Chapter Text
Mornings at the Potter household were always chaotic, but today – the first of September – stood out even more than usual. The reason for this was James and Lily's youngest daughter – Harmonie Potter – who was about to set off for Hogwarts for the very first time. Lily darted about the house like a restless Snitch, constantly remembering some small item her daughter might need at school. James, unusually calm, stood by the main fireplace, absently studying the paintings on the wall. Beside him stood their eldest child and heir – Harry. Unlike his sister, the boy was not particularly looking forward to returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year. Next year he would have to sit his final examinations – the N.E.W.T.s – and would not only have to bid farewell to the ancient castle, but also to a small group of students who, over the past five years, had become his closest friends.
Harry, leaning his back against the wall, was gathering his strength when the sound of small feet pattering down the stairs reached him, accompanied by the click of heels. The boy opened his eyes just in time and pulled his hands from his pockets to catch his sister, who had made a habit of hurtling into him. He spun her around gently, drawing a bright laugh from Harmonie, which in turn brought a smile to his face. Harry loved his sister. She had always been something special to him. Perhaps it was because he had personally begged his parents for a sibling when the long hours spent in an empty house – without his parents, who were often away at work – had begun to wear on him, or perhaps it was something about the girl's particular aura that made others smile or share in her sadness – Harry didn't know for certain.
"I'm finally going to Hogwarts with you!" the girl squeaked, as soon as her brother set her down on the floor, having made sure her legs would hold her steady and keep her from falling.
Harry smiled at her more broadly and, unable to resist, ruffled her hair. Harmonie's fluffy red locks had been styled by Lily just a few hours earlier, but amidst all the packing and dashing about, her hairdo had become dishevelled, starting to resemble the Potter family trait known as the "bird's nest." Lily stood at the foot of the stairs, with two trunks hovering beside her – both covered in stickers featuring a variety of animals and flowers that not only changed position but also colour.
"But if we don't leave for the station right now," James spoke up, lifting the luggage into the air, "the train will leave without you – and we'll miss not only the tedious speech from that old hat, but also the incomparable start-of-term feast."
With a shriek, Harmonie ran to her mother to take her little handbag, shaped like a fluffy snowy owl and looking to Harry rather like Hedwig – the polar owl he had been given for his eleventh birthday.
Harry stepped into the fireplace and, once his sister had joined him, threw Floo Powder at his feet, clearly enunciating their destination: "King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters." They were engulfed in green flames. Without wasting a moment, the boy took his sister by the hand and led her out of the public fireplace to avoid causing a crush.
Harmonie gazed at the hustle and bustle of the station: the frantic cries of children, the rumble of luggage trolley wheels, and the general cacophony of animals. The girl swivelled her head like an owl, making her brother worry for the safety of her neck. Despite her excitement and her barely concealed desire to rush towards the train, she held Harry's hand tightly and made no attempt to pull away. After a few minutes, and several families passing through the fireplace, James and Lily appeared, sighing with relief when they saw their children – safe and sound. The four of them stepped slightly away from the crowd to say their goodbyes properly before the Express gave its first warning whistle.
"Before you board the Hogwarts Express and leave us to our well-earned holiday," James winced as Lily gave him a sharp slap on the head, then grinned broadly – "right, before you leave, I want to offer a few words of advice."
Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. He heard this speech every year and, from his third year onwards, had hoped his father might change one particular part, but the miracle never came.
"We're proud of you, no matter what. We believe that you two will become a great wizard and a great witch. We wish you success not only in your studies, but also in friendship, which," he smirked slyly, "is far more important."
Harmonie nodded along with every word her father spoke, her brown eyes – inherited from James, along with her fiery, untamed temperament – shining up at him. In every other respect, the girl was the spitting image of her mother. Harry, unlike the energetic Harmonie and James, had inherited Lily Potter's calm disposition and striking green eyes, which, as it happened, were exceptionally rare in the wizarding world. If his appearance hadn't been so strongly reminiscent of his father, he might easily have been mistaken for Muggle-born. Harry had never been ashamed of his own origins or of Lily's. It didn't matter to him. Magic was the same for everyone who possessed it.
"We won't be cross about mischief…"
"As long as it doesn't break school rules," Lily finished for her husband, looking at James reproachfully.
