A Deeper Connection: The Philosopher's Stone - ThroughPestilencesAndFamines - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Godric's Hollow

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In the split second before the green light hit him, the only word that shot through the Dark Lord’s mind was the one he had sworn to never use again: “f*ck!” After all, it was nothing but vulgar.

Once the spell hit him, the only thing the Dark Lord felt was pain – nothing but pain as his soul was ripped from his body. Never in his wildest and darkest dreams had he ever anticipated something like this happening to him. He was the Dark Lord after all. He had been proven wrong on this very night of Samhain 1981 and now had to watch his body deteriorating before his very incorporeal eyes. Panic replaced pain. In this moment, the urge to flee became almost unbearable, to just leave the scene of his defeat, hide and lick his wounds. But he hadn’t earned the title of the Dark Lord and the most OWLs in history for nothing. He wasn’t an amateur. Neither was he a coward who ran at the first signs of danger with his tail between his legs. No, he was the Dark Lord Voldemort. He needed to assess the situation.

He had gone to Godric’s Hollow to eliminate the threat of the one prophesised to defeat him – Harry Potter. He had duelled and killed James Potter. Then, he had intended to kill Harry, only to have his mother begging him to spare her son’s life and kill her instead. Three times, he had given her the chance to step aside to honour the vow he had sworn to Severus, one of his most trusted. But the stubborn witch had refused, leaving him no choice but to kill her. After her death, nothing had stood between him and Harry. Voldemort remembered clearly having stared into the bright green eyes that were filled with confusion, but also curiosity despite the dire situation. Still scared for his life, he had uttered the two words, sure to eliminate the threat the infant posed to his life once and for all. Instead, the killing curse that had ended the lives of so many had rebound. But why?

The incorporeal spirit that was left of the once Dark Lord stared at little Harry who was still clutching the bars of his cot and watching the scene with curiosity. Much to Voldemort’s surprise, he wasn’t crying, even though the building was in shatters and parts of the roof had collapsed from the backfire of the killing curse. Luckily, no debris had hit the cot. In fact, he was remaining eerily quiet. But then, something else caught the Dark Lord’s attention: a lightly bleeding lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy’s forehead, which clearly hadn’t been there before. What had happened?

With great struggle, the Dark Lord managed to reach out his now very limited magic. Only to pull back immediately. How in Merlin’s beard had a piece of his soul ended up in the boy? But before he could think more about the mystery, Voldemort heard footsteps approaching. What was he supposed to do? Leave? No! If he ever wanted to truly uncover what had happened this damned Samhain night, he had to stay and there was only one option for that: Harry Potter.

So, moments before the door was thrown open, the Dark Lord joined with the sliver of his soul that resided behind the lightning bolt shaped scar. He wasn’t met with opposition. The young body didn’t perceive him as threat. Not that he dared to possess Harry. Much like the sliver of his soul, Voldemort opted to stay in the background and observe.

Then the door burst open to reveal Severus Snape. A scream of agony filled the air as the young Potions Master clutched Lily Potter’s dead body close to his chest. Through Harry’s eyes, Voldemort watched as Severus broke before him. Tears flowed down the dire man’s face. Not that he would ever admit to it, but the scene in front of him deeply affected the Dark Lord. Yes, he had feelings like everybody else, not that he showed them often. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of an engine. Something that sounded like a motorcycle. Snape must have heard it, too. An almost silent crack later, and the Potions Master was gone without further sparing a glance at him/Harry.

Whoever had arrived outside, was manically screaming “James”. Agonizing minutes later, an equally broken Sirius Black entered the room. His whole body was shaking as he stared at the corpse of Lily Potter. Harry used this moment to make himself known, obviously recognizing his godfather. The shaken Auror hurried to the cot to pick up his godson. Trough tear-dimmed eyes, Voldemort watched as Black tried to soothe the crying toddler.

“Shhh, Harry! Everything’s alright. I got you”, Black spoke trying to sound reassuringly yet failing spectacularly, “I… I will take care of you. You are safe with me. I will…”

His voice broke as he clutched Harry closer to his chest. Once more, Black’s gaze moved over Lily Potter’s dead body. A heavy shudder shot through the Auror’s body. He hastily turned on his heels and hurried down the debris covered stairs. Voldemort observed, as Black left the house quickly approaching a motorcycle, the source of the noise earlier.Sirius Black froze as suddenly an all to well known figure appeared next to the motorcycle. Voldemort groaned inwardly at the sight of none other than Albus Dumbledore, the last person on earth he wanted to encounter while stuck inside Harry Potter.

“Sirius, what happened?”

“Lily… James… Albus, they’re dead…” Sirius stuttered, “I was too late… I… I…”

“Did you encounter Voldemort?”

“No… Only Harry was there when…”

“Was there any sign of him?”

“His robes and wand… But why? How?”

A triumphant look appeared on Dumbledore’s face, “He must be gone! Harry defeated him…”

“But what about Harry?” Sirius asked clearly baffled by the Headmaster’s display of emotions, “he has just lost his parents…”

“Because Peter Pettigrew betrayed them!” Dumbledore interrupted him with his customary twinkle, “he as the secret keeper revealed their whereabouts to Voldemort. It’s his fault young Harry here lost his parents. They deserve to be revenged. It’s you who should do it. After all, you were James’ best friend. I can take care of Harry meanwhile.”

Voldemort’s mind went haywire after that declaration. Something was not right! Did Dumbledore just send Black after Pettigrew? The alarm bells inside the Dark Lord's mind were ringing dangerously. Who in their right mind would do something like that?

“I shouldn’t have agreed to the switch, Albus. I…”

“They would have gone after you, Sirius! I would have never thought Peter capable of betraying the Potters. I must have been mistaken. But it’s too late. The least we can do, is avenging the Potters. Sirius, you are the only one with the right to do it.”

So, Dumbledore had initiated the switch. Had he known about Pettigrew’s true allegiance all along? To his knowledge, the Potters hadn’t been under the Fidelius Charm for long. Was the whole prophecy debacle a set up? A trap? Voldemort desperately longed to know. But before any other thoughts could form, Black handed Harry over to the Headmaster without protest or second thought and apparated away instead. Once the Auror was gone, Dumbledore dropped his genial façade. Satisfaction and smugness seemed to radiate from the aging headmaster. This seemed to verify Voldemort’s presumptions. He had just been setup by Albus Dumbledore. Damn him! Voldemort could have cursed himself to the moon and back. His raging came to a halt when Dumbledore’s gaze suddenly fixated on a point on Harry’s forehead. Voldemort groaned. He had detected the scar.

The headmaster frowned. Without warning, a wand was pointed at the toddler’s forehead. Voldemort prayed that his presence would not be detected as Spell after Spell was cast on Harry. Dumbledore didn’t seem to care about Harry’s well-being. Unperturbed by Harry’s crying and the pain caused by the Spells, he continued. After a particularly violent Detection Spell, the frown on the headmaster’s face deepened. A long boney finger hoovered over the scar. Then, Dumbledore muttered, “Should have never left books about Horcruxes in the damn library!”

Suddenly, the finger was removed and instead, Dumbledore’s wand moved over Harry. Upon realizing, which ritual was being cast, Voldemort would have screamed if he had a body. Sadly, he couldn’t do anything to stop the madman who called himself Headmaster. Once the ritual took hold, the pain luckily caused Harry to pass out and Voldemort with it. At least, he hadn’t been detected.

Chapter 2: The Dursleys

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The Dark Lord awoke to the sound of a child crying.

No, screaming.

Screeching like a harpy.

Merlin, how we loathed children. He wanted to silence them once and for all. Or better kill them before they drove him completely insane. His thoughts turned more and more morbid with scenarios of torture and death flashing past his inner eyes before the images suddenly came to a halt.

Wait a minute…

He was stuck inside a child. And pretty helpless at that. He knew he could not simply possess the screeching menace unless he dared to damage his bodily vessel that he so dearly needed. How he hated to be dependent on the body of his prophesied nemesis. Why had not he fled to Albania again?

Right! To solve the mystery of Samhain 1981 and how Albus far-too-many-names Dumbledore had managed to trick him - the Dark Lord. Thinking of the deranged Headmaster, he suddenly remembered the ritual the old goat had performed on his vessel. And people called him evil. He would rather kill the child than perform that ritual. No magical being deserved to have their magic bound. Nobody! How much of the poor boy’s magic had been bound? Voldemort desperately wanted to know. The Dark Lord tried to stretch out what was left of his magic, doing so cautiously.

Only to have his magic being pushed back violently. He cursed, as the anger within him boiled up again. Well, he had not lost his temper. Yet.

What had caused the backlash? It could not be the boy. He had not perceived the Dark Lord’s presence as a threat before. No, he had been rather accepting and more than not curious. This must have something to do with the ritual. Maybe Dumbledore had bound the magic of the boy to contain the horcrux? Or at least what the old goat thought was a horcrux. He would find an answer. Voldemort swore to that. Then again, how many percent of the magic had the Headmaster bound to fully contain the horcrux? Voldemort had felt the power within Harry Potter. It must have been quite a lot. Especially concerning the age of the boy. The boy was destined to be powerful. He would find out eventually and manage to get past the magical barrier. If it was even caused by the binding ritual.

Another scream echoed through the room.

How he hated screeching children. Maybe he could not concentrate properly because of that.

The screaming needed to stop.

But then again, why was the boy producing such horrible noises? He definitely had to assess the situation. At least the link between him and Harry provided him with some feelings and sensory impressions of young Harry. His eyes were open. Voldemort was aware of that. But why was he somewhere in the dark? Was it night? No, there was some light coming through a few small cracks in what he supposed was a weirdly shaped door. Where had that deranged old goat dropped Harry? And why again was he crying? It could not be because of the darkness.

Suddenly, the realisation hit him. Voldemort would have wrinkled his nose if he had had one. There was something in the diaper. Uhhh. That was disgusting. Never in his life had he felt as degraded as he was right now. Maybe this whole toddler idea had not been that great. The Dark Lord felt sick. He prayed to whoever God or Goddess listening that help would be send to take care of the mess as quickly as possible.

But nobody came.

Voldemort had never been a patient individual. Usually, he would have simply gotten whatever he desired no matter the cost. Hpweve in his current situation, he was absolutely helpless. The situation was driving him insane.

What seemed like hours later, the door was finally thrown open. After Harry’s eyes had slightly gotten accustomed to the blinding light, Voldemort found himself opposite a boney woman with a deep scowl on her horsey face. Her face remained blurry, although the anger that radiated from her was more than prominent. Either Voldemort’s connection to little Harry’s eyes was not the best or the eyesight of the toddler was abysmal. Voldemort was brought out of his thoughts when little Harry was suddenly picked up rather roughly. Moments later, he was dropped on a changing table, although rather carelessly. While the horsey woman was doing her work, although not very gently, Voldemort could not help but wonder about the obvious muggle furniture in the room. No witch would have changed the diapers of her children. That kind of work was reserved solely for the House Elves.

“Petunia,” a voice bellowed, “make that freak shut up or I will kill him myself!”

Where had that deranged, cursed old goat placed Harry Potter? These were obviously Muggles, rather hostile Muggles. No magical child should ever be left in the care of muggles. Never!

“Vernon, dear,” the horsey woman, Petunia, called back, “the freak should be fine after I changed his diapers.”

Voldemort could hear heavy footsteps approaching.

“Are you sure we could not just drop him at the orphanage?” a very beefy, purple-faced man with hardly any neck and an impressive moustache came into view, “he should have drowned him the moment we found the freak.”

“Vernon,” the woman screeched, “you know how those people are! I will not have them harass our perfect family because we lost or killed the freak. You read the letter. Dumbledore left us no choice but to take the freak. It is not my fault I am the last relative of my bedevilled sister. Should not have let herself being blown up, that damned bitch. At least we are getting paid. Just think about the new car we will buy or the vacation we are going to afford, Vernon.”

“I will not have this freak be a bad influence on our son,” bellowed the human walrus.

