood there in shock, before slowly returning the hug, a confusing mix of emotions churning in his gut and making a lump form in his throat.
“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t have to go back to your horrible family ever again,” Justin said fiercely.
And even though Harry knew, realistically, that there was very little an 11-year-old boy like Justin could do, his heart nevertheless swelled with gratitude, his cheeks suddenly wet as he buried his face in the shoulder of his friend.
Before they knew it, it was the Christmas holidays. Harry watched as his friends packed their bags, gave them all hugs and wished them a happy Christmas, and then they were off to the station to go home on the Hogwarts Express. Suddenly, he and Tom were alone, with the entire castle all to themselves – plus the teachers.
Tom was absolutely delighted. Even though he had warmed to Harry’s friends, it was no secret that Harry was his favourite person, and the prospect of having two whole weeks together where they would be free to talk and interact to their hearts’ content was something he could not hide his happiness about.
They spent their days hanging out in the Hufflepuff common room, exploring the castle, playing in the snow outside, and counting down to Christmas. It was going to be their first Christmas without the Dursleys, and they were both giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to celebrate the special day together without the family’s horrid, looming presence.
After time seemed to drag at a tortuous pace, Christmas Day finally dawned over Hogwarts with flurries of snow. Harry awoke slowly, snuggling sleepily in his warm blankets, before sitting bolt upright with a huge grin on his face as he realised what day it was. He shook Tom awake, the other boy stirring beside him, opening a bleary eye.
“Merry Christmas!” shouted Harry, bouncing on the bed in his excitement.
Tom immediately whooped, sitting up and throwing his arms around Harry in a jubilant hug.
“Happy Christmas, Harry!” said Tom. “Oh, look, you’ve got presents!”
Harry gawped in astonishment at the small pile of presents that were stacked at the bottom of his bed. Never had he ever seen so many gifts addressed to him in his life! At the Dursleys’, he had received just one present per year, usually something insulting like a pair of worn-out socks or a broken pen. He crawled to the bottom of his bed and ran his hands over the small pile of wrapped gifts, a little bubble of happiness swelling in his chest. People had got him presents. People cared about him.
He opened the smallest parcel first, which turned out to be a 50p coin from the Dursleys.
“Nice, maybe one day you can shove it up Uncle Vernon’s nose,” said Tom.
Harry laughed, setting aside the 50p and unwrapping the next present.
It was a nice set of Marks and Spencer pyjamas from Justin, in a dark shade of green that complemented Harry’s eyes. Harry ran his hands over the soft material with delight. He could tell they were of good quality. Justin must have noticed that Harry’s pyjamas were thin and full of holes (they were Dudley’s hand-me-downs) and thought he may appreciate a new pair.
“That’s thoughtful,” Tom said approvingly.
Harry nodded, touched and a little incredulous that anyone would think to buy something nice for him.
“Wow, yeah, they’re really nice,” said Harry, putting them carefully beside his pillow so that he would remember to wear them that night.
The next gift was a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans from Cedric. Harry opened it with delight, picking a bean at random and popping it into his mouth.
“I’ve heard of these!” Harry said excitedly. “Ernie told me about them. They have normal flavours like lemon and strawberry, but also gross flavours like smelly feet and underwear. Urgh, I think that one was bogey-flavoured!”
He swallowed the disgusting bean and pulled a face as Tom laughed himself silly beside him.
The next gift was an incredibly exciting one (in Harry’s opinion, at least) from Neville. The Gryffindor boy had got him a magical colour-changing cactus that changed its hue according to its mood. According to the little note that Neville had included, it liked to be watered once a week, and also enjoyed listening to music.
As Harry placed the little cactus on his bedside table and sang it a medley of Christmas songs that made it turn pink with happiness, he did not notice the final present, which fell to the floor with a soft thump as Harry danced past it and slipped under the bed.
After thoroughly entertaining both the cactus and Tom with his musical antics, Harry flopped back onto his bed, a feeling of joy running through him as he treasured the fact that he had friends; friends who apparently cared so much for him that they would even buy him Christmas presents. It was not something he had ever experienced before. It was a wonderful, warm, loving feeling.
“I wish I could get you a Christmas present, too,” said Tom, sounding a little frustrated.
Harry immediately threw an arm around Tom’s shoulders, not wanting him to feel in any way left out of the moment or inadequate.
“You don’t need to get me a present,” said Harry. “Spending time with you is a gift in itself!”
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he worried that he sounded far too cheesy and soppy, but Tom did not seem to mind at all, instantly perking up, his chest puffing up with pride and obvious happiness.
They spent the morning playing wizard’s chess together in the Hufflepuff common room (Tom made Harry move the pieces on his behalf). Tom absolutely obliterated Harry in every single game, but Harry did not mind, enjoying the simple fact that he got to have as much fun as he wanted with his best friend, without having to worry about anyone overhearing them.
Professor Sprout entered the Hufflepuff common room at about 1pm, to take Harry to the Great Hall to eat with the teachers, as had become the norm over the Christmas holidays. She gave him a huge smile and wished him a happy Christmas. Harry trotted alongside her happily as they made their way up to the Great Hall.
As they entered, Harry took a moment to appreciate the incredible sight of the Great Hall all decked out for Christmas. Twelve enormous Christmas trees were placed around the vast room, covered in baubles, icicles and tiny floating candles. Festoons of mistletoe and holly hung from the walls, and illusory snowflakes fell from the enchanted ceiling, fading into nothing before they could fall on the people below.
The four long house tables were pushed to the edges of the hall, with just one small table in their place, to seat Harry and the teachers. Harry was the only student staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. The first time he had eaten with the teachers, he had found it a little awkward, but he had soon got used to it, finding that he enjoyed listening to their conversations.
As he took his seat next to Professor Sprout and opposite Professor McGonagall and Hagrid the groundskeeper, he stared in amazement at the incredible Christmas dinner that was laid out for them. There were huge roast turkeys, roast potatoes, miniature sausages, peas, roast carrots, cabbage, gravy and cranberry sauce.
There was also an array of colourful Christmas crackers dotted around the table, which he discovered to be magical when he pulled one with Professor Sprout, almost jumping a foot in the air when it exploded with a sound like a cannon and erupted with bright blue smoke. Inside the cracker was a rear-admiral’s hat and several white mice, which scurried away. Professor Sprout let Harry have the hat and he put it on eagerly, surreptitiously showing it off to Tom.
Harry piled a bit of everything onto his plate and then everyone began eating. Harry closed his eyes and moaned as the delicious flavours exploded on his tongue. Never had he ever had such a delectable Christmas dinner. Everything was rich, succulent and cooked to perfection. Flaming Christmas puddings followed the main course, and Harry felt as though he might either burst or sleep for a thousand years as he finished off his food with a happy smile.
As he digested some of his enormous meal, he listened to the various conversations that were happening around him. Professor Flitwick was exchanging Christmas jokes with a chuckling Professor Dumbledore; Madam Pomfrey was discussing dream holiday destinations with Professor McGonagall; Professor Quirrell was stammering nervously as Professor Snape enquired about his plans for the two-week break; and Hagrid the groundskeeper was merrily knocking back glass after glass of red wine, eventually kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, before drunkenly bursting into song.
After several rounds of The Twelve Days of Christmas, Harry bade everyone a happy Christmas and excused himself to go and play outside in the snow. He skipped outside to the school grounds, moving far enough away that his voice would not carry to the castle, before turning to Tom with a sly smirk and a twinkle in his eye.
“Want to have a snowball fight?” said Harry.
“I can’t throw snowballs!” pouted Tom.
“No, but you can dodge,” grinned Harry.
And with that, he scooped up a large ball of snow and hurled it through Tom’s chest. What followed was a riot of running, screeching and giggling as they rampaged through the snow together, Tom ducking and weaving as Harry tried to hit him with snowball after snowball. Finally, they were both too exhausted from playing and laughing to carry on, and they trudged inside to the Hufflepuff dormitories, where Harry warmed himself up with a long, hot shower.
At some point, Professor Sprout must have come to the common room, because when Harry changed into his new pyjamas and headed there for the evening, he found a plate of roast turkey sandwiches and Christmas cake waiting for him by the fire, along with a glass of milk. He ate his food and drank his milk as he relaxed in front of the fire with Tom, his entire body aching with happiness as he reflected on the absolutely perfect day.
“This has been the best Christmas ever,” said Harry.
Tom nodded in agreement, before pulling Harry close so that Harry could rest his head on Tom’s shoulder.
They fell asleep cuddling in front of the fire.
It was several days later, when Harry was showing off how he could toss and catch Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in his mouth, that he accidentally dropped one of the beans on the floor next to his bed. He got down on his hands and knees to grab the sweet, when his gaze fell on an unopened parcel that was poking out from underneath his bed. He pulled it out, realising it must be a Christmas present that he had somehow knocked to the floor without noticing.
“What’s that?” Tom said curiously.
“Must be a Christmas present,” said Harry, turning it over in his hands.
There was no label on the outside to indicate who it was from.
“Well, go on, open it!” said Tom.
Harry tore open the wrapping paper, finding inside a note and a large, fluid, silvery-grey sheet of gleaming fabric. He read the note first, going very still as the words sank in.
Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
A very merry Christmas to you.
He stared at the note and then the fabric, running his hands over it tentatively. Had this really belonged to his father? He knew very little about his parents, other than what Professor McGonagall had told him, when she had come to visit him at Privet Drive over the summer. He certainly did not own any heirlooms that had belonged to them – until now. It felt very strange – in a sad, raw, vulnerable kind of way – to touch something that his father had once touched.
“What is it?” asked Tom, staring curiously at the fabric, apparently unaffected by the note and the knowledge it had once belonged to Harry’s father.
Harry shook himself out of his reverie, standing up to unfold the sheet of fabric. It really was quite huge, although it was made out of extremely lightweight and slippery material.
“A blanket, maybe?” said Harry, before changing his mind. “No. A cloak?”
“Well, put it on, let’s see how you look!” said Tom.
Harry threw it over his shoulders, wrapping it around his body.
Tom screamed.
Harry almost dropped the cloak in shock.
“What?!” said Harry, alarmed.
“Your body’s gone!” shrieked Tom, jumping up and running over to him.
Harry looked down, his mouth dropping open in shock as he saw nothing but empty space where his body should have been. He quickly took off the cloak, breathing a sigh of relief when his body reappeared. Then, experimentally, he draped the fabric over one arm, watching with amazement as that arm disappeared from view.
“The cloak makes you invisible!” breathed Tom, his eyes bright with fascination and excitement.
“An invisibility cloak,” said Harry, a feeling of excitement building up in his stomach as he threw the cloak over his head and walked over to the mirror, only to see empty space reflecting back at him. “This is weird.”
“We can use it to sneak around!” said Tom, sounding thrilled at the prospect.
“We’re not going back to that forbidden door!” said Harry, suddenly a little suspicious of Tom’s motives.
Tom pouted, looking offended.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that, actually,” said Tom. “I just think it’ll be fun to explore the castle!”
For the rest of the day, they whispered excitedly, plotting and scheming about all the cool things they wanted to do, without having to worry about any adults catching Harry and asking what he was up to. There was a hallway full of suits of armour that were rumoured to walk around at night. There was a legendary painting on the seventh floor that apparently portrayed a group of naked people doing extremely rude things to one another. There was even a classroom that supposedly housed a unicorn, although Harry suspected that story might have been made up by some second-years.
By the time it was bedtime, Harry and Tom were both buzzing with excitement. They had decided to use the cloak for the first time tonight. There was something incredibly tempting about the idea of sneaking around after curfew, with the knowledge that they could never be caught. Once they felt it was late enough to start their adventure, Harry pulled on a pair of slippers and threw the cloak over his head. Tom gripped his hand through the fabric, so that he would not lose Harry when he started walking.
After crawling through the barrel and leaving the Hufflepuff common room, Harry straightened up, made sure no part of himself was poking out from under the cloak, and they made their way up a spiral staircase and began walking through the moonlit corridors. They were practically vibrating with excitement, intoxicated by the thrill of secretly breaking the rules.
They decided first to head to the seventh floor, to check out the rude painting that Harry had heard some of the older students talking about. They found it after about half an hour, hidden behind a strategically placed suit of armour. They both giggled and jostled with one another as they gawked at the nude people in the painting and what they were doing to one another, delighted and entertained by the outrageousness of it all.
Next, they wandered aimlessly, heading down several flights of stairs and poking their heads into various rooms in search of anything particularly interesting or exciting. They were just pondering whether they should do something scandalous like take a peek into a teacher’s private quarters, when a loud meow from behind them made them jump. They turned quickly to find Mrs Norris, Filch the caretaker’s cat, staring at them.
“Reckon the cloak works on cats?” Harry said nervously.
“Let’s not find out. Wherever Mrs Norris is, Filch is never far behind. We should get back to the dormitory!” said Tom.
With that, they fled, running through the corridors, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Mrs Norris (and more importantly, her master, Filch). The trouble with rushing around in the darkness, however, was that they ended up horrendously disorientated, realising after several heart-pumping minutes that they were hopelessly lost.
“Let’s go and look out of a window,” said Tom, pulling Harry through an open door into what looked like a disused classroom. “That’ll help us figure out where we are.”
They went over to one of the windows, peering out into the moonlit night to try to orient themselves and discern whereabouts they were. After working out they were somewhere on the west side of the castle, they turned around to head back out into the corridor, when Harry’s attention was caught by a huge mirror that was standing in the corner of the room. It was almost as tall as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame and two clawed feet.
Harry walked over to it and pulled the cloak down to his shoulders, eager to see himself as a floating head. But what he saw was most confusing indeed. Instead of seeing himself as a floating head, he could see his entire body as normal. Tom was beside him, but there was something different about him, something odd that Harry could not quite put his finger on. It took him several minutes to work it out, and when he did, he gasped with astonishment.
“Your glow is gone!” said Harry.
“What?” said Tom, confused.
“The glow around your body!” said Harry, gesturing wildly. “It’s not there, in the mirror!”
Beside him, Tom looked intently into the mirror, his eyes widening in shock at what he saw.
“You’re right! I… I look solid. I look real,” breathed Tom. “Harry, do you think this mirror can give me a body?!”
His voice was strained with a desperate sense of longing that Harry could not remember ever hearing before. Tom walked right up to the mirror, placing his hand on the glass, as if he could somehow swap places with his mirror self, with no ethereal glow around his edges to mark him out as different. In the mirror, he looked like a normal boy, one with a body; ordinary.
“I don’t know,” Harry said wistfully.
At Tom’s insistence, they went back to the mirror several nights later. It took them a while to find the right classroom, since it was not in a part of the castle they were overly familiar with, plus all the corridors tended to look the same in the dark. But, after over an hour of wandering around under the invisibility cloak, they finally found the disused classroom, making a beeline straight for the mirror. Tom had been talking about it non-stop ever since they had first found it.
“The mirror’s obviously magical in some way,” said Tom. “We need to understand how it works.”
They began by examining every inch of the mirror that they could. Harry ran his hands over the frame, looking for clues. Tom joined in, before quickly noticing an inscription across the top of the mirror that they had missed on their first visit.
“Look!” Tom said suddenly, pointing at the words that were carved into the ornate gold frame. “Up there!”
Harry squinted to read it, craning his neck upwards:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
“What does it mean?” Harry wondered out loud.
Tom stared at the words for a long while, his mind whirring, before he finally let out a triumphant ha!
“I show not your face but your heart’s desire!” said Tom.
“How on earth do you know that?” said Harry, astonished.
“It’s spelt backwards,” said Tom, a smug expression on his face.
Harry looked again at the inscription, seeing that Tom was indeed correct.
“So, if it just shows us our heart’s desire…” Harry said slowly, starting to feel a little disappointed, “does that mean it can’t actually make stuff come true?”
“A very good question, Mr Potter,” came a voice from behind them.
Harry and Tom both screamed as they whirled around. Tom jumped in front of Harry protectively, even though he could not do anything physically to stop any assailant. Harry felt his stomach drop with dread as he stared up at the old, wizened face of Professor Dumbledore. Harry tried desperately to think up some plausible excuse to explain to the headmaster what he was doing out of bed after curfew, but his mind remained stubbornly blank. Professor Dumbledore chuckled gently, not appearing angry in the slightest that Harry was currently breaking an important school rule in front of him.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Professor Dumbledore.
“I’m sorry! I know I’m not meant to be here! I–” stammered Harry, horrifying thoughts of detention or expulsion running wild in his imagination.
“Being curious is not a crime, Harry,” said Professor Dumbledore gently. “You’re not in any trouble. Indeed, if I may exercise a little curiosity of my own: what is it that you see, when you look into the Mirror of Erised?”
Harry averted his gaze, not knowing how to answer in a way that would not make him seem unhinged. Then, he remembered The Daily Prophet’s article about the tragedy of his madness and the fact he had an invisible friend and realised that Professor Dumbledore almost certainly already knew the worst of it. Sensing that honesty was the best policy, Harry answered.
“I… I see Tom… I mean, my best friend… my invisible friend… with a body,” said Harry.
Professor Dumbledore gave him a piercing look.
“Could you describe this Tom to me?” he said.
Harry blinked with surprise. It had not been the follow-up question he had been expecting.
“Oh, erm, he’s really nice. He’s very protective of me. He looks after me. And he’s really clever too,” said Harry, not entirely sure what kind of details Professor Dumbledore was expecting.
“I see. Has he ever tried to harm you? Or done anything that’s ever made you frightened of him?” said Professor Dumbledore, still looking at him closely.
Harry shook his head immediately. Even when he and Tom had fallen out for those two weeks in October, he had never once felt in any danger from Tom. Tom was Harry’s greatest defender. He would never hurt Harry. It was inconceivable.
“Never,” Harry said firmly.
Professor Dumbledore seemed to relax.
“Very good,” he said. “Now, this mirror. As you correctly worked out, it reflects the deepest, most desperate desires of the person looking into it. But know this: this mirror provides neither knowledge nor truth. People have wasted away before it, even gone mad.”
Harry glanced over surreptitiously towards Tom, glad to see that the other boy looked just as disturbed and horrified by this information as Harry felt. What on earth was such a dark and powerful magical object doing in a school?! Some of Harry’s thoughts must have shown on his face, because Professor Dumbledore chuckled.
“You may therefore be pleased to know that tomorrow, the mirror will be moved to a new home,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I trust that I don’t need to tell you not to go looking for it again?”
Harry shook his head. Any desire to further investigate the mirror had died when Professor Dumbledore had said it did not provide knowledge or truth. It would not show them how to give Tom a body. More likely, they would be driven mad. Harry shivered.
“No, sir,” he said.
“Very good,” smiled Professor Dumbledore. “Now, why don’t you pop that wonderful cloak back on and go back to bed?”
Throwing the invisibility cloak over his shoulders, Harry rushed back to the Hufflepuff quarters, keen to get out of there before Professor Dumbledore could come to his senses and give Harry detention.
Long after Harry had gone, Professor Dumbledore remained in the disused classroom, sitting down heavily on one of the chairs as he pondered the Harry problem.
Ever since Harry Potter had first arrived at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore had been feeling increasingly uneasy. This was not the boy he had been expecting. This was not the Chosen One who he had imagined from Sybill Trelawney’s prophecy. According to the prophecy, Harry was supposed to be the one who would save the wizarding world and defeat Voldemort once and for all. He was destined to be a hero, fated to be a lionheart.
To that end, Professor Dumbledore had sent Harry to live with the Dursleys, hoping that his time in their care would shape his character into that of a hero. He had known that the Dursleys would be hard on Harry. That was the entire point. Harry was supposed to become a strong, tough, courageous warrior. And warriors were forged through challenge and hardship, not through coddling them and smothering them with love.
But something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of being strong and tough, Harry was soft and gentle. Instead of being sorted into Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat had placed the boy in Hufflepuff, of all places. Instead of being brave and warrior-like, Harry was too scared to even get on a broom. It was a disaster.
Professor Dumbledore had been keeping a close eye on Harry throughout his first term. Once, he had spied the boy outside the door to the forbidden third-floor corridor, and his heart had leapt with hope. He had silently, desperately urged Harry to open the door and take a peek inside, to prove his bravery. He had only placed a simple lock on the door, one that could easily be opened by a first-year’s Alohomora, but Harry had not even tried. The boy had simply stood outside the door for a couple of minutes, muttering to himself occasionally, and then ran away!
The boy seemed mentally unstable. He was constantly muttering to himself – or, perhaps, to his imaginary friend. And that was another thing: to have an imaginary friend, at the age of 11; it was simply preposterous. Even worse, Harry’s heart’s desire was for his imaginary friend to be real. It was worrying. This was not the behaviour of a hero. This was the behaviour of an unstable and damaged child.
Professor Dumbledore pondered briefly on the fact Harry’s imaginary friend was named Tom. He could not deny that it unnerved him that Harry’s imaginary friend shared the same first name as Lord Voldemort. It was why he had asked Harry to describe his Tom to him. He had wanted to see if this imaginary Tom sounded in any way like Tom Riddle. Harry’s answers had soothed his fears somewhat. Harry had described his Tom as kind and protective, of never doing anything that hurt or frightened Harry. Harry’s Tom sounded like a harmless and benevolent force; nothing like Tom Riddle.
Besides, thought Professor Dumbledore, feeling a little happier, there was also the fact that Harry’s Tom referred to himself as Tom at all. If Voldemort were somehow talking to Harry by projecting a version of himself into Harry’s consciousness, there was no way he would use the name Tom. The name was a reminder of his Muggle father. Voldemort hated his Muggle ancestry. He had given himself the moniker of Lord Voldemort precisely because he considered the name Tom to be too Muggle, too common, too ordinary.
No, the fact Harry’s imaginary friend was called Tom must simply be a coincidence. Tom was a very common name, after all, particularly in the Muggle world where Harry had been raised. Most likely, the abuse and neglect that the Dursleys had inflicted on Harry had simply been too much for the boy’s psyche to handle, and he had therefore invented an imaginary boy who could be his friend and given him a random, popular name: Tom.
It was tragic for Harry, but worse, it was catastrophic for the wizarding world. If Harry’s mind had cracked like an egg thanks to the abuse, then he was not the Chosen One he had been fated to be. The wizarding world was without a saviour. That terrifying thought had given Professor Dumbledore many sleepless nights, because he sensed, somehow, that Voldemort was still out there. He was almost certain that Voldemort was the one behind the failed attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from Gringotts, and knowing Voldemort’s tenacity, he would no doubt try again.
He hoped, desperately, that the defences at Hogwarts would be enough.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your kind comments and kudos on the last chapter! It blows me away how much you guys are enjoying this and it’s a joy to share this story with you <3
TIE-INS WITH CANON: Readers of the books may recognise the Christmas decorations, the Christmas dinner and the Christmas crackers in this fic. It was fun to tie in these little details from canon to make this story really feel part of that world!
DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: In the books, the Weasley siblings stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays because their parents are away visiting Charlie Weasley in Romania, but in this fic, what with the trauma Ron has been through following the death of Hermione, I strongly believe the Weasley parents would prioritise Ron’s wellbeing and have the family all come home for the holidays so he can be supported by them.
FORESHADOWING: Eagle-eyed readers may have spotted in chapter 9 of this fic that Harry accidentally slipped Cedric’s copy of The Daily Prophet into his bag and then forgot about it. Well done if you spotted this incredibly brief and subtle moment of foreshadowing and wondered if we’d be seeing that newspaper again!
THOUGHTS: What did you think of Harry and Tom’s first Christmas at Hogwarts? And what did you think of what they saw in the Mirror of Erised? In the books, Harry sees his family in the mirror, but in this fic, I changed that to him seeing Tom as a normal boy with a solid body. His heart’s desire is for Tom to be real and to be able to interact with the world like everyone else. Please let me know your thoughts on these changes and what you enjoyed the most!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover January and will see the rest of the students come back to school after the Christmas holidays. Expect some more wholesome Justin moments!
TUMBLR: Feel free to check out my Tumblr at ao3-elle1991 if you fancy checking out the awesome Harry Potter fanart that I re-blog over there :)
Chapter 16
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Before they knew it, the Christmas holidays were over, and Hogwarts was once again bustling with the chatter and excitement of hundreds of children. Harry greeted his friends enthusiastically as they returned, his heart soaring with joy at being reunited, even though it had only been two weeks since he had last seen them.
Justin greeted him with a hug and a huge smile, before looking around surreptitiously and pulling him aside to the edge of the Hufflepuff common room, so that they could speak privately. Harry followed him curiously. Justin had a look of great excitement on his face.
“I’ve been doing some research,” said Justin, in a hushed voice, “about how we can make sure you never have to go back to your aunt and uncle’s house ever again!”
Harry’s eyes widened with surprise.
“What kind of research?” he asked.
“Do you remember me saying that my mum is a human rights lawyer?” said Justin.
Harry nodded. He vaguely remembered Justin talking about his parents and their occupations on their first day of school, when they had travelled up to Scotland on the Hogwarts Express together.
“Well, I asked her if it would be against someone’s human rights, if they were forced to live in a place where they got beaten and starved,” said Justin, before seeing the look of alarm on Harry’s face and rushing to reassure him. “Don’t worry! I kept it super-vague. She doesn’t know I was asking about you. I pretended it was all hypothetical.”
“OK, good,” said Harry, relieved.
“Anyway, she said that that is against a person’s human rights!” said Justin. “It could count as torture, which is illegal under the European Convention on Human Rights!”
At this, Justin pulled out a folded sheet of A4 paper from his pocket, unfolding it so that Harry could see the notes that Justin had hastily scribbled down in blue biro.
“I snuck into her study one day, to do some more research on this European Convention on Human Rights,” said Justin. “And look! Section 1, Article 3: The prohibition of torture: No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. Starving and beating you surely has to count! We can use this law in our fight to make sure you don’t get sent back to your aunt and uncle!”
Harry took the sheet of paper from Justin, feeling a little dazed and overwhelmed that anyone would do such research and digging into human rights law for him.
“Wait… we? Our fight?” said Harry, after a moment.
“Of course!” said Justin, as if it were obvious. “You didn’t think you were alone in this, did you? Of course I’ll fight with you! We have to make sure that you don’t get sent back there. It’s against your human rights!”
Harry swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.
Using the European Convention on Human Rights to get away from the Dursleys felt a little like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, but right now, with the swell of gratitude warming his heart, he could not care less.
When Harry first saw Neville, a few days later, he immediately went over to thank him for the colour-changing cactus the Gryffindor boy had given him for Christmas. Neville seemed happy that Harry was enjoying his new “pet”, listening eagerly as Harry gave him updates on the various colours it had changed into and the different types of music it seemed to enjoy listening to the most.
“Anyway, how was your Christmas?” said Harry, after he had finished geeking out about the magical plant.
“It was OK,” shrugged Neville. “Gran made a nice Christmas dinner. She said she’s pleased at how well I’m doing in Herbology. She just wishes I could do as well in all my other classes.”
From what Harry had heard about Neville’s grandmother, he thought she sounded rather strict.
Neville looked around to make sure no one else was listening, before leaning in to talk quietly to Harry.
“We went to visit my parents, at St Mungo’s Hospital,” whispered Neville.
Harry remembered how Neville’s parents had been tortured into madness by Voldemort’s followers. St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was now their permanent home. His heart clenched at the thought of Neville having to see them in such a state.
“How did it go?” Harry asked softly.
“They didn’t recognise me. But it was still… nice to see them,” said Neville. “Mum gave me an empty gum wrapper. I think it was her version of a Christmas present.”
He stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled gum wrapper and holding it gently.
“She doesn’t remember me, but she still loves me,” said Neville, a tentative little smile curving his lips. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
Harry stared down at the wrinkled gum wrapper, pondering how remarkable it was that Neville’s mother still loved her son – loved him enough to give him a Christmas present – even if she did not truly understand who he was or what was happening in the world around her.
Her love for her son was stronger than memory; stronger than sanity.
Love must be an incredibly powerful thing indeed.
Ever since November, when Tom had realised that the Sorting Hat may hold the key to unlocking the mystery of his condition, Harry and Tom had spent hours in the library scouring books for information about what the Sorting Hat was and how exactly it worked.
Over the last few months, they had read through dozens of books about the history of Hogwarts and famous magical artefacts. But by late January, much to their frustration, they were still no closer to having any answers. There did not seem to be any written record of the Sorting Hat anywhere!
One day, whilst Harry’s classmates had their Flying lesson and Harry had his mandated study session in the library under the supervision of Madam Pince, Harry suggested that this could be due to the secret nature of the sorting ceremony. Tom reluctantly agreed that this was the most likely explanation.
“We’ll just have to ask a teacher,” said Tom. “There’s no other option.”
And so Harry made his way to Madam Pince’s desk, Tom going with him to provide moral support and encouragement. Harry was reminded of the time they had gone to ask Lilian, the librarian at St Grogory’s Primary School, what a predator was. Harry cleared his throat, putting on a charming smile when Madam Pince looked up at him quizzically.
“Hello, Miss,” said Harry. “I was wondering if you know how the Sorting Hat works?”
“How it works?” frowned Madam Pince, in a tone of voice that suggested she thought Harry might be rather stupid. “Students put the Sorting Hat on their head, and then it decides which house is most suitable for that child’s personality. You can’t have forgotten, surely? You were sorted only four months ago!”
Harry blushed.
“I know, Miss, but how exactly does it work?” he said, repeating the words that Tom was muttering in his ear. “What’s it detecting, when it looks into our heads? Does it read our mind? Our brain? Our magical essence? What’s it doing, in terms of magical theory?”
Madam Pince looked incredibly impressed by his question.
“Oh, I see!” she said, looking at Harry in a whole new light. “That’s a very intelligent question, Harry. My apologies. Usually, I wouldn’t expect such an inspired question about magical theory until a student was at least a fifth-year.”
Tom, whose question it had actually been, puffed up with pride.
“I’m afraid I don’t actually know,” said Madam Pince. “But I’ll ask my colleagues. It’s possible that Professor Binns may have an idea, being a scholar in the History of Magic. Or failing that, Professor Flitwick or Professor Dumbledore. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an answer.”
Harry thanked her and went back to his table, quickly constructing a pile of books to hide behind, so that he could whisper to Tom.
“And now we wait,” said Tom.
“And now we wait,” agreed Harry.
Soon, January was coming to an end, and one weekend, Harry, Justin and Neville were hanging out together to socialise and relax. Much to Harry’s joy, Justin and Neville had become firm friends, with Justin’s outgoing extroversion quickly coaxing Neville out of his shell. And, since Justin and Neville were the two people who had been entrusted with the secret that Tom was real, when they were alone as a trio, it meant that Harry could openly bring Tom into the conversation too, something that brought Tom great pleasure.
On this particular Saturday, they had just finished a round of Gobstones, when Neville’s face lit up with an idea.
“Do you know about the staircase that turns into a slide if you ask nicely?” said Neville.
“No!” said Harry, Tom and Justin in unison, each of them sounding equally intrigued.
“It’s near the Gryffindor common room! All the Gryffindors know about it,” said Neville, getting to his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
With that, he led them through a maze of corridors, going up several flights of stairs that Harry was not familiar with, but that he had often seen the Gryffindors disappearing up at the end of the day. He wondered curiously where exactly the Gryffindor common room was and what it looked like, although he doubted Neville would be allowed to tell them. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that students were not supposed to go into the other houses’ common rooms.
Neville led them down a short little corridor that ended with a flight of stairs that did not seem to go anywhere. They walked up this staircase, stopping at the top, facing a solid wall. Neville turned back around to look down the flight of stairs.
“I found this place when I got lost looking for the Gryffindor common room one time,” Neville admitted sheepishly, before smiling at the staircase. “Could you turn into a slide for me and my friends, please?”
Harry, Tom and Justin watched in astonishment as the stone steps transformed into a gently undulating slide with a smooth, slippery surface. Neville sat down and squealed as he slid down, the others quickly following him. Once all the boys had made it to the bottom, the slide turned back into a flight of stairs.