The man put his arm around his wife's waist and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, which quickly flushed pink.
"Just don't get caught," he concluded. "And one last thing."
Harry looked away.
"No ventures into the Restricted Section. Not out of curiosity, not on a dare, and not for homework. Nod if you understand."
The children nodded. Harry and Harmonie had been raised from infancy among Light witches and wizards, who trembled with anger – and sometimes fear – at the mere thought of the name that was never spoken in their household. The Dark Arts were not prohibited in magical Britain, for no Dark Lords or Ladies had appeared on their shores for a long time. Despite the Potter family's connection to necromancy – something Harry had learned from a fellow student in his House, not from his family or his parents' friends – James and Lily did everything they could to shield their children from anything the Ministry classified as Dark magic.
One time, when James and Sirius – Harry's godfather – had taken him to the flat on Grimmauld Place, where magic could be felt with every breath, sensed on the tip of one's tongue, and covered the entire body in goosebumps, Harry understood that he was drawn to it. Hiding away in the room of Sirius's younger brother – Regulus – the five-year-old boy had leafed through every book he could reach, discovering a new, utterly different world that captivated him. Soon after, Harmonie was born, and the Grimmauld Place flat was closed to him forever. Harry had tried to find similar books at school, sneaking into the Restricted Section despite the punishment his father had threatened, and had begged a friend to bring him even a single manuscript from his family library. He was aware of his obsession, but until his wand had cast a single spell, no one could accuse him of anything.
A loud whistle echoed across the platform, summoning students to say their farewells more quickly. Harmonie let go of Harry's hand so that their parents could give her a firm hug, while the boy levitated their trunks into the special compartments of the first carriage, from which house-elves would later direct the luggage to the appropriate dormitories after the Sorting. Returning, Harry was crushed in a bear hug by his father and kissed on both cheeks by his mother. He waved to them one last time and helped his sister up the steps. They entered the first empty compartment, where Harmonie could wave to their parents. Harry, sitting by the window, watched as James tried to hold back his tears while Lily let hers flow freely down her freckled cheeks.
"Do you think I'll be sorted into Gryffindor?" Harmonie asked, once the train had pulled away from the station, the urban landscape giving way to fields and forests.
"Of course," Harry smiled at his sister, leaning closer to ruffle her hair. "I'm sure you'll be just like Dad – terrorising the Slytherins and getting on the professors' nerves."
The girl beamed, her teeth flashing. Harry noticed the chip in her canine, left over from an unsuccessful broomstick flight.
"I promise not to terrorise you!" Harry didn't correct her, but smiled a little more softly than before.
When the Sorting Hat had placed him in Slytherin, Harry had been ready to mount any broom and fly out of the country. He had been terrified of his parents' reaction. Terrified that they would turn their backs on him. Terrified that they would abandon him, just as Sirius's parents had done. Harry had feared he would find no friends in his own House, for every witch and wizard in Britain knew the Potters' views on Slytherin, following the major falling out between Lily and her former best friend – Severus Snape. The boy had locked himself in the bathroom and hadn't come out all night, too afraid to sleep in a room with Slytherins. The next day, he had been summoned to the Head of House's office – which was Severus – where he found not only the professor, but his parents as well. After a long conversation and buckets of shed tears, the boy had calmed down and returned to the common room, where not only his dormmates but also the older students had welcomed him warmly.
Harry looked back on his first year with fondness and hoped that his sister would settle in without the fear and dread he himself had experienced. Harmonie took a Quidditch magazine from her owl-shaped bag, one she had clearly read many times before, judging by its crumpled and, in some places, torn pages. Harry stretched out on the bench below, resting his head on his school scarf. The journey to Hogwarts was a long one; they would be travelling from London to Scotland, which meant they would not arrive at Hogsmeade Station – where they were to disembark – until evening. The boy closed his eyes and, to the soft rustle of glossy pages, drifted off to sleep.
*
It seemed that the wait for the first-years to arrive grew longer with each passing year. Despite the loud symphonies emanating from his stomach, Harry did not regret giving his snacks to his sister during the train ride. Harmonie was growing, and she needed the healthy food their mother had prepared more than he did. His own growth had stopped the previous year, and along with it he had abandoned any hope of ever coming within an inch of James's height or that of the other men in the Potter family. He didn't mind being only slightly taller than Lily, but when Harmonie overtook them both… That would be awkward.