“He will not! We will beat the freakishness out of him. We will not ruin our perfect little Dudders. Remember, Dumbledore said we could be firm with the freak.”

After that, little Harry was shoved back in the dark place. Neither the horsey woman nor the beefy fat man seemed to care to feed poor Harry. Without further words, the door was slammed shut again, leaving the Dark Lord to stir in the dark.

A broom cupboard. A f*cking broom cupboard!

Voldemort was furious. Out of all places, the old fool had sent Harry Potter to the worst sort of magic hating Muggles and allowed them to be “firm” with the boy. Voldemort would have never thought this possible, but he almost wished Dumbledore had dropped Harry at his former ‘home’, Wool’s Orphanage. At least, there had been people to take care of him regularly and a proper room, not a broom cupboard. Voldemort cursed himself for not fleeing to Albania. One day, he would kill the old fool and the Dursleys with him. At least Harry’s diaper was clean now and the toddler had stopped screaming. Hurray to the small things in life.

Chapter 3: Merry Christmas

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To say that the Dursleys’ treatment of their nephew improved after that very first meeting was a lie. To say that time seemed to move quicker was an even bigger one. Patience had never been one of his strengths, but this was proving too much. The Dursleys were without doubt the most horrible people Voldemort ever had the displeasure to come across. For the most parts, they simple seemed keen to ignore their nephew’s existence. They refused to feed Harry regularly, change his diapers and all other things generally associated with caring for a child. Instead, Harry was left in the cupboard under the stairs for the most time with his cries unheard. All in all, the shocking lack of care and the bad treatment whenever the Dursleys did actually take him out of the cupboard greatly angered the Dark Lord like nothing else before.

Voldemort himself hadn’t had the best childhood. To hell, he had grown up in a damned orphanage in London during the Great Depression and later during World War II. He had survived the food rationing, the diseases and even the Blitz. To this date he could remember the sounds of the German bombs dropping on London, the screams of terror down in the tube stations and the horror and destruction that awaited them whenever they left the underground shelters. All accompanied by the constant feelings of despair, fear, hopelessness and the coldness creeping up your spine with death looming over your head. But truth be told, after experiencing the ‘splendid’ care of the Dursleys for a few months, he was almost tempted to go back to his own rather miserable childhood. At least he had been cared for. Sort of. This on the opposite was neglect – neglect in perfection. The Dursleys had truly mastered the craft.

Originally, Voldemort had intended to stay in the background. But after a few days of Harry constantly crying, he had had enough. Firstly, he had decided to do something about Harry’s constant cause of discomfort, the full diaper. He had tried to focus his limited amount of magic on spelling away the mess. Of course, it hadn’t worked. In fact, nothing had worked. On top of that, he had constantly gotten flooded by Harry’s emotions. The empty stomach, the full diaper, the lack of light, the hurt caused by the neglect and the borderline brutal treatment by the Dursleys and worst of all the desperate yearning for his parents. The love between the Potters and their son must have been deep.

In the beginning, Voldemort had been angered by the constant influx of emotions. He loathed emotions. He had tried to ignore them. Had done so all his life. But after weeks of constant exposure, he had admitted defeat. He felt pity for the boy. Especially when compared to the blob the Dursleys called their son. ‘Dudders’ seemed to increase in size whenever Voldemort saw him, reminding him of a spoiled pig or a small whale rather than a human being and a menace at that. Harry in contrast seemed to lose all the healthy colour, the bones under his skin became more pronounced by the day and the longing for his parents became more desperate by the day. No one deserved to be treated like this.

After months of exposure to Harry’s emotion, an idea finally struck Voldemort. If he had so easily been affected by Harry’s emotions, why not try to send some back? Surely, most people, well, rather all people who had known him would have surely pointed out that this was a very bad idea. If there had been a picture next to the dictionary entry of anger management issues, it would have surely been his. But luckily most of his anger had turned to pity by that point. The first time he tried, he was met with opposition. Again, the binding of the magic prevented him from direct communication with Harry. But the backlash hadn’t been as strong as before. So, Voldemort licked his wounds and slowly began to chip away at the resistance. How he wished to get rid of the binding. But there were only three options to achieve that. First, the caster himself would have to undo the binding. But after months at the Dursleys, the Dark Lord doubted that the old goat would ever show his face there, let alone lift the binding. Second, the Goblins at Gringotts could perform a counter ritual to get rid of the binding. But how on earth could he get Harry to the Goblin bank? Surely, Harry could walk by now and speak a bit, not that the Dursleys wanted to hear his voice. But how could he get Harry to London when he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs most of the day and that horse of a woman kept watching the toddler like a hawk whenever he was outside his dark prison. In other words: Impossible. Or third, trying to fight the binding and manually undo the ritual. The third seemed the only option available, yet the hardest. With his limited amount of magic, he knew he couldn’t do this alone. He needed Harry’s magic, or at least the 20 percent that weren’t bound. In order to make this work, he firstly needed to establish a working connection between the two of them. Easier said than done. And even after that, it would take a lot of focus to work on the binding. From experience, he knew that it almost took as much concentration as erecting Occlumency barriers. In fact, both endeavours were fairly similar. Not an easy task, especially when considering to employ the help of a toddler. But if there was one thing the Dark Lord had; it was time. Time, he had in spades.

After countless tries, he finally succeeded. He managed to send emotions to Harry. From what Voldemort perceived, the toddler absorbed the feeling of care, soothing and overall support like a sponge. Afterwards, little Harry seemed much more hopeful and calmer. He might have realized that there was someone there, even if it was someone inside his head. At least, Harry wasn’t alone anymore.

The Christmas after Harry’s second birthday marked a new low. Voldemort was furious. After more than a year inside Harry Potter and ‘enjoying’ the wonderful care of the Dursleys, the urge to kill the muggles had reached new astronomical heights. What was Dumbledore thinking sending Harry to these muggle monsters allowing them to abuse the child? Of course, an abused and neglected child would seek out the approval of the first authority figure that seemed to genuinely care for him. Dumbledore probably planned on him being the one that Harry would look up to. What Dumbledore hadn’t calculated on was how far the abuse at the Dursleys actually went. If those muggles would continue that way, there would be no Harry Potter attending Hogwarts. Dumbledore also hadn’t considered the fact that abuse could also harden you and make you stronger if you survived. And last but not least, he was oblivious to Voldemort’s presence. Especially since Voldemort had decided to aid the boy in every way possible. To take care of him, make him harder and prevent Harry being turned into one of the old goat’s pawns. This had only been cemented after the Christmas following Harry’s second birthday.
Surprisingly, the Dursleys had taken Harry out of the cupboard. But only to have him watch ‘Dudders’ unwrapping his countless presents. Afterwards, he had been forced to watch them devour the massive Christmas feast without allowing him to eat a single piece of the rich foods on the table. In the end, Petunia had ‘mercifully’ given him a slice of old toast. How generous. Only later to make the child walk around serving them biscuits while bellowing and screeching at Harry whenever he so much as looked at the sweet bakery items. All while ‘Dudders’ had been busy trying out his new presents. Well, better trying them out at the expense of Harry. Voldemort had cringed every time a toy had hit Harry. But the worst had come, when ‘Dudders’ had ripped the plate with biscuits out of Harry’s hands and had hauled the plat at his cousin’s face. To the shock of all people in the room, the plate hat stopped hoovering in front of Harry’s face. After a tense moment of silence, the plate had scattered boisterously, followed by the loud scream of Vernon Dursley: “Boy!”

By the point the beefy fist of his uncle had connected with his jaw, Harry had been shaking violently. Luckily, everything had gone dark after that.

Unsurprisingly, Harry and with him Voldemort regained consciousness in the darkness of the cupboard. Voldemort immediately sensed that the young child was in a lot of pain. How dearly Voldemort wished to kill the Dursleys. Torture them and murder them in cold blood. Sadly, he couldn’t. At least not yet. Harry’s silent sobbing brought him out of his dark thoughts. Voldemort sighed and immediately began to send emotions through the link to soothe the child. By this point, it was truly out of habit. The Dark Lord was aware how long it took for the boy to calm down after that hit. It must have truly been vicious. Voldemort observed as Harry lost himself in the torrent of positive emotions. It almost made the Dark Lord smile.

Hours later, Voldemort felt a force pushing at his shields. He had erected them after he had first established the connection between himself and Harry to protect them both form emotional backlashes. No need to expose the child to the constant anger he felt. Well, it seemed like Harry had finally become aware of the influx of foreign emotions and had managed to trace them back to the Dark Lord. Voldemort lowered his shields and curiously awaited what the boy would do. To his surprise, Voldemort wasn’t flooded with emotions, but words: “Hello, is somebody there?”

The Dark Lord raised his non corporeal eyebrows. Had the boy just torn down parts of the binding that isolated himself from the horcrux and the Dark Lord’s main soul that resided inside him? What a pleasant surprise indeed! Voldemort had long longed for direct verbal communication with the boy: “Hello, Harry. I’m here.”

“Who… who are you?”

“I’m Voldemort:”

“Vol… Vol… Voldmo…”

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes: “Call me Tom.”

How he despised that name.

“Hello, Tom. Did you… ca… calm me?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Tha… Thank you. Are you me?”

What an interesting question, especially for a two-year old: “No. You are you and I am me.”

“Why are… are you here?”

“I am here to help you.”

“Re… really?”

“Yes.”

“A… always?”

“Always.”

Voldemort instantly felt the surge of content and happiness flowing through Harry. It was intoxicating. Truly intoxicating.

“Me… Merry Christmas, Tom!”

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Chapter 4: Surprise

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Harry let the cat out of the bag shortly before his sixth birthday. Voldemort crackled delightfully, as the fist of Vernon Dursley stopped millimetres in front of the child’s face. Time to turn the tables.

Ever since that one faithful night of Christmas 1982, things had slowly begun to change. Slowly but steadily. In the beginning, Harry and Voldemort had only talked. Voldemort had immediately noticed that the boy was surprisingly bright for his age, which had made a lot of things easier. Especially since Voldemort still hated children. With an unrivalled passion. Conversation had slowly moved from soothing Harry and improving his speech and vocabulary to the revelation that he was indeed a wizard.

“But I… I can’t be a wi… wizard!”, the boy protested.

Voldemort rolled his eyes: “And what made that plate float at Christmas?”

Harry had then asked the Dark Lord if he could use magic to defend himself against the Dursleys. Voldemort had told him that it was first necessary to remove the binding on Harry’s magic. Harry had then wondered why his magic had been bound in the first place. With this question, the child had unintentionally entered a terrain of questions that the Dark Lord wasn’t yet ready to answer. Especially concerning the delicate age of Harry. He hadn’t been ready for the whole prophecy debacle yet. Well, and the fact that the killer of his parents resided inside his head. Voldemort had told the child that his question would be answered when he was older but promised to answer regardless the sensitive nature of the truth. Nevertheless, Harry had seemed content with the promise.

After the awkward conversation, the two had started working on the removal of the binding. Not that it had been an easy task. It had required a lot of concentration on Harry’s part which proved to be difficult in itself for a boy his age. But Voldemort had found a solution. His presence had really seemed to help calming Harry down and concentrating better. Over time, the connection between the two of them had increased in intensity. Voldemort had on top of that started teaching Harry Occlumency. Surely, no normal child Harry’s age should be taught the obscure art, but neither was Harry normal nor was he lacking the mental capacity. So why not do it? Voldemort had guessed that the young Potter was on one hand exceptionally gifted and on the other hand had been forced to develop much earlier because of his dire situation and the long-term exposure to the Dark Lord. Both Harry and Voldemort had been deeply glad that they were slowly making progress. Well, hadn’t it been for the Dursleys.