“If you ask it nicely, it can do it over and over again,” grinned Neville. “It even changes its shape each time it turns into a slide, to make it more fun! Fancy doing it again?”
“Yeah!” said Tom.
“Tom says yes! I want to, too,” said Harry, making Tom beam.
“Absolutely!” Justin said eagerly.
“Let’s go, then!” said Neville, leading everyone back up the flight of stairs and asking politely if it would mind becoming a slide again.
The boys spent the next several hours having the most rambunctious fun, laughing and whooping in delight as the staircase transformed itself into a huge range of different slides: wide, gentle ones; steep, exciting ones; ones with lots of twists and turns; and ones that seemed to magically bend the laws of physics themselves.
By the time the flight of stairs finally decided it had had enough and politely ended the session by transforming itself into a brick wall, the boys were worn out and ready for dinner, trooping down together to the Great Hall.
It was as if a warm ball of happiness was expanding in Harry’s chest and making his whole body feel fuzzy.
At that moment, he did not care about his neglected History of Magic homework, or the fact something dangerous and mysterious was being guarded by a monstrous three-headed dog in the school, or the fact Zacharias had started holding his nose whenever Harry walked past in a clear insinuation that he stank.
At that moment, flooded with endorphins from the hours spent playing on a magical slide with his friends, Harry realised for the first time that this must be what a happy childhood felt like – and he was finally getting to experience it.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much to everyone who left such kind comments and kudos on the last chapter! I’m thrilled to have each and every one of you on this journey :)
FANART: gonnadieoneday has drawn this lovely fanart of Harry and Tom reading in the Hogwarts library! I think it’s absolutely adorable! Thank you so much, gonnadieoneday <3
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a short and sweet one, focusing mainly on Harry’s friendships and general life at Hogwarts. Did you have any favourite bits? Please let me know your thoughts, feelings and reactions in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will be a bit more plot focused, with Harry and Tom hatching a plan to find out what the three-headed could be guarding, and a McGonagall POV scene…
TUMBLR: If you’re on Tumblr and fancy connecting over there, feel free to check out my page, which is ao3-elle1991! Until next time, take care!
Chapter 17
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
February brought with it a great deal of excitement for the upcoming Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor Quidditch match.
The Hufflepuff team had been practicing hard, if the regularity with which they came trudging back into the common room all sweaty and windswept was anything to go by. Harry and Justin were partaking in some good-natured banter with Neville over which of their houses would win. Harry had never seen the Gryffindor team play, but he had heard they had a very strong trio of Chasers, meaning that Hufflepuff’s best chance of winning sat squarely on Cedric’s shoulders, who, as Seeker, could earn them 150 points if he caught the Snitch.
On the morning of the match, Harry saw Cedric having breakfast with the rest of the Quidditch team at the Hufflepuff table and bounced over to him.
“Good luck, today!” said Harry.
Cedric looked up from his porridge with a smile.
“Thanks, Harry,” he said. “Will you and your first-year friends be coming to watch and cheer us on?”
“Of course!” Harry said enthusiastically.
It had been all the first-year boys had talked about in their dormitory the night before. They were all hyped to see the Hufflepuff team in action. Even Zacharias had excitedly joined in the conversation, forgoing his usual policy of ignoring any group that contained Harry in it.
After giving the entire Hufflepuff team high-fives, Harry sat down opposite Justin to wolf down some breakfast, as the two of them soaked in the electric atmosphere around them. The entire Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables were both particularly lively, with banners and hats and scarves adorned with the house colours and logos scattered around everywhere. Even the Ravenclaws and Slytherins were enlivened, since the result of this game would have ramifications for the Quidditch table as a whole.
Once breakfast was over, Harry wrapped himself up in his winter cloak, Hufflepuff hat and Hufflepuff scarf, and made his way down to the stands with his friends. As they climbed the stairs that led up to the viewing platforms, Harry grew more and more excited. It felt as though the entire school had come to watch the match! Soon, he was taking his seat between Justin and Susan, bouncing his knees with anticipation as he watched the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor teams gather on the pitch below with Madam Hooch.
They mounted their brooms.
The starting whistle blew – and then they were off!
Harry gasped with excitement as the two teams soared into the air. The Hufflepuff team were clad in yellow; the Gryffindor team in red. They immediately burst into action, Gryffindor seizing the Quaffle and bombing it down towards the goal hoops. Commentary boomed through the stands, even though Harry could not see any speakers or electrical equipment, remembering after a moment that it must be powered by magic.
“Here we go! Welcome back, everyone, to the first Quidditch match of the term! Gryffindor’s Angelina Johnson immediately takes possession of the Quaffle. Very attractive girl, she is; very attractive, indeed. I might ask her out to the next Hogsmeade weekend, if–”
“Lee Jordan! Concentrate on the game!” barked a familiar Scottish voice.
“Right! Sorry, Professor McGonagall! Angelina Johnson passes to Katie Bell. Back to Johnson – who swerves around the Hufflepuff Keeper Herbert Fleet. GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”
Cheers erupted in the Gryffindor stands, whilst Harry and his friends groaned on the Hufflepuff platform.
“Heidi Macavoy of Hufflepuff takes possession of the Quaffle. Very light and speedy, that girl is. Making good ground there. Ouch! Hit in the back by a Bludger! Good work there from Fred or George Weasley, hard to tell which one, from this far away. Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor takes possession and OH! What a goal! Gryffindor lead Hufflepuff 20 to 0!”
“COME ON, HUFFLEPUFF!” bellowed Susan, shocking and impressing everyone around her that such a small girl could make such an enormous amount of noise. “HUFFLEPUFF! HUFFLEPUFF! HUFFLEPUFF!”
Harry and his friends joined in with Susan’s chant, with the entire house quickly cottoning on and taking part. Still, it took an entire half an hour before Hufflepuff finally managed to wrestle possession of the Quaffle away from the Gryffindor Chasers.
“Tamsin Applebee of Hufflepuff snatches the Quaffle out of Katie Bell’s hands, my God! Passes to Heidi Macavoy, who passes to Malcolm Preece. Will he get past Gryffindor’s Keeper, Oliver Wood? He’s going for the right hoop – OH! What a skilful bit of misdirection! Malcolm Preece scores for Hufflepuff! Gryffindor are leading 80 to 10!”
The Hufflepuff stand erupted into cheers, celebrating Hufflepuff’s first goal of the game. Malcolm Preece did a lap of the pitch, punching the air in jubilation. Harry whooped and hollered with the rest of his house, before gasping when he saw Cedric suddenly plunge towards the ground in a blur of yellow, his arm outstretched in front of him. Harry spotted a glint of gold near the ground. He jumped up onto his seat, screaming with excitement.
“Come on, Cedric! Yes! Come on!” shouted Harry.
“Look at that! Hufflepuff’s Cedric Diggory dives for the Snitch,” said commentator Lee Jordan. “These types of dives can be quite dangerous. Diggory’s very close to the ground now. HE’S GOT IT! Cedric Diggory catches the Snitch! Hufflepuff wins 160 to 80!”
The rest of Lee Jordan’s commentary was drowned out by the screams of happiness erupting from the Hufflepuff stands. Susan roared and hugged everyone within reach. Justin applauded enthusiastically. Harry could not stop punching the air in victory, whooping until his throat was sore.
That evening, the celebrations in the Hufflepuff common room went on for hours.
A few days later, Harry turned up at the library for his usual weekly study session, whilst his classmates had their Flying lesson. Madam Pince saw him enter the library and gestured for him to come over to her desk. She had a rare smile on her face.
“Good morning, Madam Pince,” Harry said politely.
“Good morning, Harry,” she said. “I have some good news for you. Professor Dumbledore was able to provide some answers regarding the Sorting Hat.”
Tom, who had been wandering off to peruse a nearby bookshelf, was back at Harry’s side in an instant. He leant forwards in anticipation, unable to hold back his desperate thirst for answers.
“You asked about the magical theory that underpins the Sorting Hat. Well, I asked Professor Dumbledore precisely how the Sorting Hat works and what exactly it detects within a student when it makes its decision about which house they should be sorted into,” said Madam Pince. “He consulted the Sorting Hat itself and was able to get the answers straight from the Hat’s mouth!”
Harry’s heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Tom looked as though he might either explode or faint. This was it. This was what they had been waiting for, all their lives. For years, they had yearned to know what Tom was. Now, the answer was so close they could almost taste it.
“What did he say?” said Harry, trying to control the tremble in his voice.
“The Sorting Hat is able to see into students’ heads using an advanced type of magic called Legilimency,” explained Madam Pince. “This is sometimes colloquially known as mind reading, but the Sorting Hat itself apparently wanted to make it very clear that it is not exactly a student’s mind that it reads. It is their soul.”
Tom was staring at Madam Pince unblinkingly, his eyes wide as he paid rapt attention. He was not moving a single muscle. Harry was not sure if he was even daring to breathe.
“The Sorting Hat detects people’s souls?” said Harry, wanting to make sure he was understanding correctly.
“That’s what the Sorting Hat said,” said Madam Pince. “It was very clear on that point. Souls. It detects souls.”
“And… is it possible for a person to be born with a soul, but not a body?” asked Harry.
His heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid Madam Pince might hear it.
“Soul magic is a very ancient and poorly understood branch of magic,” Madam Pince said cautiously. “That said, no, I’ve never heard of a soul existing without a body – except for ghosts, of course. Ghosts are the souls of people who have chosen to remain in the world of the living after their body has died. But no, I’ve never heard of a baby being born as a soul without a body.”
Harry thanked her for the information, before disappearing into the bookshelves to go to the very back of the library, where he and Tom would be able to speak in private. After choosing the most secluded table and making sure that there were no other students around who could overhear them, Harry turned to Tom, who had followed with a conflicted expression on his face.
“How are you feeling?” asked Harry, concerned.
“We still don’t know why I am the way I am,” said Tom, sounding disappointed.
“No, but at least we finally know what you are!” said Harry.
All their lives, they had wondered. Over the years, they had come up with so many theories as to what Tom could be: a mind, a ghost, a poltergeist, a supernatural being. Now, finally, they knew. Tom was a soul. A soul without a body. Why was still a mystery, but at least now they knew what he was.
“I’m… a soul…” Tom said slowly, as if testing out how the word felt in his mouth. And then, more confidently, his face beginning to light up with wonder: “I’m a soul.”
Solving the mystery of what Tom was, seemed to ignite in Tom the itch to solve another puzzle, because his attention quickly zeroed in on the three-headed dog and the mystery of what it could possibly be guarding.
“It’s our right to know!” said Tom, trying to sound reasonable. “We live at Hogwarts. If something weird or dangerous is being stored here, we have a right to know what!”
Harry personally thought that Tom’s thirst for answers was driven more by his inherent nosiness (or as Tom called it, curiosity) than simply a right to know what was going on, but he could not deny that he too was interested in what lay beneath the trapdoor guarded by that monstrous three-headed dog.
“How can we find out, though?” said Harry. “The teachers obviously don’t want to tell students. Otherwise, Professor Dumbledore would have mentioned it at the start-of-term feast.”
It was a problem that they wrestled with for about a week, until one evening, Tom had a brainwave.
“You have the invisibility cloak!” Tom said excitedly. “We can eavesdrop on the teachers! If we’re lucky, we’ll hear them talking about what’s underneath the trapdoor!”
It was an inspired plan, but three days of secretly hanging around the staff room under the invisibility cloak during break times turned out to be incredibly boring. Harry and Tom were dismayed by the teachers’ topics of conversation, which ranged from complaining about the standard of homework being turned in, to gossiping about whether or not they thought the Divination professor was a fraud, to talking about the latest games in the British and Irish Quidditch League. There was not even a mention of the three-headed dog or what it was guarding!
“This isn’t working!” complained Harry, after they finished listening to a 20-minute conversation where Professor Flitwick asked Madam Pomfrey whether she thought some boils on his feet were of magical origin or not.
“You’re right,” Tom admitted reluctantly. “We’ll have to engineer a situation where they’ll have to talk about the three-headed dog and what it’s guarding.”
“We could make it seem like someone’s tried to break in and steal it!” said Harry, feeling very pleased with his idea.
“How would we do that, though?” said Tom. “Damage the lock on the door? We don’t want that beast to escape and go rampaging around the school! It could eat someone!”
Harry nodded, disappointed but accepting Tom was probably right.
“You could be onto something though…” Tom said slowly, his gaze clouding over as the cogs turned in his head. “If we make it seem like the object is under threat, that could work…”
And so, that was why, several days later, Harry found himself hurriedly scrawling an ominous message on the wall, whilst Tom kept watch to warn him of any approaching teachers. They had thought long and hard about the message. Tom said, based on the many books he had read, that a strong hook at the beginning was important, to grab a reader’s interest. Finally, they had settled on two lines. Harry was just finishing the final word when Tom barked out a warning.
“Professor Snape’s approaching around the corner!” said Tom.
Harry immediately whipped the invisibility cloak over himself, watching as Professor Snape rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. His dark eyes quickly darted over the message that Harry had painted on the wall using an Ink Charm.
WOOF WOOF WOOF!
NO THREE-HEADED DOG WILL STOP ME!
Professor Snape immediately muttered something under his breath. A silver doe erupted from the end of his wand, cantering off down the corridor and out of sight. Several minutes later, the doe returned, bringing Professor Dumbledore with it.
“Severus?” said Professor Dumbledore. “Your Patronus said it was urgent. What’s–? Ah…”
The headmaster’s gaze fell on Harry’s scrawled message. He nodded once, before disappearing with a loud crack. He reappeared a moment later, before walking into the staff room, gesturing for Professor Snape to follow him. Harry slipped in too, as quietly as possible, Tom walking in directly through the wall. They watched as Professor Dumbledore threw a handful of glittery silver powder into the fireplace and the flames turned green.
“All staff, please come to the staff room immediately for an emergency meeting,” he said.
Harry quietly tucked himself into the corner of the room, making sure the invisibility cloak was covering him completely. He watched in amazement as teacher after teacher walked through the green flames in the fireplace and entered the room, casually brushing soot off their robes, as if walking through fire was the most normal thing in the world.
Once all the teachers were assembled, Professor Dumbledore spoke.
“Someone has been through the forbidden door leading to the third-floor corridor,” he said.
Professor Quirrell flinched.
“Is the Philosopher’s Stone safe?” Professor McGonagall asked immediately.
“The Philosopher’s Stone is perfectly secure, yes,” said Professor Dumbledore, smiling serenely. “I went to check on it as soon as I was made aware of the breach.”
“What sort of breach are we talking about?” said Professor Sprout, visibly concerned. “Has someone made a serious attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone?”
Professor Dumbledore flicked his wand in the direction of the door. It flew open, revealing Harry’s message scrawled on the wall outside.
“I wouldn’t call it a serious attempt, no,” smiled Professor Dumbledore.
If Harry did not know better, he would have sworn the headmaster’s gaze flicked momentarily towards Harry under the invisibility cloak. Harry tensed, but then Professor Dumbledore turned back towards the teachers, as if he had not noticed anything amiss.
“Woof woof woof?” said Professor McGonagall incredulously, reading the writing on the wall. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I would imagine so,” said Professor Dumbledore. “This feels to me more like a student prank than the serious work of an evil mastermind. No serious thief would reveal their hand like this. This reads to me as the work of a child.”
“Oh my gosh…” said Professor Sprout. “Is the Stone really safe, if a child could open that door and find that dog? And more importantly, are the children safe, if that door is so easy to open?”
“There are multiple obstacles between that door and the Philosopher’s Stone. It is perfectly safe,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Nevertheless, heads of house, it may be a good idea to reiterate to your students that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds, for their own safety.”
As the teachers disbanded, Harry slipped through the door, heading back in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room. He removed the invisibility cloak when he was sure he was far enough away from the staff room to avoid suspicion. Tom made a beeline for him as soon as he became visible, looking just as excited as Harry felt.
Their plan had worked.
They now knew what the three-headed dog was guarding.
The Philosopher’s Stone.
A couple of days later, Harry, Justin and Neville donned their winter cloaks and went for a walk through the chilly grounds of Hogwarts. The grass was sodden underfoot, thanks to the constant drizzle that seemed to have enveloped Hogwarts for most of February. The sky was a dark, moody grey, but none of the boys seemed to care, because Justin and Neville were listening intently to what Harry was telling them.
After some deliberation, Harry and Tom had decided to let Justin and Neville in on what they had discovered. Harry had invited the two of them on a walk outside, so that they could talk without risking anyone overhearing them. Presently, Harry was finishing off his story, which spanned from when he and Tom had first discovered the three-headed dog, to working out that someone had tried to steal whatever it was guarding from Gringotts the previous summer, to learning that the item in question was the Philosopher’s Stone.
“My goodness!” said Justin, when Harry finally finished divulging his tale. “Fancy keeping a beast like that locked inside a school!”
“It’s awful!” said Neville, sounding horrified. “Dogs are scary enough, let alone a massive one with three heads!”
“Tom says it was almost as tall as the ceiling,” said Harry.
Neville let out a squeak of terror.
“But anyway,” said Harry, looking around surreptitiously to make sure there were no other students nearby. “This is what Tom and I want to know: what’s the Philosopher’s Stone? Have either of you heard of it?”
“No, sorry,” said Justin, shaking his head.
“I don’t think so,” said Neville. “Although my memory’s not the best.”
Harry tried not to feel disappointed. After all, he and Tom had never heard of it, either. It would have just been very convenient if one of their friends had known what it was.
“We’ll just have to research it in the library,” said Harry.
“We can’t let Madam Pince know, though,” said Tom. “We’re not supposed to know about the Stone, after all.”
They were walking absent-mindedly down a grassy slope that led away from Hogwarts, when suddenly Neville gave a gasp of horror and they all stopped dead. Ahead of them, at the bottom of the slope, was a wooden hut belonging to Hagrid the gamekeeper. Hagrid himself was outside in his garden, covered in blood, apparently butchering a large amount of meat. They all stared at the disturbing sight, thoroughly freaked out. None of them moved, obviously unwilling to go any closer.
“What do you suppose he’s doing?” stammered Justin, as Hagrid wiped a hand over his sweaty brow, accidentally smearing blood all over his face.
“He’s the gamekeeper,” said Harry, trying and failing to stay calm. “Maybe the meat is to feed some type of animal in the forest?”
“I don’t like it. Can we go back?” begged Neville.
Harry was just about to reply when an enormous black dog came bounding out of Hagrid’s hut and began loping up the hill towards them, barking loudly. Hagrid looked up at the noise, before seeing the boys and giving them a fearsome grin, waving a blood-soaked hand in their direction. The dog raced towards them, spit hanging from its huge teeth.
“Fang! Come back, Fang!” shouted Hagrid. “He don’t normally bite, don’t worry!”
Neville screamed, grabbing Harry and Justin and hauling them back up the hill. They sprinted away from the blood-covered Hagrid and his fearsome dog as fast as they could, slipping a few times on the wet grass, before finally making it back to the safety of the castle.
They all doubled over, panting for breath.
Harry’s heart pounded from a mixture of fear and exertion.
What on earth had Hagrid been doing?!
It was the last evening of February, and Professor McGonagall was in her office, marking a stack of fourth-year Transfiguration homework. She dipped her quill in a pot of ink, scribbling some notes for improvement on Peregrine Derrick’s abysmal essay, when she became aware of the sound of tapping coming from outside the window.
She got up and marched over to the window, throwing it open to allow a tired-looking tawny owl carrying a huge stack of papers to flutter inside. She cleared a space on her desk for the bird to land, deftly untying the papers from the owl’s leg and offering it a bowl of water and some owl treats. As the bird drank and nibbled gratefully, Professor McGonagall unfolded the papers, her eyes widening as she realised what they were.
She was holding a huge stack of complicated-looking paperwork. It was the foster care application form that she had ordered from the Ministry of Magic several months prior, after her disastrous meeting with Professor Dumbledore. She immediately walked over to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and throwing it into the flames, carefully enunciating the name of the person she needed.
They walked through the green flames within seconds, stepping into her office whilst brushing soot from their robes.
“Minerva?” they said, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “Is everything alright?”
Professor McGonagall held up the giant stack of forms.
“Harry Potter’s foster care paperwork has come, finally,” she said.
The other’s eyes lit up with a look of steely determination. They conjured up a seat at Minerva’s desk, pulling a plain black quill from their robes.
“Let’s get started,” they said.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all the wonderful comments and kudos you left on the last chapter! Your love and enthusiasm for this story just blows me away and I am so grateful.
FANART: I recently received this lovely question from an anonymous user on Tumblr, asking if they could draw fanart based on this fic. My answer is a wholehearted YES! If anyone feels inspired to draw any fanart based on any scenes from this fic, then wow, I’d be absolutely honoured. I’d love it if you could link to the fic and tag me (ao3-elle1991) in any such art posts, so that I can see them and share them with my followers on Tumblr and also in the author’s note of the relevant chapter here on AO3, so that as many readers as possible can see any awesome fanart based on this fic! Thank you <3
TIE-INS WITH CANON: The Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match does indeed take place around February in the books, although the result is different, since Harry is not the Gryffindor Seeker in this fic!
THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? They found out that Tom is a soul! They found out about the Philosopher’s Stone! They saw Hagrid looking mega sus! And who do you think Professor McGonagall summoned to her office when the foster care forms arrived? I’d love to hear your theories, thoughts and reactions in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the events of March and will see the boys trying to find out more about the Philosopher’s Stone…
TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr under the name ao3-elle1991, feel free to say hello! :)
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
March was a busy time for Herbology Club.
Harry was in his element. He loved learning about all the different types of magical and non-magical plants and how to care for them. March was also a time when many of the vegetables that they grew for the school kitchens were to be planted, and so every Friday evening, the Herbology Club students would be busy planting broad beans, carrots, parsnips, beetroot, onions, lettuce, radish, peas and spinach.
It was hard work, but Harry enjoyed it. The feel of soil around his hands as he carefully planted a row of carrots was soothing, allowing him to switch off from schoolwork and relax his brain a little. It was also a time when he got to socialise alone with Neville, something that he enjoyed immensely. The other boy’s gentle, kind energy always put him in a good mood. As the two of them chatted amongst themselves, Professor Sprout walked past, checking that they were doing everything correctly and giving them an encouraging smile.
“Very good, boys!” she praised. “Having fun?”
“Yes, Professor Sprout!” they chorused in unison.
Once she was out of earshot, Neville looked around surreptitiously, and then leant forwards to whisper in Harry’s ear.
“Are we still meeting up with Justin tomorrow to try and learn more about the you-know-what?” muttered Neville.
Harry looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, before nodding subtly.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Outside the library. 10am on the dot. We’ll meet you there.”
Harry, Justin and Neville met every Saturday at the library to secretly research the Philosopher’s Stone. Every weekend, they would scuttle in and disappear amongst the bookshelves, pulling books out that they thought sounded promising, and then find a quiet table and read until their eyes ached. The problem was, they had no idea which branch of magic the Philosopher’s Stone belonged to.
So far, they had read through various books, including A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, 100 Cursed Objects, and Geology and Magic. Unfortunately, the Philosopher’s Stone had not been mentioned in any of them! Harry was starting to lose hope, but Tom would not allow him to give up, chivvying him along with pokes and nagging him incessantly when Harry voiced that he did not want to go to the library for the fourth Saturday in a row.
“Don’t be silly! Today could be the day!” said Tom, sounding scandalised. “Besides, you told Neville you’d meet him at 10am. You can’t just leave him standing there…”
It was the guilt of letting Neville down that finally made Harry trudge upstairs with Justin to the library that Saturday. They met Neville and headed inside, greeting Madam Pince, who had become used to the trio studying together.
“Good morning, boys,” she said. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“No, just browsing,” lied Harry, before the three boys dove between two random bookcases and meandered their way around, peering at the shelves.
Harry grabbed a copy of Alchemy: Ancient Art and Science and plonked himself down at a table, his mind already wandering as he gazed out of the window, where the sun was attempting to break its way through the grey clouds. An advantage of having Tom around was that, if Harry was feeling lazy, Harry could simply zone out and turn the pages at Tom’s command, whilst Tom himself did all the reading.
This was what he decided to do today. Perhaps it was the demotivation of not finding anything at all over the last three weeks, or the fact that the library was so cosy and quiet, but Harry found himself almost nodding off in his chair whilst the others read through the books they had chosen.
“Turn the page,” said Tom, poking him in the side.
Harry did so, only to almost fall out of his chair when Tom gave a huge gasp.
“We’ve found it!” said Tom.
Suddenly wide awake, Harry looked down at the page, his stomach flipping with excitement as he saw the words written there. He waved his hands frantically to get Justin and Neville’s attention, and they all immediately crowded around Harry’s book to read.
The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.
There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who recently celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).
“Oh my God!” gasped Neville. “We’ve found it!”
“No wonder someone’s after it!” said Justin. “A stone that can make you rich and let you live forever? It sounds amazing.”
Harry almost wanted to tap dance with excitement. They had done it! They had solved the mystery that had been dangled so temptingly in front of them. He wanted to go up to the school roof and shout to the world how clever they were for solving it – except, of course, that would get them into heaps of trouble.
For now, giving one another excited hugs and quiet high-fives in the library would have to do.
The next day, Harry awoke very late, pulling back the curtains around his bed to find that the clock on his bedside table already said 11am. He leapt out of bed in a panic and immediately began pulling on his clothes, immensely thankful that it was Sunday and not a school day. He noticed that, aside from Tom, the rest of the dormitory was empty. Justin, Ernie and Zacharias must already have left for breakfast.
“Why didn’t you wake me?!” complained Harry, pulling on a pair of trousers.
Tom, who had been snooping around Zacharias’ bed, shrugged.
“You looked peaceful,” said Tom. “Sleep is important, you know.”
Harry huffed and pulled a jumper over his head, making his hair stick up madly in all directions.
“What are you doing, anyway?” said Harry.
“Seeing if Zacharias has any weird or embarrassing possessions,” said Tom.
“And does he?” Harry asked hopefully.
“No, just normal things,” said Tom, disappointed. “Boring.”
Harry sniggered, before exiting the dormitory and crawling out of the barrel that concealed the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. Now that he was awake, he felt ravenous. He did not normally sleep in; he must have really needed the rest.
“It’s weird Justin didn’t wake me,” said Harry, feeling a little confused. “We normally go down to breakfast together.”
When he entered the Great Hall, he saw that it was mostly empty. Most of the students had already had their breakfast and were now making the most of their weekends. He spotted Hannah and Susan at the sparsely-populated Hufflepuff table and went over to sit with them. Justin was nowhere to be seen.
“Morning,” said Harry, greeting the girls. “Have you seen Justin?”
“Morning!” said Susan, looking cheerful. “I saw him earlier with Neville. They were heading out in the direction of the greenhouses, I think.”
Harry was baffled. Whilst it would make sense for Neville to spend his free time in the greenhouses, Justin had no particular interest in Herbology and was not shy about expressing it. Before he could ponder on it too much, however, Hannah reached over the table with a giggle.
“What happened to your hair?” she said, attempting to brush it with her fingers to make it lay flat. “It looks even wilder than normal.”
Tom immediately stiffened, his eyes narrowing as Hannah ran her fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry blushed, patting his hair self-consciously.
“It just does that,” he said.
Harry started on his breakfast, only half-listening to Hannah and Susan’s conversation. His mind wandered to what Justin and Neville could be up to in the greenhouses. Was there some Herbology homework that Harry had forgotten about? Was Justin simply being polite and letting Neville drag him around to look at plants? Harry was so preoccupied that he did not notice Susan was trying to talk to him until she waved her hand in front of his face.
“Hey, we have to go. We’ve still got a pile of homework to do. Is that alright?” Susan said apologetically.
“Oh, sure, no worries,” said Harry, watching as the girls hurried back towards the Hufflepuff common room.
Harry finished off the rest of his breakfast as quickly as he could, eager to track down Justin and Neville and find out what they were doing without him. He drained his pumpkin juice and hurried out of the Great Hall, intent on going down to the greenhouses to find his friends, when Justin and Neville walked in through the front doors. The three boys met in the Entrance Hall. Bizarrely, Justin and Neville were holding a wreath of flowers between them.
“Harry! We were just coming to find you,” said Justin.
Harry stared at his friends and the wreath of flowers they were holding. He felt rather stupid, as if he were missing something incredibly obvious.
“What’s with the flowers?” he said, unable to hide his confusion.
“Harry… Do you know what day it is?” Neville said softly.
“Sunday…?” said Harry.
“Mother’s Day,” said Justin, giving him a gentle smile. “We thought maybe you’d like these flowers to commemorate your mum.”
For the first time, Harry properly examined the wreath that Justin and Neville had created for him. He took it from their hands, holding it carefully. The wreath was made up of multiple lilies all lovingly intertwined to form a perfect circle. Lilies for his mother, Lily. Harry felt a huge lump form in his throat, his vision suddenly shimmering with tears. Never before had anyone thought to honour Harry’s mother on Mother’s Day. At the Dursleys, Mother’s Day had been purely about Petunia, with Harry often shut away in his cupboard for the day so that he would not “ruin” it.
“Is it OK?” Neville said anxiously. “We tried to make it as pretty as we could. Professor Sprout helped, but none of us are florists, so–”
“It’s perfect,” said Harry, forcing himself to speak past the lump in his throat. “Thank you. This is… I can’t put into words how much this means to me.”
“We thought maybe we could lay it somewhere nice,” began Justin. “Maybe–”
“I think… I’d like to do this alone,” said Harry, feeling a little overwhelmed. “She was my mum, you know? I feel like I want this to be just between me and her, if that makes sense.”
“Of course,” Justin said immediately. “We’ll be in the Great Hall, whenever you’re finished.”
With that, Justin and Neville both gave Harry a hug and then disappeared into the Great Hall. Feeling a little dazed, Harry walked slowly out of the Entrance Hall onto the steps outside the castle, when he realised, he was alone. He turned around to see Tom still standing in the Entrance Hall, looking a little awkward. Glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, Harry called out to him softly.
“Tom? Are you coming?” he said.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted to be alone?” Tom said uncertainly, hurrying to catch up with him.
“I want you there,” Harry said softly.
Before Tom could reply, they were distracted by the rapid swishing of robes coming in their direction. Professor Quirrell was walking quickly towards the castle, coming from the direction of the forest. He looked deeply preoccupied, only noticing Harry when he was a few feet away. He stopped dead upon seeing him, staring at Harry intently.
“P– P– Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell. “What are you d– doing out here?”
Harry was just about to answer when Professor Snape came marching towards them, also coming from the direction of the forest. His long black robes were swirling behind him as he sped in their direction.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Professor Snape, his nostrils flaring as his eyes darted between Harry and Professor Quirrell.
Professor Quirrell mumbled something incomprehensible before scurrying into the castle, leaving a very confused Harry alone with Professor Snape on the castle steps. After taking a moment to gather his scattered thoughts, Harry held up the wreath of lilies for Professor Snape to see.
“Today is Mother’s Day,” Harry said hesitantly. “I’d like to lay these lilies somewhere nice for my mum.”
Professor Snape’s usually stoic face twitched with some great emotion that Harry could not quite place. For a long moment, he stared silently at the wreath of lilies, before clearing his throat and nodding, his usual impassive demeanour returning once more.
“The lake is a peaceful spot,” Professor Snape said stiffly. “Be careful, the rocks can be slippery.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, giving him a quick nod as he hurried past him down the stairs.
He and Tom slowed their pace as they walked along the grassy slope that led down to the lake. He pondered briefly the strange nature of his encounter with Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape, before pushing them out of his mind. Today was about his mother. He did not want any distractions.
Harry felt very strange as he held the wreath of lilies in his hands. He had never thought much about his parents. It had been too painful, growing up. The Dursleys had told him that his parents had been drunks who had not loved him enough to use a seatbelt to stay alive for him. As a young child, thinking of his parents had just made him feel angry and sad that they had died and left him to a miserable fate with the Dursleys.