Just as students were on the verge of fainting from hunger, or beginning to eye their neighbours' more appetising body parts, Professor McGonagall led the children into the Great Hall. Harry felt a pang of pure envy as he watched the wonder in the first-years' eyes as they gazed up at the enchanted ceiling, where – thanks to the clear sky – stars were twinkling. Instead of listening to the old hat's wailing, Harry preferred to discuss the upcoming school year with Draco, along with predictions for Quidditch matches – not the school ones, as their results were predictable every year thanks to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw's promising Seekers – but for the following year. With half an ear, he listened to Draco once again complaining about the lack of a decent Seeker in the Slytherin team – after his own spectacular failure in the final match against Ravenclaw the previous year, Draco had decided that "it was time to devote himself to his studies," but that didn't stop him from complaining about the team – while his eyes followed his sister. At first she watched the hat and said something to the long-haired blonde girl beside her, but soon her patience ran out and she turned her attention to her brother, pulling faces at him before the Sorting began.
As soon as the first child was called, silence fell over the hall, the only sounds being the tapping of shoes on the wooden platform and the rustle of the hat as it was placed on the first-year's head. Harry watched Harmonie's reactions: how she clenched and unclenched her robes, how she held her breath waiting for the House to be announced, how she swayed back and forth as her name drew closer. The boy reached for his wand, which was kept in a holster strapped to his dominant forearm, and discreetly cast a mild Confundus Charm at his sister – not enough to rid her of her nerves entirely, but enough to disorient her slightly for a couple of seconds.
A few years earlier, his parents – James in particular – had noticed that Harmonie was prone to frequent panic attacks, which could arise out of nowhere. The Healers at St Mungo's had thrown up their hands, saying, "There's nothing we can do to help you, but very well, we'll write you a prescription for a potion," and sent them on their way. Lily, a Potions Master in her own right, brewed a calming balm for her daughter personally, but drinking it in large quantities was not recommended even for adults, let alone an eight-year-old girl.
Once, when their parents were away from home again, Harry had personally witnessed one of his sister's panic attacks. They had been sitting in the garden: he was working on the summer homework set by his professors, while also studying the O.W.L. syllabus, and Harmonie had been trying to catch a butterfly. At first he hadn't even noticed when his sister stopped her attempts to chase the insect and curled up into a ball on the grass. Harry was frightened. For the first time, fear had coiled around him like a boa constrictor, squeezing his body and tightening around his throat. In desperation, with no house-elves nearby – they were staying in the Muggle cottage left to them by his maternal grandmother and grandfather – and no adults – Harry was deemed responsible enough at fourteen to look after not only himself but his sister as well – Harry decided to use a charm he had discovered in a book from the Malfoys.
The Confundus Charm fell into the grey area of magic; it could not be classified as Light because of its influence on a wizard's mind, nor as Dark, since – unlike the Imperius Curse – it could not be used to control another's actions or thoughts. The spell slipped easily from Harry's wand and tongue, causing Harmonie to freeze momentarily and lower the arms she had been using to shield her head. The girl slowly got to her feet and, noticing the flutter of wings in the air, returned to her pursuit, smiling serenely. Harry, meanwhile, experienced a whirlwind of emotions: from joy and relief to panic and fear.
He spent the entire evening expecting his parents – or his father – to find out what he had done to his sister: that he had pointed his wand at her and shamelessly scrambled her thoughts. But dinner passed as peacefully as any other. Harmonie laughed without a care, their mother smiled as she listened to her daughter's account of the day, and their father told Harry about the upcoming fourth year, when he would be expected to show some "Marauder" qualities. He didn't tell his parents about the discovery that had helped him calm his sister on multiple occasions, but he also tried not to overuse the charm, fearing for the integrity of his sister's mind.
Not wanting to lie to at least Harmonie – the one on whom he had used the charm – the boy told her everything when they were alone in the house again. He had expected accusations and anger, fully aware of his actions, but his sister simply hugged him tightly and thanked him, promising to keep their secret. That day, Harry shed a tear for the first time in front of his sister.