A week after the whole Christmas debacle, Harry had finally been allowed out of the cupboard. But truth be told both Harry and Voldemort wished he hadn’t. From that point on, Harry had been forced to regularly clean the house from top to bottom. Only to have his hard work undone by dear ‘Dudders’ and receive a few whips with the belt by his uncle or hits with the frying pan swung by his aunt. The Dursleys had never seemed to be satisfied with Harry’s work. Soon, gardening and cooking had also joined the long list of chores. But the chores hadn’t been the only things keeping the duo from their work. The injuries caused by the Dursleys had intensified over time. Bruises, cracked ribs, dislocated joints, broken bones… Culminating in a very long list. The malnutrition and the lack of light hadn’t helped either, leaving them no choice but to concentrate a vast amount of the already limited magic on healing.

“I wish I could skin them alive!”, Harry had one day cried out while wincing in pain. Another rib had been cracked, again by dear ‘Dudders’. Voldemort would have laughed in delight at the words hadn’t it been for the pain his protégé had been in. Instead he had tried his best to focus the boy’s limited amount of magic on the very rib. Only later had the Dark Lord realized that these weren’t normal thoughts of a three-and-a-half-year-old. Maybe, just maybe, he had been a bad influence on the boy. Not that Voldemort had cared overly much.

Harry’s approaching fourth birthday had marked another milestone. Not that the Dursleys had remembered. After Harry had returned from that cat-loving Squib Figg, a woman Harry hated with almost as much passion has his relatives, the Dursleys had forced him to tend to the garden. Hours later, he had been violently shoved into the cupboard with the words that he was a worthless, lazy freak ringing in his ears. Not that Harry’s work ever satisfied the Dursleys. At least they had forgotten to hurt him seriously.

As it had been approaching midnight, the Dark Lord had spoken up: “Another year older soon, right Harry?”

“Mmmmh.”

“You’re growing up quickly!”, Voldemort had been trying his best to cheer up his protégé, “I want you to know how proud of you I am, Harry. Don’t listen to the Dursleys. You aren’t a worthless, lazy freak. You are a proud and powerful wizard! You have achieved remarkable things in your young life despite these filthy muggles. Your Occlumency shields are remarkable. You have managed to unbind more than 50 percent of your magic and I’m quite sure it will be unbound completely by the end of next year. I believe in you! And let’s not forget about the control you have over your magic. I’m so proud of you!”

Harry had been beaming: “Thank you, Tom!”

Suddenly, the sound of the clock in the living room had marked midnight.

“Happy birthday, Harry! May the upcoming year be filled with magic wherever you may roam!”

A ball of light illuminated the room: “Thank you, Tom! I will try my best!”

They only ever dared to use this wandless silent Lumos after the Dursleys had gone to sleep and the house remained quiet.

“I’m sure you will try your best, Harry!”, Voldemort had replied genuinely, “and since it’s your birthday, you may make a wish. One I can promise to keep. But only after you’ve eaten something. Your stomach is roaring. Let me first teach you how to unlock that door. It’s about time that we raid the fridge!”

Harry had been pulsating in excitement as he carefully followed Voldemort’s instruction and stretched out his magic to undo the many locks on the door of the cupboard. Sometime later, a content Harry with a pleasantly full stomach had been sitting in the cupboard again: “Tom? As my birthday present… Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Harry.”

“Why is my magic bound and why are you in my head? I mean you told me it isn’t normal…”

Voldemort had tensed. Out of all the questions Harry could have asked. Of course, it had to be this one. Voldemort had sighed: “Harry, before you judge me, please listen to the entire story. That’s all I ask. I won’t lie. I promise. I will try to be as objective and unbiased as possible. But what I’m about to tell you certainly isn’t pretty.”

“Tom, I promise! I will listen!”

Voldemort had braced himself and told Harry everything that had led to the tragic night of Samhain 1981. He had begun with his childhood at Wool’s Orphanage. Had shown Harry the memory of his first encounter with Dumbledore, the discovery that he indeed was special and a wizard. He continued to tell him about his years at Hogwarts. The bullying he had suffered because everyone suspected him of being a muggleborn sorted to Slytherin. The summers in the muggle world during the Blitz. Why he had feared for his life and why this fear had led to the creation of his first horcrux. The later discovery of being the Heir of Slytherin. The Chamber of Secrets incident. How he had finally met his father only to be humiliated by the asshole, told to be a freak just like his worthless mother and wished to be dead. Dumbledore’s constant suspicion that had led to Headmaster Dippet denying him the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position. His journeys around the world, the creation of the other horcruxes and the trials in order to become the Dark Lord. All the political failures with the Knights of Walpurgis after his return to Britain. Being constantly blocked or outmanoeuvred by Dumbledore who had become untouchable after his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, despite Voldemort’s good intentions to shield the magical world from the fast-developing muggle world. Everything that had led to the formation of the Death Eaters. Voldemort had then showed Harry the memory of the prophecy, or at least the parts Severus Snape had witnessed at the Hogg’s Head, revealed how the Potters had defied him three times and lastly everything that had happened on Samhain 1981. Voldemort had refused to sugar coat anything. He had shown Harry the murders of James and Lilly Potter. Had known that Harry would be able to withstand seeing the memories without breaking. Even as a four-year-old Harry had been strong. After Harry had watched Dumbledore binding his magic, Voldemort had remained silent for a long time. It had been early in the morning. Outside, it had probably dawned. He hadn’t been sure since no daylight ever reached the inside of the cupboard.

“Harry, I hope you don’t hate me”, Voldemort had begun, “I know I’m not a good man and I know I can’t undo the things I’ve done but…”

“Tom, stop! I don’t blame you!”

“What?”

“You didn’t paint the target on my parents back! It’s their fault they joined the Order. They were adults at that point. War is war. People fight. People die. But before you interrupt me, I have a question for you: Who in their right mind sets a job interview in a shabby, rancid old pub that is renowned for its shady clientele?”

“What do you mean, Harry?”, Voldemort asked in shock.

“He set you up there. He wanted to leak the prophecy to you. He knew about your fear of death. He wanted you to do something irrational. He succeeded. The way he looked at me before he bound my magic in Godric’s Hollow proves that. He looked smug, like he had accomplished the impossible. I wouldn’t be surprised if the prophecy was either fake or worded differently. Just think about it, Tom.”

And Voldemort had done just that.

In the evening after Harry had completed some gruelling chores, the Dark Lord had finally dared to speak again: “I thought about your words, Harry. There is no way for us to find out right now…”

“But in the future, we will!”

“Harry, I hope you don’t hate me for the things I’ve done. I can’t image what it must be like stuck with your parents’ killer inside your head...”

“Shut up, Tom! I don’t hate you! Innocent until proven guilty. At least you have been honest with me. You can’t image haw much that matters to me!”

That had been the birthday present for Harry’s third birthday: never lie to each other. Harry had wished for it after the Dursleys had constantly told Harry lies about his parents.

“What shall we do from now on? Now that you know the truths?”

“Tom, to be honest let’s just continue the way we have. Right now, there is no way of finding out the truth. At least not until we get to Hogwarts. You said the seer Trewlaney works there?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”

“So, nothing we can do. We can’t get to her, Dumbledore or any other witch or wizard. Tom, I suggest you continue helping me to undo the binding, teach me as best as you can and most importantly, stay my friend!”

“Harry, I don’t deserve you!”

Harry had chuckled: “Are we okay?”

“Yes, Harry! Thank you for the chance.”

“I also want an eidetic memory just like you! It sucks not being able to remember everything!”

Voldemort had chuckled: “Let me see what I can do about that.”

Things had progressed smoothly after Harry’s forth birthday, with their friendship growing stronger than ever. Despite all the drawbacks the Dursleys had caused, the duo had managed to completely free Harry’s magic before his fifth birthday. A lot earlier than originally anticipated. But they had decided against confronting the Dursleys. At least not before Harry had gained a better control over his magic and they would be sure to completely control the wretched muggles. Neither of them had wanted to alarm Dumbledore too early. Harry had become especially suspicious of the old goat. Harry hated him for leaving him with the Dursleys.

Both had concentrated as much time, energy and magic as possible on Harry’s education. Voldemort had taught him about the different branches of magic, both theoretical and practical. Harry had learned how to read and write, about history, magical and muggle, and had deepened his Occlumency training. And as promised, they had worked on Harry’s eidetic memory, which again hadn’t been easy. Voldemort had luckily been born with an eidetic memory. But as with most things, he hadn’t been satisfied with it, read about and improved it as much as humanly possible. He was a perfectionist and not afraid to work hard after all. The fact he had familiarised himself with the magical theory behind eidetic memories was quite fortunate and had allowed him to fulfil Harry’s wish. It had taken a long time. They could have accelerated the process with a ritual but lacked the magical ingredients. That had meant the hard way. But Harry was nothing but stubborn and completed the task around Easter before his sixth birthday. Most wizards would have been doomed to fail. But not Harry. And Voldemort was proud.

Around the same time, the two of them had decided on the faith of the Dursleys and had begun to prepare. It would be a complex ritual including a blood sacrifice, magic, runes and lots of arithmantic equations for everything to work. Voldemort had loved the challenge and Harry had been an eager learner, especially when it came to runes. His take on the subject was refreshing, since he seemed to have a hand for finding very unorthodox shortcuts to reduce the number of runes needed without weakening their effect. Shortly before Harry’s sixth birthday, they had finally completed their work.
Vernon Dursley stared at the freak with anger in his small eyes. His moustache was shaking with anger: “Boy, stop with the freakishness or you won’t see the light of day again!”

Harry answered with a predatory smile: “I’ll see you try, you disgusting muggle!”

The fat man paled: “What did you call me, boy?”

“A disgusting muggle!”

“I will kill you, freak! Should have done that when I found you on my doorsteps!”, Vernon roared and raised his beefy hand. Moments later, he was choking on his tongue.

Harry chuckled: “Surprise! I wouldn’t try that again. Call your fat son and banshee wife! I think we’ll have a talk about the new rules in this house!”

Vernon just stared at him blankly. Voldemort cackled delightfully at the expressions of the fat muggle.

“Call Petunia and Dudley, or there will be nothing saving you from swallowing that tongue!”

Chapter 5: New Rules

Chapter Text

Three shaking Dursleys were sitting in front of a pacing Harry. It truly was their fault. They should have treated Harry better from the beginning. Shouldn’t have neglected him, left him in that disgusting cupboard, starved him, hurt him, lied to him, made him work for them worse than a house elf. And lastly, they should have been more cooperative when Harry had demanded to speak to them after Vernon hadn’t been able to hit him. It had been their fault Harry had cast wandless silent Cruciatus curses on the older two Dursleys and had made a pig’s tail grow out of dear ‘Dudders’ backside. Somehow, he had to get the message across. And the Dursleys were incredibly dense at comprehending the message. Who was to blame? The Dursleys weren’t in charge anymore. The tides had turned. And they had to learn that, despite their pity little brains.

Voldemort felt utterly delighted and still slightly lightheaded and giddy from the Dark magic his protégé had cast on the disgusting muggles. Harry shared the feelings. Voldemort still tried to wrap his head around how much Harry had enjoyed casting the Cruciatus curse. From his own experience he was well aware of the rush the curse caused. He just hadn’t expected Harry to share his enthusiasm for the curse. It warmed the Dark Lord’s heart. Especially since the Dursleys had been removed to a quivering mess. Not that Voldemort cared overly much for the muggles. They deserved everything Voldemort and Harry had planned for them.

Finally, a shaking Petunia mustered up the courage to speak: “What have you done to us?”

Harry grinned ferally while Voldemort cackled gleefully remembering the actions of last night.

Harry had finished the run stones a few days ago and charmed them to be reusable. Neither Harry nor Voldemort had desired to engrave three sets. It had been tedious work. Especially without the help of a wand. But as always Harry had managed. The stones had been soaked in Harry’s blood the night before. Everything had been prepared. The Dursleys wouldn’t know what hit them. The only thing left had been the ritual itself. It would prevent the Dursleys from ever hurting Harry again. If they dared to try, they would be punished in turn. Most violently. The more often they’d try, the more violent the punishment would become. Additionally, it would stop them from revealing anything, neither spoken, written or any other way. Again, if they’d try, they’d be punished. Voldemort and Harry had decided to perform the rituals tonight. Conveniently, Harry had slipped a few sleeping pills in the giant roast the Dursleys had previously devoured at dinner. Not that they had offered Harry any. With a snap of Harry’s fingers, the looks on the door of the cupboard sprang open. Time to perform some Dark magic. Dear ‘Dudders’ would be the first. He basically was a pig with the way he looked and ate, then why not make him their guinea pig?