When Professor McGonagall had come to see him the previous summer, she had revealed the truth, but since then, Harry had been so busy starting his new life at Hogwarts, that he had not had the time to properly reflect on his parents and his relationship with them. He knew, now, that they had loved him; that they had died trying to protect him. But he knew very little else about them. What had they looked like? What were their personalities? How had their voices sounded? What were their hobbies? He was so curious about them; these people who had loved and raised him for the first year of his life, who had been taken away from the world far too soon.
They reached the lake. Heeding Professor Snape’s warning to be careful on the slippery rocks, Harry slowly made his way to the water’s edge. It was beautiful. Breathing in the clean, fresh air, Harry took a moment to simply be. The cool March wind ruffled his hair. The water lapped gently against the cobbled shoreline. Harry gazed out over the vast expanse of water, taking in the majestic mountains that formed the skyline, and wondered if his mother had ever stood here to enjoy the very same view.
“Hello, mum,” Harry said quietly.
Could she hear him? Did her soul live on, somewhere, somehow? Did she yearn for him, just as he yearned for her, at that moment? He could not remember having a mother, but she had lived, and she had loved him, and for one precious year, they had had one another. Harry wished he could reach out through time and touch her. He wished he could remember her.
“Today is Mother’s Day,” he continued. “I know we’ve never really celebrated it before, but I just want to say… I love you. And thank you for looking after me, as a baby. And I… I hope I’m making you proud…”
He bit his lip. It felt as though something large and beautiful and aching was bursting out of his chest. He knelt down and gently placed the wreath of lilies on the lake, before standing up to watch the water slowly carry them away. His chest heaved. His face was wet with tears. He watched the flowers get smaller and smaller in the distance, carried away by the water, and found himself hoping that some magical force was carrying his love to his mother, too, wherever she was.
Tom slipped his hand into Harry’s, offering silent comfort.
The wreath drifted further and further away.
They watched it until it became a tiny dot in the distance, finally disappearing from view.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! Every time I get a notification for a new comment, it puts such a big smile on my face <3
TIE-INS WITH CANON: In the books, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell do have a conversation in the Forbidden Forest. I thought it’d be fun to include the aftermath of that scene as a cameo in this chapter - well done if you recognised the significance of it!
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Are you excited to see the Philosopher’s Stone plot progressing? And what did you think of Harry’s first proper Mother’s Day? Justin and Neville are such thoughtful friends… Let me know your thoughts, feelings and reactions in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the month of April and will see Harry and Tom realise something very disturbing, as well as Harry’s prospective foster parents being revealed…
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr! Over there, I share beautiful Harry Potter fanart that I come across - including fanart that readers have created for this fic! Check it out if that sounds like your kind of jam!
Chapter 19
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There were certain moments that Harry was reminded of the fact the Sorting Hat wanted to sort Tom into Ravenclaw.
The first week of April was one of those moments because, one Thursday afternoon, Tom suddenly announced in a tone of voice that brooked no arguments that Harry needed to start revising for his end-of-year exams.
“You realise that the end-of-year exams happen at the end of the school year, right?” groaned Harry. “That’s in June! We’ve got two months!”
“Exactly!” screeched Tom. “Only two months! You’re taking seven subjects! That’s little over a week of revision time per subject!”
After much grumbling and complaining, Harry reluctantly came up with a revision timetable – or rather, Tom came up with it, and then bullied Harry into writing it down and sticking it up on the wall beside their bed. Tom was obsessed. He was determined that Harry would come top of the year in all subjects, something that he brought up with brutal straightforwardness one evening, when the two of them were alone in their dormitory.
“Now that Hermione Granger is dead, you have no excuse not to be top of the year,” Tom said haughtily, when Harry mentioned that he did not particularly care where he came compared to their classmates, so long as he passed.
Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Did you seriously just say that?!” said Harry, appalled by Tom’s lack of sensitivity.
“What?” said Tom. “Hermione was the clear frontrunner! Now she’s dead, you’ve got a strong chance of coming in first place.”
“I cannot believe you…” began Harry, closing his eyes and shaking his head, when Tom caught sight of the clock and gave another screech.
“It’s time for practical Charms revision! Put that book down and get your wand out!” barked Tom.
For all that Harry made a show of complaining about Tom’s exam revision fervour, he did secretly enjoy their time revising and practicing magic together. Tom was an excellent teacher, practicing everything alongside Harry, quizzing his knowledge, as well as patiently correcting his arm movements and pronunciation to polish and improve his spell-casting. Harry knew, under Tom’s tutelage, that he did indeed have a strong chance of coming top of his year.
He just wished Tom would relax – exams were still two months away.
One of the most annoying things about not having a physical body was that it greatly limited the range of things Tom could do. It was impossible for him to wander off and talk to anyone other than Harry, since Harry was the only one who could see or hear him. It was impossible for him to engage in practical hobbies like arts and crafts. It was impossible for him to take part in team sports – not that Tom particularly wanted to do the latter, but that was beside the point.
Much though Tom would love to simply monopolise all of Harry’s time and attention, he begrudgingly accepted that that would not be fair on Harry. Harry had other friends, and he had exam revision to do, which kept him busy most of the time. And whilst Tom was greatly involved in helping Harry to revise, there were times when Harry simply had to sit and read by himself, or socialise with Justin and Neville, or have a shower, or go to the toilet, or countless other things that Tom could not join in with.
That meant that one of Tom’s main pastimes was to think. He thought about a huge range of things that interested him. He thought deeply. He thought whimsically. He thought and thought and thought. One thing that had been niggling at the back of his mind recently was the Philosopher’s Stone. Finding out that it was the object that the three-headed dog was guarding had been a moment of huge personal triumph and excitement for Tom. Finding out the properties of the Stone had been another. For a little while, his curiosity had been sated – but now, another element of the mystery was beginning to needle at Tom’s brain: who was trying to steal it?
At face value, it seemed like an impossible question. The Philosopher’s Stone possessed qualities so extraordinary that surely anyone would want it. Eternal life! Eternal wealth! The range of suspects encompassed basically everyone in the wizarding world who knew of the Stone’s existence, which was surely the majority of witches and wizards, given that Nicolas Flamel was not exactly hiding the secret to his longevity. At first, the question of who was trying to steal it seemed too broad to answer. But Tom was not one to give up. The Sorting Hat had not wanted to sort Tom into Ravenclaw for nothing.
Tom thought obsessively about the question, slowly realising that there were little clues that revealed certain characteristics of the wannabe thief.
First of all, whoever it was had successfully broken into Gringotts Bank to try to steal it. Their attempt had only been thwarted by the fact the Stone had in fact been moved earlier that very same day. Gringotts was renowned for the strength of its security. The bank was supposed to be impenetrable. That revealed clue number one: the thief must be extremely magically powerful.
Secondly, there was the extent of the Stone’s protection at Hogwarts. Tom and Harry had learnt a lot – whilst hidden, invisible – after daubing the sinister message on the wall outside the staff room. Importantly, Professor Dumbledore had let slip that there were multiple obstacles between the locked door hiding the three-headed dog and the Philosopher’s Stone itself. The presence of multiple obstacles revealed clue number two: the Hogwarts staff were extremely afraid that whoever was trying to steal it might be successful.
Tom put the two clues together, turning them over in his head.
Someone very magically powerful…
Someone very feared in the wizarding world…
Suddenly, the answer came flooding into Tom’s mind, along with a rush of terror and horror. His heart pounded as he tried to quell his rising panic. He tried desperately to reassess the evidence, to try to come to some other, less terrible conclusion, but he knew he had figured it out correctly. It was the only logical answer.
Voldemort was the one trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone.
He must want to use the Stone to bring himself back to full power, Tom realised. Voldemort’s body had been destroyed when the killing curse meant for Harry had backfired. But Voldemort’s soul must live on. Part of him was clearly still out there, pulling the strings, orchestrating current events to try to get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone. Tom got up and began pacing frantically, turning this new information over in his head, more and more of the puzzle slotting into place.
But a soul, by itself, could not break into Gringotts Bank and try to steal an object, Tom thought suddenly. Tom himself was living proof of that. A soul, by itself, could not interact with physical objects. No, in order to successfully pull off such a heist, Voldemort must be working with someone else – someone with a physical body. This person, whoever they were, for whatever reason, was doing Voldemort’s dirty work for him. And they must be a frighteningly good witch or wizard, Tom realised, given that the break-in itself and their subsequent escape had been a success.
Unable to keep his findings to himself a moment longer, Tom rushed over to where Harry was lying on his belly in bed, nose stuck in his Herbology textbook, and nudged him urgently to get his attention. Before Harry could even ask what was wrong, Tom spewed forth his theory. Harry’s eyes got wider and wider with every word that came tumbling out of Tom’s mouth.
“You mean Voldemort’s working with someone right now, trying to get the Philosopher’s Stone?!” squeaked Harry.
“And it must be someone who could feasibly gain access to Hogwarts, otherwise why bother with multiple layers of protection?” said Tom.
“Someone with access to Hogwarts… You don’t think it could be a teacher, do you?” Harry asked nervously.
Tom’s first instinct was to dismiss Harry’s theory. He did not want to believe it. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised Harry’s theory held water. Professor Dumbledore was obviously extremely worried that the thief had a good chance at trying to snatch the Stone, meaning he could well suspect the thief was someone within Hogwarts. All the Hogwarts professors were extremely magically powerful. And, whoever the thief was, they had thus far managed to avoid being caught. They must be someone above suspicion. Who was more trusted and respected than a teacher? It all fit – in a horrible, stomach-churning sort of way.
“I think you might be right,” said Tom, feeling a little sick. “But if Voldemort’s working with a teacher, who is it?”
“We need to spy on the professors. See if any of them do anything suspicious,” Harry said immediately. “We should tell Justin and Neville, too. They can help. Four pairs of eyes are better than two…”
And so, over the next couple of weeks, as discreetly as possible, the boys kept a close eye on all of the teachers. None of them were above suspicion. The more the boys thought about it, the more certain they were of Harry’s theory: that one of the teachers must be in league with Voldemort. The question was: who?
When it came to spying, Tom had the obvious advantage of being literally invisible, but Harry, Justin and Neville were also somewhat invisible, in the sense that no one suspected the three innocent-looking first-year boys of actually keeping an extremely vigilant eye on their teachers. Harry and Justin, due to being Hufflepuffs, were often particularly overlooked, something that suited them just fine, in this circumstance.
After a couple of weeks of intensive spying, the boys met up in an empty classroom to discuss their findings.
“So, has anyone seen any of the teachers doing anything suspicious?” asked Harry.
“I’ve seen Professor Flitwick sneaking into the hospital wing every day, after lunch!” Justin said eagerly.
“He has boils on his feet,” said Harry, remembering the conversation he had overheard between Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, one time, whilst eavesdropping outside the staff room to try to learn about the Philosopher’s Stone. “He’s probably just undergoing a course of treatment for that.”
“Oh,” said Justin, looking a little deflated.
“I heard Professor Quirrell mumbling and crying to himself in an empty classroom last week,” said Neville. “But everyone says he has a severe anxiety disorder, so it’s probably just that.”
Harry nodded in agreement. Poor Professor Quirrell was constantly twitching and stuttering. Talking and crying to himself in an empty classroom unfortunately did not seem very out-of-character.
“I’ve noticed Professor Snape’s been in a pretty bad mood lately,” said Harry. “I know he’s usually a bit grumpy, but has anyone else noticed he’s been worse than normal these past few weeks?”
“He’s getting stressed because exam season is coming up,” said Tom. “I overheard him talking to Professor McGonagall about how this year’s OWL’s class is the worst he’s taught in years. He’s worried they’re going to fail and make him look like a bad teacher.”
“I saw Professor Sprout making cigarettes using a plant she was growing in her private greenhouse!” said Neville, suddenly remembering. “She caught me looking through the window and got really shifty when I asked her what type of plant it was…”
“You don’t think she was doing drugs, do you?” said Justin, sounding scandalised. “If she’s willing to do that, who knows what else she’s capable of!”
The boys murmured anxiously in agreement.
“I’ve noticed that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey spend a lot of their free time together,” said Harry.
It was a pattern he had noticed when he had started following random teachers around under the invisibility cloak after dinner. The two women would often disappear to either one of their private quarters in the evening, sometimes not reappearing again for hours.
“I’ve told you before, they’re friends,” Tom said impatiently, who had heard Harry mention the women’s strangely close relationship several times now, dismissing it as irrelevant every time. “Teachers are allowed to have friends, Harry.”
“Tom thinks they’re friends,” said Harry, folding his arms, as if this were ridiculous.
“Yeah, Tom’s probably right,” said Neville, looking a bit bemused. “Loads of the teachers hang out together. I’ve noticed it too. That huge scary gamekeeper Hagrid likes to spend time with Professor Kettleburn from Care of Magical Creatures. And Filch the caretaker likes to visit Madam Pince in the library sometimes.”
“Wait, really?” blinked Harry.
Deflated that Tom seemed to be right and that perhaps it was normal for teachers to have a social life, Harry sighed.
“So, what have we learnt?” said Harry.
“That Professor Flitwick has boils on his feet, Professor Quirrell has an anxiety disorder, Professor Snape is stressed about his fifth-years failing their Potions OWLs, Professor Sprout grows her own drugs, and Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey are friends,” summarised Justin.
“Oh! We can rule out Professor Binns,” Neville piped up happily. “He’s a ghost. Whoever’s working with You-Know-Who, we know they have a body.”
Harry shook his head in despair.
Weeks of careful, meticulous spying had revealed absolutely nothing.
On the final day of April, as Harry and his friends were packing up their school bags at the end of a particularly difficult Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall called out over the noise of scraping chairs and the chatter of students heading towards the door.
“Mr Potter, if you could stay behind for a moment, please,” she said.
Harry exchanged confused looks with Justin and Neville. Admittedly, Harry had struggled with today’s lesson, transfiguring a button into a cardigan, but he did not think he had done any worse than anyone else – certainly not badly enough to warrant a one-to-one talk with the teacher.
“Do you want us to stay, Harry?” whispered Neville, casting a suspicious glance at Professor McGonagall.
They were still no closer to finding out which of the teachers was in league with Voldemort, meaning that all of the professors were still under suspicion. Out of everyone, however, Harry felt like he trusted Professor McGonagall the most. After all, she had had the chance to kill Harry over the summer holidays, when she had come to visit him at 4 Privet Drive, but instead, she had shown him nothing but kindness. Harry was sure that, if she had been in league with Voldemort, she would have tried to end his life then and there.
“It’s OK, I think she’s alright,” whispered Harry. “I’ll meet you down at the Great Hall for lunch.”
Nodding reluctantly, Neville and Justin trooped out of the classroom, leaving Harry alone with Professor McGonagall. Harry wandered up to her desk, where she was leafing through some complicated-looking paperwork. Tom immediately walked around the desk to stand next to Professor McGonagall, looking nosily at the sheaf of papers. His eyes widened when he saw what was written on them, but before he could say anything to Harry, the door to the classroom opened and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in.
Harry watched in confusion as Madam Pomfrey went to stand next to Professor McGonagall, the two women turning to look at Harry. Harry shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong, or acted in some strange way that made Professor McGonagall think that he needed to see a healer? Some of his anxiety must have shown on his face, because the two women smiled down at him kindly.
“Harry, you’ve already met my wife, of course, Madam Pomfrey,” said Professor McGonagall, by way of introduction.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were… married,” he said.
He had been about to say “gay”, before realising that that would probably be extremely rude. This must be the reason why he had seen them spending so much time together in the evenings, he realised. Everything suddenly made so much more sense, now that he understood the context.
“That’s not a problem for you, is it, Harry?” said Madam Pomfrey, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh no, it’s fine,” Harry said hurriedly.
He had often heard Uncle Vernon say nasty things about gay people (or “faggots”, as he called them) whenever they came on TV, but Harry had never been able to understand what the problem was.
“Very good,” said Professor McGonagall. “Harry, the reason I asked you to stay behind was to talk to you about your living arrangements for the summer. Am I right in believing it’s still your wish not to return to your aunt and uncle?”
Harry’s heart gave a funny kind of leap. Hope exploded in his chest. He nodded frantically.
“How would you feel about myself and Madam Pomfrey being your foster parents, and living with us over the school holidays?” said Professor McGonagall.
There was a long moment of pure shock, and then Harry’s throat suddenly swelled up with happiness. He thought he might burst into tears of joy. Professor McGonagall seemed to take his silence as uncertainty, however, because she gave him a look of concern and continued talking.
“I can assure you that you’d be perfectly safe with us,” she said soothingly. “We would place our home under a spell known as the Fidelius Charm, to keep you hidden from You-Know-Who and anyone else who may wish to harm you. In the incredibly unlikely scenario that something went wrong, I have significant combat experience from the First Wizarding War, and Madam Pomfrey is the leading paediatric healer in the whole of the UK. But most importantly, we would love to give you a home where you can feel happy and cared for. We would love to welcome you into our family, if that’s something you’d consent to.”
Harry promptly burst into tears, surging forwards and wrapping his arms around Professor McGonagall, sobbing against her chest with tears of pure relief and happiness. All his life, he had seen the love and attention that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had lavished upon Dudley and yearned for them to show even a fraction of that love towards him. He had yearned for a family, felt the keen sting of rejection every time his aunt and uncle had looked down at him with disdain or disgust. To possibly have the chance to be part of a family – a real family who loved and cared for him – was more than he had ever dreamt of.
Professor McGonagall rubbed his back gently as he cried. Madam Pomfrey laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I take it that’s a yes?” smiled Professor McGonagall, when Harry finally stepped back, feeling a little embarrassed by his emotional outburst.
“Oh, yes, please, if I can, I’d love that more than anything!” begged Harry. “Please, I don’t ever want to go back to the Dursleys!”
“Excellent,” said Professor McGonagall. “Myself and Madam Pomfrey have very recently completed the rather lengthy process of registering as foster carers with the Ministry of Magic.”
She held up the incredibly long, complicated-looking rolls of parchment that she had been leafing through at her desk earlier. Now that Harry was close enough to read them, he could see that they were a foster carer application form, with huge paragraphs filled with documentation and references and all kinds of governmental mumbo-jumbo that Harry did not understand. At the bottom was an official-looking red stamp that said “APPROVED”.
“Talk about a bureaucratic nightmare,” quipped Madam Pomfrey, seeing that Harry was looking at the form with wide eyes. “Although, we’d fill out a thousand of these forms if that’s what it took to keep you safe, of course.”
Something huge and joyful swelled up in Harry’s chest again. He had to swallow several times before he could trust himself to speak.
“So, is that it?” said Harry. “Is it official? Are you my foster parents now?”
“Not quite,” said Professor McGonagall regretfully. “The final stage will be a formal meeting at the Ministry of Magic’s Health and Social Care department. They will need to interview you to confirm your living situation at the Dursleys, before they can officially give a green light to the fostering.”
“It’ll be largely a formality,” said Madam Pomfrey, giving him a reassuring smile. “They’ll ask you some questions and all you’ll have to do is answer them honestly. Try not to worry, dear. I really can’t see a world where they’d let you go back to your aunt and uncle, based on what you’ve said about their treatment of you.”
Harry nodded, his heart bursting with hope.
For ten long years, he had lived through the Dursleys’ abuse and neglect.
Now, freedom – and a proper family – was so close he could almost touch it.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and reactions on the last chapter! I love reading your thoughts and getting the chance to interact with every one of you!
TIE-INS WITH CANON: In the books, Harry does indeed hear Professor Quirrell talking and sobbing to someone unseen in a classroom. I thought it’d be fun to include it in this chapter of this fic - well done if you spotted the significance of it!
FORESHADOWING: In chapter 15, when Harry is having Christmas dinner with the teachers in the Great Hall, there is a very brief bit of foreshadowing of McGonagall and Pomfrey’s relationship, when the two women discuss where they want to go on holiday. This was incredibly subtle, but it was fun to sneak it in there. A very well done to you, if you picked up on it!
THOUGHTS: Do you think it’d be great or awful to have Tom as a revision buddy lol? Did you enjoy their spying on the teachers? And most excitingly - what did you think of the reveal that McGonagall and Pomfrey are to be Harry’s foster parents? A few of you did predict that it may be McGonagall, so well done if you were one of those people!
TEASER: The next chapter will take place in the month of May and will see Harry and his friends decide on the member of Hogwarts staff who they think must be in league with Voldemort - but will they get it right…?
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr, feel free to say hi over there!
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In early May, with just a month to go until the end-of-year exams, Justin and Neville suddenly realised with horror that they needed to urgently get started on their revision. Neville in particular was incredibly stressed out, frequently bursting into tears when the three boys would meet up to revise together.
“It’s hopeless!” Neville wailed one time, when the boys were revising for History of Magic in the library. “I’m never going to remember all this!”
After Neville’s third tearful breakdown, Tom finally took pity and created bespoke revision timetables for Neville and Justin, getting Harry to write them down and give them to the two boys. The timetables were tailored to focus strategically on the areas where each boy needed to improve the most.
In Neville’s case, that meant Potions. It was, without a doubt, Neville’s worst subject. He had not managed to get a single passing grade in any of his essays or practicals throughout the entire school year, something Harry suspected may be to do with the fact Neville seemed terrified of Professor Snape. A couple of days later, as he watched Neville staring down in panic at an instruction sheet for a simple Strength Potion, Harry realised something.
“You’re thinking too much about the process and remembering all the steps,” said Harry.
Neville blinked at him with a look of hopeless confusion on his face.
“What do you mean?” said Neville. “Isn’t that what we’re meant to do?”
“Think about it this way: when you do Herbology, are you focusing on the process and the instructions, or are you thinking about the actual plant in front of you and its properties?” said Harry.
“The actual plant in front of me, of course,” Neville said slowly.
“Exactly!” said Harry. “Well, Potions is basically just gathering together a bunch of magical plants and some other ingredients, and then putting them together in a way that enhances their magic.”
Neville’s eyes widened in shock and wonder.
“So… Potions is like Herbology?” he said, incredulous.
“Yeah, you can think of it that way!” Harry said encouragingly. “When you’re making a potion, just think about the plants that are in the ingredients. Think about what properties they have and the ways you know they can be used in Herbology. If you think of each potion as just a mixture of magical plants, you won’t even have to remember the steps; the steps will be obvious because you know how to use and combine the plants that make it!”
Neville’s mouth was hanging open in shock.
“I’ve never thought about it like that before,” said Neville, looking back at his instruction sheet for the Strength Potion in an entirely new light. “That’s genius!”
Harry smiled.
It was several days later, in the Hufflepuff common room, that Harry was trying and failing to perform the Mending Charm as part of his Charms revision. The snapped-in-half pencil that Harry was attempting to mend was stubbornly not changing, much to Harry and Tom’s confusion, since Harry’s wand movements and pronunciation of the spell were absolutely perfect.
“I don’t get it! It should be working!” said Harry, getting increasingly frustrated.
“I don’t get it, either,” frowned Tom, looking back at the textbook with a puzzled expression on his face. “We must be missing something.”
Several more fruitless attempts later, Harry was about ready to hurl the two halves of the broken pencil into the fire, when Cedric passed by, stopping when he saw the look of frustrated fury on Harry’s face.
“Uh oh, I know that look,” smiled Cedric. “Are you stuck on something?”
“This stupid Mending Charm!” snapped Harry. “It’s not working!”
“Can I see you try it?” Cedric asked politely.
Feeling a little foolish, Harry pointed his wand at the broken pencil and said firmly: “Reparo!” As expected, nothing happened. Harry took a deep breath, his face turning bright red as he used all his self-control not to scream.
“Your pronunciation and wand movements are perfect,” said Cedric.
“I know!” shouted Harry. “That’s why I don’t get why it’s not working!”
He knew he was becoming unreasonably stroppy, but the stuffiness of the room and the stress of his repeated failure to master the spell and the pressure of the upcoming exams were combining to send Harry towards a very embarrassing crying fit.
“So, the problem must be with your intention,” said Cedric, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.
Both Harry and Tom turned to stare at him.
“What?” said Harry.
Cedric pulled up two chairs for them to sit down on. Harry sat.
“When you cast a spell, there are usually three parts to it,” Cedric explained patiently. “The words themselves, the wand movement, and the intention of the caster.”
“None of the professors have mentioned intention before,” said Harry, his eyebrows raising with surprise.
“Hmm, I suppose it becomes more important when you get onto more advanced magic,” said Cedric. “When you’re a bit older, you’ll start to learn about non-verbal spell-casting. That’s where intention really becomes crucial, but it’s actually important at any level.”
“So, intention… What does that mean?” asked Harry.
“When you’re doing your Mending Charm, what are you thinking of? What are you feeling?” said Cedric.
Harry blinked.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’m thinking about getting the wand movement right, I guess.”
“You need to think about the intention behind your spell,” said Cedric. “Think about what you want the pencil to look like, once it’s mended. Try to feel how much you want to mend the pencil.”
“Will that really work?” Harry said doubtfully.
It seemed far too simple to be true.
“Intention is the most important thing in magic,” Cedric said seriously. “In some cultures around the world, witches and wizards don’t even use verbal spells or wands! They cast magic purely by focusing on their intention, on what they want to do, and channelling their magic to make their intentions come true.”
Harry and Tom listened with rapt attention. Cedric saw Harry’s wide eyes and smiled at him gently.
“Go on, try your Mending Charm again,” encouraged Cedric. “Focus on your intention. I bet you’ll do better.”
Harry stood up, pointing his wand at the broken pencil pieces on the table. Trying to imagine the two halves of the pencil fusing together, Harry tried to focus on how much he wanted to mend the pencil.
“Reparo!” he said.
To his amazement, the two halves jumped in the air, coming together to form a new, perfect pencil. Harry picked it up in amazement, examining it closely. The join where the two pieces had fused was almost imperceptible.
“Wow, thanks Cedric!” said Harry, beyond excited to have finally mastered the spell.
“Anytime,” said Cedric, ruffling Harry’s hair fondly. “And try not to worry about your exams. Your first-year results don’t really matter. As long as your average grade across all your subjects is at least an Acceptable, you’ll be able to proceed to your second year.”
“What happens if a person gets less than that?” Harry asked curiously.
“It’s super rare for that to happen, but if it does, they don’t kick you out of Hogwarts or anything, they might just make you repeat the year,” said Cedric. “Don’t worry, Harry. You’re a hard worker. I’ve seen you revising. You’ll be absolutely fine.”
Harry twirled his magically-mended pencil between his fingers.
Around two weeks later, Harry was playing Exploding Snap in the Hufflepuff common room with Justin and Ernie, when the entrance to the barrel scraped open and Professor Sprout crawled through, followed by Professor McGonagall. The Hufflepuff common room fell silent, everyone turning to stare in surprise at the presence of a teacher other than their Head of House in their common room. Zacharias pointed at Professor McGonagall incredulously.
“You’re not allowed in here!” he said, sounding outraged. “You’re not a Hufflepuff!”
Professor McGonagall turned to give Zacharias a withering glare so intense that he visibly shrank back, bowing his head meekly. Seemingly satisfied by his cowed submission, Professor McGonagall scanned the common room, making a beeline for Harry as soon as she spotted him.
“Potter, apologies for disturbing your Saturday morning, but the Ministry of Magic has come up with a date for your fostering interview,” she said, sounding stressed.
“When is it?” said Harry.
“In one hour’s time,” said Professor McGonagall.
“One hour?!” squeaked Harry.
Professor McGonagall massaged her temples, where Harry suspected she may be getting the beginnings of a stress headache.
“The incompetence of some people in the Ministry…” she began, before shaking her head. “I’m sorry to drag you away from your friends, but we need to leave now.”
“Is this the meeting to make sure Harry never has to go back to his horrible family?” interrupted Justin.
“Yeah,” said Harry, hurriedly getting to his feet.
“Remember the European Convention on Human Rights!” said Justin. “Section 1, Article 3: The prohibition of torture! Wait, let me write it down for you…”
Justin dived into his bag to grab a spare bit of parchment, rapidly scribbling down the relevant bit of legislation and thrusting the scrap of parchment into Harry’s hand.
“Good luck,” Justin said earnestly.
Harry tucked the parchment safely into his pocket, before giving Justin a grateful hug. Then, seeing Professor McGonagall anxiously checking her pocket watch, he followed her out of the Hufflepuff common room, having to jog beside her to keep up as she marched quickly through the corridors.
“Where are we going?” he said, as they climbed several flights of stairs.
“First, to the Hospital Wing, to pick up Poppy. Then, to the Ministry of Magic,” said Professor McGonagall. “Have you ever travelled by Floo powder before?”
Harry shook his head. He had no idea what Floo powder even was; he had never heard the term before.
“Well, you’re going to learn a new form of magical transportation today; lucky you,” Professor McGonagall said drily.
They arrived at the Hospital Wing, rushing in and quickly finding Madam Pomfrey taking inventory of the potions cupboard. Madam Pomfrey looked up in surprise at their sudden entrance.
“Minerva? Is everything alright?” she said.
“The Ministry of Magic made an administrative error and have only just informed us of the date of Harry’s fostering interview,” said Professor McGonagall.
“When is it?” asked Madam Pomfrey.
Professor McGonagall checked her pocket watch and made a strangled noise.
“In 45 minutes,” she said.
For some reason, she was ushering Harry towards a large, sooty fireplace, where a low fire was burning in the grate. Harry stared up at her with confusion.
“Professor?” he said.
Tom stood protectively close to him, one hand wrapping around Harry’s arm.
Professor McGonagall grabbed a pot from the mantlepiece and scooped up a handful of glittery silver powder in her hand.
“We’re going to do this together, OK?” she said. “I’m going to throw this Floo powder into the fire and say the name of our destination. The fire will turn green and take us to the Ministry of Magic. All you have to do is hold tightly onto my arm. Can you do that?”
Harry stared at her in shock. Then, he remembered when he had seen the teachers rushing to the staff room after Harry had daubed the sinister message on the wall. They had arrived through the fireplace, walking through bright green flames as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He knew, logically, that it must be safe, but it was another thing entirely to step into a wall of flames himself.
“Does it feel hot?” said Harry, a feeling of panic gripping him as Professor McGonagall steered him firmly towards the flames.
“Not at all,” said Professor McGonagall. “If you think it’ll help, you can close your eyes.”
With that, she tossed the powder into the flames, the small yellow fire suddenly ballooning into a towering inferno of green flames. Harry hung onto her arm tightly. Tom held onto his other arm with a vice-like grip. Harry barely resisted the urge to scream when Professor McGonagall stepped forwards firmly, dragging Harry and Tom with her into the fire.
“The Ministry of Magic!” shouted Professor McGonagall.
The first thing Harry felt was a rush of relief that the green flames felt like a warm summer’s breeze, rather than a scorching inferno. That relief was short-lived, however, because as soon as Professor McGonagall shouted out the name of their destination, they began to spin very fast, a deafening roar filling Harry’s ears as the green flames whirled around them like a tornado. Harry screwed his eyes shut, his breakfast churning in his stomach, Tom screaming in his ear, the chaos of light and sound and motion combining to create a sensation of absolute mayhem.
Then, as soon as it started, it stopped. Suddenly, his feet were once again on solid ground, as Professor McGonagall guided him to step forwards out of the fireplace and into a huge, impressive-looking atrium. Madam Pomfrey arrived behind them a few seconds later, and then the three of them began walking. Professor McGonagall seemed to know the way. Harry detached himself from her arm and gawked at his surroundings, taking in the sights and sounds of the Ministry of Magic.
The atrium was a long wide hall with dark polished floors and high blue ceilings covered with moving golden symbols. Fireplaces lined the walls on each side, with witches and wizards arriving and departing with a whoosh of green flames every few seconds. Harry followed Professor McGonagall as she led the way down the atrium, wishing he had more pairs of eyes so that he could look at everything at once.