As soon as Harmonie relaxed, Harry felt a wave of relief himself. He briefly swept his gaze around the hall, as if interested in the other students' reactions to yet another red-haired Weasley being placed in the lion's House. The Slytherins were openly yawning and didn't even try to pretend to applaud. Half of the Ravenclaw students were sitting with their noses buried in books, paying no attention to the Sorting. The Gryffindors loudly welcomed the first daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley, while the Hufflepuffs – whose friendliness and kindness could illuminate and warm the earth as well as the sun – beamed their smiles as if greeting a new friend. The professors were more restrained: they applauded everyone, even the Slytherins.
As soon as Professor McGonagall called his sister's name, Harry held his breath. He felt several heads turn towards him. For six years now, students from the other three Houses had considered him the black sheep of his family. Some looked at him with pity, believing him to be an outcast – from his House and from his family. Some looked at him with undisguised animosity, calling him a traitor to his family and to Gryffindor to his face. A small minority simply ignored him; they were the ones he preferred. Meanwhile, the hat had already been placed on Harmonie's head, and it moved silently for a while, conferring with the girl.
"GRYFFINDOR!" boomed the artefact.
Without waiting for the grey of her robes to change definitively to red and gold, Harmonie stepped down from the platform and ran – not towards her new House, where she would soon make friends, but towards the Slytherin table. Harry stood up, and by the time Harmonie slowed slightly in front of him, he was ready to scoop her into his arms.
"That's not very polite," he chided her, but in a whisper, so that not even those sitting close by could hear. Harmonie only laughed louder at his words and finally let go of his neck.
"Can I sit with you sometimes?" she asked, trying not to look at the other sixth-year Slytherins.
"Only if you don't get a Troll on Snape's first lesson," he whispered to her, leaning closer. He raised his right hand, which Harmonie shook without hesitation.
"Deal!"
Waving goodbye to him, his sister finally ran off to her new school family, where the Gryffindors immediately descended upon her. Harry ignored the surprised looks and continued to pretend he was watching the Sorting. The appearance of food was a relief, and the first slice of treacle tart a welcome bonus.
*
The fatigue from the day's events was beginning to make itself known; instead of reaching for another serving of tea, his hand went for the coffee pot, which – unsurprisingly – turned out to be empty. The younger students were dozing carelessly on their neighbours' shoulders, while the older ones glowered towards the staff table, where Albus – a Dementor take him – Dumbledore was happily stuffing his face with lemon cakes that, it seemed, no one but him was eating.
Usually the headmaster would wait about ten minutes after dessert was served – that gave him enough time to sample all the new creations from the house-elves – and only then would he begin his grand speech, and, to be honest, the students, tired after the long train journey and drowsy from the hearty feast, never really listened anyway.
Fifteen minutes had passed. Harry wasn't counting, but Pansy, with her multi-step skincare and haircare routine that she performed before bed, most certainly was. If a glare could have the same effect as the Cruciatus Curse, the girl would have had to perform her "ten-step Korean skincare regimen for the modern witch" in an Azkaban cell.
"If a single wrinkle appears on my beautiful face because I've missed my sacred evening ritual, I'll personally send the old man into well-earned retirement," Pansy hissed with a suspicious accent reminiscent of an asp.
"I promise to visit you every third full moon," Draco drawled listlessly, examining his reflection in his goblet of water – one of the few drinks left untouched. But while water was at least occasionally sipped, pumpkin juice had become something of an outcast at all the tables.
"I promise to arrange a weekly delivery of Spellbound for you on Saturday mornings," Harry chuckled in the same tone and winked at his friend, careful to keep it out of Pansy's sight, of course.
Their friend abandoned her visual assault on the headmaster, leaving it to the rest of the students, and turned to face her friends, ready to direct her irritation at them, but – wonder of wonders – Albus Dumbledore saw fit to rise from his seat. The man slowly made his way around the staff table and, bestowing upon the teenagers his most benevolent smile – a smile that, at a single glance, was enough to give many a cavity – began reading out the list of prohibited items, which had grown considerably since the Weasley twins had graduated and opened their own joke shop in Hogsmeade. The list had been approved (or, rather, entirely written) by the caretaker, Argus Filch. That man had seen more generations than he cared to count, from Harry's parents to Harry and Harmonie themselves. Filch would probably still be terrorising his own children and grandchildren. Harry shuddered visibly at the thought.