“Freak, what have you done to us?”, Petunia shrieked again.

The Cruciatus curse hit her without warning. Both Harry and Voldemort started to feel lightheaded. Harry released the curse: “If you ever call me “boy” or “freak” again, I will kill you! Do you understand?”

All three Dursleys stared at Harry like a deer in the headlights.

“Let me explain this to you very, very slowly and carefully”, Harry began while light-footedly prancing in front of his relatives, “I performed quite a handy piece of magic on the three of you. Before you ask me how I know about all this, don’t even try. You won’t get an answer. But what you will get, are a few new rules. If I were you, I’d listen. I’m not going to repeat myself and every violation will be severely punished. Do you understand?”

The wild Dark magic oozing out of their nephew, his cold words void of any emotion, well, with the exception of a tiny bit of glee and insanity, and the remnants of the Cruciatus curse had the three Dursleys shiver. Normally, Harry would cloak his magic but why not be a bit theatrical today?

“The rules!”, Harry began loudly making the three muggles jump, “are as following:

1) No more physical violence. If you try to hit me, you will be punished. The more often you try, the more severe the punishment will be.

2) You call me Harry. Not “boy” or “freak”. Again, if you transgress, you will be punished.

3) No more chores. I’m not tending to the garden anymore, nor am I going to clean the house or cook the food for you.

4) I do as I wish. I will not be ordered around.

5) I get as much food as I wish. I also get to select what I eat.

6) I get Dudley’s second bedroom with new furniture I will select. I know you can afford it. And before you protest, I know you get paid for hosting me. More than generously.

7) I get new and fitting clothes whenever I wish.

8) I will attend elementary school and receive the supply and books required.

9) You leave me alone and I leave you alone. Dear ‘Dudders’, that means no more “Harry-hunting” for you.

10) I will get to use the post service whenever I wish without you interfering my mail.

And lastly, if you should try to tell anyone about this little piece of magic, spoken, written or any other way, you will be punished most severely! If I were you, I wouldn’t try it. Swallowing your own tongue is a quite painful yet embarrassing way to go. Not that I would care.”

With the rules laid bare, Harry swiftly walked out of the living room. Bouncing happily on his toes, he did what he had always wanted to do. He opened the freezer and grabbed ‘Dudders’ favourite ice cream bar. Harry’s taste buds exploded. It had been a great day so far. Voldemort and Harry agreed on that. But it would be even better.

“I think you may have forgotten something”, Voldemort purred.

Harry’s smile grew wider. Time for the grand finale. He walked back into the living room. The Dursleys hadn’t moved an inch. Upon seeing his cousin with his favourite ice cream bar, ‘Dudders’ was about to jump up and protest loudly. Luckily, Petunia managed to grab him in time. “What a shame!”, Voldemort remarked. He had been curious to see the fat blob with a pig’s snout to accompany the tail.

“Dear relatives”, Harry exclaimed joyfully, “seems like I’ve forgotten something. If you should ever try to kill me, you will die with me. I might have accidentally, wait, totally intentionally joined your souls with mine. If I die, so do you. I think you ought to know. Goodbye now. I think I’ll move my stuff.”

With that, he made his way out of the room. Voldemort was applauding his performance. Every bit of colour had left the Dursleys’ faces. They were downright terrified of their nephew/cousin. How one simple conversation and a few Cruciatus curses could change everything. Well, there was no need for them to know that the last rule was a ruse. Who would ever bind his soul together with muggles as disgusting as the Dursleys?

Shortly before exiting the room, Harry turned around: “Dear aunt, I expect you to go shopping with me tomorrow!”

Harry left the room cackling diabolically. With a wave of his hand, the door of the cupboard under the stairs was thrown open. Minutes later, the few personal possessions floated after Harry on his way to his new room. Once ‘Dudders’ broken and useless junk had been vanished and a temporal bed had been conjured, Voldemort and Harry shared a good laugh.

“Tom, I think I’ve found a new hobby. Who knew that scaring the Dursleys sh*tless could be so much fun! Their screams of terror are like music to my ears!”

Voldemort laughed: “I think you have spent too much time with me.”

“Tom! Oh, Tom!”, Harry scolded mockingly while placing a hand on his chest in outrage, “has it slipped your mind again? Must I remind you once again that we are inseparable. There is no such thing as spending too much time with you. And just for your interest, I really enjoyed our little show. But as I’m always keen to learn from the grand master of terror, any more suggestions for improvement?”

“Harry, you’re such a little minx!”, Voldemort laughed, “your performance was flawless! Although, you should definitely broaden your repertoire.”

“Does that mean I can finally practise the entrails-boiling curse?”

“Surely.”

“Or the curse that will vanish toenails?”

“If they are naughty.”

“Tom, you are the best!”

“Only the best is good enough for you, Harry.”

“I’m deeply humbled!”, Harry laughed, “now help me pen that letter.”

“Of course, dear Harry”, Voldemort purred.

The next day, Harry was buzzing in excitement. Petunia and Dudley one the other hand looked like the living dead. Harry first forced his aunt to take him to the post office to send off a special letter to the apothecary in Knocturn Alley. Both Harry and Voldemort were planning on brewing a few potions before Harry would start elementary school in a month. Both had tried to substitute as many magical ingredients as possible with ones that could be found in the muggle world, but the potions were too complicated to replace everything. Both had therefore decided to order the remaining ingredients from Knocturn Alley via mail order. They had decided on the apothecary of Knocturn Alley because the owners were familiar with the muggle post, carried better ingredients and never asked questions as long as everything would be paid for. The money would be taken out of one of the many decoy vaults used by Voldemort during the previous war. Harry had also requested a few owl order catalogues mainly to order books. The orders could be sent through muggle post as well.

After the trip to the post office, Harry forced his aunt to buy him new clothes. The consciously bought them a couple of sizes bigger. Harry planned on growing a bit before school would start. Hence the potions. Once he had a decent selection of clothes, Harry purchased his school supplies and a load of books. Knowledge is power after all. He then selected new furniture and told his aunt he would assemble everything personally. He didn’t trust the Dursleys one bit. She had been about to protest when Harry had selected the most expensive mattress. A sharp glance of Harry later and she had thought better of it. Lastly, they had gone grocery shopping. Harry had mostly concentrated on the ingredients missing for the potions and a nice selection of items the Dursleys had always kept away from him. At the end of the day, Harry had removed ‘Dudders’ pig tail with the warning it would return at the first sign of trespassing or rule violation.

With the help of Voldemort, Harry had concentrated most of his energy on furnishing his new room. He had taken his time. Mostly to pass the time until the order from the apothecary of Knocturn Alley would arrive. When the package with the potion ingredients and supply finally arrived, Harry had turned giddy immediately. He had never been happier in his life. Everything had changed or would change. He had Tom to thank for that and he wouldn’t have it any other way. In the background Voldemort hummed in appreciation.

Chapter 6: School

Chapter Text

Voldemort sensed that Harry was having a hard time not sneering at the other children in the room, or worse hex them. Well, he wasn’t blaming Harry. He would have done the same hadn’t it been for the lack of body. Voldemort loathed children with an unrivalled passion. Couldn’t stand the constant noise, running noses, their short span of attention, their fidgetiness and their overall lack of education, or stupidity as he preferred to call it when he wasn’t being nice. The prospect of attending elementary school for the next four years wasn’t appealing to him the slightest. And neither to Harry. At least it wasn’t a school run by nuns. Voldemort would prefer to forget about that chapter of his life. But maybe after almost five years with the Dursleys elementary school wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least no child had dared to approach Harry yet. Probably because of his size. It proved to be a good thing they had brewed the potions.

Harry had stared at the box from the apothecary of Knocturn Alley. It contained a strange assortment of magical portion ingredients and potion supply, all shrunken down and packed neatly.

“Tom, which potion do you suggest to begin with?”, Harry asked unsure, “the Bone-Strengthening-Solution, the Advanced-Nutrition-Potion or the one to correct my eye-sight?”

There was no need to contemplate for long: “Eye-sight.”

“But Tom, isn’t that the most complicated out of the three?”

“Sure, but it will be the most useful for now. We’ve both known for a long time that your eyesight is abysmal, and those cheap glasses your aunt so ‘graciously’ bought for you do nothing but give you constant headaches. Despite the fact, that we’ve magically improved them over the last years. Sure, they’re now closer to the right prescription but cause you headaches, nevertheless. The quicker we get rid of them, the better.”

Harry snickered: “You’re only keen to start with a real challenge, Tom! You can’t fool me!”

“Oh, Harry! You know me too well!”

After Harry’s eyesight had been corrected, which hadn’t been a pleasant experience at all, the pair had moved on to the Bone-Strengthening-Solution and the Advanced-Nutrition-Potion, the later of which had been specifically created by the two of them. It was a crossover of a handful of potions and was supposed to help counteract half a decade of malnutrition caused by the Dursleys ‘generous’ and ‘kind’ treatment of Harry.

It had worked. Now, a month later, Harry wasn’t too thin, boney, too small for his age and sickly looking anymore. In fact, he had grown almost a foot and was now taller than most children in the class. Harry’s bones had been properly mended and strengthened. He had gained a lot of weight and overall had filled out nicely. He no longer appeared to be sickly, had gained a nice tan, at least as nice as possible considering he lived in Surrey, and lost his glasses. The avada-green eyes finally got the recognition they deserved. Voldemort especially loved the later.

“Good morning, children”, a middle-aged woman with long brown hair spoke, “I’m Misses Cooper and I’m very happy to welcome you in my class. I’m looking forward to spending the next few years with all of you. I hope we will all learn a great many things and become friends.”

This declaration was followed by a hideous introduction round, the most annoying children’s song in the history of the world and a short break. Both Harry and Voldemort were boiling internally by that point. It was a good thing Harry had chosen a seat in the back of the class, so nobody had been able to spot the feral look in his eyes. After the break, Misses Cooper handed out worksheets with the title “My First Letter”. Harry blankly stared down at his. Voldemort snorted. At the front of the class, Misses Cooper was demonstrating how to write the letter ‘A’. Harry chose to ignore her in favour of conversing with Voldemort. Of course, about Dark curses.

“You’re Harry, right?”, Misses Cooper suddenly interrupted his enlightening conversation with Tom about the advancement of bone-removal curses in duels.

“Correct, Misses Cooper.”

“Harry, my dear. Do you need help with the worksheet?”, Misses Cooper smiled warmly, so warmly in fact that Harry wished to remove a few bones of her here and there. Neither Harry nor Voldemort reacted overly positive when swamped with affection.

Challengingly, Harry raised his eyebrows, turned to the worksheet and begun to squiggle. He handed her the paper after a few seconds.

Misses Cooper’s eyes enlarged comically upon reading the neatly written words:

“Why bother with a single letter when one is already able to write perfectly correct words, sentences and texts?”

In the background, Voldemort was roaring in laughter. Well, he hadn’t expected Harry to be so cheeky on his first day of school. Then again, he had mostly entertained himself shooting tripping hexes at all those screaming annoying little vermin some called children during the break. It took a while until Misses Cooper had regained her senses until she finally spoke: “My dear, sadly nobody informed me that you are already able to read and write. Didn’t you take the placement test?”

Harry raised an eyebrow: “What placement test?”

“My dear, all children take a placement test before the start of school to find out if some of you are ahead in certain subjects, or in some cases behind. The test should also help to determine if some of you should receive special tutoring or work with advanced material.”

“Well, I never took a placement test. Originally, I was supposed to attend a different elementary school. The decision of me attending this school was only agreed upon on short notice.”