About halfway down the atrium, they passed by a fountain with a collection of large, golden statues at the centre. The statues depicted a witch and a wizard, surrounded by a goblin, what Harry assumed must be a centaur, and a short, ugly-looking creature with pointed ears that Harry did not recognise. Water shot out of the witch and wizard’s wands, the goblin’s hat, the centaur’s arrow and the ugly creature’s ears, creating the peaceful sound of running water in the middle of the bustling hallway.
“Keep up,” said Professor McGonagall. “This way.”
She led them to a small desk that said “Security”, clearing her throat to get the security wizard’s attention, who seemed to be engrossed in a copy of The Daily Prophet. The man jumped, before sitting bolt upright with a shocked expression on his face when he saw Professor McGonagall.
“Professor McGonagall!” he said. “I mean, Miss McGonagall! Or… Mrs McGonagall? Do you remember me? You taught me Transfiguration at Hogwarts about 20 years ago! I–”
Professor McGonagall cut off the man’s rambling with a wave of her hand.
“Good to see you again, Watson. Three visitors, please. We have a meeting at the Department of Health and Social Care in 35 minutes. Chop chop.”
Watson the security wizard got up and grabbed a long, thin, golden rod, passing it over Harry, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey in turn. Seemingly satisfied that they were not smuggling bombs or something equally nefarious, he next placed each of their wands on a magical device that spat out a receipt listing each wand’s particulars.
“That’s all,” said Watson. “Oh, wait, no it’s not. You’ll need these.”
He handed them each a lanyard with a visitor’s badge dangling from it, before waving them through a set of golden gates that led inside to the Ministry of Magic proper. Harry hung his lanyard around his neck. Professor McGonagall swiftly led the way into a smaller hall where there were about twenty lifts behind wrought golden grilles. She pressed a button to call a lift, before looking down at her pocket watch and making another strangled noise.
“Don’t fret, Minnie, we’ll get there in time,” said Madam Pomfrey, patting her arm comfortingly.
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, before giving Madam Pomfrey a small smile. Just then, a lift arrived, and the three of them squashed in. Professor McGonagall pressed the button for the Department of Health and Social Care. As the lift began to move, Harry read the names of some of the other departments with interest.
There was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the Department of Magical Transportation, the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the Department of Mysteries.
Harry was just thinking that the Department of Mysteries sounded incredibly interesting and mysterious indeed, when the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the Department of Health and Social Care. Professor McGonagall marched forwards to speak to the receptionist there, before returning several moments later to stand in front of Harry, giving him an encouraging smile.
“They want to conduct the interview with you alone, so that they can be sure you’re saying everything of your own free will,” said Professor McGonagall. “But we’ll be waiting for you right here in reception.”
“OK,” croaked Harry, his throat suddenly very dry.
With the mad rush of getting here via Floo powder, and the excitement of seeing the Ministry of Magic, Harry had almost forgotten why they were there. Now, remembering that he had to speak to a panel of Ministry officials about his home life, knowing that they would be the ones to decide his fate, had him spiralling into a panic.
“Good luck, Harry,” said Madam Pomfrey, patting him soothingly on the arm. “Whatever they ask, just be honest. Tell them everything that you told me about how the Dursleys treat you. If you’re feeling scared, let them know. They’ll do everything they can to make you comfortable.”
“OK,” said Harry, trying not to let his nerves show on his face, before following the receptionist through a set of double doors into a waiting room that had obviously been designed for children.
The receptionist left him there, telling him that he would be called in shortly. Harry walked around the waiting room anxiously, taking in the bright colours painted on the walls and the box of toys in the corner of the room.
“Look in the toy box, see what there is,” urged Tom.
“What?” blinked Harry.
They were eleven. They were far too old to play with toys designed for little children, but Tom was insistent, practically dragging him over to the toy box. Inside, there was a train set, some coloured wooden blocks, a worn-out-looking teddy bear and what appeared to be some sentient brightly-coloured slime.
“Take the teddy bear,” ordered Tom.
Harry stared at him. Had Tom gone mad?
“Why?” said Harry.
“It’ll make you look young and pathetic!” Tom said forcefully. “That’s what we want! We want to make the grown-ups feel like monsters at the thought of leaving you in the hands of your abusive relatives!”
Harry did not know whether to be shocked or amused at Tom’s manipulativeness and cunning. Thinking that Tom would have made an excellent Slytherin, Harry picked up the teddy bear, hugging it to his chest.
“Do I look young and pathetic enough, now?” said Harry, trying to make his voice sound young and innocent.
“Almost!” said Tom. “Do your big, adorable eye thing.”
“My what?!” said Harry.
“That thing you do where you make your eyes all big and adorable!” Tom said impatiently. “You need to look cute, Harry! We need to have them eating out of the palm of your hand!”
“I’m not cute!” protested Harry.
“You are when you do the big eye thing!” snapped Tom. “Practice it, now.”
Not exactly sure what he was supposed to be doing, Harry widened his eyes, making his bottom lip pout slightly at the same time. Tom cackled and grinned, clapping his hands together in delight.
“Perfect!” said Tom, pleased. “You look absolutely pathetic.”
Harry was not sure if he should feel flattered or offended, but before he could think about it, two young women in colourful yellow robes entered the waiting room. One of the women was wearing a beautiful turquoise headscarf that somehow managed to complement the canary yellow of her robes. Harry could see the Ministry of Magic logo stitched into both women’s left breast pockets. Unconsciously, he hugged the teddy bear closer to his chest.
“Harry Potter?” asked the woman with the turquoise headscarf.
“It’s showtime,” whispered Tom. “Act scared.”
Harry nodded timidly.
“I’m Fatima, and this is my colleague, Sarah,” said Fatima, giving him a warm, encouraging smile. “Do you want to come through?”
Harry followed the two women down a short corridor and into a small room with soothing, sky-blue walls painted with clouds and a bright yellow sun. There was one table in the middle of the room, surrounded by three colourful chairs. Harry took his seat, looking at Fatima and Sarah anxiously as they took theirs. Then, at Tom’s command, he clung tightly to his teddy bear and made his eyes as big and innocent as possible. Fatima and Sarah visibly melted.
“Harry, do you understand why you’re here today?” asked Sarah.
“Are you going to rescue me from my aunt and uncle?” Harry said hopefully.
Fatima and Sarah exchanged concerned glances.
“We’re going to make sure you’re safe,” promised Fatima. “Your school matron sent us a report detailing your home life. Can you tell us about how your aunt and uncle treat you, in your own words?”
“They torture me,” said Harry, remembering what Justin had said about the prohibition of torture under the European Convention on Human Rights. “They beat me and starve me and keep me locked up in the cupboard under the stairs.”
Fatima and Sarah could barely contain the looks of horror on their faces.
“We’re so sorry to hear that, Harry,” Sarah said gently. “How often would you say they subject you to this kind of treatment? When did it start? Do you feel comfortable talking about the violence?”
And so, Harry took a deep breath and poured out everything he had ever suffered at the hands of the Dursleys. For some reason, this time felt much easier than when he had first revealed the abuse to Madam Pomfrey all those months earlier. Perhaps it was because this was technically his second time divulging these deep, painful parts of his past. Perhaps it was because of the adrenaline and the knowledge that this interview was the final step necessary for him to never have to see the Dursleys ever again. Perhaps it was because Tom was directing him, telling him when to cuddle his teddy bear, when to make his eyes huge and sad, when to let go and allow himself to cry.
It felt surreal, almost like a performance, and Fatima and Sarah were an extremely sensitive and sympathetic audience, letting him speak freely, only interrupting when they needed him to clarify something he had said. Finally, it was over, Fatima and Sarah apparently satisfied they had gathered all the information they needed.
“Well done, Harry, you’ve been very, very brave,” Fatima said kindly. “Just one final thing: can you describe your relationship with Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey? Do you like them? Dislike them? Feel safe with them? Or unsure? There’s no right or wrong answer, Harry, you can say however you feel.”
“I think they’re great! I feel really safe and happy with them. I’d do anything to live with them, rather than have to go back to the Dursleys,” said Harry, not bothering to hide the desperate yearning in his voice.
“Do the big, adorable eye thing,” whispered Tom.
Harry clutched the teddy bear to his chest, making his eyes as large and hopeful as possible.
Fatima and Sarah exchanged a glance.
“Thank you, Harry,” said Sarah. “I think we have everything we need to make our decision. We’ll be in touch in due course, to let you know the outcome.”
Harry was shepherded back the way he had come. He dropped the teddy bear back in the toy box, before heading back out to reception, where Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were waiting for him. They got up immediately upon seeing him, hurrying over in his direction. Without thinking, Harry wrapped his arms around them as soon as they were within reach. They returned the embrace instantly, hugging him between them.
“How did it go?” said Madam Pomfrey.
“I told them everything,” said Harry.
“Well done,” said Madam Pomfrey.
“When will we know the outcome?” asked Harry.
“Before the end of the school year,” said Professor McGonagall. “But it may not be for several days – or even weeks. The Ministry of Magic is notoriously slow.”
Harry nodded, biting his lip. He knew that nothing was for certain. He knew he should not get his hopes up. But, squashed between the two women, feeling their arms wrapped protectively around him, Harry felt, for the first time in his life, like he was being embraced by a parent.
The final Saturday of May was gloriously sunny, so after lunch, Harry, Justin, Hannah and Susan decided to take their school textbooks outside to revise in the grounds of Hogwarts. With just one week to go until the end-of-year exams, everyone was cramming as hard as possible. Harry had witnessed several of the older students bursting into tears, with one seventh-year Hufflepuff girl even having to be sent to Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing for a Calming Draught.
Presently, Harry and his friends were sprawled out on the grassy slope that led down to Hagrid’s hut, each with their head buried in a textbook, trying to absorb as much knowledge into their brains as possible. Harry was cramming Defence Against the Dark Arts. Justin was anxiously reading up on History of Magic. Susan and Hannah were quizzing one another about Charms. The hot May sunshine beat down on them, the air around them hazy, humid and still.
It was a perfect summer’s day: calm, quiet, undisturbed…
Then, suddenly, an explosion shattered the afternoon peace.
Harry jerked violently with shock, looking around wildly as he scrambled to understand what was happening. Hannah screamed, pointing past Harry in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. Harry twisted around, his mouth dropping open in shock as he took in the scene before him. What Harry had assumed was an explosion must have been the side of Hagrid’s hut collapsing, because half the structure seemed to have caved in, and Harry could just make out something dark and monstrous moving inside.
As Harry watched, the dark shape seemed to surge forwards, bursting out from the ruins of Hagrid’s hut with a roar. Harry’s heart leapt in his chest, suddenly finding himself only about 20 metres away from what could only be a dragon. The beast had a lithe, sinewy body; jet black with spiny wings. Its ugly face had stubby little horns above bulging orange eyes. It had a long snout, and as Harry watched, it took a deep breath in, before shooting out twin jets of fire from its wide nostrils.
There was pandemonium. Immediately, students began screaming and running in panic. Harry and his friends scrambled to their feet, leaving their textbooks scattered on the grass, as they began sprinting as fast as possible up the slope towards the castle. Had the hill always been so long and steep? Harry thought desperately. Hogwarts felt a thousand miles away. In his peripheral vision, he saw the dragon take flight, before realising with a spike of terror that it seemed to be heading directly for them.
“Duck!” screamed Harry.
He, Justin, Hannah and Susan all dropped to the ground, only just managing to avoid a jet of fire by a matter of inches. Hannah began crying hysterically. Behind them, Hagrid seemed to have finally made it out of the wreckage of his hut, because he began charging up the hill, his giant footfalls making the ground shake.
“Norbert! Norbert! Come back!” bellowed Hagrid. “Fuckin’ hell!”
“We have to move!” shouted Justin.
The dragon had flown further up the hill, breathing fire and snapping at students, but it was flying in a lazy arc, making its way slowly back towards the first-year Hufflepuffs. Harry and his friends got back to their feet, racing up the hill as fast as they could go. All around them were screams of panic and hysteria, students scattering everywhere, desperately trying to avoid the dragon’s fiery breath and sharp teeth. They were almost at the top of the hill when the dragon turned suddenly, diving towards Hannah, who screamed, curling into a ball and clutching at her blonde pigtails.
“OH NO, YOU DON’T!” roared Susan, leaping in front of Hannah to punch the dragon directly on the snout.
“Don’t hurt ‘im!” wailed Hagrid. “‘E’s just a baby!”
Harry dragged Hannah to her feet, before letting out an involuntary gasp of fear as the dragon turned to face them and sucked in a huge breath, about to blast them all with a wall of flames. Tom threw himself in front of Harry, his face wild and contorted with terror. Harry closed his eyes. This was it. This was how they were going to die: incinerated by a dragon in the grounds of Hogwarts.
A blast of water almost knocked Harry off his feet. He spun around in shock to see groups of older students – sixth- and seventh-years – charging in their direction, their wands out, rapidly casting spells at the dragon, distracting it, dragging its attention away from the first-years. When one of the spells hit the dragon in the eye, causing it to twist away in pain, Hagrid let out a frightening, feral roar.
Suddenly, there was a blur of black and yellow robes and Harry felt a firm hand wrap around his arm, dragging him back towards the castle.
“Everyone, inside!” shouted Cedric, who was also dragging Hannah by the hand. “Justin, Susan, keep up! Get in, get in!”
Cedric herded the first-year Hufflepuffs inside, only letting go of Harry and Hannah once they were safely in the Entrance Hall, checking them all for injuries, before rubbing Hannah’s back as she clung to him and sobbed inconsolably.
“It almost ate me!” bawled Hannah. “I saw its big, horrible teeth!”
Then, suddenly, teachers seemed to be everywhere. Professors Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Quirrell and Flitwick rushed outside to confront the dragon and save the stragglers who were still to make it back to the safety of the castle. Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey ushered students into the Great Hall, which apparently had the greatest number of magical protections. In the Great Hall, Harry spotted Madam Hooch and Professor Sinistra diving into a fireplace full of green flames, before emerging several minutes later with around a dozen witches and wizards clad in matching brown robes, with Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures emblazoned on the back.
The Ministry workers sprinted out of the Great Hall, rushing outside to try to capture and contain the dragon.
“Why the bloody hell would Hagrid keep a dragon in his house?!” Susan said angrily.
Tom locked eyes with Harry, a deeply uneasy expression on his face.
“Why, indeed?” said Tom.
That evening, Harry, Justin and Neville met up for an emergency meeting. To make sure they would not be overheard, they squashed into a broom closet, Justin providing a ball of light by casting Lumos and holding his wand above their heads.
“It’s Hagrid,” said Harry, without any preamble. “Hagrid’s the one trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone for Voldemort.”
Justin and Neville both flinched at Voldemort’s name.
“Are you sure?” said Justin.
“Yes,” said Harry. “Think about it. Hagrid must have been saving the dragon to cause a distraction at some point, so that the teachers would have to deal with it, and then he’d be free to slip off to the third-floor corridor unnoticed. But the dragon escaped too early! Hagrid wasn’t fully prepared to go after the Stone yet. That’s why he was so upset. The dragon getting out too early spoilt his plans.”
“But if that’s true, that must mean he was the one who let the troll in at Halloween too!” said Justin, sounding horrified. “Which… Oh my God, it makes sense! Trolls are massive, right? Hagrid’s the only person at Hogwarts physically big enough to be able to handle a troll! He’s about twelve feet tall; they must be about the same size!”
Harry nodded. Everything was slotting into place. It all made so much sense.
“Hagrid must have hoped the troll would distract everyone at Halloween and give him a moment of opportunity,” said Harry, thinking fast. “But something went wrong. It killed Hermione, and before he knew it, Aurors were swarming the school. He didn’t dare try to steal the Stone then, not whilst the wizarding police were everywhere.”
“It’s so obvious. Why didn’t we see it before?” groaned Neville. “Plus, look at Hagrid himself. He’s obviously either a Giant or half-Giant.”
“Why does that matter?” said Justin.
“Giants are Dark creatures,” said Neville. “Loads of them sided with You-Know-Who in the last wizarding war. In fact, Hagrid’s probably the right age to have gone to school at the same time as You-Know-Who! They could have been childhood friends! Hagrid was probably one of You-Know-Who’s original followers!”
The light from Justin’s wand wobbled as Justin trembled with fear.
“What do we do now?” said Justin, panicking. “Tell a teacher that Hagrid’s in league with You-Know-Who and trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone?!”
“No,” Harry said hurriedly. “We’d get into loads of trouble. We’re not supposed to know about the Stone. We could be expelled.”
For a moment, they stood in silence. The problem seemed too big for them to handle. They were eleven. What could they do, against Hagrid and Voldemort? On the flipside, what was the cost of inaction?
“Maybe we don’t need to do anything…” Neville said slowly. “According to my Gran, You-Know-Who has always been afraid of Dumbledore. As long as Dumbledore’s at Hogwarts, the Stone is safe…”
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you so much for your lovely comments on the last chapter. It was so nice to see all your positive reactions to the reveal of Harry’s potential foster carers!
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: In the books, Harry, Ron and Hermione manage to convince Hagrid to send Norbert away to live in a dragon colony in Romania, since they could see it was unsustainable for Hagrid to keep a rapidly growing dragon in his wooden house. In this fic, however, since Hagrid isn’t friends with the trio, he just… kept the dragon lol. I hope you enjoyed the way this tied in with canon, but diverged in a way that made logical sense!
THOUGHTS: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please feel free to share your thoughts, feelings and reactions in the comments section below. What did you think of Cedric teaching Harry about magical intention? Did you enjoy the scene at the Ministry of Magic, and how manipulatively Tom helped Harry look as young and pathetic as possible (with the teddy bear and the big eye thing)? What did you think of the dragon scene and the fact they now suspect Hagrid? I love hearing your thoughts, so please don’t be shy!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the first week of June and will see things get very exciting indeed, with Tom managing to do an extremely… shocking piece of magic.
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr! Feel free to say hi, send an ask, or tag me in any fanart you create inspired by this fic <3
Chapter 21
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The beginning of June signalled the start of exam season at Hogwarts, and a tense, serious atmosphere descended upon the school. Everyone was stressed, something that was not helped by the swelteringly hot weather, which turned classrooms into ovens and frazzled even the calmest of nerves.
Tom seemed to be particularly badly affected. He woke frequently in the night, plagued by nightmares that he could not remember, but which left him with a lingering sense of dread. Even worse, he kept experiencing stabbing pains in his head, frequently clutching his forehead and wincing. It worried Harry, because Tom had hardly ever been ill before, not having a physical body and all.
“It’s nothing,” said Tom, when Harry expressed concern one day at Tom suddenly clutching his head in agony. “Stop worrying. It’s probably just the stress of the upcoming exams.”
“You’re not even the one who’s going to take them!” said Harry.
“No, but I’ll be there with you!” said Tom. “I want us to come top of the year.”
“I don’t want you to tell me the answers,” said Harry, after a slight pause.
It had been something he had been thinking about recently. As a Hufflepuff, fairness and integrity were important to him. Having Tom felt like an unfair advantage over his classmates. Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Why not?” said Tom. “With our combined brain power, I bet we could get Outstandings in every subject!”
“It’s my name on those exam papers,” Harry said earnestly. “Whatever grades I get, I want to earn them due to my own merit – not because I have a genius invisible friend telling me all the answers.”
Tom was silent for a long moment, before nodding slowly, appraising Harry with an expression of respect.
“Alright,” said Tom. “I still expect you to come top of the year, though.”
Harry hid his smile behind his hand, touched by Tom’s belief in him. His first written exam was in Charms. The first-years were led into a large classroom where the desks had been spaced evenly apart, special quills already laid out, which were bewitched with an Anti-Cheating Spell. Harry took his seat, heart hammering, as Professor Flitwick explained that they had one hour. There was a frenzied rustling of parchment when their time began.
Harry flipped over his test paper to reveal the questions. As promised, Tom sat silently at the side of the classroom, giving Harry an encouraging thumbs-up when Harry glanced over at him, but offering no further help. The hour seemed to fly by, and at the end of it, Harry felt quietly confident, hopeful that he had scored at least an Exceeds Expectations, if not an Outstanding. As the week went on, Harry and his classmates sat their written exams in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology and Astronomy.
They had practical exams, too.
For Charms, Professor Flitwick asked Harry to make a pineapple tap dance across the desk. Harry was not entirely sure what moves constituted tap dancing, but he managed to make the pineapple bounce and sway to a lively rhythm, so he hoped that would be enough.
For Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry had to demonstrate that he was able to perform a Knockback Jinx, a Smokescreen Spell, and set off red sparks from his wand. He was perhaps a little overzealous, knocking Professor Quirrell over with the force of his Knockback Jinx, but the professor did not seem to mind, forcefully rejecting Harry’s offer to help him back to his feet.
For Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall asked Harry to turn a mouse into a snuff box. Harry tried to make his as pretty as possible, embellishing it with yellow, red, blue and green gemstones, which he explained afterwards were to represent the four Hogwarts houses, earning an impressed nod from the professor.
For Potions, Professor Snape had the class brew a Forgetfulness Potion, with spells cast on the dungeon to ensure that the students could not see one another’s cauldrons, to prevent cheating.
For Herbology, Professor Sprout had Harry identify three magical plants (a Venomous Tentacula, a Puffapod and a Spiky Bush), before asking Harry to demonstrate the correct way to neutralise a Spiky Bush, which Harry did with great enthusiasm, casting Incendio to burn the needles when the plant decided to shoot these in Harry’s direction.
Then, it was time for their final exam: the written paper for History of Magic. The roasting hot classroom had everyone tired and sweating. Twice, Harry found himself spacing out, but he pushed through it, and finally, Professor Binns announced that their hour was up. Everyone burst into a spontaneous round of applause, Harry cheering along with everyone else.
Exams were finally over!
What followed were several blissful, stress-free days with no more exams and no more revision. Harry, Justin and Neville spent their days relaxing in the school grounds together, making the most of the sunny weather, going paddling in the shallows of the Great Lake and lounging about on the grass. Neville’s grandmother sent over a batch of wizarding comic books via owl post. The boys read these with great delight, giggling over The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle and coming up with their own silly fictional scenarios.
Everything was going swimmingly, until one evening, when the boys entered the Great Hall to have dinner. Harry noticed with a start a horrifying sight at the staff table.
“Hagrid’s back!” hissed Harry.
Justin and Neville stiffened with horror. Ever since the dragon incident, Hagrid had been down in London, under investigation by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It had given the boys a sense of safety, knowing that whilst Hagrid was away, the Philosopher’s Stone was safe. Now, seeing that giant head of shaggy hair at the staff table, Harry felt a deep pang of unease.
The boys crammed onto the end of the Hufflepuff table, sneaking glances at the staff table as they piled food onto their plates. Hannah and Susan, who were seated nearby, had also noticed Hagrid’s return and were not shy about airing their unhappiness.
“How could they just let him go?” cried Hannah, looking shocked. “His dragon almost ate us!”
“My Aunt Amelia says there’s going to be a trial over the summer,” whispered Susan. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets an Azkaban prison sentence.”
Harry started wolfing down his food, a nervous energy fizzing through his veins as the implications of Hagrid’s return sank in. Hagrid was back. The Philosopher’s Stone was no longer safe. And if Susan was right and Hagrid was facing possible imprisonment come the summer, Hagrid may decide that he had to act now in order to obtain the Stone for Voldemort. Harry took a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart and the sickening churning of his stomach.
The Stone is safe, he thought to himself sternly; so long as Professor Dumbledore’s around, the Stone is safe…
“Where’s Dumbledore?” Neville said suddenly.
“What?!” said Harry, twisting around to look wildly at the staff table.
He had been so distracted by Hagrid’s unexpected appearance that he had completely failed to notice the absence of the Headmaster. But Professor Dumbledore’s seat at the centre of the staff table was empty; the usual long silver beard nowhere to be seen. Panic stabbed at Harry’s heart, a similar expression of fear on Justin and Neville’s faces. Tom went as white as a sheet. They all knew what this meant: with Hagrid back and Professor Dumbledore nowhere to be seen, the Philosopher’s Stone was in danger…
“Do you think Hagrid’s killed Dumbledore?” whispered Justin, looking rather sick.
Harry shook his head. He did not want to consider the possibility. It was too horrible to think about. Just then, he saw Professor McGonagall enter the Great Hall and start making her way towards the staff table. Tom practically shoved Harry out of his seat in Professor McGonagall’s direction. Seizing his chance, Harry caught hold of Professor McGonagall’s sleeve as she walked past. She looked down at him in surprise.
“Is everything alright, Mr Potter?” she said politely.
“Where’s Professor Dumbledore?” asked Harry, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
“He’s left to go to the Ministry of Magic for the inquest into the death of Miss Granger,” said Professor McGonagall, her expression solemn. “It begins tomorrow and is expected to last all week.”
“All week?!” said Harry, horrified.
“Is that a problem?” asked Professor McGonagall, eyebrows raised.
“No,” mumbled Harry, not wanting to get into trouble for knowing about the Philosopher’s Stone. “It’s just… who’s going to protect Hogwarts, whilst he’s gone?”
Professor McGonagall smiled at him indulgently.
“Don’t worry, Harry,” she said. “The rest of the staff are perfectly capable of keeping the school and its students safe.”
Without another word, she continued her way to the staff table, sitting down next to Madam Pomfrey to begin her dinner. Feeling sick, Harry’s gaze drifted further down the staff table, to where Hagrid was sitting, cutting up a large chunk of meat with his knife and fork. Perhaps Hagrid sensed he was being watched, because a moment later, he looked up, locking eyes with Harry. He gave Harry a wide, frightening grin, raising his knife in Harry’s direction. Harry immediately ducked back down into his seat, crouching low to avoid Hagrid’s line of sight.
“What are we going to do?” Neville said anxiously.
“Maybe we should warn Professor Quirrell about Hagrid,” suggested Justin. “He’s the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He should be able to defend the Stone until Dumbledore’s back.”
Harry scanned the staff table, looking for Professor Quirrell, but strangely, the man was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s not there,” said Harry.
“So, what are we going to do?” repeated Neville, looking scared.
Harry’s eyes shone with a slightly manic fervour. That fizzy sense of nervous energy was back. Suddenly, the way forward was obvious. They could not allow Hagrid to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. They could not allow him to resurrect Voldemort. They had to stop him – which meant only one thing.
“We get the Stone first, before Hagrid,” said Harry. “Tonight.”
After that, things moved very quickly. Harry and Justin invited Neville to their dormitory so that they could look through their textbooks to go over any last-minute spells that could help them get through the obstacles guarding the Stone. Zacharias was outraged at the presence of a Gryffindor in the Hufflepuff quarters, but quickly shut up when Justin furiously pointed out that Hufflepuff was supposed to be a house that promoted tolerance of outsiders.
Nevertheless, Neville’s presence did cause a lot of curiosity from the other Hufflepuffs, and so Harry, Justin and Neville decided to all cram onto Harry’s bed and pull the curtains around them, hiding them from view from the others whilst they feverishly checked their Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms notes. They waited until Ernie and Zacharias went to bed, straining their ears to try to hear if the Hufflepuff common room was empty. Once it sounded as though the coast was clear, Harry silently grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from under his bed and stuffed it into his backpack. Keeping as quiet as possible, the three boys tip-toed out of the dormitory and into the Hufflepuff common room.
It was not empty. Cedric was sitting on one of the sofas near the fire – but he was not alone. He was sloppily kissing a Hufflepuff girl from his year, their hands fumbling all over one another. Harry, Justin and Neville stopped dead in shock, Justin letting out an involuntary gasp when Cedric’s hand drifted along the girl’s knee. Cedric and the girl both looked up with a jolt at the sound, Cedric’s face flushing bright red when he saw the younger boys staring at him. He quickly withdrew his hand from the girl’s knee.
“What are you doing?!” said Justin.
“What are you doing?” countered Cedric.
There was a very awkward pause.
“We’re going to sneak into the kitchens,” said Harry, thinking fast. “Want to come?”
He was gambling on the fact Cedric would probably say no, hopefully too embarrassed at being caught kissing a girl to want to spend a moment longer in the presence of the boys who had caught him. The gamble paid off.
“Oh, no, it’s OK,” Cedric said hurriedly, encouraging them along with a wave of his hand. “Have fun.”
“You too,” said Harry, without thinking, before realising what he had just said and practically running out of the common room in embarrassment.
The three boys crawled out of the barrel that concealed the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and straightened up outside. Harry unfolded the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them, his cheeks still hot and red with embarrassment from having seen Cedric and the girl kissing.
“Did you see his hand?!” said Justin, as they began to walk, sounding scandalised. “He was touching her leg!”
“Gross,” agreed Harry.
The boys lapsed into silence as they traipsed towards the forbidden third-floor corridor. A heavy, serious mood settled over them. Moonlight shone through the windows, illuminating the dim, empty corridors in an eerie glow. They made their way up winding, rickety staircases, until finally, they emerged at the heavy wooden door outside the third-floor corridor. Tom put a warning hand on Harry’s arm, his eyes bright and alert.
“The door’s ajar. Hagrid must already have been here,” Tom said sharply. “I’ll go ahead and check what’s going on.”
Harry relayed Tom’s message to the others. Harry, Justin and Neville stayed outside, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, as Tom went to scout ahead. Tom came back almost immediately, ushering them inside. Harry’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he slipped through the door and came face-to-face with a giant three-headed dog. It was even larger than Harry had imagined, almost filling the entire room. Its three massive heads sat atop thick, muscular necks. It had been dozing gently, but as they entered, it opened its eyes and began sniffing the air, a growl forming in its throat as saliva dripped from its massive fangs.
“There’s a harp on the floor, next to the trapdoor,” said Justin. “Maybe music puts it into a trance.”
The boys immediately began singing three random, different songs. They sounded truly awful, yet the beast’s eyelids immediately began to droop, the three giant heads hitting the floor with three loud thunks as the dog fell into a deep sleep. After waiting about a minute, to make sure the dog was fully unconscious, the boys dared to creep forwards. Harry grabbed hold of the ring on the trapdoor and heaved it open, peering down into the gloom.
“Can you see anything?” sang Justin, not particularly tunefully.
“No, it’s all black,” sang Harry.
“Let’s go before this dog wakes up,” sang Neville, his voice shaking with an unintentional vibrato.
Remembering that Neville was afraid of dogs, Harry looked down at the black void below the trapdoor and tried to mentally ready himself. Tom wound their fingers together, giving his hand a nervous squeeze.
“Together,” said Tom.
“OK,” Harry said gratefully. “Three, two, one…”
They jumped. Cool air whistled past their ears. The fall seemed to take forever – down, down, down – until finally, they landed on something large and soft. Harry let out a heavy sigh of relief, feeling around in the darkness. It felt as though he was sitting on some type of plant, presumably placed there to break the fall.
“It’s OK!” shouted Harry, craning his neck up towards the small square of light above them, where Justin and Neville were still singing. “You can jump!”
The sound of singing stopped, followed by the loud bark of a dog, but Justin and Neville had already jumped, landing on either side of Harry a moment later, letting out small oomph sounds as the wind was knocked out of them.
“That was intense,” said Neville, his voice shaking.
“One obstacle down,” said Justin, trying to stay positive. “Come on, chaps, let’s keep moving.”
Harry tried to get to his feet, only to find himself completely immobilised, letting out a shout of panic when he felt that strong, vine-like tendrils had somehow wrapped themselves around his legs without him noticing.
“The plant’s got me!” shouted Harry.
Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see that Justin and Neville were also being ensnared by the plant – long, thick vines sprouting quickly and wrapping themselves around their bodies. Justin immediately began screaming in panic, trying to tug the plant off him, but the harder he struggled, the tighter it seemed to constrict around him.
“Stop struggling!” said Harry. “You’re making it worse!”
“STOP STRUGGLING? IT’S GOING TO KILL US!” shrieked Justin.
“I know what this is! It’s the Devil’s Snare!” Neville said suddenly. “We need to start a fire.”