"Now that we've concluded the tedious part," – a synchronised sigh of relief from the students (and the professors?) drew a slight smile from the headmaster – "I regret to inform you that this year's Quidditch tournament will be cancelled!"
Amidst the outraged cries and groans from the Gryffindors, Salazar's House – including Harry – instantly rolled their eyes. Watching such a vivid display of not-so-positive emotions, Harry counted it a suspicious stroke of luck that Quidditch had been cancelled right after Oliver Wood's graduation – a boy who had practically lived on the pitch. Even Marcus Flint, their former captain, had known how to properly separate pleasure from business. And a brutal sport where the distance between player and ground was over fifty feet could hardly be called beneficial. Harry himself thought Quidditch a foolish sport; its only advantage was the decent income. The fame prophesied for each new "star" was easily lost, especially when surrounded by equally promising wizards. Far better to become a grey mass at the Ministry, where one's achievements – though they might not go down in history – might, to some extent, influence someone's life (does it matter whether for good or ill?), than to become "that person" – in other words, forgotten by all.
"As if this hasn't happened before." Pansy wrinkled her nose and turned away from the Gryffindors, who had cooled down slightly under their Head of House's stern gaze. Harry nodded. In their second year, one Muggle-born had managed to bring a souvenir to school in the form of an infection that had ignored even Pomfrey's potions and Snape's antidotes, spreading like wildfire. By the end of the school year, when not only the parents of the infected children but the Minister himself had turned against the headmaster, a solution to the difficult situation had finally been found. Mature mandrake leaves, harvested exclusively on Beltane, had an effect similar to antibiotics – a Muggle medical invention for combating illness. Harry had heard – overheard – Snape discussing the discovery with someone. "Let's hope this time the reason isn't quite so… revolting."
Harry sensed more than saw Draco tense beside him. The boy had been one of the "lucky" ones who had spent time in the hospital wing that year. Without waiting for questions from his friends, he had described his condition in detail: from the duration of his runny nose and even its colour palette, to the visions of his feverish delirium. At the time, the last part had inspired genuine admiration in Harry. Not that he hadn't already known that Draco's imagination and inventiveness always seemed a step above their peers'. Harry still saw badges his friend had created on students as far back as their fourth year, and two years had passed since then.
"But!" Dumbledore raised his index finger to the ceiling – it was crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice. "I ask you not to lose heart too soon, as I am proud to announce a momentous event that has been decided upon for our remarkable school."
Blaise Zabini, sitting beside Draco, opened his eyes and yawned ostentatiously. The half-blood rarely joined in conversations with others, preferring to observe in silence. Harry had even heard rumours that the boy was mute, though these had been disproved during their first nights in the first-year dormitory, when he and Malfoy had been woken by a piercing shriek belonging to the supposedly voiceless Zabini. Blaise did speak, but rarely and only when he had something to say. Harry was not surprised when, a second later, the Slytherin closed his eyes again and turned away from the headmaster.
"Just look at the 'excited' faces of the graduates," Pansy said, pointing to the seventh-years, who had already surrounded themselves with exam revision materials. Harry also glanced at the seventh-years from the other Houses, but apart from the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, the impending N.E.W.T.s didn't seem to concern anyone else. The Gryffindors were already discussing something new in raised voices, occasionally glancing at their Head of House as if she were about to leap from her seat and publicly berate them, turning them into fish. The Hufflepuffs, meanwhile, sat obediently and listened to the headmaster in silence, waiting for the moment when this momentous event would finally be announced.
"This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, and will also serve as a temporary home for students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang!" The headmaster waved his hand, and a shower of sparks from a multicoloured firework depicting the three school crests rained down on the students from the ceiling.
"Morgan's tits," Pansy whispered, stunned; between the uproar that had risen in the Great Hall from the excited students, Harry could barely hear her. The girl didn't even notice as one red spark landed on the top of her head.
Potter himself was ready to utter something far more profane, using the entire arsenal of Muggle expressions he had learned from his godfather, but he froze with his goblet raised to his lips. Durmstrang was coming to their school. The school renowned for its tolerance of the Dark Arts. The boy caught his friend's eye and read clearly in it what he himself had thought the moment the headmaster had spoken: this was his chance to learn more about the branch of magic forbidden in his family. Harry looked at the only obstacle in his burgeoning plan. Harmonie.