“Well, my dear”, Misses Cooper smiled, “I will arrange for you to take the placement test within the next couple of days. Until then, would you like to start with math?”

Harry only answered with laughter. Misses Cooper on the other hand looked helpless and rather irritated. Well, until he began to solve equations with several unknown variables.

In the end, it had almost taken two months to fully test Harry and determine his level of proficiency in most subjects. Those who tested him were at their wits end. How had this prodigy been overlooked for so long? The Dursleys had been quite surprised when confronted with the results of their nephew. He had achieved perfect scores in English, maths and history. But not for students but college graduates. Taken his age into consideration, he had also scored well above average in the other subjects. The teachers had urged the Dursleys to enrol their nephew at a special secondary school for the exceptionally gifted or even send him to college directly. Neither Harry nor the Dursleys had agreed with that. The Dursleys obviously refused to pay horrendous amounts of money for their nephew’s education and Harry rather wished to educate himself independently.

After lengthy weeks of discussion, it had been agreed upon that Harry would simply select the areas he wished to educate himself further. He would remain a student of Misses Cooper’s class, who in turn would keep an eye on him, monitor his progress and provide him with all the material required as well as books. Harry was mostly planning on expanding his knowledge of muggle sciences, namely biology, chemistry and physics. Voldemort on the other hand was mostly curious about computer science, muggle mass media and surveillance technology. At least, the next years wouldn’t be boring. Not with all the things to learn about both magical and muggle world and annoying children and Dursleys to torture.

Chapter 7: The Letter

Chapter Text

Harry was sitting inside his room at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, and was currently trying to read a book on the microbiological trademarks of bioplastics while occasionally cross referencing a potions book he had ordered from a rather shady publishing house at Knockturn Alley. But found he had a hard time concentrating. It was July 30th. Tomorrow would be his eleventh birthday.

“Tom, stop worrying! The letter will arrive. We’ve talked about this endlessly. I’m sure it will arrive tomorrow. From what I’ve heard, Dumbledore likes to be dramatic. What better way of surprising a poor abandoned, neglected, malleable boy than sending the letter that will change his life on his birthday?”

“Harry, what if they deliver it today?”

“No chance, Tom! It wouldn’t be as dramatic. Are you sure about your bet as to whom will deliver the letter? My money is still on Dumbledore. He’ll do it personally.”

“My dear, I think you’re wrong with that”, Tom purred, “he prefers to leave the dirty work to his minions. He rather enjoys being in the shadows, orchestrating and navigating his puppets. He won’t waste his precious time informing poor Harry Potter of his true heritage and his destiny. He’s too busy to come all the way to Surrey for saving the wizarding boy, the great hero who defeated the evil Dark Lord. No, he will send others to do the dirty deeds. Probably someone who is disgustingly loyal to the old goat and sings hymns praising the greatness of the old foal. It will be a Gryffindor. Someone who owns his life to the deranged headmaster and who will be good with children. My money is on Hagrid. No one fits the description better than him. He’s utterly loyal to our ‘dear’ headmaster. He will be tasked to feed you with the whole Gryffindor-is-good-and-golden-while-Slytherin-is-pure-evil crap.”

“If you say so, Tom!”, Harry sighed. He, too, was curious, but clearly not as nervous as Tom. He tried to focus back on the book. But Tom clearly hadn’t gotten the message. Harry sighed: “Tom! For the last time, get a grip on yourself! For Merlin’s sake, you survived four years of elementary school and the Dursleys. You will live through another day of waiting. I’m sure the letter will arrive tomorrow.”

With that, Harry turned back to the book and Tom relaxed slightly.

Harry’s words were true. In the end, elementary school hadn’t been so bad after all. For the most part, the duo had been left alone. After the Dursleys had truly learned to follow the rules set by their nephew, things had calmed down significantly at Privet Drive. Surely, it had involved a lot of curses for them to internalize the rules, but they were incredibly dense. On the plus side Harry had been able to practise a lot of nifty Dark curses. At school, the other children had also learned to avoid Harry at all cost and Misses Cooper rarely bothered him, leaving Tom and Harry all the time in the world to study as they wished. She had always been nice, but neither Tom nor Harry were fans of too much affection. Neither had learned to cope with it. It was much better to ignore it and focus on academics.

Besides their usual magical studies, Tom had taught Harry Gobbledegook, Mermish and a few other magical and non-magical languages. Having an eidetic memory and the special connection between the two of them had sped things up considerably. But that hadn’t been everything. When Tom had started to teach Harry Transfoguration, Harry must have been four-and-a-half by that point, the boy had complained most vocally about the often non-permanent nature of many spells. Surely, some truly were permanent, but most of the time conjured objects would degenerate after a few hours, while transformed ones would turn back. Harry at that point had been most curious about the “Why”. Why were most transfigurations and conjurations not permanent, while a selected few were? Tom had told him that this was "just the way it is". Harry hadn’t been impressed. He had been sure there was an answer to the problem. Maybe even a solution.

And an answer he had found indeed. Surprisingly with the help muggle science. That had been at the end of first grade. The reason why most forms of transfiguration weren’t permanent was caused by instabilities on the atomic level. The transfigured or conjured objects weren’t stable because atoms were either missing, wrongly positioned or surplus to requirement. They would simply turn back or disintegrate. In many cases, the theory behind the transfigurations or conjurations was simply wrong, didn’t line in with the laws of nature, or simply was too unprecise. The handful of transfigurations that were permanent abode to the laws of nature. Harry guessed whoever had created them had simply been lucky.

It took Harry an additional two years to find a solution to the problem. Tom had been nothing but surprised when the stubborn boy had permanently transfigured copper to iron. It had been a tedious process. One needed to be aware of every bit of molecular and atomic change necessary to stabilize the transfiguration. Hence why Harry had mostly remained with metals to begin with since they were rather pure regarding their composition. Organic cells on the other hand were much more complicated. As of now, Harry was able to permanently transform and conjure most metals and simpler forms of organic matter. He had also gotten a lot quicker. Just before the end of fourth year, Harry had turned a sheet of paper into an apple without it turning back. Never had an apple tasted better. Tom had to admit that Harry had been right all along. He rarely admitted being wrong, but in this case, it had been totally worth it. Harry had been beaming with pride for days.

Harry’s stubborn nature had surely paid off. Tom was sure that there hadn’t been progress in the field of Transfiguration as big and as significant as Harry’s discovery in centuries. On top of that, both of them had learned a lot of helpful and interesting information about the fast-developing muggle sciences. Tom was impressed with the muggles. But also wary. They had come a long way in the last fifty years. The muggles weren’t as defenceless and clueless as they once had been. Tom’s journey into the world of computer science, mass media, telecommunication and surveillance technology had proved that. Nowadays, muggles were travelling faster than ever, and information could reach the other side of the world in less than a minute, faster than even magic.

Being in the special situation the duo was in, hadn’t made learning easy. With Tom being stuck inside Harry’s head, the two could only concentrate on one thing at a time. Either Harry’s Transfiguration research or Tom’s computer science. Luckily, both were rather interested in the research of the other and they always came to an agreement. Afterall, both were able to read the other without difficulties. Years of stuck with each other had guaranteed that. And neither would have it any other way.

Tom was brought out of his thoughts when Harry lifted his right hand. On the desk, a piece of paper magically formed into a ball and then began transforming into an apple. Harry swiftly summoned the apple and sank his teeth into the green fruit. After a bit of experimentation, he was now able to create different varieties. Tom was proud and wished he could eat one of them. Without a body, that sadly was out of the question.

“Tom for the last time!”, Harry sighed, “we will get your body back. Just be patient!”

Tom rolled his noncorporeal eyes. This brought him back to an argument, when Harry had been nine.

They had been arguing about the prophecy and Dumbledore’s scheming yet again. Especially what would happen if Voldemort would be proven to be the bad guy after all. It was a constant fear of the Dark Lord now, ever since he had become so close to Harry. Harry had simply rolled his eyes: “Tom, I tell you once and again that I do not care about the things you have done in your past, the crimes you have committed or the murders. I believe Dumbledore set you up and we will prove it!”

“But what if he didn’t?”

“So what? If neither of us believes in that damned prophecy, we won’t have to do anything. I’m certainly not killing you and I know you won’t either. We could simply swear an unbreakable vow that neither will harm the other and negate the whole thing. Isn’t Divination a load of junk anyway? I’m not abandoning you because of some hallucinations of a drunken hag and neither will I allow you to go back to the way you were the night before Samhain 1981. You could be so much more than an evil bogyman.”

“Oh, Harry! I don’t deserve you.”

“You just have to be patient! We will prove that you were set up and figure out the whole truth behind that blasted prophecy. Have you made any progress, yet?”, Harry asked suddenly changing topic.

“What progress?”

Harry rolled his eyes: “You know that if you want to go back into society you cannot continue using that childish alias.”

“I won’t let them call me ‘Tom’!”, Voldemort spat.

Harry chuckled: “You’ve let me use it for years.”

“You are an exception…”

“You’re still thinking of yourself as Voldemort? It is and will always be a weakness and Dumbledore knows it. Voldemort is a madman, who got lost in Dark magic despite his brilliant mind, let himself be set up by Dumbledore, is scared everywhere and never reached his full potential. Tom on the other hand is smart, a great strategist, could change society for the better and is the one who helped me. The public will always hate Voldemort but they could grow to love Tom. You have to decide which one you want to be.”

“But there are so many Toms”, Voldemort protested weakly.

“Then prove to all of them that you are indeed the greatest!”, Harry smiled, “you love challenges! And remember, you will always be my Tom! There will never be another!”

That night, for the first night in many decades, Tom had gone to sleep. Not Voldemort.

Tom fondly thought back on that day. So many things had changed. After all those years, he had accepted his name. The noise of Harry shutting his book brought Voldemort out of his thoughts. Outside, the sun was setting.

“I told you they wouldn’t come today”, Harry mused.

Tom rolled his eyes: “Congratulations. Since it’s your birthday tomorrow, are you going to do it the usual way?”

Harry laughed: “Surely!”

The boy quickly left his room and jumped down the stairs. Petunia shrieked as her nephew entered the kitchen. She dropped the plate she had been washing up. It immediately shattered. Harry rolled his eyes. Maybe he had scared them a bit too much. Not that he cared. A snap of his fingers later and the plate was intact again.

Petunia didn’t dare to lift her eyes at her nephew: “Harry, what are you doing down here in the kitchen?”

Tom sensed Petunia’s revulsion as she spoke her nephew’s name. It always delighted him to no end. Countless encounters with the Cruciatus curse had thought the Dursleys to call Harry by his name and nothing else.

Harry shrugged his shoulders: “Just baking a cake. Tomorrow’s my birthday after all.”

Without further word, she left the kitchen. Harry didn’t care that the Dursleys never celebrated his birthday. He preferred to spend the day with Tom. He always felt genuinely happy for Harry. He could do without the false and enforced birthday wishes of his relatives. Ever since the new rules in the house had been established, Harry had made it a tradition to bake himself a chocolate cake. Something the Dursleys would have never given him under normal circ*mstances. This year wouldn’t be an exception.

A few hours later, the cake was done. Since he hadn’t eaten dinner, Harry cut himself a slice. Suddenly, he heard heavy steps on the stairs and chuckled. Tom joined his laughter. Dear ‘Dudders’ had actually remembered. Or smelled the cake.

“Ehhm, Harry…”

Harry turned around to watch as his fat whale of a cousin enter the kitchen: “What do you want?”

Dudley nervously twisted on his feet: “I was wondering if… if I could have a slice of… of your cake?”

Harry grinned sharply: “If you ask nicely.”

Dudley swallowed nervously: “Harry, may I please have a slice of your delicious cake, please?”

Harry’s smile grew even wider: “Good boy! You’ve remembered the lesson I taught you last year. Since you’ve been such an exceptionally good boy, you can have half of the cake.”