The Devil’s Snare had pinned Harry’s arms by his side, but he could still move his fingers. Forcing his wrist to twist outwards, he managed to wrap his fingers around his wand, which was in his pocket, gripping the wood tightly.
“Incendio!” said Harry.
There was the acrid smell of burning fabric as fire erupted out of the end of Harry’s wand and through his pocket, but the spell had the desired effect. The Devil’s Snare immediately loosened its grasp on the boys and withdrew its vines as it shrank away from the heat and light. The boys ripped the loosened vines off them, scrambling to their feet and lurching towards the wall, away from the plant. They took a moment to catch their breath, before exchanging a scared look between themselves.
We have to stop Hagrid, Harry reminded himself, trying not to panic. This is all to stop Hagrid…
Carefully, they began making their way along a narrow stone passageway that seemed to be the only way forwards. The walls were cold and wet, and the ground seemed to be sloping downwards. Harry wondered if it was taking them beneath the lake, shivering as he tried not to think about the ceiling caving in and drowning them all.
“What’s that noise?” whispered Justin.
Harry strained his ears. He could faintly make out a gentle, rustling sound from up ahead, along with little metallic clinks that reminded him of a wind chime. It sounded innocuous enough, but then, the plant had seemed innocuous enough too, until it had started wrapping vines around them and trying to squeeze them to death.
They emerged from the passageway into a large, brightly-lit chamber with a domed ceiling like a cathedral. It was filled with small metallic birds of various colours that were gleaming and glittering as the light caught their brassy bodies. On the far side of the room was a large, wooden door.
“We’re going to get pecked to death, aren’t we?” groaned Justin.
“Not if they can’t see us!” said Harry, remembering the Invisibility Cloak in his bag.
Pulling it out, he threw it over the three of them. The boys crept across the chamber as quietly as possible, finally reaching the door and wrestling with the handle.
“Alohomora!” said Harry, pointing his wand at the lock.
It did not open.
“That’s weird,” frowned Tom. “Try again.”
Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it back into his bag so as not to lose it. Concentrating, he tried again and again, but the door refused to budge, the lock staying stubbornly locked. Justin and Neville tried too, but neither their combined spell-power nor brute force could open the door.
“The birds must be relevant somehow,” Tom said slowly. “There must be a reason for them.”
Harry repeated what Tom had said for the benefit of the others, before turning his attention to the birds. They were unlike any bird he had seen before, with shiny metal bodies that glinted in the light. Their bodies were strange and thin; their heads not even shaped like heads at all…
“They’re keys!” gasped Harry, his eyes widening with shock. “One of them must fit the door!”
“But how are we meant to… Oh, look, over there, broomsticks!” said Neville, pointing towards the other side of the room, where several broomsticks were lying on the ground. “We’ve got to catch the key.”
“How are we meant to find the right one?” said Justin. “There must be hundreds of keys up there.”
Tom carefully examined the door.
“It’s probably silver, like the handle,” he said. “And if Hagrid’s already caught it once before, it may already have damage to its wings. The wings look pretty fragile; I doubt they’d be unscathed after being grabbed by a giant.”
Harry scanned the keys fluttering around the room. Suddenly, he spotted one bobbing above them. Its flight was much wobblier than the others, one of its wings crumpled in half.
“That one!” said Harry, not daring to tear his eyes off it.
Casting Lumos to form a beam of light, he placed a spotlight on the key. Justin and Neville ran over to the broomsticks, kicking off from the ground and soaring through the air. They followed Harry’s beam of light, desperately trying to snatch the key out of the air. But, even with a broken wing, the key was deceptively agile, managing to bob and weave its way just out of reach of their fingertips.
“Herd it my way!” shouted Harry. “I’ll try to catch it.”
Justin and Neville formed a clumsy triangle with the key, trying to shepherd it in Harry’s direction. It seemed to be working. The key flew away from Justin and Neville, heading towards Harry, who was waiting, coiled tight like a spring, ready to pounce. It was almost within Harry’s grasp, when Neville, too busy focusing on the key to look where he was going, smashed into the wall with a sickening crunch, immediately slipping from his broom and crashing to the floor, unmoving.
“Catch the key!” screamed Tom, when Harry turned instinctively in Neville’s direction.
With lightning fast reflexes Harry did not even know he possessed, he snatched the key out of the air, shoving it into the door, which unlocked and opened with a quiet click. After shoving his bag in the gap to wedge open the door, Harry immediately rushed over to where Neville was sprawled limp and unmoving on the stone floor. Justin was already bent over him, slapping his chubby cheeks frantically in an attempt to wake him up. Harry dropped to his knees, placing his hand in front of Neville’s nose and mouth, feeling a rush of relief when he felt that Neville was still breathing.
“He’s alive,” said Harry, pulling back Neville’s eyelid. His pupil constricted in reaction to the bright light of the chamber. “I think he’ll be OK. He’s just knocked out.”
“Should we wait for him to wake up?” Justin said anxiously.
In any other scenario, Harry would not have hesitated to say yes. Neville was their friend. Of course they should be there for him and try to ensure his safety. But this was not a normal scenario… The fate of the wizarding world hung in the balance. For all they knew, Hagrid could already have got to the Philosopher’s Stone. He could already be performing whatever twisted ritual was necessary to give Voldemort a body.
“We can’t,” said Harry, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “We have to keep going. If Hagrid gets the Stone…”
He looked up at Tom, desperately seeking validation that he was making the right choice, that he was not making a huge mistake, leaving Neville alone in a potentially perilous medical emergency. Tom nodded quickly, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and looking firmly into Harry’s eyes.
“We have to stop Hagrid,” said Tom. “We can’t let him resurrect Voldemort.”
Harry nodded. Casting one final, desperate, lingering glance at Neville knocked out cold on the floor, Harry and Justin hurried into the next chamber. Tom followed silently behind. Torches flickered on as soon as they entered the room, illuminating an eerie sight. The entire floor was a checkerboard of black and white squares, with large stone statues lined up on each side of the room. Justin gasped, immediately recognising what Harry did not.
“Dear God,” said Justin. “It’s a chessboard.”
Harry did a double take, finally realising that what he had assumed were statues were actually giant chess pieces. At the far end of the room, he could see another door.
“How does this work?” Harry said uncertainly.
“We must have to play our way across the room,” said Justin, walking up to a nearby knight and placing his hand on it.
As soon as Justin touched it, the chess piece sprang to life, turning its blank face in Justin’s direction.
“Do we get to choose which pieces we are?” asked Justin.
The black knight nodded. Justin hummed to himself, looking deep in thought. Harry suddenly remembered that Justin had been the captain of the Chess Club at his primary school. He desperately hoped that Justin was in fact the chess prodigy that he seemed to be in Harry’s amateur eyes.
“OK, Harry, you be a bishop,” said Justin, after a while. “I’ll be a castle.”
The chess pieces seemed to be listening, because at Justin’s words, a black bishop and castle got up and walked off the chess board, letting the boys take their place. Tom stood next to Harry on his square, interlinking their fingers nervously. There was a moment of silence, and then there was an ominous scraping sound as a white pawn moved forwards two squares across the stone floor. Harry and Justin exchanged a tense glance – and then the game began.
Justin was a master chess player, moving the pieces with speed and precision, manoeuvring himself and Harry when needed, although he was vigilant to keep them out of danger as much as possible. They had their first big shock when one of their pieces was taken. The chess piece was smashed around the head by its opponent, before being dragged off the board. Harry’s legs turned to jelly. What if he or Justin were taken? Surely, they would not survive such a blow to the head?
Tom seemed equally as disturbed, because he began barking out counter-arguments to some of Justin’s decisions, forcing Harry to repeat them word for word, so that they could be sure they were making the best (and safest) choices possible. Justin took it in his stride, listening carefully to Tom’s suggestions and taking them into account where appropriate. The game progressed rapidly, and soon, there were large piles of chess pieces of both colours dragged off to the side of the board.
At one point, Justin barely managed to avoid being taken out, realising he was in danger just in time and swiftly moving to safety with a squeak of terror. Harry’s nerves were shredded. He was consumed by a terrible mixture of fear and helplessness. He was not good enough at chess to be able to contribute. Honestly, he could barely follow what was going on. His mind drifted to Hagrid, terror clenching his heart. Were they already too late? Had Hagrid managed to bring Voldemort back to life already?
“Checkmate,” said Justin.
Harry jerked back to reality to see the white king piece remove his crown and throw it to Justin’s feet. They had won. Justin gave a shaky laugh, crossing over to Harry to give him a hug of pure relief.
“I thought we were going to die a few times there,” admitted Justin.
“Thanks for not letting that happen,” said Harry, his voice shaking.
The remaining chessmen stepped aside and bowed, leaving the way forward clear. Harry and Justin hurried past them, lest they change their mind, and pushed open the next door. There was another narrow stone passageway. They walked silently in single file, the sounds of their breathing echoing in the confined space. At the end of the passageway, there was another heavy wooden door. Harry pushed it open – and immediately gagged.
A stench unlike anything he had ever smelt before assaulted his nostrils. It smelt like rotten eggs, unwashed armpits and a particularly disgusting public toilet all rolled into one. Harry hastily pulled his robes up to cover his mouth and nose, desperately trying not to be sick as he walked into the room. A huge mountain troll was lying unconscious on the floor, a bloody lump swelling on its forehead. Harry and Justin edged around the unconscious troll, trying not to breathe, heading towards the next wooden door. As soon as Harry pulled it open, the boys rushed into the next room, letting out a huge sigh of relief to be away from both the troll itself and its horrible stink.
Moments later, however, purple flames erupted in the doorway they had just entered through, with black flames simultaneously erupting in the doorway ahead. The boys cried out in shock, their predicament immediately hitting home: they were trapped. Harry tried to quell the instinctive panic that exploded in his gut. This was just another challenge. There had to be a way out.
“Look!” said Tom, pointing to a table in the centre of the room.
On the table were seven differently shaped bottles, standing innocently in a line. There was also a scroll of parchment. Harry picked it up, Justin and Tom peering over his shoulders to read the puzzle that was written there:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Seven bottles: three poison, two wine, one potion to go forwards through the black fire, and one potion to go back through the purple fire. Harry stared at the parchment in despair. He hated logic puzzles. They always twisted his brain, confusing him with their needless convolutions. Based on the look of dismay on Justin’s face, he felt the same. Tom, however, clapped his hands together with glee.
“Excellent!” said Tom. “An easy challenge, at last!”
“You think this is easy?!” said Harry, shocked.
“Of course,” said Tom, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “This is just straightforward logic. Give me a minute.”
Harry fell silent as Tom re-read the parchment several times, before staring intently at the bottles for around three minutes. Fear and trepidation slowly built in Harry’s gut as Tom wrestled with the puzzle. On the other side of the black fire was Hagrid. Had he got the Stone already? Had he resurrected Voldemort? And if he had, would Voldemort try to kill Harry again? He had tried once, when Harry was a baby. Harry had got lucky once – but would he get lucky again…?
“Got it!” Tom said triumphantly, a smug expression on his face. “The smallest bottle takes us forwards, through the black fire. The big round bottle at the end takes us back, through the purple.”
Harry relayed the information to Justin, who examined the bottles nervously.
“There’s only enough potion for one person to go forwards, towards the Stone,” said Justin.
Harry and Justin exchanged a long look.
“I’m the one who needs to go forwards,” Harry said finally, trying to quell the trembling of his voice. “I’ve faced Voldemort and survived before. Maybe whatever saved me then will save me again.”
Justin’s lower lip wobbled, but he nodded, trying to stay strong.
“You go back through the purple fire,” continued Harry. “Take one of the broomsticks back up to the school. Go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that Neville’s knocked out and needs help. She’ll be able to cure him. She may be able to contact Dumbledore too. And if… if I don’t make it back, tell her and Professor McGonagall that I’m sorry, and I’m grateful for everything they’ve done for me this year…”
Harry’s throat closed up with emotion, preventing him from going on. He did not want to think about what would happen if he died. Would Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall mourn for him? Would they blame themselves for not knowing about his plan and stopping him? He did not want to hurt them, not when they had done so much for him, opening up their home and their hearts to welcome him into their family.
“You’re going to make it back,” said Justin, tears shimmering in his large brown eyes. He sounded as though he were trying to convince himself as much as Harry. “Just… be careful, alright?”
Harry nodded numbly. He watched as Justin picked up the large round bottle from the end of the line and brought it to his lips. Justin swallowed the potion in three large gulps, before giving Harry one final smile and marching through the flickering purple flames, back towards the unconscious troll.
The subsequent silence as Harry and Tom stood alone in the potions room was deafening. For one mad moment, Harry wondered what would happen if they just stayed there forever, not having to face Voldemort or deal with school or any of the pressures of normal life. But he knew that was a fantasy, a pipe dream. They had to press forwards. The fate of the wizarding world depended on it.
“Here we go,” murmured Harry, bringing the smallest bottle to his lips and draining it in one gulp.
It felt like ice trickling down his throat. He shivered at the unpleasant sensation, before locking eyes with Tom, who looked just as pale and nervous as Harry felt.
“After you,” said Tom, gesturing towards the doorway of black flames. “Quick, before it wears off.”
Bracing himself, Harry took a deep breath and marched forwards through the fire. The black flames tickled gently at his skin, but did not burn. For a moment, Harry could see nothing but flickering blackness, but then he emerged into the dark, final chamber, stepping out onto a cold stone floor. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, he stepped aside so that Tom would not walk into him, and waited for him to follow through the black flames.
And waited…
And waited…
And waited…
“Tom?” said Harry, fear and uncertainty blooming in his chest.
But Tom did not walk through the black flames. Harry placed his ear as close to the flames as he dared, but could not hear a single thing from the other side. Panic exploded in his gut. This could not be happening. He could not be separated from Tom. Not here. Not now.
“Tom! Where are you?” he cried out, distressed.
A cold chuckle came from behind him.
Harry spun around, finally able to see the chamber, now that his eyes had adjusted to the low light. Professor Quirrell was standing calmly in front of the Mirror of Erised, watching Harry with a twisted smile on his face. Harry walked forwards cautiously, his mind scrambling to understand what was happening.
“Are you here to stop Hagrid?” Harry asked hopefully.
“Hagrid?” said Professor Quirrell, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“He’s trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!” said Harry. “He’s in league with Voldemort!”
For some reason, Professor Quirrell seemed to find this very funny, because he threw his head back and laughed; a cold, sharp laugh that did not sound like his usual stuttering self at all.
“Oh, Potter, you’re certainly no Ravenclaw, are you?” sneered Professor Quirrell.
Why is he not stammering? Harry thought with bewilderment. And what did he find so funny about Harry’s warnings about Hagrid? Harry stared at him with hopeless confusion. He wished Tom were here. Tom would know what to do.
“What’s funny?” said Harry. “Listen, if Hagrid gets hold of the Stone–”
“Why on earth would Hagrid be after the Stone?” said Professor Quirrell.
“He had that dragon!” said Harry, baffled and frustrated that Professor Quirrell did not seem to understand. “He was going to use it as a distraction to get the Stone, just like when he let the troll in at Halloween…”
Professor Quirrell stared at him in amazement.
“You astound me, Potter,” he said. “You put two and two together and get Hagrid? Oh, my dear boy, sometimes I forget just how stupid children can be.”
Harry had the sinking feeling something was badly wrong. He did not like the way Professor Quirrell was speaking at all. It was so different from the shy, stammering teacher Harry had so easily trusted all year. A horrible realisation began to dawn on him. Whoever was after the Stone had obviously planned to steal it whilst Dumbledore was away in London for Hermione’s inquest. Harry had expected to meet Hagrid tonight, but instead…
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked slowly.
Professor Quirrell smiled sadistically, giving Harry a mocking look.
“Come on, Potter, I’m sure even you can work it out, if you put your two brain cells to the task…”
It was Quirrell… Harry could no longer deny the horrifying truth. His mind had fought against it. He had hoped, desperately, that the reason Professor Quirrell was here was to protect the Stone from Hagrid, but no. The hairy giant was nowhere to be seen. The only person here, looking at Harry with such mocking disdain, was Professor Quirrell… Harry’s heart pounded with horror. Quirrell was the one in league with Voldemort. Quirrell was the one wanting to resurrect him using the Philosopher’s Stone.
Without thinking, Harry whipped out his wand, pointing it directly at Professor Quirrell and bellowing:
“Flipendo!”
Professor Quirrell deflected Harry’s Knockback Jinx effortlessly, before snapping his fingers, conjuring up ropes out of thin air that wrapped themselves tightly around Harry’s hands and ankles, restraining him immediately. Harry let out a cry of shock, barely managing to keep his balance as Professor Quirrell lazily turned his attention back to the Mirror of Erised, as if Harry were nothing more than an annoying insect.
“Now, how do I extract the Stone from this Mirror?” said Professor Quirrell, staring into it hungrily. “I see myself presenting it to my Master. But I don’t understand. Is it inside the glass? Should I break it?”
Professor Quirrell began casting several complicated-looking spells on the mirror, making it glow in various colours, before walking around it slowly, examining it from all angles. But the harder the man tried, the more confused and frustrated he seemed to get.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Harry struggled against the ropes that were restraining him. When the ropes had forced his hands together, he had dropped his wand. It was lying uselessly on the floor several feet away. Harry tried to shuffle sideways towards it without Professor Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight, sending him toppling painfully onto the hard stone floor.
“How do I get the Stone?” said Professor Quirrell, muttering to himself. “Guide me, Master!”
Then, a terrible voice answered, a raspy, malevolent voice that sent shivers down Harry’s spine – and bizarrely, it seemed to be coming from Professor Quirrell himself, even though the man was not moving his lips.
“Use the boy…”
Before Harry knew what was happening, Professor Quirrell was pointing his wand directly at Harry on the ground. Harry felt a sickening swoop in his stomach as he was levitated into the air and floated towards the mirror.
“Let me go!” screamed Harry. “Put me down! Put me down!”
He twisted and thrashed wildly in the air, but his efforts were in vain, his hands and ankles bound too tightly to do anything useful, the tips of his toes barely scuffing the ground. Professor Quirrell deposited him directly in front of the mirror, standing behind him with a greedy look on his face, as he used his magic to force Harry’s head to face the mirror.
“Tell me what you see,” said Professor Quirrell.
Harry stared into the mirror, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. After a few moments, he realised he was looking into the potions chamber where he had been just ten minutes before. Tom was going berserk inside the room, running at the walls and bouncing off them, slapping his hands and feet against the floor, screaming into the black fire that separated their two rooms. Harry longed for them to be reunited. He needed Tom. Now more than ever.
“Well?” snapped Professor Quirrell. “What do you see?”
“I… I see the potions chamber on the other side of the black fire,” Harry said honestly.
He did not mention Tom. Something told him that revealing Tom’s existence would do nothing to help his situation. Professor Quirrell seemed furious at Harry’s answer, as if Harry were being deliberately unhelpful.
“Useless boy!” seethed Professor Quirrell. “I should kill you right now! You’re nothing but a pain in my Master’s side…”
“Let me see…” said that terrible rasping voice. “I want to see the boy’s face as he dies at my hand…”
Professor Quirrell gave a cold, malicious laugh, flicking his wand to send Harry skidding backwards several metres, so that they could stand face-to-face. Then, he locked eyes with Harry, before reaching up and slowly beginning to unravel his large purple turban. Even without the ropes binding his hands and ankles together, Harry felt immobilised by fear. He watched, heart pounding with dread, as layer after layer of purple material was unwrapped, leaving Professor Quirrell’s head looking unnaturally small.
Then, Professor Quirrell turned slowly on the spot, lifting the final piece of purple fabric to reveal a hideous, terrible face where the back of his head should have been.
Harry screamed. He could not help it. This was the man who had murdered Harry’s parents. This was the man who had tried to murder Harry himself. Harry had had nightmares about him before, but Voldemort had always been a vague, faceless figure. Now, Harry had a face to put to the name. And what a terrible face it was: chalk white skin, red eyes and slits for nostrils. He barely looked human. Perhaps he was so evil, so lacking in humanity, that fate had decided he did not deserve a human face.
“Harry Potter…” rasped Voldemort. “The boy who lived… How does it feel, knowing you will die by my hand tonight?”
Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away to safety and hide from the monster with the red eyes that was staring at him so mockingly. But something was rising inside him: a reckless mixture of anger and courage that refused to submit, refused to show weakness, refused to show fear to such a monster. Voldemort wanted Harry to tremble pathetically. Voldemort wanted Harry to beg for his life. Harry would not give him the satisfaction. If he was going to die, he would do so boldly and unafraid – like his parents.
“You couldn’t even kill me as a baby,” scoffed Harry, with far more confidence than he felt. “Why should this time be any different?”
Voldemort’s face twisted with fury. Clearly, he had not expected such disrespect or resistance.
“Insolent child!” spat Voldemort. “I will enjoy watching you die, Harry Potter… I will enjoy watching the light leave your eyes… Quirrell, KILL HIM!”
That was all the warning Harry had, before Professor Quirrell launched himself at Harry, sending him toppling to the floor.
Harry let out a terrified, high-pitched scream that was cut off abruptly as the man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing brutally…
Twenty minutes earlier…
“Here we go,” murmured Harry, bringing the smallest bottle to his lips and draining it in one gulp.
“After you,” said Tom, gesturing towards the doorway of black flames. “Quick, before it wears off.”
Tom watched as Harry walked forwards into the black fire. Harry disappeared from sight quickly, but he did not seem to be in any distress as he walked through the flames. Tom let out a silent sigh of relief. He had been 99.9% certain he had solved the potions riddle correctly, but there was always that 0.1% chance… Taking a deep breath, Tom marched forwards to follow Harry through the black flames – and was blasted backwards by an eruption of raw magic.
Tom fell heavily to the floor, shock, horror and complete confusion exploding inside him as he scrambled to understand what was going on. He got back to his feet immediately, running full tilt at the black fire, only to be blasted back again, the flames rejecting him firmly and absolutely. Terror clawed at Tom’s insides as he rushed up to the black fire and stood as close to it as he dared. He heard Harry say something on the other side, but it was muffled, like trying to listen through a wall.
“Harry! Come back!” shouted Tom. “I can’t get through!”
Tom waited, and waited… but there was no response.
“Harry! Can you hear me? You have–” began Tom, but he was cut off by Harry shouting in distress from the other side:
“Tom! Where are you?”
Tom felt as though he might explode from the sheer levels of panic and stress. Tom could hear Harry, if he shouted, but it seemed as though Harry could not hear anything from Tom’s side at all. Why was the fire not letting Tom through?! Tom let out a scream of frustration, trying one more time to run through the black flames. He was blasted backwards, as before, sending him sprawling on the floor.
Tom got to his feet shakily. Clearly, he needed to try a new strategy. Instead of trying to walk through the fire, this time, he attempted to walk through the wall, but as soon as he came into contact with the stone, he was met with a forcefield of magic, buzzing like static electricity. Tom took a deep breath, trying to quell his rising panic. He pressed harder against the forcefield, but the harder he pushed, the harder it pushed back. The buzzing got louder, like a swarm of angry bees.
Suddenly, he heard Harry’s voice shout from the adjoining room:
“Flipendo!”
Fear spiked through Tom. Harry was engaged in combat, which meant that Hagrid must already be on the attack. But was it Hagrid…? Frowning, Tom went back to the black fire where sound seemed to pass through most easily, and listened as hard as he could. He could hear a muffled man’s voice, but it did not sound like Hagrid’s deep, booming, sonorous voice. No, it seemed higher and reedier, almost like Professor Quirrell, if it were not for the lack of a stutter on every other syllable.
Knowing that Harry was trapped alone and in combat with someone fuelled Tom’s drive to reach him even more intensely. He began running at the walls, tried to batter his way through the forcefield, tried to find cracks or weaknesses in the magic, but it did not work. The forcefield was impenetrable, with perfectly even magic covering every inch of rock. Tom let out another howl of frustration, running back to the black fire and screaming at it in sheer frustration.
“LET ME IN!” screamed Tom. “LET ME IN!”
He drew in a deep breath to scream once more, when Harry’s voice suddenly came through from the other side of the fire, sounding panicked and frightened:
“Let me go! Put me down! Put me down!”
Tom felt as though the bottom had just dropped from his stomach. Someone had picked Harry up, against his will. What were they doing to him? Were they hurting him? Were they torturing him? Tom felt as though his mind might shatter. He got on all fours and began kicking and slapping at the floor with a feral, desperate intensity. He wanted to pass through the floor so that he could pass through the rock underneath the walls and pop up in Harry’s chamber, but the floors had the same forcefield as the walls, not allowing him through, no matter how hard he tried.
Tom gnashed his teeth, hot tears of frustration prickling at his eyes and leaking down his cheeks. This was unbearable. Harry was just on the other side of the wall. He was in the next room, facing an enemy who was fighting him, possibly hurting him, and Tom could do nothing about it. He felt useless. Terror whirled inside him like a tornado, tearing at his heart, filling his head with terrible, intrusive thoughts of Harry crying, Harry injured, Harry dead.
Tom forced his flailing limbs to stop, forced himself to stand upright and gather his thoughts. He was no use to Harry like this, crying like a hysterical child. He needed to focus. His mind was his greatest asset. This was just another challenge for him to solve. Taking a deep breath, Tom tried to wrap his mind around the situation at hand.
Tom could not pass through the walls or the floor. Clearly, magical enchantments had been placed on the room, to ensure that the only ways in and out were through the purple or black flames. So, why had Tom not been able to pass through the black flames, after Harry? He could only assume it was because Tom had not technically drunk the potion himself. It seemed mightily unfair, seeing as Tom could not interact with any physical matter (except for Harry), but then, the potion puzzle probably had not been created with a disembodied soul in mind. Tom breathed deeply, wrestling his emotions into check, focusing on the pure logic of the problem.
Tom was trapped inside the potions room. He could not follow Harry into the final chamber, and he could not communicate with him verbally – but surely there must be something he could do? He was a genius, after all. He was the cleverest wizard in their year, probably even cleverer than Hermione Granger had been. He was the cleverest wizard in their year…
Suddenly, Tom gasped. Of course! He was a wizard! He could do magic! He may not have a wand or even a body, but what was it that Cedric had said, when he had taught Harry about magical intention, when Harry had been struggling to master the Mending Charm on a broken pencil in the Hufflepuff common room?
Intention is the most important thing in magic, Cedric had said. In some cultures around the world, witches and wizards don’t even use verbal spells or wands! They cast magic purely by focusing on their intention, on what they want to do, and channelling their magic to make their intentions come true.
Tom felt a spurt of excitement go through him – and then, a terrible, malevolent shout from the other room turned the blood to ice in his veins.
“KILL HIM!”
Tom heard Harry let out a high-pitched scream, before it was abruptly cut off, stealing the air from Tom’s lungs, leaving nothing but sheer, unadulterated terror. The white light that usually pulsed around him to the rhythm of his heartbeat began to glow brighter and brighter, just as it had done when he had performed his first ever accidental magic, setting the predator’s coat on fire, when the man had tried to kidnap Harry as a little boy and drag him into his white van.
And suddenly, Tom knew exactly what he had to do.
He clenched his hands into fists, letting the magic build up inside him, swirling hotter and hotter, the pressure building as he fought to control it, to bend it to his will, to force it to obey his all-important intention.
He wanted to protect Harry…
He wanted to end whoever was daring to hurt him…
He wanted to destroy them…
Tom closed his eyes. He could feel his magic throbbing and building inside him like a pressure cooker. It was swirling madly around him, white hot and bubbling like plasma. He clenched his teeth, sweat breaking out on his brow as he let his magic build to its absolute maximum, before unleashing it with a roar, his white glow pulsing so brightly it was blinding.
“Burn… Burn… BURN…”
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all your enthusiastic responses to the last chapter! I’m so happy you guys are enjoying this story <3
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: In the books, Harry has scar pain and nightmares during the run up to his exams, which he interprets as a sign that Voldemort is plotting something and danger is coming. In this fic, since Tom is the Horcrux, he is the one who got the nightmares and headaches.
FORESHADOWING #1: Tom’s magical abilities with fire (Fiendfyre) were foreshadowed in chapter 3, when Tom set fire to the predator’s coat when the man tried to kidnap Harry. Well done if you remembered this and wondered if we’d be seeing this ability again!
FORESHADOWING #2: It was mentioned in chapter 13 that Dumbledore was going to ask if Hermione’s inquest could be postponed until the end of the school year, after the students had sat their exams. Well done if you foresaw that this would take him out of the school and provide a perfect window of opportunity to anyone wanting to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!
THOUGHTS: Well, that was a dramatic chapter… What did you think of Tom trying to burn Quirrell alive to keep Harry safe?! ;)
TEASER: The next chapter will see the fall-out of Harry and Tom’s actions in this chapter, and will be the final one covering their first year at Hogwarts.
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr. Feel free to say hi over there!
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tom must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was slowly blinking awake in a warm, comfortable bed. His awareness returned to him gradually. He was exhausted, in a bone-deep, lethargic kind of way that made his throat scratch and his eyelids feel like heavy weights. Slowly, he became aware of noises happening around him; someone was bustling about, their robes swishing as they walked. Beside him was something warm and familiar.
Harry, Tom’s semi-conscious mind supplied, making his lips curve into a sleepy smile. Tom had been so worried, after the two of them had become separated, deep in the bowels of the school…
Tom sat bolt upright, full consciousness returning to him abruptly, as memories of recent events came flooding back to him with horrifying clarity. He looked around wildly, immediately recognising the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. It was dark outside, the stars visible against an inky black sky. Beside him lay an unconscious Harry. He looked small and fragile, his scar looking angry and red against his pale face, but he was breathing, much to Tom’s dizzy relief.
Tom placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and shook him gently.
“Wake up,” urged Tom.
But Harry did not respond, his breath coming out in shallow puffs, his dark eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks. Tom checked him fretfully. A wave of nausea swept over him when he spotted dark, angry bruises around Harry’s neck, in the distinct shape of an adult’s fingers. Tom touched the bruises gently, letting out a distressed noise, before forcing himself to continue his assessment of Harry. He looked pale and exhausted, but other than the horrid bruises around his neck, the redness of his scar and the fact he was unconscious, Harry seemed otherwise unharmed.
After placing his head on Harry’s chest to listen to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, Tom finally gave himself permission to relax. Harry was alive. That was the important thing. Bruises would heal. Exhaustion could be slept away. Harry was alive. That was all that mattered.
It was then that he noticed the intricate web of magic that surrounded Harry’s bed. There were about a dozen different-coloured threads of magic that criss-crossed over Harry. Complicated runes floated in the air above him. They must be monitoring Harry’s condition, Tom realised. This was Healing magic, at its most advanced. As Tom watched with fascination, a bright green thread of magic vibrated and glowed, emitting a low hum, obviously indicating some change in Harry’s health.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling over immediately, her robes swishing against the stone floor, quickly reading the runes above Harry’s bed. Whatever the runes said must have made sense to her, because she gently opened Harry’s mouth and administered three drops of bright purple potion using a pipette. Seeing the gentleness and care with which she handled Harry filled Tom with a sense of ease. Harry was in good hands here.
Slowly, Tom’s eyes drifted over the rest of the Hospital Wing. Neville was in the next bed over. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, but he was awake and sitting upright, sipping on a steaming hot potion that was bright turquoise in colour. Justin was asleep in the next bed down. He looked physically unharmed; Madam Pomfrey must be keeping him in just as a precaution.
One bed at the end of the ward caught Tom’s attention. Unlike the others, it had tall white privacy curtains pulled firmly around it, obscuring the occupant from view. Tom’s breath caught in his throat, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. He had a strong suspicion of what was behind the curtains, but he had to be sure. After checking carefully that Harry looked stable and the runes floating above his body were not doing anything obviously alarming, Tom slipped silently out of their bed. He stroked Harry’s hair in a silent promise that he would not be gone long, and then he walked over to the end of the Hospital Wing, straight through the white privacy curtains, bringing him face-to-face with the occupant in the final bed.