Dudley starred at him with big eyes as Harry left the kitchen, a plate with a slice of cake in his hand and one half of the cake floating behind. Both Tom and Harry cackled as Dudley sank his teeth into the other half of the cake noisily. After all those years, he still ate like a pig.

“I hope he gets a heart attack one day!”, Tom laughed once they were back in Harry's room. Harry snorted. He hadn’t given Dudley the cake out of the goodness of his heart. After several doctors had told the Dursleys that their son had to reduce his weight drastically and follow a healthier diet, Harry had started to present him with sugary or fatty food. It was almost as good as torturing the muggles. Whenever the Dursleys caught their nephew passing sweets to their dear ‘Dudders’, their eyes grew comically wide, yet no one never dared to speak up. Both Tom and Harry thought it was hilarious.

At midnight, Tom wished Harry a very happy birthday. He had almost hoped a letter would arrive once the clock stroke midnight, but nothing had happened.

Fast forward eight hours and the Hogwarts letter finally did arrive. A thunderous knocking echoed through the house. Tom had guessed correctly.

From somewhere downstairs, Harry heard his aunt’s screeching.

Harry rolled his eyes: “I’ll answer the door! Don’t bother!”

He sprinted out of his room and jumped down the stairs. He had expected the door to be unhinged after all the heavy knocks. But the door was still firmly closed and in one piece. Harry braced himself and opened the door. His eyebrows rose up. In front of him stood the tallest man he had ever seen. He was also wider than the entrance door and Harry had trouble imagining him fit through it. On top of that, he looked wild. Most of his face was covered by a wild long beard and an untameable dark brownish almost black mane. But he locked wilder than he was. His black beady eyes radiated kindness. An naïve kindness as Tom so helpfully pointed out. The giant smiled and pulled a letter out of the depths of his coat: “Hullo ‘Arry! Happee Birthdae! Nat evry day yar turnin’ elevn! I’ve brought yeh yar letta from Hogwarts and also a present! Baked it m'self!”

Harry eyed the giant sceptically as he produced a rather battered looking package from one of the back pockets of his furry coat. Harry eyed both the package and the letter sceptically.

“Take it, ‘Arry!”, the giant spoke kindly.

“And who are you? You honestly don’t expect me to accept things from a stranger.”

“Oh, sorry. I’d forgottn. I'm Hagrid, I’m the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore send me ter pick yer up and ter take yer to Diagon Alley ter pick up yer school supplies.”

“And what is this Hogwarts and who is this Dumbledore?”

“Oh… Thought yer knew. Al’right, Hogwarts’ a school of witchcraft and wizardry. The best there is. Yer parents were there. And Professor Dumbledore is the headmaster. Great man, Dumbledore! A great man! ‘Ere!”, the letter and package were once again shoved into Harry’s direction. As if that little speech had explained everything. A quick glance inside the package revealed an equally battered cake with too much messy icing on top. Harry cringed at the spelling.

“Happee Birthdae, Harrey”

Inside the boy's head, Tom was deeply amused. In an attempt to ignore the chuckling Dark Lord, Harry opened the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

- both Tom and Harry sneered at all the titles -

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted 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

Without giving the second page a glance, Harry looked up: “Isn’t it a bit late to hand me the letter now with only one day left to reply?”

The giant was about to open his mouth, when Harry continued: “I accept, nevertheless. Are you a professor at Hogwarts?”

“Nah, I’m the gameskeeper…”

“Then why are you here? It says clearly that a teacher will accompany me to buy my school supplies if none of my guardians are magical. Since you clearly do not qualify, I demand the help of a professor.”

Hagrid looked dumbstruck at that declaration. It was a poker. Back in Tom’s days, the Hogwarts letters had always included that bit and the last time he had looked at one of them in the late 1970s, they still had. He wasn’t sure if the letters still contained the notion. It could have been a recent change, or Harry was just a special case.

“But ‘Arry…”

“I demand the help of a professor”, Harry intoned clearly, “if not, I’m not attending this Hogwarts. Good day, sir!”

With that, he slammed the door shut, vanished the disgusting cake and hurried up to his room to read the complete letter. Both Tom and Harry wondered who would be sent next.

Chapter 8: Severus Snape

Chapter Text

At precisely nine o’clock in the morning, the doorbell rang. Harry had just finished dressing after his usual morning shower. With a wave of his hand, his hair dried and untangled. He heard quick footsteps on the wooden floorboards down in the entry hall, before the door swung open: “YOU!”

“Hello, Tuney missed me?” the unmistakable drawl of Severus Snape echoed up the stairs.

“Jackpot!” was all Tom thought, Harry agreed.

“Why are you here? This is my house, and I don’t allow freaks like you here! Leave! ” Petunia demanded in her shrill voice.

“You still haven’t found your manners, Tuney” Snape scold mockingly, “I’m here for the Potter brat, Hogwarts business. He requested the assistance of a professor.”

Snape sounded smug upon the last declaration.

“They let people like you near children?”, horror tainted her voice.

“Only the best of the best are selected to teach the new generation. Now, where is the brat?”

A pause followed, before the horsey woman spoke, “He’s upstairs. HARRY! A guest is here for you!”

“Since when am I a guest in your house?”, Snape sneered.

Harry didn't hear her answer. Petunia must have turned on her heels and fled.

“This will be interesting”, Tom commented as Harry made his way down the stairs.

“ Potter! ” Snape spat the surname out like it was poison, “since you so kindly requested the assistance of a professor, I advise you to get the pleasurable endeavor of school shopping out of the way. My time is severely limited, and I do not intend to waste it meandering between display windows encircled by imbeciles.”

“Well, are you a professor of Hogwarts? You never cared to introduce yourself. You could be some kind of vampire luring me into offering my blood for all I know. You certainly look like that! Or you could be another caretaker, Dracula? Or maybe the cleaner?” Harry’s voice dripped with disdain.

“ POTTER! ” Snape bellowed, a vein on his forehead throbbing dangerously, “I will not waste my precious time with your antics. You are just like your father! You will not disrespect me, Severus Snape, potions master, and your future professor. Now, get going, or I shall force you!”

Harry felt a pressure on his Occlumency shields as the obsidian orbs bore into his Avada Kedavra-green ones.

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched upwards, and without warning, Avada-green turned crimson, “ Naughty, naughty, Severus. You never told me you considered my company a waste of your time and here I was thinking you enjoyed our merry little meetings.”

The usually so impassive potions master lost what he was so renowned for, his composure. Severus took a hasty step backward, only to collide with the closed front door, losing control over all his emotions. The shock was written all over his face, his jaw slightly unhinged. In all his years with Severus Snape, Tom had never seen the man like this. Well, with the obvious exception of Samhain 1981, when the man had completely broken down at the sight of Lily Potter's lifeless body. But that was another story. This, however, amused the Dark Lord to no end. He had always loved to get a reaction out of his followers. The only problem: Severus Snape had never reacted like the rest of his Death Eaters. His composure had always been unrivaled. His face was as impassive as humanly possible, and his mental shields had proved to be utterly impenetrable. This was the first time he had ever managed to get something out of the stoic potions master. Tom felt smug.

“How?”

“That’s all? No elaborate questions? Pity ,” eyebrows above crimson eyes moved upward, “and I had such a high opinion of you, Severus. Especially of your vocabulary.”

“My Lord, please. Had I…”

“Quiet, Severus! There is much to talk about, and I prefer to do it in privacy. Well , as long as I’m not wasting your precious time.”

“Certainly not, my Lord. Never!”

“Follow me then,”

Seconds later, the door locked after the two of them as they entered Harry’s room. Immediately, privacy wards flared up.

“Sit,” Tom ordered, curtly pointing at the only armchair in the small room. The potions master obeyed. Once he had sat down, he opened his mouth, “My Lord, I can explain everything…”

“Silence! ” Tom hissed, gripping the left forearm of the dire man causing his Dark Mark to burn, “before we talk, Harry will check you. Do not offer resistance. He will not harm you. That much I can promise for now.”

Severus's eyes grew wide as the irises once again turned bright green. Harry grinned at the face of the potions master, “Hello, professor. I hope you enjoyed the brief talk with our friend. Now, don’t move! I’ve never performed these particular pieces of magic on another person before.”

He then unleashed his magic and let wave after wave wash over the potions master while Tom observed from the background. Severus Snape, on the other hand, turned pale as he realized what kind of magic was being performed, the most advanced detection spells which were ranked Auror level and beyond. And the boy was doing it all wandlessly. Severus gasped. The magic that seemed to be radiating from him was Dark. Intoxicatingly Dark. And it was a lot.

Without warning, Harry withdrew his magic, “ Interesting! You’re free of Compulsions. Your mind hasn’t been messed with, and you haven’t revealed anything. What’s concerning is the bind on your magical core. Did you know that roughly thirty percent is bound?”

The potions master's jaw dropped.

“Obviously you didn't know, the question is who did that naughty piece of magic? You should visit Gringotts to get an answer and to undo the binding. Since we will head there anyway, you should not have to wait too long. I would do it, but the Goblins can do it much quicker. Moving on, what concerns the Dark Lord and me more are the vows you have sworn. The Dark Mark’s vow is granted for; it’s a commitment for life. But what about that little unbreakable vow you swore nearly ten years ago? Tell me about it,” Harry gleefully said, his eyes turning back into crimson.

The potions master gasped astonished despite the fear clearly written across his face: “How is this possible?”

“No, no, no! Severus,” the Dark Lord purred, “I will only tell you once you’ve answered me! But remember, I do not tolerate lies and betrayal even less,” he hissed out.

The potions master swallowed thickly, “After your sudden…disappearance, many of your loyal followers were…apprehended. Moody,” the name was spat out hatefully, “caught up to me. The only thing that kept me out of Azkaban was Dumbledore’s word. In turn, he had me swear a vow,” he drawled.

“To whom?”

“I refused to bind myself to Dumbledore. Instead, I’ve sworn to protect Lily’s son. For as long as I live.”

All colour had left Snape’s face by that point.

Crimson eyes sparkled mischievously, “Do you plan on honoring that vow? The consequences should be quite fatal if you break it. I believe its death, isn't it?”

Crimson faded into green, “He’s such a drama queen at times," a large grin appeared on Harry's face, "Don’t let him get to you. What the Dark Lord here is trying to ask is if you intend to keep that vow no matter which side I might choose. So will you, Severus?”

“I…I’m…”

“Do you intend to keep your vow and protect me?”

“For Lily…I would do it for Lily,” the potions master’s voice broke.

Harry felt touched, and Tom in the back felt it as well.

“Even if that would mean siding with the Dark side?”

“I never faltered…”

“Well, then we don’t have a problem,” Harry lightly said.

Obsidian eyes widened comically, “You’ve sided with…with him?”

“Probably,” Harry vaguely answered, “we will tell you what truly happened on Samhain 1981 but only if you swear a vow of secrecy. Neither him nor I want this to get out until we have proof. Do you understand?”

Severus Snape stretched out his hand. Long elegant fingers grabbed onto Harry’s rather small childish ones, and the latter began to speak, “Do you, Severus Tobias Snape, swear upon your magic to not reveal in any way, either written, spoken or any other way possible, any information concerning the night of Samhain 1981 and all those involved leading up to the backfiring of the Killing Curse and whatever happened afterward?”

“I, Severus Tobias Snape, swear upon my magic to not reveal any information leading up to Samhain 1981, the night itself, and everything related to the event including all those involved.”

Once the magic had settled, a Cheshire grin appeared on Harry’s face: “Story time!”

A while later, Severus Snape’s world had been torn down, “This can’t be possible!”

Avada-green eyes focused on him: “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“You’re siding with your parent’s murderer! ”

“My parent’s murderer is listening!” Harry rolled his eyes, fairly used to the old argument, “the Dark Lord didn’t drop me at my disgusting relatives' house. He didn’t ruin my life and tried to control me. Sure, he killed Lily and James, but somebody else painted that flashy target on their backs. I’m sure there is more to this plot, and I will uncover all of Dumbledore’s manipulations.”

Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, “And what do you intend to do if the prophecy has not been manipulated?”

“It has been manipulated…”

Snape interrupted him, intoning every word separately, “What, If the prophecy has Not been Manipulated? ”

Harry let out a long sigh, “The Dark Lord and I have talked about this already. If the prophecy has not been tampered with, which I don’t believe, we will vow to not attack each other and…”

Snape once again interrupted him: “And why would you do that? He killed your parents! Additionally, you would continue to pose a threat to this life.”

Harry wrested down the anger that was boiling inside of him. How dare he questioned his Tom. After everything the two of them had been through. But Harry refused to blow up. He had to remain calm:“A vow would negate the blasted prophecy! And I do not care that he killed my parents. After all, he is the only reason I survived the Dursleys. Without him, I’d be dead!”

A mixture of horror and disbelief seemed to wash over Snape’s face: “What? Show me what they did to you!”

Harry shrugged his shoulders: “If you promise not to kill them, I’ll show you. The only one with the right to end their lives is me.”

“It...it can’t be that bad… The headmaster told me...”

“I don’t care what he could have possible told you about my splendid upbringing. Lower your Occlumency shields, Now! ” Harry ordered.

The potions master’s breathing hitched as images started to flood his mind. Both Tom and Harry felt the dire man lose control over his magic.

Snape erupted losing control over his tongue and magic: “I will kill them! And that blasted Headmaster too! I will break every single bone in their bodies! And Dumbledore, he…”

Despite the situation, Harry felt oddly touched by the man’s words. Still, the Dursleys were his. Harry voiced just that with a stern voice: “That’s my honour and my honour only! I will need assistance though.”

“What can I do?”, Snape asked eagerly.

“A lot of things!”

Voldemort in the back was delighted.

Chapter 9: Gringotts

Chapter Text

“May your vaults always overflow, Master Goblin. I would like to schedule a private audience with the one in charge of the Potter vaults,” Harry greeted the Goblin teller in smooth Gobbledegook.

Tom wasn’t sure who looked more surprised: Severus Snape or the Goblin in front of him.

“Are you quite done gawping?”, Harry mockingly asked, switching back to English eyebrows raised.

The Goblin managed to regain control over his senses: “ And may your enemies cower at your feet. Mr. Potter, I will escort you to Ragnok immediately. Please follow me.”

They passed the long row of tellers and were led towards the private conference rooms and offices in the back of the Goblin bank.

Clearly baffled, Snape looked down at his protégé: “Since when do you speak Gobbledegook?”

Harry grinned: “It was one of the first languages I learned during elementary school. I think before that I had been taught French, Latin and Russian.”

“Just how many languages do you speak?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders not wanting to give away too much in this rather public setting: “I honestly lost count.”

“ Surely you did not, Mr. Potter”, the Goblin smiled toothily while signalizing his espials to enter the lavish office ahead , “remember, privacy is the most valuable service we offer here at Gringotts. Ragnok will be here momentarily.”

A wide smile graced Harry’s face: “May I ask for your name?”

“I am Ironclaw”, the Goblin said, returning the smile showing his sharp teeth.

“I’m looking forward to conducting business with you, Ironclaw”, Harry spoke politely, “ may your gold be always safe from those unrightfully desiring it.”

“Mr. Potter, may those wishing you harm rest underneath your feet.”

“They will, Ironclaw”, Harry chuckled, nodding his head in appreciation before the heavy ebon doors shut behind them. Ironclaw then gestured towards the two chairs in front of the unoccupied marble desk. Both he and Snape took their seats while waiting for the manager of the Potter vaults to arrive. The office, bar for the massive desk and a few cabinets, was mostly bare yet luxurious, nonetheless. The walls were made of the finest marble and the few pieces of furniture of the highest quality available, quite possibly Goblin made. The Goblins surely had perfected their craftsmanship.

Discomforted by the silence, the potions master cleared his throat: “I’ve never witnessed anyone conversing with the Goblins like that. Any ulterior motives?”

Harry critically scrutinized the man next to him: “I’m honestly surprised nobody else does.”

Snape tried to broach the subject again: “Would you mind elaborating…”

Sensing someone approaching, Harry interrupted the dire man: “You will see.”

Just then, the ebon door swung open to reveal an elegantly dressed, rather tall Goblin: “ Mr. Potter! What a pleasure to finally conduct business with you! I must admit my surprise. You certainly are not what we, the Goblin Nation, expected.”

Harry accepted Ragnok’s hand: “Ragnok, I must certainly reciprocate the feeling. I am most looking forward to conducting business with you. Yet I’m curious. What did you expect me to be?”

Ragnok grinned ferally: “I find it curious that you aren’t in the company of a certain Headmaster’s domesticated giant.”

Harry burst out in laughter and was soon joined by Tom in the background: “Dear Ragnok, I must confess that I only associate and work with professionals.”

The Goblin once more flashed his sharp teeth: “Then, Mr. Potter. I suggest we should not keep your professor out of this delightful conversation any longer.”

“Agreed.”

“Well, Mr. Potter, what can I do for you on this wonderful day?”, Ragnok said, finally switching back to English.

Harry’s voice became more demanding yet still remained polite and professional: “I would like to obtain access to the Potter vaults and gain insight into any transactions conducted after my parent’s death.”

“Then I must ask for your key.”

Turning towards Snape, he inquired: “Any chance it might have been handed to you?”

“No…”

Before the potions master could answer, Ragnok voiced his thought: “Why am I not surprised? Well, Mr. Potter, since the key is not in your possession, we have to verify that you indeed are of Potter blood.”

The Goblin pulled a blank sheet of paper and a shiny needle out of one of the many drawers of his desk: “Mr. Potter, three drops of blood on this form will suffice.”

Seconds later, the required amount of blood had been squeezed on to the paper. With a wave of his hand, Harry vanished the remnants of his blood and handed the sanitized needle back to the Goblin. Ragnok accepted the sharp object with a nod of approval: “You certainly have been taught well, Mr. Potter.”

With a wave of the Goblin’s hand, letters began to form, spiraling from where the three drops touched. Once new lines had ceased to appear, Ragnok took a quick glance at the now ink-covered sheet and smiled toothily. “Welcome back to the magical world, Heir Potter.”

Harry accepted the sheet to scan the names:

Harry James Potter, born July 31st, 1980 in Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England

Parents:

James Fleamont Potter, born March 27th , 1960 at Potter Manor, Oxfordshire, England

Lily Joan Potter née Evans, born January 30 th, 1960 in co*keworth, Midlands, England

Godparents:

Sirius Orion Black, born November 3rd , 1959 in London, England

Frank Corvus Longbottom,born October 16th, 1959 at Longbottom Manor, Devon, England

Alice Victoria Longbottom née Macmillan, born May11th,1960 at Macmillan Manor, Suffolk, England

Severus Tobias Snape (honorary), born January 9th, 1960 in co*keworth, Midlands, England

Magical guardian:

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, born August 24th, 1881Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, England

Heir to the Houses of:

Potter, Black, Gryffindor, Peverell (second in line), Slytherin (second in line)

Soulmate:

Tom Marvolo Riddle, bornDecember 31st,1926 in London, England

Hereditary magical abilities:

Parselmouth

Metamorphmagus (dormant)

Natural Occlumens and Legilimens

Core Magic:

Dark

Magical Bind (80%) on magical core conducted by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on October 31 st , 1981 (unlocked completely)

“Well, this explains a great many things”, Harry chuckled while staring at the sheet of paper.

“May I see?”, Severus Snape inquired warily. Harry simply shrugged his shoulders and handed over the sheet.

Meanwhile, Ragnok observed the last of the Potters closely: “You do not seem surprised, Heir Potter.”

Harry smiled: “Certainly not. This only paints a certain Headmaster in a rather shady light, don’t you agree?”

The Goblin chuckled darkly: “It certainly does.”

“Is there any way I could free myself from his twinkle?”, Harry asked hopefully. He and Tom had planned for this already.

“Before we talk about a possible change of guardianship”, Ragnok began while producing an elegant looking box out of thin air, “this is for you, to officially take on the mantle as the Potter Heir.”

He handed Harry the box. Inside, he found a delicately forged silver ring baring the Potter coat of arms. The ring was without a doubt Goblin made. Without a second thought, the ring was placed on his right ring finger. It automatically resized. Harry eyed the family heirloom with pride before quickly applying a glamour. He would rather remain under the radar of a certain Headmaster for as long as possible and play the image of an ignorant boy new to the magical world.

“I take it we now transition to the interesting part of this meeting, Heir Potter?”, Ragnok stated, eyebrows raised.

A Cheshire grin appeared on Harry’s face: “Indeed, Ragnok. I wish to gain insight into any transactions conducted after my parent’s death. I would also like to discuss a possible change of magical guardian.”

“Very well”, Ragnok replied with a smile that revealed too many teeth, “I think you will be pleased to learn that your magical guardian failed to drain your vaults. Your grandfather Fleamont Potter was a very careful and clever man. Because of him, a magical guardian without Potter blood is restricted to a limited number of Galleons that can be taken out of the vaults on a monthly basis. You will find that he took 500 Galleons a month out of your personal trust vault for the last ten years. In the same time, the remaining vaults gained more by interest alone. Despite remaining stagnant, the Potter vaults are in quite good health. Here, see for yourself.”

Harry scanned over the documents. Indeed, Dumbledore had taken out as much money as possible. Still, in contrast to the overall fortune residing inside the Potter vaults it was almost laughable. He mentally thanked his ancestors for being paranoid.You could never be careful enough when handling money. His eyes further scanned the sheets, which listed properties and family heirlooms: “Ragnok, is there any way to regain all the heirlooms that have been taken out of the vaults?”

“Of course, Heir Potter”, the Goblin almost sounded insulted, “for a small fee anything's possible. We could retrieve the objects for the sum of 25 Galleons.”

Harry smirked: “Draw a contract up for 20 Galleons, but only if you manage to get everything back and only start upon my request. I don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

“The Goblin Nation agrees on your terms. But only for 22 Galleons”, Ragnok obviously seemed to enjoy the bargaining.

“Deal!”, both finalized the bargain with a shake of hands. Harry signed the contract, handed it back to the Goblin and leaned back in his chair: “Now, is there any way of changing my magical guardian?”

Ragnok sighed and closed his eyes to contemplate the various possible scenarios. Suddenly, his eyes shot open and another bundle of paper appeared on his desk: “Heir Potter, there might be an answer in your parent’s wills. Would you allow me to open them?”

Snape gasped: “They have never been opened?”

Obsidian and Avada-green eyes lingered on the Goblin, who began to explain: “The wills were sealed by Albus Dumbledore on November 1st, 1981. As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he managed to overrule us and named himself your magical guardian. Only you, as the last Heir of the Potters, can open the wills.”

“Then so be it,”, Harry commanded.

Seconds later, the seals on both wills broke. The goblin scanned them first before handing them over to Harry. Another piece of the great puzzle unravelled before his very eyes: Lily and James Potter had switched their secret keeper at the recommendation of Albus Dumbledore who had been the one to cast the Fidelius charm. He had known all along. Tom had told the truth. Lily had wanted the ministry to know in the case of betrayal that Peter Pettigrew had been the secret keeper, and Dumbledore had cast the Fidelius charm. Sirius Black truly was innocent. But that wasn’t all. Lily had stated explicitly that only the four godparents should raise Harry and never Petunia Dursley. Under no circ*mstances was Harry to be sent there.

Harry cleared his throat: “Since my parents clearly stated that I should have never ended up in the splendid care of my mother’s sister, I suppose it will be possible for one of my godparents to obtain guardianship of me and contest Dumbledore, right?”