Tom looked down coldly at the charred, blackened, twisted remains of what had once been a man. The skin and fat had been completely burnt away, leaving only the flesh, which had twisted and fused to the bones. Tom stared at the grotesque corpse for a long moment, before nodding with detached satisfaction and turning around, returning to Harry’s bed, climbing in beside him and curling around him like a cat.
“Rest as long as you need, Harry,” Tom said softly. “You’re safe now.”
Tom must have been more exhausted than he realised, because he fell back asleep almost instantly, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he finally awoke, he was not sure how much time had passed, but it must have been at least a day, because the sky outside now displayed a vibrant orange sunset. Tom rolled over to see that Harry was still sleeping, Madam Pomfrey’s magical threads and Healing runes still twinkling above his bed. For a moment, Tom was not sure what had awoken him, but then he saw Professor Dumbledore standing at the foot of Harry’s bed, alongside Madam Pomfrey.
“Still no change?” asked Professor Dumbledore.
“Harry’s suffering from severe magical exhaustion,” said Madam Pomfrey. “He seems to have used an incredible amount of magic fighting against Professor Quirrell. I don’t expect him to wake up for another two or three days, at least.”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to you about that,” Professor Dumbledore said gravely.
He was not smiling.
“About what?” said Madam Pomfrey.
“His encounter with Quirrell,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Have you completed your post-mortem examination of Quirrell’s body?”
“I have…” said Madam Pomfrey.
“And?” prompted Professor Dumbledore.
Madam Pomfrey sighed.
“It’s as you suspected, Headmaster,” she said. “He was engulfed by Fiendfyre. Every part of his body was destroyed by it. But I must disagree with your previous assessment of it being an example of Dark magic.”
Tom sat up straight in bed, listening intently.
“You don’t think Fiendfyre counts as Dark magic?” said Professor Dumbledore, looking serious. “My dear Pomfrey, Fiendfyre is strongly associated with Dark witches and wizards. If Harry conjured it deliberately, this is very disturbing indeed…”
Madam Pomfrey looked aghast.
“Are you seriously entertaining the possibility that Harry did this on purpose?” she said.
“I am merely saying we must remain open to all possibilities,” Professor Dumbledore said quietly. “Fiendfyre of the intensity that engulfed Quirrell usually requires strong magical intention.”
Madam Pomfrey’s nostrils flared with anger.
“Might I remind you that accidental magic is very common in children,” she said, her tone biting and cold. “Especially young children. Especially when they’re faced with life-or-death situations. Now, based on the fact Harry was brought here tied up in ropes and with clear signs of manual strangulation around his neck, I think we can safely say that Harry was under attack. In such a scenario, it would be completely natural for Harry’s magic to react strongly and instinctively against the threat.”
“It’s not the use of magic I’m concerned about, it’s the Fiendfyre,” said Professor Dumbledore. “It is one of the Darkest spells known to wizardkind. Lord Voldemort himself mastered it at a young age.”
Madam Pomfrey flinched at Voldemort’s name, but did not back down.
“What are you suggesting?” she said sharply. “That Harry Potter is the next Dark Lord?”
“I am suggesting you should not let yourself be blinded by emotion,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I am suggesting you keep a close eye on this boy and report any further disturbing behaviour to me.”
Madam Pomfrey’s face went white with fury.
“Get out of my Hospital Wing,” she said quietly, her voice steady and controlled in a way that was somehow more frightening than if she had shouted.
“But–” began Professor Dumbledore.
“OUT!”
Harry woke up groggily, floating up through a haze of sleepiness that seemed to cloud all his senses. He felt warm and fuzzy and comfortable. Crisp, clean sheets were below him; a warm duvet trapped him in a wonderful layer of warmth. He could hear voices talking quietly around him, so he opened his eyes, momentarily confused by what he was seeing.
He was lying in a bed, but it was not his bed in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Bright light poured in through the large, tall windows, illuminating what he finally recognised to be the Hospital Wing. Tom was dozing beside him. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey sat on either side of his bed. Professor McGonagall was holding his hand, whilst Madam Pomfrey stroked his hair gently. Noticing that Harry was awake, they both smiled at him warmly.
Harry smiled back hesitantly, feeling cautious and confused, before gasping and sitting bolt upright as his memories started flooding back to him. The sudden change in posture left him feeling dizzy and light-headed, but he clenched his teeth against the discomfort. It was imperative that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey understood the danger they were all in.
“Quirrell’s in league with Voldemort!” Harry shouted in panic, causing Tom to wake with a start beside him. “They’re trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!”
But then, he remembered the inferno. He remembered the terrible way Quirrell had screamed as he had died. He remembered Voldemort’s soul abandoning Quirrell’s burning body and flying away, up through the ceiling, in a rush of black vapour, fleeing the flames that were consuming Quirrell whole.
“Actually… I think Quirrell might be dead,” stammered Harry. “But Voldemort could be back any minute! We’ve got to protect the Stone! And Neville – he’s been knocked out! He needs medical attention now! Has Justin been here? He should have–”
Madam Pomfrey held up her hand to stop his panicked outburst.
“You’ve been unconscious for the last week,” she said calmly. “Mr Longbottom and Mr Finch-Fletchley have been seen to and are both absolutely fine. The Philosopher’s Stone has been destroyed to prevent You-Know-Who from ever using it. And You-Know-Who has made no further attacks against the school or its occupants. Everyone is safe, Harry. Everything’s OK.”
Harry sat there for a long moment, stunned, as the information slowly sank in. There was shock, incredulity, and finally, sweet, sweet relief. He burst into tears, all his terror and anxiety slowly falling away as the news sank in. His friends were safe and well. The Stone had been destroyed, removing it from temptation. And most importantly, Voldemort had seemingly gone away. He had not returned attached to the back of someone else’s head, intent on finishing what he had started and throttling Harry to death.
As soon as he started crying, Harry immediately felt himself being enveloped by three pairs of arms. Tom, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey all held him as he cried his way through his adrenaline dump, his face wet with tears as sheer relief washed over him.
“There, there, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. “You’re OK. Everything’s alright.”
“We were so worried about you, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall, looking much more like a mother than a professor at that moment. “When Professor Dumbledore brought you here, you were so poorly. We feared… But you’re alright now. That’s what matters.”
“Professor Dumbledore brought me here?” said Harry, wiping away his tears.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey exchanged a brief glance. There was something in their expression that Harry could not quite place. Not quite apprehension, but perhaps something like caution, or perhaps reluctance.
“As you may know, there are certain magical wards placed on Hogwarts castle,” Professor McGonagall said eventually. “Some of these wards automatically alert the Headmaster if certain conditions are met. One of those wards is the Fiendfyre detection ward. Have you ever heard of that spell before, Harry?”
Harry shook his head.
“Of course you haven’t!” said Madam Pomfrey, nevertheless sounding relieved. “We never doubted it was purely accidental magic.”
“Fiendfyre is a very hot, very destructive type of magical fire. It seems that you cast the Fiendfyre Curse against Professor Quirrell – without meaning to, of course!” Professor McGonagall added hurriedly. “Nevertheless, the spell activated the Fiendfyre detection ward, which alerted Professor Dumbledore straight away. He came back to Hogwarts immediately, suspecting the Stone may be under attack. He found you unconscious in the chamber with the Mirror of Erised, along with the remains of Professor Quirrell. He brought you here for immediate medical treatment, where you’ve been ever since.”
Harry was silent for a long while, absorbing everything. It all felt so surreal. Had it all really happened? It felt like a dream. Three-headed dogs, keys with wings, giant moving chessmen. The mirror, Quirrell, Voldemort… Harry shivered. No, not a dream. A nightmare.
Madam Pomfrey seemed to pick up on his sudden brooding, because she stroked his hair soothingly, shushing him gently.
“You’re alright, Harry. You’re safe,” she said. “It’s over now.”
The feeling of her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp was calming, lulling him into an ever deeper sense of relaxation. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. His head lolled onto his shoulder as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Madam Pomfrey helped him to lie back down. Professor McGonagall pulled his duvet up to his chin, tucking him in.
“Rest, Harry,” said Madam Pomfrey, her voice already sounding far away. “Healer’s orders.”
Harry was asleep within seconds.
Tom watched Harry as he slept. He enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching Harry’s chest rise and fall steadily. It was a reassuring sight, one that was badly needed, after the terror of hearing Voldemort order Quirrell to kill Harry on the other side of the black fire. At that moment, Tom’s entire universe had come screeching to a halt. Harry could have died. Tom had been beyond terrified. And so, Tom allowed himself the indulgence of watching Harry sleep, comforting himself with the knowledge Harry was alive and well, aside from some lingering magical exhaustion.
The next time Harry woke up, it was the late evening. Tom watched him blink awake sleepily, Harry’s gaze slowly focusing on Tom’s face. Tom gave him a beaming smile. But then, something terrible happened: Harry began to cry. Tom stared at him in bewilderment, before wrapping his arms around Harry in a tight hug.
“No, no, no! Don’t cry,” said Tom, confused. “Don’t you remember? Everything’s fine. Quirrell’s dead. Voldemort’s fucked off somewhere. Justin and Neville are OK.”
If anything, Harry began crying harder than ever. Tom looked nervously in the direction of Madam Pomfrey’s office at the other end of the ward, but she did not seem to have heard Harry’s cries – yet. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, Tom tried to shush Harry.
“What’s wrong?” said Tom. “Tell me.”
Much to Tom’s relief, Harry quietened down. His green eyes looked wide and haunted, his fingers twisting the duvet cover tormentedly. Tom waited patiently for him to speak. Finally, Harry did, his voice quiet and trembling.
“I… I saw Professor Quirrell die,” said Harry.
Tom waited for Harry to continue. When he did not, Tom realised Harry was expecting him to say something.
“I see…” Tom said slowly, frantically trying to figure out why Harry seemed so upset. “Was it… bad?”
“It was horrible!” wailed Harry, clinging onto Tom for comfort, fresh tears leaking down his cheeks. “He was strangling me, but he was struggling to hold on because the skin on his hands started blistering. I think that may have been my magic protecting me. But then, something else happened… This huge fire tornado just formed out of nowhere and sucked him away from me and started burning him alive! He was screaming! He was in pain! And I couldn’t help him. His skin burnt off and his flesh was all pink underneath and…”
Harry shuddered, unable or unwilling to go on. Tom stroked his back gently, finally understanding why Harry was so upset. Quirrell’s death must have been gory to witness. It must have come as a shock, too, since it was not something they had exactly planned in advance. Tom regretted that Harry had had to witness what he had. Tom had never wanted to upset Harry.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Tom. “That sounds awful.”
Harry rested his head on Tom’s shoulder, before picking up Tom’s hand and playing with his fingers anxiously. Tom let him, wondering what else was happening in that mysterious head of Harry’s. When Harry finally spoke once more, he sounded hesitant, almost as if he felt awkward about what he was about to say.
“Do you think… Did you do the fire?” asked Harry. “I mean, you set fire to that predator’s coat, when we were seven.”
Tom hesitated momentarily, before deciding to tell the truth – at least about this part. After all, it was obvious that one of them had done the fire, and Tom did not want Harry to carry any misplaced guilt about it.
“Yes, it was me,” Tom said quietly.
Harry rolled over onto his side to look at Tom directly, a hopeful, innocent look on his face.
“But it was an accident, right?” said Harry. “You didn’t mean to kill him?”
Tom knew that Harry hated violence. He knew that Harry would be very upset indeed if he knew Tom had murdered Quirrell on purpose. Tom did not want Harry to be upset.
“It was an accident,” lied Tom, stroking Harry’s hair comfortingly. “I heard you scream and I felt frightened and then there was this big white flash of accidental magic. Then the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the Hospital Wing beside you.”
Harry flung his arms around Tom, hugging him tightly.
“Oh, Tom! It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing,” Harry said earnestly. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”
Blame myself? thought Tom, incredulously. What was Harry talking about? Was Tom supposed to feel remorse? He had not killed Quirrell for the fun of it. He had killed Quirrell to protect Harry. And Tom would never feel bad about protecting Harry. Harry was everything to Tom. He would do anything to protect him. Anything.
After a moment, Tom realised that Harry was looking at him with an expression of concern, his big green eyes filled with a mixture of tender compassion and sadness.
“Don’t worry about me,” Tom said quickly. “I’ll be OK. We’re both safe. That’s what matters.”
He could tell by the way Harry’s eyelids were beginning to droop that he was getting tired once more, so he manoeuvred them so that they were both lying comfortably, cuddling Harry from behind. Harry fell asleep in Tom’s arms.
Harry was getting stronger by the day. With every passing hour, he had more energy, more sparkle, more liveliness. It was now three days since he had first woken up, and he could now stay awake for hours at a time, rather than minutes. Madam Pomfrey was pleased with his progress. But Harry, he was bored.
Finally, after Harry begged her incessantly, Madam Pomfrey relented and announced that he was allowed to have a maximum of two visitors, but only for up to half an hour per day. Justin and Neville came bursting into the Hospital Wing, making a beeline for Harry’s bed and pulling up seats on either side of him.
“How are you feeling?” Justin asked immediately.
“Much better,” smiled Harry. “Madam Pomfrey thinks I may be able to be discharged in a few days.”
“That’s good,” said Neville, looking relieved.
Then, Neville and Justin looked around surreptitiously, making sure that Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot. They shuffled their chairs closer to Harry’s bed so that they could huddle more easily.
“The entire school’s talking about what happened!” whispered Justin. “Aurors were swarming all over the school last week. They raided Professor Quirrell’s quarters and took a bunch of stuff away as evidence.”
“Everyone’s worked out that us three and You-Know-Who were involved,” said Neville, keeping his voice low. “And because you’ve been in the Hospital Wing all week, they’ve worked out you must have fought against him and won. Everyone thinks you’re a massive hero!”
Harry felt his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.
“Zacharias is furious,” said Justin, rolling his eyes. “Thinks you did it all for attention or something. I told him next time You-Know-Who comes along, he can go and fight him instead! That shut him up.”
Harry laughed. Seeing his friends safe and well lifted a weight from Harry’s chest that he had not even realised he was carrying. Seeing their faces, hearing them talk about school gossip, made everything feel wonderfully normal. Even hearing about Zacharias’ idiocy gave Harry a feeling of relief. After all, he would rather take Zacharias’ petty whining over Voldemort’s monstrous evil any day.
“Some of the details people are making up are insane though,” groaned Neville. “I heard one rumour yesterday that you karate-chopped You-Know-Who repeatedly in the groin until his cock fell off and he died!”
“And I heard another rumour the day before that, that you turned yourself into a unicorn and stabbed him with your horn!” said Justin. “So… what actually happened in the final chamber?”
Both boys leant forwards in their chairs, eager to hear the truth. And so, Harry told them. He told them about how he and Tom had become separated by the black fire. He told them about Professor Quirrell being the one in league with Voldemort. He told them about the terrible face that had been hiding underneath Professor Quirrell’s turban all this time, and how he had attempted to strangle Harry to death, right there in the belly of the school.
“And then Tom had this big surge of accidental magic and set Quirrell on fire,” finished Harry. “Voldemort fled, Quirrell died, and apparently the Stone’s been destroyed, so that it won’t happen again.”
“Crikey!” said Justin, his brown eyes wide with amazement.
“Lucky Tom has magic too,” said Neville.
“Yeah, very…” said Harry.
He did not want to think what would have happened, if Tom had not been able to help.
Making sure Madam Pomfrey was not looking, Neville slipped a chocolate frog out of his robe pocket and into Harry’s hand.
“I know hospital food can be boring, so…” said Neville.
“And here’s another one, for Tom,” whispered Justin, surreptitiously pushing a second chocolate frog into Harry’s other hand. “As a thank you for getting us out of that potions room. I don’t think we’d have been able to solve that riddle without him.”
Tom beamed with happiness. Harry tucked the chocolate frogs under his pillow, before Madam Pomfrey could see and confiscate them. His heart felt so full of happiness he thought it might burst.
“Thanks,” said Harry.
Five days later, Harry was finally discharged from the Hospital Wing.
Harry was thrilled to be back to normal and able to spend his time as he pleased, hanging around the castle with his friends. What he had not fully appreciated, however, was just how much attention he would get from the rest of the school. Justin and Neville had tried to warn him, but for some reason, Harry had underestimated the intense interest the rest of the student body would have about what had happened down in the dungeons between himself and Voldemort.
That first day, from the moment he stepped out of the Hospital Wing, to the moment he collapsed into bed, Harry was bombarded by questions. Everyone was desperate to hear his first-hand account of what had happened: friends; acquaintances; even students Harry had never seen or spoken to before.
“What happened?”
“Did you really karate-chop him in the knob?”
“Was he really controlling Professor Quirrell?”
“Did you duel?”
“Did you see his face?”
“How did you win?”
The attention was overwhelming. Harry gave long answers when he could be bothered, short answers when he could not, and vague non-answers regarding anything related to Tom’s Fiendfyre. By the end of the day, Harry’s patience was wearing thin, which meant that when someone placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder that evening in the Hufflepuff common room, Harry whirled around angrily, fully prepared to tell whoever it was to fuck off, before seeing who it was.
“Fuck–! Oh… hi Cedric,” said Harry.
“Harry! Are you OK?” said Cedric, looking distressed. “Oh, I can’t believe I let you leave the common room that evening! How stupid could I get?! If anything had happened to you… I was so worried when I woke up the next morning and heard something had happened!”
Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before remembering his encounter with Cedric in the Hufflepuff common room, the night they had snuck out to protect the Philosopher’s Stone. After being caught snogging a girl from his year, Cedric had hurriedly waved Harry and his friends along, believing they were just sneaking out to raid the kitchen for snacks.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” said Harry, a little bewildered by the way Cedric’s eyes seemed to be welling up. “You didn’t know what we were up to.”
“I’m so sorry!” cried Cedric, his eyes definitely swimming with tears now. “Can you possibly forgive me?”
“Yes! Yes, you’re forgiven!” Harry said awkwardly, his voice slightly muffled as Cedric drew him into a tight hug. “Everything’s fine. Please don’t be upset!”
Cedric finally let him go, much to Harry’s relief, before retreating rapidly to his dormitory, sniffling as he went. Harry stared at his retreating back, before exchanging a slightly awkward look with Justin, who had watched the whole exchange.
“Poor chap’s a bit sensitive,” said Justin. “Still, it shows he cares, I suppose.”
Feeling tired, they retired to their own dormitory. Harry got ready for bed, bidding a smiling Ernie and a glowering Zacharias a perky goodnight, before drifting off into pleasant dreams of tickling the giant squid’s tentacles and dropping a giant custard pie on Dudley’s head.
He was awoken the next morning by Justin shaking him awake urgently. Harry blinked blearily, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. Tom stirred beside him.
“What’s going on?” slurred Harry, his throat still scratchy with sleep.
“The exam results are out!” said Justin.
Harry and Tom both abruptly came to full consciousness, jumping out of bed and rushing with Justin to the noticeboard in the Hufflepuff common room, where groups of students were crowding around seven scrolls of parchment that had been pinned up, one for each year group. Harry squeezed himself forwards to the first-year results, his stomach doing summersaults as his gaze fell upon the parchment.
First-Year Final Examination Results (Averaged Across All Subjects)
- Harry Potter (Hufflepuff) – OUTSTANDING
- Draco Malfoy (Slytherin) – OUTSTANDING
- Padma Patil (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Terry Boot (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Anthony Goldstein (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Mandy Brocklehurst (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Theodore Nott (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Parvati Patil (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Pansy Parkinson (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Morag MacDougal (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Blaise Zabini (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Ernest Macmillan (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Dean Thomas (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Lily Moon (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Susan Bones (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Michael Corner (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Seamus Finnigan (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Lisa Turpin (Ravenclaw) – ACCEPTABLE
- Lavender Brown (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Hannah Abbott (Hufflepuff) – ACCEPTABLE
- Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Zacharias Smith (Hufflepuff) – ACCEPTABLE
- Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Millicent Bulstrode (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
- Vincent Crabbe (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
- Gregory Goyle (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
“Everyone’s passed!” said Justin, audibly giddy with relief as he read the parchment over Harry’s shoulder. “We’ve all got into second year!”
Harry nodded, staring in shock at his name at the top of the parchment.
“Top of the year. I knew you could do it,” Tom said quietly, his chest puffed up with pride. “Well done, Harry.”
Harry grinned until his cheeks ached.
Suddenly, it was the final day of the school year, and everyone was busy packing their bags to go home the following morning. Wardrobes were emptied, books were piled haphazardly into trunks, and students were frantically swapping addresses so that they could stay in touch over the summer holidays.
Harry tried not to show it, but with every passing hour, he was feeling more and more depressed. The Ministry of Magic still had not contacted him about the outcome of his fostering assessment. Without their approval, Harry would not be allowed to live with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. He would be forced to return to the Dursleys, back to a life of misery and abuse.
To distract himself from that depressing prospect, that afternoon he dragged Justin and Neville outside to enjoy what might be his last happy day for several months. They lay on the grass by the lake, swapping stories about their favourite memories from their first year at Hogwarts. For Neville, it was Herbology Club. For Justin, it was being surrounded by magic for the first time. For Harry, it was feeling like he was part of a family.
Then, Justin said the words Harry had been dreading.
“Oh, let’s swap addresses!” said Justin, grabbing a piece of parchment from his pocket and scribbling his address down twice, one for Harry and one for Neville. “We need to keep in touch! You’re both very welcome to visit, if you’re ever in London.”
Neville excitedly wrote down his address too. Harry slowly did the same, that sad, numb feeling spreading throughout him as he did so. The boys swapped addresses. Harry looked down at the scraps of parchment from Justin (whose address showed he lived in Kensington, London) and Neville (who lived in Leeds), before looking up with a grimace as he watched his friends read his address.
“Little Whinging?” said Neville, confused. “But I thought that was where you lived with your horrible aunt and uncle?”
“I never heard back from the Ministry of Magic,” said Harry, lowering his head. “I guess they don’t care if they’re horrible to me.”
“But this is outrageous!” exploded Justin. “You can’t live with them! It goes against your human rights! No, you can live with me over the summer holidays, if you have to! I won’t have you go back to them!”
“You could probably live with me for a bit, too,” Neville said urgently. “I’m sure Gran won’t mind. She might make you do some chores around the house, but that’s better than being beaten up and stuff…”
Harry held up his hands. He was touched by his friends’ concern, he really was, but he did not want to get his hopes up. He knew that the only thing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hated more than having Harry under their roof, was Harry being happy. They would gladly lock him up in the cupboard under the stairs all summer, if they thought it would make him the most miserable.
“Can we talk about something else?” begged Harry. “I don’t want to think about my summer. Justin, you mentioned you’re going on holiday to Italy with your parents for a couple of weeks? Have you ever been there before? What’s it like?”
And so, Justin and Neville reluctantly changed the topic, Justin veering off into stories about the favourite holidays he had gone on with his family over the years, and his excitement for visiting a wizarding village in the Italian Alps for the first time. Before they knew it, it was time for the end-of-year feast, and the three boys trudged their way back up to the castle, heading into the Great Hall and walking towards their respective house tables.
Harry was just about to take his seat at the Hufflepuff table when a whirl of tartan robes came rushing towards him. He looked up in astonishment to see the flushed, sweaty face of Professor McGonagall.
“There you are! I’ve been searching all over for you!” panted Professor McGonagall, out of breath, her usually tidy hair falling messily out of its bun.
“Sorry, I was down by the lake,” said Harry.
“Of course you were the one place I didn’t look,” huffed Professor McGonagall, before thrusting a piece of parchment into his face.
Harry took it with trembling hands, unfurling it to reveal an official-looking document.
From the Department of Health and Social Care, Ministry of Magic for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland
Reference number: GBR1990LTF02
Type: Long-term foster care application
Subject: Harry James Potter
Applicants: Minerva McGonagall; Poppy Pomfrey
Fostering assessment completed by: Fatima Yasin, Social Worker at the Department of Health and Social Care; Sarah Lovell, Social Worker at the Department of Health and Social Care
Departmental approval: Victor Oddpick, Head of the Department of Health and Social Care
Final approval: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic
I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, do hereby approve the application for Harry James Potter to be placed in the long-term foster care of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, due to the unacceptable standards of care provided by Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley and the absence of any other living relative.
Harry’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. Hope and excitement exploded inside him, along with a healthy dose of disbelief. He needed to know this was real. He needed to know he was reading this correctly. He looked up desperately at Professor McGonagall.
“So… this means–” he stammered.
“You’ll be coming home with myself and Madam Pomfrey tomorrow,” Professor McGonagall said calmly.
“No more Dursleys?” said Harry.
“No more Dursleys,” confirmed Professor McGonagall.
Harry could have burst into song and started dancing on the Hufflepuff table right then and there. Rather than do anything quite so embarrassing, however, he contented himself with letting out one high-pitched screech and then taking his seat between Justin and Hannah, practically bouncing with excitement.
He did not have to go back to the Dursleys! He would, in all likelihood, never see them again! He was going home with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, two people who made him feel safe and secure and cared for. He grabbed Tom’s hand as discreetly as he could under the table, before squeezing and releasing it rapidly in silent celebration. Tom laughed out loud, looking just as thrilled as Harry felt that they would not be returning to 4 Privet Drive.
The end-of-year feast was glorious. Huge piles of the most delicious food appeared in front of them magically. Justin excitedly celebrated Harry’s successful fostering by cutting him an enormous slice of treacle tart and declaring it Harry’s “fosterday”. Even Slytherin winning the house cup could not dampen Harry’s spirits, because for the first time in his life, he was looking forward to going home. He was about to join a family who loved and wanted him.
It was one of the happiest days of Harry’s life.
Perhaps it was the richness of the food, or the sheer relief of not having to go back to the Dursleys, or the fact he and Justin stayed up later than usual playing Exploding Snap, but Harry woke up very late the next morning, pulling his clothes on in a panic when he realised people were already hauling their luggage up towards the Entrance Hall and getting ready to leave.
After a lightning fast breakfast and a lot of huffing and puffing as he and Justin dragged their trunks up to the Entrance Hall, Harry was suddenly faced with the reality of saying goodbye to his friends for the summer. The night before, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had collared Harry after the feast and explained to him that they would effectively be living in hiding over the summer. It was to keep him safe, they explained, but it unfortunately meant it was very unlikely he would be able to meet up with Justin or Neville over the summer holidays.
“We’ll figure out a way to write,” said Justin, hugging him tightly in the Entrance Hall as dozens of other students milled around and did the same. “Magic exists! Even if your address has to be a secret, I’m sure old McGonagall will find a way for us to communicate.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” said Harry, hugging him back, feeling a little silly when he felt tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly before anyone could see. “Have fun in Italy with your parents! I want to see the pictures.”
“Of course!” laughed Justin.
He stepped away, Neville immediately taking his place.
“Have a good summer, Harry,” smiled Neville, wrapping him in a warm hug. “Maybe you’ll have magical plants at your new place! I wouldn’t be surprised if Madam Pomfrey grows her own herbs for Healing potions.”
It was something Harry had not considered before, but he immediately felt himself getting excited at the idea.
“Ooh that’d be amazing!” said Harry, returning the hug enthusiastically. “I’ll let you know. Have a good summer.”
Then, Filch the caretaker was dragging everyone’s luggage away, Hagrid was rounding up the first-years and seventh-years to ride in the wooden boats across the lake, and the professors were rounding up the other years to take them to where they would be taking horseless carriages down to Hogsmeade Station. A hand closed around Harry’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey standing there, smiling at him.
“Oh, you don’t need to take Harry’s luggage, Mr Filch,” said Madam Pomfrey, when Filch tried to take away Harry’s suitcase. “He’ll be travelling separately from his classmates.”
Professor McGonagall performed a charm on his luggage that reduced its weight to that of a feather, picking it up easily.
“Can I wave goodbye to Justin and Neville?” begged Harry.
“Of course,” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry rushed outside to the grassy slope where he would have the best view of the lake. Justin, Neville and the rest of the first-years and seventh-years had already disappeared down the stone steps that led to the hidden underground harbour, but around ten minutes later, the fleet of rickety wooden boats emerged through the curtain of ivy that covered the cave entrance.
Harry watched as the boats floated out onto the lake, immediately spotting Justin’s curly brown hair and Neville’s round face in a boat with Hannah and Susan. He waved at them madly, his stomach flipping with emotion when they waved back enthusiastically, before the boats got smaller and smaller, finally disappearing from view.
“Are you ready to go?” asked Madam Pomfrey, giving him a moment to compose himself.
Harry nodded, before realising that he did not actually know where Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey lived. The women began walking confidently in the direction of the forest. Harry had to hurry to keep up. He exchanged a puzzled look with Tom; they did not seem to be heading towards any kind of path or road.
“Where do you live?” said Harry, confused. “How are we getting there?”
“We’ll be Apparating,” said Professor McGonagall. “We just need to get clear of Hogwarts’ Anti-Apparition wards first. The Headmaster is the only one with the power to Apparate within Hogwarts grounds.”
“What does Apparate mean?” asked Harry, frowning.
“It’s a secure mode of transport,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Nothing to worry about, dear.”
Finally, they came to the treeline, stepping into the dark shadows cast by the enormous trees towering above them. Tom and Harry unconsciously stepped closer together.
“Now, our home is under the Fidelius Charm, which means you can only find its location if you’re told it by the Secret Keeper, which is me,” said Professor McGonagall, handing Harry a scrap of parchment. “Read this.”
Harry read the words on the parchment carefully, angling it so that Tom could read it easily too:
The residence of Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey and Harry Potter is Thistle Cottage on Teaghlach Island in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland.
“Have you read it?” said Professor McGonagall.
“Yes,” said Harry.
“Excellent,” said Professor McGonagall, before setting fire to the parchment and vanishing the ashes. “Poppy, do you want to take the luggage? I’ll take Harry.”
Madam Pomfrey took Harry’s luggage and added it to a pile of the women’s luggage, tying all their suitcases together with a silvery piece of magical rope. Professor McGonagall took Harry’s arm firmly.
“Try not to wriggle around too much,” she said. “It’ll feel uncomfortable, but only for a moment.”
That was all the warning he got before Professor McGonagall turned on the spot with a loud crack. Harry experienced a moment of sheer panic as the world went black. Then, a feeling of compression suddenly pressed in on him from all sides, squeezing his arms and legs together tightly, his eardrums aching from the intense pressure. Harry opened his mouth to scream, but his torso would not expand wide enough to let him draw in breath. He could not breathe. Panic bubbled up in his chest – and then, it was over.
Harry was standing on a wide expanse of grass beside Professor McGonagall, Tom immediately materialising beside him. A cool salty sea breeze blew on his face, and ahead of him was an old-fashioned, cosy-looking cottage. It was surrounded by a large, hodge-podge garden that seemed to be a mixture of flowers, vegetables and magical plants. Harry gawped at the sight. Madam Pomfrey appeared with a crack a moment later, holding firmly onto all their luggage. Professor McGonagall smiled as Harry gingerly stepped forwards towards Thistle Cottage.
“Welcome to your new home,” she said warmly.
Notes:
THANK YOU: A big thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! It makes me feel so warm and fuzzy every time I get a comment notification from AO3 :D
TEAGHLACH ISLAND: In this fic, Harry, McGonagall and Pomfrey’s home is on Teaghlach Island. No island with this name exists in real life; I made it up. Teaghlach is Scottish Gaelic for “family” <3
THOUGHTS: Wow, I can’t believe it, that concludes Harry’s first year at Hogwarts! We crammed quite a lot in here. What did you think of Dumbledore’s thoughts about Harry supposedly casting Fiendfyre? What did you think of Tom’s decision to lie about intentionally burning Quirrell and pretending it was an accident? Are you excited for Harry to spend the summer with his foster mothers? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments section below, I love hearing your reactions and feelings!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the summer holiday between Harry’s first and second year at Hogwarts.
TUMBLR POLL: I’ve posted a poll on my Tumblr, asking what days you’d prefer to get updates on this fic (there is also a “don’t care” option, if the day of the week doesn’t matter to you). Cast your vote here!
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As they walked up the stone path that led to the front door of Thistle Cottage, Harry wished he had several more pairs of eyes, so that he could gawp at everything at once. The cottage was a two-storey building made out of old grey stonework. Strands of ivy snaked up some of the walls, giving it a cosy, old-worldly feel. There was a sturdy chimney atop the slate roof; the cottage must have a large fireplace to keep the home warm during the cold Scottish winters.
The front door was made out of old, heavy oak – but, strangely, it did not seem to have a doorknob. At Professor McGonagall’s touch, however, a black metal door handle appeared as if by magic, swinging open easily when she twisted it. They crossed over the threshold into a small, cosy entrance hall, with shoes piled up on racks and coats and cloaks hanging from hooks on the wall. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey started taking off their shoes, so Harry followed suit, still staring with interest at everything around him.
“If you touch the front door, Harry, I’ll perform a spell that’ll make sure the front door recognises you as a member of our family, so it’ll open at your touch,” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry placed his hand tentatively on the oak front door. Professor McGonagall touched the tip of her wand gently against his hand and muttered several complicated-sounding words. A strange feeling rushed through Harry’s arm a moment later, the oak suddenly feeling warm, welcoming and almost alive at his touch.
“Would you like a house tour?” asked Madam Pomfrey.
“Oh, er, yes, please,” said Harry.
From the entrance hall, there were two doors leading off to either side, as well as a flight of stairs that went straight ahead before twisting off at a right angle and out of sight. Madam Pomfrey led Harry through the door to the right, leading him into a stone-floored kitchen with wooden countertops and brass cookware and crockery crammed into cupboards that lined the walls. There was a large stove and oven for cooking, as well as a large fireplace that was centrally placed in such a way as to heat the whole house.
“This is the kitchen,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I know at your aunt and uncle’s house they forced you to do the majority of the cooking. Here, Minerva and I will be the primary cooks, although if you’d like to help us, then of course you’re very welcome.”
“OK,” said Harry, blushing slightly at the mention of his bad treatment at the hands of the Dursleys.
They walked through the kitchen, before reaching a large walk-in cupboard in the corner. Madam Pomfrey opened the door to reveal a well-stocked and well-organised potions cupboard. From the labels on the glass vials, Harry could see many raw ingredients, as well as a multitude of pre-prepared potions covering almost every aspect of Healing imaginable. Madam Pomfrey closed the potions cupboard and continued through the kitchen, leading him around a corner and through a door, which led into a large room that seemed to be a dining room, a lounge and a library all rolled into one.
“This is where we’ll eat, where we can relax, and where you can do a spot of reading, if you like,” said Madam Pomfrey, gesturing around at everything as she spoke.
Harry walked past an old wooden dining table, several squishy armchairs, and multiple bookshelves that lined the walls, gawping at everything. Tom was particularly interested in the bookshelves, eyes roving hungrily over the huge collection of books. Harry spotted some board games on some of the lower shelves and felt a little spurt of hope and excitement. The Dursleys had had board games at 4 Privet Drive, but they had never let him play. He wondered if his new foster family would let him join in.
They walked through another door, which led them back to the entrance hall where they had started. Professor McGonagall was there. She had levitated their luggage and was now floating it ahead of her, holding her wand before her like a conductor’s baton. As Harry watched, she began floating the luggage up the stairs, gesturing for Harry to follow with her other hand.
Harry followed Professor McGonagall up the stairs, Tom sticking by his side, Madam Pomfrey bringing up the rear. Halfway up, the stairs turned at a right angle, before finally opening up into a hallway, with three doors leading off it. Directly ahead of them from the top of the stairs was a door, which Professor McGonagall opened, leading them all inside. It was a decent-sized bedroom with blue walls, a cosy-looking bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, but not much else.
“This is your bedroom, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall warmly. “Once you’ve unpacked, you can have a think about if there’s anything else you’d like to have in here: any plants or ornaments or furniture or the like. We wanted to let you decide those things, so that it feels like your room.”
“OK,” said Harry, feeling rather overwhelmed.
Professor McGonagall floated Harry’s trunk onto his bed, before leading the party out of Harry’s room and back into the hallway. They walked a short distance along the hallway to the second door. Professor McGonagall pushed it open, revealing a bathroom with a black and white checkerboard-patterned floor, complete with a bath, toilet and sink.
“This is the bathroom,” said Professor McGonagall. “We’ll decide on a cleaning rota later.”
They exited the bathroom, before coming to a halt in front of the final door at the end of the hallway. Professor McGonagall opened this door to reveal a slightly larger bedroom with forest green walls, a double bed, a large wardrobe and an assortment of interesting-looking nicknacks.
“This is mine and Poppy’s bedroom,” said Professor McGonagall. “You can come to see us at any time, but if the door is closed, please knock and wait for us to call you in before entering.”
“Alright,” said Harry, not understanding why Madam Pomfrey had gone a little pink at Professor McGonagall’s words.
“Any questions?” asked Professor McGonagall.
“Oh… Er… No, I don’t think so,” said Harry.
He was feeling a strange mixture of shocked, overwhelmed and shy. It was as if he were half-expecting someone to jump out at any moment and announce that this was all a big practical joke; that the letter from the Ministry of Magic was a fake and that he was to go back to the Dursleys after all. Madam Pomfrey looked down at him sympathetically.
“This must be a lot to take in,” she said kindly. “Why don’t you get unpacked and settled in and we can reconvene for dinner at six o’clock.”
“OK,” said Harry, feeling relieved.
Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall went back downstairs. Harry went to his bedroom and closed the door, feeling a little calmer in the peace and quiet. He walked over to the bed, where his trunk was lying on top of the duvet, and flopped down beside it. Tom explored their new bedroom, walking into the cupboard and through the walls, before coming back to Harry.
“I’m going to do a sweep of the cottage,” said Tom, poking Harry’s tummy where his t-shirt had ridden up to expose the pale skin there. “I want to make sure they haven’t got anything evil hidden away somewhere.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Why would they have anything evil?!” he asked.
“Well, they seem nice,” said Tom. “But so did Professor Quirrell, until he tried to kill you. I just want to make sure they can be trusted.”
“OK…” said Harry, feeling a little anxious. “Be safe.”
“Nothing can hurt me,” scoffed Tom, but he seemed pleased by Harry’s concern, nonetheless, giving him a smile before marching through the wall and out of sight.
Tom was gone for a while. To keep himself occupied, Harry busied himself with emptying the contents of his trunk onto his bed, before carrying his clothes over to his new wardrobe and chest of drawers and trying to organise them. He was just lining up his books on the windowsill when Tom finally returned, about quarter of an hour later.
“Did you find anything evil?” asked Harry.
Tom shook his head, crossing the room to hug Harry around the middle.
“No, everything looks normal,” he said. “I think we’re safe here.”
And through his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, Harry could feel Tom finally relax.
That evening, after Harry had unpacked and settled into his new bedroom, he and his new foster mothers had their first family meal together.
He walked into the dining room to the delicious smell of a roast chicken dinner, his mouth watering as he took his seat at the dining table. Professor McGonagall set down three plates piled high with roast chicken, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, roast carrot, roast parsnip and cabbage, all smothered with rich brown gravy.
“Wow!” said Harry, staring in shock at the hearty meal in front of him.
The Dursleys had never totally starved him, but they had frequently denied him meals, and when they had fed him, it had never been with anything as delicious, filling or nutritious as this. The pangs of hunger had become a memory when he had arrived at Hogwarts, but some silly part of him had assumed this was only a luxury he would be granted during school time; that when he went back home, he must go back to being hungry.
“This looks delicious, Minerva!” said Madam Pomfrey. “Our compliments to the chef.”
“Well, let’s see how it tastes, first,” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes twinkling.
As they began eating, Harry closed his eyes, savouring the delicious taste of chicken and gravy on his tongue. It was hard to believe that someone would cook something as nice as this for him.
“Do you like your room, Harry?” asked Professor McGonagall, breaking him out of his reverie. “Are you settling in OK?”
“The room’s amazing!” said Harry, thinking how his new room compared to the dark, cramped cupboard under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive. “And this meal is incredible. Thanks, Professor McGonagall.”
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey exchanged a smile.
“Outside of term time, if you’re comfortable doing so, you’re welcome to call us Poppy and Minerva,” Poppy said kindly. “Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey sounds very formal, to me.”
“Exactly,” said Minerva. “We’re not your teacher and matron here; we’re your family.”
“Although, you have just reminded me of something!” said Poppy, jumping up and disappearing into the kitchen momentarily.
Harry heard her open and close the door to the potions cupboard in the other room, before she returned a moment later, placing a vial of purple liquid in front of Harry.
“You’re to have a vial of this potion every night,” said Poppy. “I picked up on some malnutrition whilst you were under my care in the Hospital Wing after your run-in with Professor Quirrell and You-Know-Who. I suspect as a result of your poor nutrition growing up with the Dursleys. It’s nothing too serious – one vial of potion per night over the summer holidays should be enough to put it right. I brewed it specifically to address your malnutrition needs.”
Harry stared, touched and a little incredulous that someone would care so much about him as to brew Healing potions for him. He brought the vial to his lips and drained it in two large gulps. It did not taste as bad as Harry had feared – sort of like a mixture of honey and something spicy.
“Thank you, Madam Pom– I mean… Poppy,” he said, catching himself just in time.
Calling them by their first names was going to take some getting used to.
Poppy beamed.
As they ate the rest of their meal, the conversation started to flow more naturally. Harry was particularly interested to learn what types of things Healing could and could not fix.
“Could you heal my eyesight, too?” he asked hopefully.
“Ah, that’s a very good question, but the answer is no,” said Poppy.
“But why not?” said Harry, puzzled.
“Healing can cure diseases and fix injuries, but poor eyesight, in your case, isn’t a result of either of those,” explained Poppy. “You’re short-sighted, which is a genetic condition. It’s just part of who you are, like the fact you have dark hair or the fact you’re a boy. Now, if your eyes were injured in an attack, that would be Healable, but just being short-sighted is neither a disease nor an injury, I’m afraid.”
Harry accepted it, albeit reluctantly. He wished that everything could be treated by Healing magic, but he supposed it just did not work that way.
“If you like, though, I can cast a spell on your glasses so that they’ll always be the right prescription and never shatter,” offered Poppy.
“You can do that?” said Harry, amazed.
“Of course!” said Poppy.
She did a complicated-looking spell with her wand, gently tapping Harry’s head and glasses several times. His glasses glowed golden for a moment, before going back to their normal colour. Harry blinked in amazement. Suddenly, everything looked much sharper than it had done a moment before. His glasses previously must not have been quite the right prescription.
They continued their meal, the conversation turning to an interesting news article Minerva had read recently about a man who claimed to have glimpsed a parallel universe which was ruled by goats, which led to a lively discussion about what they thought life would be like if different animals were in charge.
By the time they had all finished their dinner, Harry was full, happy and sleepy, his eyelids drooping of their own accord.
“Time for an early night?” said Poppy. “You’ve had a busy day, Harry.”
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth, please, before you go to bed,” said Minerva.
Harry nodded, yawning as he got up from his chair, already thinking longingly about his new, comfortable bed upstairs.
“Goodnight, Harry,” said Minerva, standing up to wrap him in a hug.
“Sweet dreams,” said Poppy, getting up to envelop him in a hug too.
“Goodnight,” said Harry, a warm, fuzzy feeling slowly spreading through his chest as he felt their arms around him.
That night, as he drifted off to sleep, he thought to himself that Thistle Cottage already felt more like home than 4 Privet Drive ever had.
Over the next couple of days, they got into the swing of living together. They created a rota for chores such as cleaning, doing the laundry and doing the washing up. They learnt how to coordinate their bath times. Harry and Tom had fun exploring the house and garden – and one day, Harry asked if he could explore the rest of the island. Minerva said yes, explaining that the entire island was covered by the Fidelius Charm, meaning that no one could be there without being told the location by herself, the Secret Keeper.
Harry made himself some sandwiches for lunch and then stuck these in his backpack, before waving goodbye to his foster mothers and walking down the garden path, heading uphill across coarse grass in the direction of some woodland he could see in the distance. Tom was in an excellent mood, trotting alongside Harry and looking around with interest at their surroundings.
“It’s cool we get an entire island to ourselves,” said Tom. “I know Draco kept going on about his manor, but I can’t imagine it being nicer than this.”
Harry agreed. Teaghlach Island was large enough that he and Tom were excited for their “expedition”, but small enough that Minerva and Poppy were confident he was in no danger of getting lost or in need of adult supervision. It was a hilly, roughly-circular, grass-covered island in the Outer Hebrides, off the northwest coast of Scotland, surrounded by dark blue seas topped by strong, foamy, white waves. The one instruction Harry’s foster mothers had given him was not to get too close to the edges of the sheer cliffs, something that Harry had not been planning on doing anyway, given Tom’s fear of heights.
Presently, the boys reached the small patch of woodland they had been hiking towards, disappearing beneath the canopy of the trees for some respite from the hot summer sun that was beating down on them. Harry spotted a large log on the ground and went to sit down on it, taking a bottle of water from his backpack and taking a swig from it. Then, he spotted a squirrel just a few feet away from them, nibbling at something clutched in its tiny paws. Harry pointed it out with delight to Tom, cooing at its big puffy tail and adorable face. The squirrel ran away when Harry offered it a drink from his water bottle, much to Harry’s disappointment and Tom’s amusement.
“It’s a wild animal, Harry,” said Tom, as they continued their walk through the woodland. “Some things can’t be tamed.”
The sunshine through the leaves cast them in a dappled green light, before they finally emerged from the trees on the other side of the wood, Thistle Cottage no longer in sight. Harry spotted a bubbling stream a short distance away and walked over to it, leaning over to see his own rippling reflection in the crystal clear water. There was a brief moment of peaceful silence, before Tom jumped on his back, almost causing Harry to fall into the water. Harry staggered in shock, before whirling around to shout at Tom, whilst Tom simply roared with laughter. Harry could not find it in himself to be too annoyed at Tom, though; not when he had not seen Tom so happy and carefree in so long – not since the last time they had spent prolonged time alone together, over the Christmas holidays.
After their brief tussle by the stream, they continued their exploration of the island, deciding to follow the stream, which was flowing in the direction of the sea. As they walked, the ground began to gently slope downwards, the salty sea air whipping through Harry’s hair and making it even messier as they got closer and closer to the coast. Finally, the stream rounded a corner, and Harry and Tom both gasped in unison.
They had stumbled upon a beautiful sandy cove, the stream cutting a shallow channel through the sand and finally reaching the ocean. Without hesitation, Harry took off his shoes and socks, stuffing them in his bag, before stepping out onto the beach, wriggling his toes with delight in the fine sand. Tom was looking around in wonder, observing the way grassy slopes on all sides of the cove sheltered them from the elements and provided them with some privacy, like a little cocoon away from the world.
They explored the beach with great enthusiasm. Harry frolicked happily along the sand and paddled in the shallow waters of the sea, although he was careful not to go too far out into the water, since he was not a strong swimmer. By the time Harry realised he was hungry, the sun had travelled a fair distance in the sky, leading the boys to deduce it must be around 3pm. Harry flopped down on the beach beside Tom and dug his ham and cucumber sandwiches out of his bag, wolfing them down happily as they looked out from the cove at the endless blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
They stayed there for a long while, simply enjoying one another’s company and the sounds of the water lapping on the shore and crashing on some rocks further out, listening to the cries of the seagulls and the whispers of the wind. As afternoon drifted into evening, the breeze got a little crisper, and Harry stuffed his feet back into his socks and shoes. The boys made their way back home, re-tracing their steps along the stream, through the little patch of woodland, and back down the grassy hill to Thistle Cottage.
“Today was the best day out ever!” gushed Harry, as they made their way up the garden path to the front door. “What was your favourite bit, Tom?”
Harry was so engrossed in listening to Tom’s reply, that he did not see Poppy watching him through the kitchen window, her head cocked curiously to the side.
At the end of the first week, Minerva announced that she had to leave for the day to hand-deliver Hogwarts acceptance letters to several Muggle-born students who would be joining the school as first-years come September. After hugging Harry and Poppy goodbye, she Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving the two of them alone together.
“I was thinking of doing some gardening today,” said Poppy. “Do you want to help?”
Harry’s face lit up with excitement.
“Yes, please!” he said.
Poppy looked pleased, grabbing a bucket full of gardening supplies and leading the way outside. She began by giving him a tour of the garden, pointing to various plants as she went.
“Over here is where we have our normal decorative plants, like flowers,” she said. “And over here is our vegetable patch. We grow all our own carrots and potatoes, to save money. And this part of the garden is all magical plants, mostly plants used in Healing, but also plants that are just useful potions ingredients to have in general.”
“This is so cool,” Harry said excitedly, peering at one magical plant that had dozens of trembling flowers that looked and sounded like miniature maracas.
“Do you like gardening?” said Poppy.
“I love it!” said Harry. “Looking after the garden at 4 Privet Drive was one of the few nice things about living there. I was pumped when I learnt Herbology was a subject at Hogwarts. I’ve joined Professor Sprout’s Herbology Club, too. We meet up every Friday afternoon to take care of all sorts of plants.”
“Excellent!” said Poppy. “You can help me deadhead some flowers, then. And afterwards, we can harvest some carrots for tonight’s dinner.”
With that, she passed him a spare pair of secateurs, and the two of them began carefully removing the dead flowers from various plants and bushes. They soon settled into a peaceful rhythm, throwing the dead flowers into a bucket that would eventually be dumped in the composter. They had been doing this and chatting away happily for about half an hour, when Poppy brought up something that made Harry’s stomach turn to ice.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Poppy said casually. “I heard you talking to yourself the other day. Are you still seeing your imaginary friend? What’s his name again – Tom?”
Harry almost dropped his secateurs. He exchanged a nervous glance with Tom, his heart suddenly pounding. He did not want Poppy to think he was mad. What if she decided to send him away to live in a mental institution? Still, he could not exactly lie – she had seen him talking to Tom, apparently.
“Yes, Tom’s still here,” said Harry, trying to keep the anxious quiver out of his voice.
“I’m surprised,” said Poppy, looking at him curiously. “I assumed Tom would disappear, once you started making friends with real children at Hogwarts.”
Tom went very still. His eyes darted to Harry, watching closely to see how he would react.
“Tom’s really good,” Harry said hurriedly, feeling the need to defend Tom, seeing as Tom could not do it for himself. “He looks after me and helped me with my exam revision. He doesn’t have to go away, does he?”
“Oh, of course not!” said Poppy, giving him a kind smile. “I admit it’s… unusual for a child your age to still have an imaginary friend, but there’s nothing wrong with it, especially as you have real friends, too. Tom must have been a good helper with your revision, I heard you came top of your year in your exams. I’m impressed, Harry!”
Harry almost corrected her and said that Tom was merely invisible, not imaginary – but caught himself just in time. He did not want to look mad. So, instead, he simply smiled sweetly and offered to help harvest the carrots.
A week later, Tom dragged Harry to look at the large book collection downstairs. The books mostly belonged to Minerva, who loved to read, and she was there in one of the comfy armchairs, her nose in a novel, when Harry entered the room.
“Hello dear,” she said, giving him a smile. “Come to join me for a spot of reading?”
“If that’s OK,” said Harry. “What good books do you have?”
“Well, that depends on what kind of books you like to read,” chuckled Minerva. “Me, I like romance novels and books on advanced magical theory. What do you like to read?”
“All sorts really,” said Harry, shrugging.
Minerva got up from her armchair and went over to the bookshelves, flicking through her collection. Tom was already there, reading the titles on the spines of the books with fascination.
“Ah, this I enjoyed a lot when I was a child!” said Minerva, pulling out an old book from the bottom shelf and showing Harry the cover. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Have you read it?”
“No,” said Harry, shaking his head.
Minerva gave it to him. Harry turned over the book in his hands. Tom was instantly by his side, looking curiously over his shoulder.
“It’s a collection of classic wizarding children’s fairy tales,” explained Minerva. “Most of the stories are still popular, even today.”
Harry sat down in one of the larger armchairs, surreptitiously sitting to the side so that Tom could squish in next to him. Minerva took the armchair opposite, settling in with her own book, as Harry flipped through the pages of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was obviously an old edition, with faded but beautiful illustrations drawn in magical ink that shimmered ethereally on the page.
Harry’s eye was caught by one of the illustrations that seemed to depict a large mysterious rune made up of a triangle, a circle and a line. It glinted temptingly on the page. He read the title out loud:
“The Tale of the Three Brothers,” said Harry.
“Oh, that’s a good one!” said Minerva. “Why don’t you read it aloud? It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.”
She set her book to the side and grabbed a mug of tea from the table next to her, listening with a bright, interested expression on her face. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Tom had the exact same look on his face. Harry had to suppress a smile. Minerva and Tom were both such nerds. Harry cleared his throat and began to read.
“There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.
“And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.
“So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.
“Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
“And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.
“Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
“The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.
“That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand, and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat.
“And so, Death took the first brother for his own.
“Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.
“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.
“And so, Death took the second brother for his own.
“But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.”
“That’s creepy!” said Harry, at the exact same moment as Tom said: “That’s cool!”
Minerva laughed good-naturedly at the expression of distaste on Harry’s face, reaching over to tousle his hair.
“You can keep the book, if you like,” she said. “I’m sure there’ll be other stories in there that are more to your liking. Besides, you’re more the target demographic than myself or Poppy.”
“Oh, thanks!” Harry said brightly, running upstairs to place the book by his bed, before returning downstairs, where Tom was back at the bookshelf, perusing the titles.
“What about this one?” said Tom, pointing to one titled The Ultimate Fun Who’s Who of Gods, Myths and Legends!
Harry pulled it out from the bookshelf and sprawled on the floor by Minerva’s slippered feet, flicking through the pages and giggling with Tom at some of the names and characteristics of various mythological beings. They were particularly amused by Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and Sex; Persephone, Goddess of Death and Queen of the Underworld; Momus, the Personification of Mockery; Cloacina, the Goddess of Sewers; and Anansi, the Trickster God.
Whenever Harry would come across a particularly funny one, he would read it out loud to Minerva, who, it turned out, had a cracking sense of humour. Together, they read and read, until the sky turned pink and golden in its evening splendour, their cheeks sore from smiling and their bellies aching from laughing.
About once every couple of weeks, Poppy and Minerva would take it in turns to Apparate away from Teaghlach Island to do grocery shopping and bring in any essential supplies. Unfortunately, Harry was not allowed to go with them on these trips, since the Fidelius Charm only covered Teaghlach Island and would not protect him in other locations.
By way of an apology, and to allow him to still feel connected to the outside world, they would always bring him back a copy of The Daily Prophet, as well as a sweet treat from a shop called Honeydukes. Minerva also revealed she was working on a way that would allow Harry to communicate with his friends, although she would not say exactly what it was, saying she wanted it to be a surprise.
Presently, Harry and Tom were lying on their tummies in bed, going through the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Splashed across the front page was a scandal revolving around the Captain of the Puddlemere United Quidditch team and several Veela, which seemed to involve several leaked photographs which apparently showed them getting hot and sweaty in a way that had nothing to do with Quidditch.
“They should publish the pictures,” said Tom. “I want to see them.”
“What?! Why?” said Harry, his cheeks going red at the thought.
“Well, they’re obviously having really weird sex in them,” said Tom. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be newsworthy!”
“You’re so nosy,” laughed Harry, shaking his head as he turned the page.
They both gasped when they saw two familiar faces on pages 2 and 3.
On page 2 was a still photograph of a beaming Hermione Granger wearing her Hogwarts uniform in a Muggle living room. It must have been taken just before she had gone off to school, her proud parents wanting to capture the moment on camera.
Tragic Hogwarts Schoolgirl’s Inquest Concludes
Written by Andy Smudgley, Reporter
The inquest into the tragic death of 12-year-old Hogwarts schoolgirl Hermione Granger finally concluded yesterday. The coroner concluded that the first-year student was unlawfully killed as a result of a troll being deliberately let into the school by Professor Quirinus Quirrell, after Aurors uncovered evidence of prior planning of this incident in the recently-deceased Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s office.
Professor Quirrell is said to have deliberately let the troll into the castle on 31 October 1991, Halloween night, to cause a distraction in an attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, which was explosively revealed to have been hidden at Hogwarts last academic year during Professor Albus Dumbledore’s testimony last month. Professor Quirrell has since died in a subsequent attempt to steal the Stone, although Aurors confirmed that, if he were alive today, he would have been charged with Miss Granger’s murder.
Miss Granger suffered multiple blunt force injuries that were described as “unsurvivable” by Healers and sadly died very shortly after the attack. Since her tragic death, powerful new wards have been added to Hogwarts, designed to repel trolls to ensure such a tragedy never happens again.
In a statement, Mr and Mrs Granger paid tribute to their daughter, saying: “We will always remember our wonderful Hermione as a bright, curious and intelligent girl. She had a strong thirst for knowledge and had been delighted to discover that magic was real. She had such incredible potential, and although nothing can ease the pain of her passing, we are relieved and grateful to hear that spells have been performed to ensure no troll can come near Hogwarts School again. We ask for privacy as we come to terms with the loss of our daughter at this difficult time.”
The coroner thanked the Granger family for their dignity throughout the proceedings.
On page 3 was a mugshot of Hagrid, clutching a sign saying “Azkaban Prison” in his giant hands. He was wearing striped prisoner’s clothing and his eyes looked wild behind his huge bushy beard.
Hogwarts Gamekeeper Sentenced to 1 Year in Azkaban for Dragon Incident
Written by Alphonse Fenetre, Reporter
Rubeus Hagrid has been sentenced to one year in Azkaban Prison for a near-deadly incident involving a dragon in May this year.
Mr Hagrid, who has worked as gamekeeper at Hogwarts for the past 50 years, illegally kept a dangerous Norwegian Ridgeback dragon in his hut on the grounds of the school. On 30 May 1992, the dragon escaped his hut, where it flew around the school grounds and attempted to attack multiple students.
It took a dozen witches and wizards from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to bring the dragon under control, which has since been sent to live in a colony in Romania.
Aurors investigating the incident describe it as “a miracle” that no students were killed or seriously injured, with first-years being amongst those the dragon attempted to attack. They praised the quick response from older students and teachers, as well as those who attended from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, saying that without their actions, the outcome could have been much more serious.
Mr Hagrid, who has expressed remorse that students were put in danger but still insists that dragons are “seriously misunderstood creatures”, was found guilty of illegally keeping a dragon under the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709 and of having a magical beast dangerously out of control under the Beasts Act of 1949.
His sentence of one year in Azkaban Prison has started with immediate effect.
“Wow, one year in prison,” said Harry, unable to take his eyes off the wild look on Hagrid’s face in his mugshot. “That’s ages.”
“And rightly so!” Tom said severely. “That dragon could have killed you! We’re all safer with Hagrid locked up.”
Harry remembered the way the dragon had swooped down on them in the school grounds, drawing air deep into its lungs, seconds away from frying them to death. It was only thanks to a group of sixth- and seventh-years who had come running to their aid that they had survived. Harry let out a shaky breath. Perhaps Tom was right. Perhaps it was better that Hagrid was in prison.
Without Hagrid, their next year at Hogwarts should be safe…
Before they knew it, it was the end of July.
As Harry descended the stairs on the morning of 31 July, he heard excited whispers coming from inside the dining room, followed by abrupt silence. Harry paused before entering the room, exchanging a confused glance with Tom. What were Minerva and Poppy whispering about? They were not secretive by nature. In fact, during his time at Thistle Cottage, he had seen rather more of them than he had anticipated – he was still trying very hard to forget the sight of frilly women’s knickers on the washing line.
He pushed open the door, not sure what to expect. For a moment, Harry stood there in bewildered silence in a seemingly empty room, staring at a floating set of bagpipes. Then, the bagpipes inflated and began to play the tune to Happy Birthday at a deafening volume, at the exact same moment as Minerva and Poppy jumped out from behind a couple of armchairs, singing loudly in unison as they rushed forwards to hug Harry and usher him further into the room.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Harry, happy birthday to you!”
The bagpipes fell silent and nestled themselves into the corner of the room, Harry’s ears still ringing from the sheer loudness of them. He gaped in shock and amazement as Minerva and Poppy guided him over to the dining table, where several presents wrapped in blue wrapping paper lay waiting for him. Harry could see they were all labelled: Dear Harry. Happy 12th birthday! Love Minerva and Poppy xxx
“These are for me?” said Harry, in disbelief.
“Well, I’m not aware of any other Harrys living here whose 12th birthday is today,” Minerva said drily.
“But I… I…”
Harry did not know what to say. He had never received a birthday present before; had never expected such generosity. Poppy guided him to sit down, nudging one of the presents towards him. He unwrapped the present carefully, not wanting to mangle the wrapping paper, eyes still wide in astonishment that he had presents.
It was a book titled 100 Coolest and Rarest Magical Plants in Britain (Illustrated Edition). Harry flicked through it in delight, unable to tear his eyes away from the brightly coloured drawings of fascinating and bizarre magical plants.
“This is amazing, thank you!” he gushed.
Minerva and Poppy gave him warm smiles.
The rest of the presents were soft and squishy. After feeling them experimentally with his hands, Harry tore them open, feeling more excited now, unwrapping a new pair of jeans and several t-shirts.
“I noticed that you’re growing out of your current clothes,” said Poppy. “These should fit you better.”
It was a very thoughtful and practical gift. The clothes were not exactly the height of fashion, but Harry did not care. They were the right size, with some room to grow, and felt good quality – that was what mattered.
“Thank you,” he said, the words feeling inadequate for the weight of his gratitude.
“One final present,” said Minerva, leading Harry to a table at the edge of the room, which had a strange contraption on it that Harry had not seen before.
It looked like a set of golden weighing scales engraved with mysterious runes, covered by a shimmering glass dome.
“What’s this?” said Harry.
“This is a Magical Letter Transporter – or a Transporter, for short,” explained Minerva. “It’ll allow us to send and receive mail whilst our location’s hidden by the Fidelius Charm. I’ve been working on it for about a month. Very complex magic, but I ran some tests last night and it finally seems to be working.”
“You invented this?” said Harry, amazed.
“Yes,” smiled Minerva. “I’ve created Transporters for Mr Finch-Fletchley and Mr Longbottom too. Each Transporter will know the name of its owner. When a letter is placed on the scales and covered by the glass dome, the Transporter will read the addressee’s name and magically send it to that person’s Transporter.”
“So, if I write Justin’s name on the envelope, it’ll magically send it to Justin’s Transporter?” said Harry.
“Exactly! If you give me Mr Finch-Fletchley and Mr Longbottom’s addresses, I can hand-deliver and calibrate their Transporters for them,” said Minerva. “I’ve already set one up at Hogwarts, so we’ll be able to receive any letters from the school. In fact, I’m expecting some mail this morning…”
At that moment, there was a quiet ding like a bell, and a letter suddenly materialised on the golden scales. Minerva lifted up the glass dome to retrieve the letter, looking extremely pleased that her device worked. She handed the letter to Harry, who saw it was addressed to him.
Mr H. Potter,
Location Unknowable.
On the back of the envelope was the Hogwarts crest. Harry tore it open, reading the letter inside.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are writing to inform you that term begins on 1 September 1992.
Please find enclosed your ticket for the Hogwarts Express, which will be leaving platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station, London on the aforementioned date at 11am.
Second-year students will require:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
“Well, that proves that the Transporter works,” said Poppy, beaming. “You’ll be able to send letters to your friends now – how lovely!”
It was all so incredibly kind. Harry suddenly felt his throat become very tight as his eyes became embarrassingly wet. He ducked his head in an attempt to hide his tears before anyone noticed, but Poppy was too quick, peering at his tearful face with concern.
“Is everything OK, Harry?” she asked gently.
Throat still too tight to reply, he nodded, reaching out and hugging them both tightly, burying his face in their clothes as he let out a happy sob. For the very first time in his life (that he could remember), he had a family who loved him. And it was that, more than any physical birthday present, that Harry was thankful for above all else.
Over the rest of the summer, Harry sent and received numerous letters with Justin and Neville, thanks to Minerva’s ingenious Transporter. It quickly became Harry’s favourite part of the day – running downstairs in the morning to peer into the glass dome of the Transporter to see if a letter was waiting for him on the golden scales. The boys usually exchanged letters about once a week or so, swapping stories about their summer holidays and sharing any gossip.
One morning in late August, Harry came downstairs to find two letters waiting for him in the Transporter. He lifted the glass dome and grabbed the letters eagerly, settling down in a nearby armchair to read them. He opened Justin’s letter first, Tom leaning over his shoulder to read it too.
Dear Harry,
Italy was sooo good! For the first half of our holiday we stayed in a 5-star hotel in the old town of Sirmione which is next to Lake Garda. It was really fun! We went on boat trips around the lake and had ice cream every day – did you know in Italy they call it gelato? I’m not sure what the difference is but it was really yummy. There were some old ruins to explore too, but the most exciting bit was the second half of our holiday!
We went to a wizarding village in the Italian Alps! Mum and dad were allowed in, even though they’re Muggles, because they were with me and obviously already know about the magical world. Italy had some magical things that I’ve never seen in the UK. For example, in Italy, they really like weaving magic into fabrics! I saw flying carpets (yes, they’re real!), and scarves dipped in potions to bring the wearer good luck, and a cloak that created like 7 different shadows. I’m not sure what the point of the cloak was but it looked cool haha. We took loads of photos, so I’ll show you when we’re back at Hogwarts!
Speaking of Hogwarts, have you heard who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is going to be? Gilderoy Lockhart! I’d never heard of him before, but apparently, he’s really famous in the wizarding world. I met up with Neville in Diagon Alley earlier this week and when we were at Flourish and Blotts, Lockhart was there doing a book signing and he announced he had accepted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts.
I guess that explains why all of Lockhart’s books are on the school textbook list this year. Have you read any of them yet? He sounds really impressive! He’s got first-hand experience fighting loads of dark creatures. I bet Defence Against the Dark Arts will be really interesting this year! I even showed the textbooks to mum and dad. After reading a few of them, I think they’re starting to see how useful it is to have a wizard in the family.
Oh! Something else VERY interesting happened at Flourish and Blotts, but I’m sure Neville will tell you about it in his letter. I’m running out of room on this sheet of paper and I’m not sure how many sheets the Transporter can handle so I’ll finish this letter now!
Take care and see you soon!
With love,
Justin
Harry was just finishing Justin’s letter, a happy grin on his face, when Tom suddenly let out a furious screech in his ear. Harry jerked in shock, almost dropping Justin’s letter, looking around wildly to try to see what had elicited such a strong reaction from Tom. Tom’s eyes were narrowed into slits, his finger white and rigid as he poked the end of Justin’s letter aggressively.
“What does he mean by that?!” said Tom, incensed.
“What?” Harry said blankly.
“With love,” quoted Tom, as if Justin had written the most disgusting thing in the world. “Why’s he written that?!”
“It’s just a thing people write at the end of letters,” said Harry, bewildered at Tom’s reaction.
“Not boys!” Tom said immediately. “Look at Neville’s letters! He always ends them with ‘Cheers’ or ‘Talk soon’ or ‘Best’. Justin’s acting… suspiciously.”
Harry burst into laughter. He could not understand why Tom was overreacting about something so trivial.
“Maybe it’s how posh people end their letters,” Harry said reasonably. “Justin’s quite upper class, isn’t he? They do things a bit differently.”
At this, Tom finally began to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he considered this hypothesis. He nodded slowly to himself, the irate look of anger melting away as he accepted Harry’s theory.
“Yes… Yes, that must be it…” said Tom, sounding (for some reason Harry could not fathom) relieved. “Well, open Neville’s letter, then. I want to know what happened at Flourish and Blotts.”
Shaking his head with a bemused smile, Harry opened the second letter, unfolding the parchment to read Neville’s messy handwriting.
Hi Harry,
Thanks for your last letter. No, I’ve never read 100 Coolest and Rarest Magical Plants in Britain (Illustrated Edition) before. If you’re bringing it to Hogwarts, I’d love to read it with you!
Gran and I went to visit mum and dad at St Mungo’s yesterday. We had a nice time. The Healers have just installed a magical window in the ward that looks as though it’s looking out onto a meadow, and they really like sitting there and enjoying the view. Gran and I talked to them and they sometimes smiled and nodded at some of the things we said, although I don’t think they really understood who we were. Still, they seemed happy to see us, so that was nice.
I met up with Justin earlier in the week in Diagon Alley which was really great! I met his parents too – they were really friendly and were amazed at all the casual magic happening around us (they’re Muggles). Maybe next year, you could join us for a meet up, if Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey say it’s OK? (I’m glad you’ve settled in with them by the way, I’d find it weird to live with teachers personally!)
But anyway, something mad happened at Flourish and Blotts! You know Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley from our year at school? They were both there with their dads – and their dads got into a MASSIVE FIGHT, punching one another and knocking over books and everything! I’m not sure what it was about, but they had to be pulled apart so that they wouldn’t seriously injure one another. I share a dormitory with Ron, so maybe I’ll get more details out of him when school starts again in September.
Not long to go now! See you soon.
Best,
Neville
“I wonder what the fight was about?” said Harry, intensely curious.
“Yes, that’s very interesting,” said Tom, as nosy as ever. “Why would Ron and Draco’s dads get into a fight?”
Bursting with questions, Harry grabbed a quill and a roll of parchment, and began to pen his replies.
It was several nights later, when the entire house had gone to bed, and Harry was just drifting off to sleep, that Tom suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, straining his ears in the darkness, before urgently shaking Harry back to full consciousness. Harry blinked awake blearily, rubbing his eyes and squinting in the darkness.
“What?” groaned Harry.
“Shh!” hissed Tom. “I think someone’s in the house.”
Harry was suddenly wide awake, panic and adrenaline causing his heart to pound and his senses to sharpen. Now that he was listening, he could hear a strange thudding noise coming from somewhere inside the cottage.
“But we’re hidden by the Fidelius Charm,” whispered Harry. “No one can find us unless Minerva tells them our location.”
“Maybe the Charm’s not working properly,” said Tom. “Someone’s here. Listen.”
The boys held their breath, listening intently in the darkness. The thudding noise could still be heard. It sounded vaguely rhythmical, like someone heavy-footed walking slowly around the cottage – or perhaps the beat of some dark ritual.
“We need to get to Minerva and Poppy,” whispered Harry. “They’ll be able to protect us and fight whoever it is.”
“OK,” said Tom. “Be quiet. Bring your wand, just in case.”
Hand sweaty, Harry grabbed his wand off the bedside table and held it tightly in his hand. Walking slowly on his tiptoes, trying to make as little noise as possible, he moved across the room like a shadow, Tom sticking by his side like a bodyguard. Finally, he reached his bedroom door, twisting the doorknob and wincing as it squeaked, the sound loud and grating in the darkness.
The rhythmical thudding noise seemed to pause, before starting up again, louder now that Harry had his bedroom door open. To his horror, he realised that the sinister sound seemed to be coming from Minerva and Poppy’s bedroom. A faint glow of light was visible from underneath their door. Harry gripped Tom’s hand in fright, terrible thoughts flashing through his mind of a dark wizard attacking his foster mothers in what should be the sanctuary of their bedroom.
“He’s in their room!” whispered Harry.
Tom looked as panicked as Harry felt. The thudding noise continued, like the beat of a terrible, fearful drum.
“It sounds like a ritual,” said Tom. “Maybe we should–”
But before he could finish, there came a muffled groan from behind Minerva and Poppy’s bedroom door.
“He’s hurting them!” shouted Harry.
He ran forwards recklessly, all thoughts of stealth going out of the window as the fierce instinct to protect coursed through him. He did not know who or what was behind that bedroom door. All he knew was that his foster mothers were in danger, and he would never let anyone harm his new, perfect family. Tom rushed forwards at the same moment, his longer legs carrying him faster, meaning that Harry saw him vanish through the wall ahead of him.
No sooner had Tom disappeared through the wall, however, than he reappeared, a look of ashen horror on his face. He grabbed Harry around the midriff, forcing him to a halt, before dragging him with all his might in the opposite direction, away from Minerva and Poppy’s bedroom, back towards his own room.
“What are you doing?” hissed Harry, fighting against him. “We have to go in and save them!”
“No!” Tom said desperately.
And that was when Harry finally heard it; another noise, one that was only audible now that he was standing very close to his foster mothers’ bedroom door: the sound of a mattress squeaking, in perfect synchronisation with the thudding noise, which Harry now realised was the sound of their headboard slamming into the wall.
Shock, horror and embarrassment all flooded through Harry in an instant. For a moment, both he and Tom stood rooted to the spot, the sounds of squeaking and thudding filling the hallway, before Harry finally returned to his senses, sprinting back to his own room and slamming the door shut behind him, before diving into bed and pulling the covers over his head, trying to block out the noise.
“Oh my God,” whispered Harry, horrified. “Oh my God!”
It was a good several minutes before Tom was able to speak. When he did, his voice was strangled and raw.
“We need to look in the potions cupboard tomorrow morning,” said Tom. “See if any of them can erase memories.”
Harry was not sure if he was joking.
Aside from that one horrifying night, it was – without a doubt – the best summer holiday Harry had ever had in his life. It was the first time a house had ever felt like a home. It was the first time he had ever felt part of a family.
He looked after the garden with Poppy. He read books with Minerva. They played board games as a family and prepared meals together. They made picnics and ate them at various spots around the island. Harry explored every inch of the island with Tom. The days melted into one happy, halcyon blur.
It seemed to go by in a flash, and before Harry knew it, suddenly it was 1 September and they were preparing to go to King’s Cross station in London to catch the Hogwarts Express. Harry was beyond excited at the prospect of seeing Justin and Neville again, bouncing around the cottage and getting in everyone’s way as Minerva and Poppy cast Feather-Light Charms on their luggage and went through checklists to make sure they had packed everything.
“Right, that’s everything,” said Minerva, putting her hand on Harry’s elbow in an attempt to keep him still. “Let’s go through the plan one last time.”
“We Apparate to an alleyway just around the corner from King’s Cross, where Muggle-Repelling Charms have been put in place temporarily to allow witches and wizards to arrive without drawing attention,” said Poppy. “We stay vigilant. In the case of any attack, I’ll look after Harry, whilst you fight off the attacker.”
“Indeed, very good,” said Minerva, sounding pleased. “The Hogwarts Express has had its protective runes boosted over the summer, so once we’re on the train, it’ll be as safe as Hogwarts. We just need to get there in one piece.”
“We should come up with a codeword, in case we notice something suspicious and think we might be under attack,” piped up Harry.
“In my experience, attacks from Death Eaters usually aren’t so subtle,” Minerva said drily.
“It’s a good idea, though,” smiled Poppy. “Did you have a specific codeword in mind, Harry?”
“It has to be something you’d never say in normal conversation,” said Tom, as Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“How about jellyfish?” said Harry.
Minerva and Poppy smiled with amusement.
“Very well. At any sign of trouble, say the codeword jellyfish, and we’ll jump into action,” said Minerva. “Are you ready?”
Harry noticed they had suddenly gripped their luggage very tightly and Minerva had grabbed Harry’s arm with an iron grip. Realising what was about to happen, Harry grabbed his own luggage and nodded, closing his eyes as Minerva turned on the spot and the unpleasant sensation of Apparition closed in on him from all sides. It compressed him until he felt his head might pop, pressure like an ocean pressing in on every square inch of his body. Just when it was starting to feel unbearable, it stopped, and Harry opened his eyes to see that they were standing in an alleyway, the sounds of a nearby busy London street a sudden contrast to the peaceful tranquillity of the cottage.
They hurried out of the alleyway, making their way down the road towards King’s Cross station. Cars were honking, engines were rumbling, and there was the constant chatter of thousands of Londoners around them, going about their daily lives. Harry was getting more and more excited with every step, practically skipping as he carried his magically feather-light luggage, Tom hurrying along beside him.
As they walked into King’s Cross station, Harry spotted several children who he recognised from Hogwarts, including a boy who he recognised as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and a seventh-year Ravenclaw girl who he knew from Herbology Club. They made their way to platforms 9 and 10. Harry watched as the Gryffindor boy and the Ravenclaw girl disappeared with their parents into the wall that hid the entrance to platform 9 ¾ – and then it was their turn.
Harry tried to quell his nerves as he, Minerva and Poppy began walking casually towards the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10. He knew it was perfectly safe. He had done it before, after all, the year before when he had first started at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, he could not deny how wrong it felt to walk straight at a seemingly solid wall, even though he knew it was merely a very convincing illusion. They were three metres away… two metres… one metre…
Smack!
Harry let out a cry of pain as he walked into an extremely solid, extremely painful brick wall. Pain shot through his nose and blood spurted down his face. The slick, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Stunned, he looked around to see Minerva and Poppy looking equally battered and shocked.
“Jellyfish!” blurted out Harry.
The codeword.
They were under attack.
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! I’m glad you’re enjoying this story and I can’t wait to share more with you <3
FLOOR PLAN FOR THISTLE COTTAGE: To help people visualise Thistle Cottage, I’ve published the floor plan here! Feel free to take a look, if you want to see the layout of the rooms :)
THOUGHTS: What did you think of Harry and Tom’s summer holiday on Teaghlach Island? We also heard about what was happening elsewhere, via the Daily Prophet articles and Justin and Neville’s letters. Please let me know your favourite parts of this chapter in the comments section below, I love hearing from readers!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the rest of the 1st of September and will immediately introduce various mysteries…
TUMBLR: I am ao3-elle1991 on Tumblr, feel free to check out my blog!
Chapter 24
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Poppy immediately seized Harry by the upper arm and turned on the spot. For the second time that day, Harry was crushed by the claustrophobic feeling of Apparition, immense pressure closing in on him from all sides. As the world dissolved around him, a dozen questions flew through Harry’s head. Why could they not get through the barrier to platform 9 ¾? Were they under attack? Who was responsible? Was it Voldemort? Was it one of his followers? Where were they going? Would they be safe?
Suddenly, the world solidified beneath his feet. Harry looked around wildly, immediately recognising that they had Apparated directly into one of the corridors on the Hogwarts Express. Their arrival caused quite a bit of panic, several students screaming at their sudden materialisation in the narrow space of the carriage. From behind him, Harry heard a familiar voice.
“Harry?”
He turned around to see Justin and Neville a short distance down the corridor, goggling at him and Poppy in amazement and confusion. Harry realised he must look quite alarming with a heavily bleeding nose. Poppy wrenched open the nearest compartment door and grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck, bundling him unceremoniously inside. Turning to Justin and Neville down the corridor, she gestured wildly for them to approach.
“Get in!” she barked.
They stumbled in after Harry, the three boys watching in astonishment as Poppy immediately got to work placing multiple protective spells on their compartment, her wand whizzing through the air in a blur of colourful sparks. Several minutes later, she passed through the wall of enchantments and entered their compartment, a slightly apologetic look on her face.
“I realise I may have been a bit overly, ah, assertive, back there,” she said. “Are you all OK?”
Harry, Justin and Neville nodded. Poppy looked at Harry’s grazed and bloody nose and tapped it twice with her wand. The pain and blood immediately went away. Harry breathed a little easier.
“Alright,” said Poppy. “Well, I’ll be in the compartment next door. If anything happens, just shout. I’ll come immediately. Although, the enchantments should mean that anyone who means you harm shouldn’t be able to get in.”
With that, she left their compartment, disappearing out of sight. Harry, Justin and Neville all took their seats, Tom sitting in the empty space beside Harry, back straight and eyes vigilant.
“What on earth was all that about?” Justin said in amazement.
“The barrier wouldn’t let us through onto platform 9 ¾,” said Harry. “It became a solid brick wall.”
“But that’s meant to be impossible,” Neville said anxiously. “Gran says the wall is just a powerful illusion charm.”
“It felt pretty solid for an illusion,” said Harry, remembering the painful smack of brick against his nose.
“Well, the main thing is, you’re safe and you’re going to Hogwarts; that’s what matters,” said Justin, trying to sound upbeat.
The Hogwarts Express began to move, slowly pulling out of King’s Cross station and picking up speed as it passed through London, heading north. The more space was put between them and the malfunctioning barrier at platform 9 ¾, the more relaxed Harry started to feel, taking comfort in the knowledge that physical distance was being put between himself and whatever had gone wrong.
Before long, Harry, Justin and Neville were chattering away happily about what had happened in the final few weeks of their summer holidays, since their last letters.
“Gran and I went to this cool little seaside village on the Yorkshire coast, Robin Hood’s Bay,” said Neville. “It had loads of tiny little passageways between the houses that used to be used by smugglers! I loved it. Gran has a Muggle friend who lives there, so I got to have fun exploring the village and the beach by myself whilst they had a good old catch-up.”
“That sounds great,” said Harry, before his stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl.
“Well, I suppose it’s almost lunchtime,” laughed Justin. “That reminds me, mum made afternoon tea for us all!”
With that, he pulled several large Tupperware containers from his suitcase and distributed them. Harry and Neville opened them with delight, looking down at the carefully made little sandwiches, scones and desserts. They tucked into their lunch of afternoon tea with gusto, chatting and watching as the terrain outside changed as they travelled up through the country, the sun slowly making its way across the sky.
It was getting late in the afternoon when Minerva (or rather, Professor McGonagall, Harry reminded himself, now that they had officially started term) entered their carriage, already changed into her more formal robes for school.
“I wanted to give you an update on what happened at platform 9 ¾,” said Professor McGonagall, addressing Harry. “I’ve been investigating the magical signature of whatever interfered with the barrier. It was house elf magic. Do you know of any reason why any particular house elf would have a grudge against you?”
Harry shook his head with confusion.
“What’s a house elf?” he said.
“I’ll explain later,” said Professor McGonagall. “I need to go and speak to Madam Pomfrey.”
With that, she left, leaving the boys to immediately start speculating amongst themselves.
“So, what is a house elf?” frowned Justin, confused.
“Oh, yeah, I suppose neither of you will have heard of them, growing up in the Muggle world,” said Neville. “They’re a species of elf that’s usually owned by rich pure-blood families. They do domestic tasks like cooking and cleaning and stuff. They’re magically bound to serve the same family forever, unless their owner decides to free them.”
Justin looked as though someone had just taken a massive shit in front of him.
“They’re magically bound?” he said, appalled. “Like slaves?!”
Neville shrugged uncomfortably.
“It’s traditional,” he mumbled. “Besides, I think the house elves like it.”
Justin swelled up like a frog, no doubt about to launch into a tirade about house elf rights, when Harry interrupted, wanting to keep the conversation on track.
“If they’re magically bound to obey their owners, then the question is: who ordered a house elf to try and stop me going to Hogwarts?” said Harry. “And why?”
The trio fell into silence as they pondered the question.
“Maybe someone did it as a joke,” Neville said eventually. “I wouldn’t put it past Draco or Zacharias. Think about it: they’re both pure-bloods; I bet their families are the type to keep house elves.”
Outside, the scenery was becoming wilder and more mountainous. The sky was getting darker and the train seemed to be gradually slowing down. Realising they must be getting close to Hogwarts, the boys pulled their school uniforms out of their suitcases and got changed. Finally dressed, Harry felt a frisson of excitement as he looked down at his black and yellow Hufflepuff tie and yellow-trimmed black robes. Hogwarts felt just as much like home as Thistle Cottage did, and he was suddenly overcome with excitement at the prospect of seeing the castle again.
“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time,” came an announcement over the magically-powered speaker system. “Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”
The boys squashed their noses against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the castle as the train slowed down, but night had already fallen and all they could see was darkness. Finally, the train screeched to a halt at the station, and Harry, Justin and Neville exited their compartment and joined the throng of students slowly shunting down the corridor onto the platform.
The cool night air made Harry shiver slightly, making him pull his robes tighter around himself for warmth. It was then that he realised he did not know where to go. Last year, he had gone with Hagrid over the lake on a rickety wooden boat, but the boats were only for first-years. He followed the crowd, not having much choice as he was swept up in the tide of people shunting down the platform, eventually hearing the voices of various Prefects guiding students off the platform.
“First-years over here, to Professor McGonagall!” shouted a lanky Ravenclaw boy with a Prefect badge pinned to the front of his robes. “Second-years and above, go down the steps and along the path, to the horseless carriages!”
Making sure that Justin and Neville were still close by, Harry made his way down the stone steps off the platform and followed a cobbled path that led to a narrow road. Old streetlamps lit the way intermittently, meaning they were not in complete darkness. They finally reached the carriages – but they were not horseless.
Harry froze, shock and fear lancing through him as he stared at the terrifying thing pulling the carriage nearest to them. It had the body of a skeletal horse, except it had a reptilian head and leathery, bat-like wings. As Harry stared into its wide, milky-white, pupil-less eyes, it turned its head towards him, staring right back.
Harry took a hasty step backwards, bumping directly into Justin, who did not seem at all disturbed by the creepy, horse-like creature in front of them.
“What on earth is that thing?” breathed Harry.
“Thing? What thing?” said Justin, looking left and right, his gaze seeming to slide right over the creature without seeing it.
“The… That!” said Harry, pointing directly at the creature. “The dead horse-looking monster!”
Justin and Neville exchanged bewildered smiles.
“Are you feeling alright?” said Neville.
“Very funny, Harry,” chuckled Justin, as if it was all a silly joke. “Come on, let’s get in this carriage, before someone else takes it.”
Harry clambered into the carriage with Justin and Neville, still utterly baffled as to why they were behaving so strangely.
“Can’t you see them?” insisted Harry, twisting around in his seat to look through the carriage window. “Look! They’re pulling every single carriage!
“Nothing’s pulling the carriages,” said Neville, sounding a little nervous. “They’re horseless, like that Prefect said.”
Just then, the creature began to trot forwards, the carriage jerking into movement. The wheels trundled over uneven cobblestones, making it a rather bumpy and uncomfortable ride.
“I see them, too,” Tom said quietly. “I wonder why Justin and Neville can’t?”
Harry was greatly relieved to hear that at least Tom could see them. Hopefully, that meant he had not gone completely mad. Still, it was unnerving that he and Tom should be able to see the monstrous-looking creatures, when no one else could. They were a disturbing sight, with their skeletal silhouettes and wide, milky eyes.
Harry found it difficult to pay attention to Justin and Neville’s conversation as they rode the carriage up to the castle, too distracted by the sight of the mysterious, horse-like creature pulling them. When they finally arrived and disembarked, Harry stared at the creature for a long moment, before muttering an awkward “thank you” and hurrying away, not particularly wanting to stay in its presence any longer than was necessary.
As Harry climbed the stone steps of the castle and crossed over the threshold into the Entrance Hall, he was hit by a wall of warmth and light that seemed to melt away his lingering fear of the creature, happiness swelling in his chest as he walked with Justin and Neville into the Great Hall.
“See you later,” said Neville, heading over to the Gryffindor table.
Justin and Harry waved goodbye to him, before making their way over to the Hufflepuff table, where they could see their fellow second-years – Ernie, Hannah, Susan and Zacharias – were already seated together. Ernie, Hannah and Susan greeted them enthusiastically, Ernie shaking their hands pompously and the girls giving them hugs. Zacharias gave Justin a polite nod and a smile, but ignored Harry completely. Harry rolled his eyes. Zacharias had apparently not become any less of a knob over the summer.
The Great Hall was rumbling with the sound of hundreds of students talking animatedly, when the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, got to his feet. Silence settled over the students, all of them turning to the front to listen to what he had to say.
“Welcome back, everyone!” he said, eyes twinkling. “I hope you all had a wonderful summer and are ready for another year of learning. But before we begin, we must welcome the newest members of our Hogwarts family!”
At his words, the double doors swung open and Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall, a line of nervous-looking first-years trailing behind her. Harry stared along with everyone else as the new students walked up onto the stage at the front of the Great Hall. He did not remember being so tiny when he was eleven.
The Sorting Hat opened its mouth to begin its song, when Tom suddenly gave a giant gasp beside Harry, gripping his arm so tightly it was painful.
“Look!” said Tom.
As the Sorting Hat began its song, Harry looked around as discreetly as he could, trying to see what on earth had elicited such a strong reaction from Tom. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looked perfectly normal: the students, the teachers, the house tables, the decorations on the walls. Casually covering his mouth with his hand so that it would not be obvious that he was whispering, Harry used the noise of the Sorting Hat’s loud singing as cover for his reply.
“What?” he hissed.
“That boy!” said Tom, pointing dramatically in the direction of the first-years on the stage. “Can’t you see him?”
“There’s lots of boys!” whispered Harry. “Be more specific!”
Tom simply pointed more dramatically, his finger trembling, as if this was meant to make it clearer which of the many boys on the stage he was talking about.
“I don’t know who you’re pointing at!” whispered Harry.
“He’s like me!” said Tom, an awestruck look on his face.
That got Harry’s attention.
“What do you mean, he’s like you?” said Harry, a little louder than he intended.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zacharias looking at him suspiciously. Thankfully, at that moment, the Sorting Hat finished its song and everyone burst into a round of applause. Realising it was too risky to keep conversing with Tom in front of everyone, Harry used the sound of the applause as cover to lean into Tom’s ear and murmur a hasty reply.
“We’ll talk later,” promised Harry.
Professor McGonagall started calling out the names of the first-years one by one, putting the Sorting Hat on their heads, each house applauding each time they gained a new member.
“Creevey, Colin!”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
But Harry was very distracted throughout the Sorting Ceremony, trying hard to see if any of the boys could be the one that Tom had reacted so strongly to.
“Harper, William!”
“SLYTHERIN!”
What had Tom meant when he said the boy was “like him”? Harry observed each of the first-year boys carefully, but none of them particularly resembled Tom or had what Harry would describe as any Tom-like characteristics.
“Lovegood, Luna!”
“RAVENCLAW!”
One by one, the crowd of first-years on the stage dwindled as they were sorted into their houses, until finally:
“Weasley, Ginevra!”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The Gryffindor table gave a round of applause as a red-haired girl who Harry assumed could only be Ron’s little sister joined them with a smile. The Sorting Ceremony finally over, Professor McGonagall carried the Sorting Hat and the wooden stool off the stage, and then Professor Dumbledore got to his feet once more.
“Welcome, first-years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” he smiled. “And welcome back, everyone else! Before we begin our excellent feast, I have a few start-of-term announcements to make.”
“Hopefully he’s not hidden another three-headed dog in the school,” whispered Harry, causing Justin to snort with laughter.
“First of all, please join me in extending a warm welcome to Professor Lockhart, who has joined us this year to fill the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Professor Dumbledore.
A very good-looking man in his late-20s got to his feet, waving regally to the students. He had perfectly-coiffed wavy blonde hair, blue eyes that matched his tailored robes, and dazzling white teeth. Harry noticed that the older girls seemed to be applauding particularly hard, several of them squealing amongst themselves. Harry remembered Justin mentioning in his letter that Professor Lockhart was apparently something of a celebrity in the wizarding world.
“Secondly, please note that the forest around Hogwarts is forbidden to all students,” continued Professor Dumbledore. “And finally, no magic is to be used in the corridors between lessons. Now, enjoy the feast!”
The first-year Hufflepuffs who had just joined their table gasped in wonder as platters of food appeared by magic on their table. Harry piled his plate with a little bit of everything, tucking into his meal with gusto. Justin’s mother’s afternoon tea suddenly felt ages ago.
“Welcome, first-years!” Zacharias said loudly, a charming smile on his face. “My name is Zacharias Smith, Heir of Hufflepuff! It’s an honour to welcome you into the noble house of my ancestor.”
“Wow!” said one of the first-year girls, her eyes wide as her gaze drifted over Zacharias and settled on Harry. “Are you Harry Potter?”
Harry, who had been half-way through chewing a large roast potato, swallowed it hastily, his face going red as all the first-years turned to stare at him in awe.
“Oh, er, yeah. Hello,” said Harry. “Welcome to Hufflepuff.”
“Do you really have the scar?” piped up a tiny boy with black hair.
Zacharias’ face twisted with fury as the first-years focused their attention on Harry. Justin hid a smirk behind a forkful of roast pork. Cringing inside with self-consciousness but trying to play it cool, Harry pushed back his messy black fringe, revealing the lightning bolt scar to a chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs” from the first-years.
For the rest of the feast, Harry answered the first-years’ questions as kindly and patiently as he could, admittedly feeling a little smug when he noticed Zacharias glowering more and more moodily as the night went on. At last, every plate was cleared and Professor Dumbledore dismissed the students for the night, everyone getting to their feet and making their way back to their common rooms.
As Harry entered his dormitory, he saw that his trunk was waiting for him at the foot of his bed. He grabbed his toiletries and pyjamas, wanting to get ready for bed as quickly as possible, so that he would be able to talk to Tom in private. After rushing through his evening ablutions, he said goodnight to everyone (even the moody Zacharias) and clambered into bed, pulling the curtains firmly around himself and casting a Silencing Charm on them.
Finally, he turned to Tom, who looked as though he might burst from excitement.
“Go on then,” said Harry. “Tell me about this boy.”
“He was like me!” rushed Tom, almost tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. “He had a glowing outline that pulsed to the rhythm of his heartbeat! And no one else seemed able to see or interact with him – people kept walking through him like he wasn’t there! But there’s something wrong with him. He’s weak. He was unconscious the entire time, and really pale, and had these huge dark bruises under his eyes. He looked sick and exhausted.”
Harry stared in astonishment. Another boy, similar to Tom! The glowing outline that pulsed to his heartbeat and the fact that others were able to walk through him suggested he was the same kind of entity as Tom – a soul without a body.
“I couldn’t see him,” said Harry, feeling disappointed. “What did he look like, apart from the glowing outline?”
“He’s tall. Older than us, I think, maybe 16?” said Tom. “He had wavy dark hair, similar to mine, I suppose, except styled nicer.”
“I wonder why I couldn’t see him,” said Harry. “After all, I can see you – and he sounds like the same species, if that’s the right word.”
“If he’s like me, then it makes sense that only the person he’s attached to will be able to see him,” said Tom, thinking fast. “And me – maybe I can see him because we’re the same species.”
“Yeah, maybe… That makes sense,” said Harry, turning it over in his head.
“We need to find out who he’s attached to,” said Tom, a feverish, obsessive gleam forming in his eyes. “And why he looks so sick. Like I said, he was unconscious all throughout the Sorting Ceremony and the feast.”
Harry let out a long exhale. It was only the first day of school and they already had three mysteries on their hands.
The unknown house elf, who had tampered with the barrier at platform 9 ¾…
The disturbing horse-like monsters, who pulled the carriages…
And the sickly, unconscious, teenage boy, who was a soul without a body…
Notes:
THANK YOU: Thank you for your lovely comments on the last chapter! It sounds like many of you are excited for second year and all that comes with it (the diary!), so I hope you’ll enjoy this next portion of this fic!
TIE-INS AND DIVERGENCES FROM CANON: As with canon, a certain house elf tried to prevent Harry from getting onto platform 9 ¾ in this fic. However, the big divergence here is that Harry’s foster mothers were able to get him safely onto the train so that he could get to school in the normal way. Another big divergence from canon is that Harry and Tom are aware of a certain 16-year-old soul right from the beginning of this year, since Tom can see him, although obviously at this stage they have no idea who he is!
THOUGHTS: What did you think of this chapter? Are you excited for the mysteries that have been set up? What are you most looking forward to during Harry’s second year? Let me know in the comments section below!
TEASER: The next chapter will cover the events of the remainder of September, and will see Harry settling into the new school year, and some more revelations about the mysterious 16-year-old boy…
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