Ragnok sighed, a frown appearing on his face: “On paper this might sound easy. In theory, your godparents could easily obtain guardianship of you. Your consent and a signature willingly given in blood are the only things necessary for a change of guardianship. Sadly, things aren’t that easy. As headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock, and Supreme Mugwump, Dumbledore’s word is basically law. Contesting him will be most difficult even for your godparents. Sirius Black is currently incarcerated in Azkaban, the prison of the Wizarding world. Technically, he could be granted a trial if you decide to reveal the content of your parent’s wills to the public. Although, I have the feeling that you do not wish to disclose that piece of information yet. Frank and Alice Longbottom are currently residing in the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital after being tortured to madness following the disappearance of the Dark Lord. This would only leave you with Severus Snape here. He might be physically and psychologically able to gain guardianship, has a steady income and a past of working with children, but his past clearly speaks against him. He has been an uncovered Death Eater, and we all know that Dumbledore’s word is the only thing keeping him out of Azkaban. If he was to contest the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he would be destined to fail.”

Despite the dire news, Harry grinned: “I disagree!”

Both Ragnok and Severus Snape stared at him in disbelief, yet only Snape voiced his thoughts: “We talked about this, Harry!”

Harry’s smile grew wilder: “What if his claim would be stronger?”

Ragnok gave a sharp smile: “Would you mind elaborating, Mr. Potter.”

Harry only shrugged his shoulders: “Severus here is the last living descendant of the ancient and most noble Prince line. Aren’t Lords of the ancient and noble houses untouchable? If Severus Snape was to obtain guardianship of Harry Potter, it would surely cause an uproar and probably end with Severus here in Azkaban. But what if he would be Lord Prince instead? People wouldn’t dare touch him.”

“Oh, Heir Potter!”, Ragnok purred, “I love that brain of yours!”

“Call me Harry, please.”

Ragnok offered his hand to the last of the Potters: “Well, Harry! I in turn offer you the friendship of our nation.”

Harry gladly accepted answering in Gobbledegook: “ May our friendship be long and prosperous.”

In the background, Tom smiled. The Goblins rarely offered their friendship. They notoriously kept out of Wizarding conflicts, often opting to remain neutral. At least on the outside. Upon closer inspection, they could proof to be a great help or an even bigger hurdle. Afterall, everybody needed money. Wars were an expensive business. Without money, you were doomed. It had been one of the earliest lessons Tom had learned: Never underestimate the Goblins. They might be forbidden to use wands, but they were powerful, nonetheless. They were proficient in wandless magic and held a monopoly on the Wizarding financial sector. He had deeply appreciated the Goblin Nation ever since his first visit to Gringotts.

“And may magic be returned to its rightful place”, Ragnok replied, chuckling darkly before turning to Severus Snape and switching back to English, “I’m curious why you, Severus Snape, never claimed the Prince Lordship. You never replied to our letters.”

“Letters?”, the potions master sneered, “I never received a single letter on that matter.”

Ragnok smirked: “How curious! I think we need to check if somebody is intercepting your mail. But moving on. Your grandparents named you the official heir of the Prince family shortly before their deaths. They refused to let the estate fall into the hands of the ministry…”

“But my mother was disowned for marrying a muggle”, Severus interrupted him incredulously.

Seemingly not caring about the interruption, the Goblin continued: “That might be, but you on the other hand never were. Now, would you like to claim your rightful title? Of course, I would need a validation that you are in fact of Prince blood.”

Another blank sheet of paper was placed on the table along with yet another needle.

Minutes later, Severus Snape was staring at the lines on the piece of paper in horror: “You… You were right. He… THAT BLASTED OLD GOAT BOUND MY MAGIC! I WILL KILL HIM!”

Ragnok smiled ferally at him: “It certainly is a good idea, but not now. I suggest a quick ritual to unbind your magic. After that, you can claim the Prince estate, and then we will talk about the guardianship of young Harry. Will you agree?”

Minutes later, Harry and Ragnok were alone. Severus had surprisingly agreed to the Goblin’s proposal and had been escorted to a healer to remove the binding on his magic.

Ragnok once again leaned back in his chair: “Now, Harry, since we are alone, might it be possible to speak to our friend face to face?”

Harry’s brows furrowed: “How did you know?”

The Goblin chuckled and answered mysteriously: “We have our own kind of magic. But I stay true to my word: client confidentiality is our most valued good. What we talk about here stays private. And let me assure you, I would never side with Dumbledore. Never!”

In the back, Tom smiled and thought back on when he had first met Ragnok. It had been the summer after his fourth year at Hogwarts. Shortly before the end of the year, he had discovered the Room of Requirements, which proved to be of great value to him. Thousands and thousands of abandoned, hidden or lost treasures.

Once he had returned to the orphanage: to the rationing, the diseases and the Blitz, he had tried to spend as much time as possible in Diagon or Knockturn Alley – not easy for an orphan with no money. He tried his best to sell the treasures he had found in the Room of Requirement. Sadly, the rather shady occupants of Knockturn Alley either offered too little, tried to steal the treasures, or worse tried to kidnap him. Desperate, he had tried to conduct business with the Goblins. He had read a lot about the Goblins, and to be honest, he was deeply impressed by the stubborn nation. He had greeted them with the customary greeting, of course in Gobbledegook. Not that he had been very fluent back then, but the Goblins had appreciated the gesture. They had been quite reluctant to conduct business with him, an orphan clad in clothes that had clearly seen better days, but had eventually referred him to a young Goblin who had just started working for the bank, Ragnok.

Nevertheless, the two had started working together and it had been highly successful. That was long before Ragnok had taken over as account manager of the Potter estate, and before Tom became the Lord of Houses Gaunt and Slytherin. Even afterwards, the two had continued working together.

Back to the present, Avada-green eyes turned crimson: “ Nice to see you again, my friend! May your future be bright and golden.”

“And yours glorious, Lord Slytherin”, Ragnok grinned, “I would like to catch up on old times, but I suppose we won’t be alone for long. The potions master will be back soon. Anyway, the Goblin Nation knew that you survived that tragic night. After your disappearance, the ministry and Dumbledore tried to gain access to your vaults countless times. They obviously failed. They tried everything, but the Goblin Nation is nothing but stubborn. We kept everything safe. I was very happy when the two of you first started using one of your decoy vaults. I think you ordered potion ingredients from Knockturn Alley. After you ordered more frequently, I started replenishing the decoy vaults. I had my suspicion that you had somehow bonded with Harry, and I’m more than glad to have been right. And just so you know, I never stopped investing your money. The Slytherin estate is in better condition than ever. Your vaults are overflowing.”

With an honest smile, Tom replied: “ Thank you, Ragnok. I honestly…”

Tom stopped abruptly when Ragnok closed his eyes. Tom felt the Goblin’s magic reaching out. Suddenly, the black beady eyes of the Goblin were on him again: “ The ritual has been conducted. It would be better to get Harry back.”

Crimson transformed back to green: “Ragnok, you told me that the Potter estate has stagnated for the last ten years. Would you mind investing some of it? You would be appropriately compensated of course.”

Moments later, a rather bewildered Severus Snape re-entered Ragnok’s office, with his unbound magic dancing wildly about. While Harry and Ragnok bargained, the potions master tried to process everything over a light lunch. In the end, Harry and Ragnok finally agreed upon the terms of their cooperation. Ragnok would invest parts of the Potter fortune in several magical and non-magical businesses, mostly in the IT sector. By then Severus Snape had mostly reigned in his emotions and magic, and quickly accepted the lordship ring of the Prince family.

Ragnok critically scanned the potions master: “Now, Lord Prince. Are you willing to obtain guardianship of your godson?”

With a quick nod of agreement, Lord Severus Tobias Snape-Prince grabbed the blood quill and quickly signed the official documents before passing the special quill to Harry. Once Harry had completed his signature, the document flared brightly. A soft shimmer surrounded Harry and Severus, officiating the change of magical guardianship.

“Congratulations, Lord Prince and Heir Potter”, Ragnok smiled, while carefully stacking away the official document. Copies were handed to the both of them. Ragnok’s eyes hovered over the pair of Wizards: “Am I correct that you want me to keep this document away from the ministry, the public in general, and especially Dumbledore?”

A feral grin appeared on Harry’s face: “Correct! I think it’s better to wait with the revelation. I don’t want to ruin Dumbledore’s image of the Golden Boy that he so painstakingly created.”

Ragnok chuckled: “You are a truly clever one, Harry! It was a pleasure doing business with you, young heir, and with you as well, Lord Prince. May your enemies hide from your shadows.”

“And may yours quiver in fear.”

Chapter 10: Diagon Alley

Chapter Text

Harry and Severus enjoyed the breath of fresh air, as they exited the white pristine building. The sun shining down on them, was warming them up quickly.

Harry felt the obsidian eyes of the potions master on him.

“Do you wish to postpone your shopping?”, Severus drawled, making it more than obvious that he wished to leave the Alley as quickly as possible, “we could purchase your supplies tomorrow.”

Harry frowned: “As much as I would like to do that, you’re supposed to take me shopping today. It would only arouse suspicion if we were seen together twice. Especially in a setting as public as Diagon Alley. Don’t forget, you’re supposed to hate me because of my father and to set a prime example of why Slytherin should be the last house I want to be sorted in. It would seem out of character to spend more time than absolutely necessary with the wretched Potter spawn and, Merlin forbid, treat him nicely.”

“Obviously”, Severus sneered, now fully back in character, “where do you wish to start the pleasurable endeavour that is your school shopping?”

They parted ways at Madam Malkin’s. Severus left for the apothecary. Harry meanwhile headed for Madam Malkin’s and applied a wandless Glamour to his scar. Afterall, he wanted to buy his supplies in peace without causing a scene. He could do without people gawping, asking for autographs, fainting or the other nonsense that came with his supposed celebrity status . After making sure that the Glamour was in place, he entered the clothing shop. Upon telling an assistant that he required a full wardrobe, he was immediately ushered to the back of the store and was signaled to stand on a stool right next to a boy with platinum blond hair and a pale, pointed face who looked nothing but bored with a slight sneer on his face. Before he could eye the boy longer, a long robe was slipped over his head and the witch began to pin it to the right length.

“This obviously must be a Malfoy”, Tom whispered in the back, “probably the son of Lucius and Narcissa née Black. I remember he was born a couple of months before you. Have fun.”

“Hullo”, the blond-haired boy brought Harry out of his thoughts “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes”, Harry answered curtly.

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands”, said the boy in a bored, drawling voice, “then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

“I suggest shrinking it down.”

“Great idea. Have you got your own broom?”, the boy went on.

“Not yet”, Harry said.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“In the future”, in the background Harry sensed Tom’s revolt, yet he couldn’t help himself. He had been curious about the sport ever since Tom had first told him about Quidditch. Maybe he could sway Tom and coax him into giving Quidditch a chance.

“I do – Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet? Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave. What about you?”

“I think it’s up to Slytherin or Ravenclaw”, Harry began although in the back Tom was strongly protesting against spending seven years in a tower surrounded by bookworms, “but I think in the end it will most likely be Slytherin.”

The pale eyes of the boy light up: “That’s great. Well, since we will probably be sharing a dorm soon, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Draco Malfoy and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry eyed the hand that had been offered to him but before he could answer, Madam Malkin’s assistant ushered him off the chair, being told that his guardian, a very rude man, was growing impatient. As he was guided to the checkout, he turned back to the Malfoy heir: “Sorry, I suppose we’ll meet on the train.”

Once Harry had paid for his new wardrobe, a bundle of shrunken down clothes was handed to him. He quickly left the shop. He was greeted by a familiar drawl: “You took your time. I hope we get this over quickly. I got your required potions equipment and ingredients and a bit more.”

Cancelling the Glamour on his scar, Harry raised an eyebrow: “Hopefully not from the apothecary of this alley, right?”

“ Potter! ”, Severus spat out the surname like it was poisonous, “I’m a professional . Naturally , I do not buy of the overcharged, severely lacking detritus they sell here.”

After that merry little discussion, they went on to buy Harry’s books. Surely, there was nothing in there that Harry did not know yet, but he had to keep up an appearance. Since he planned to play out the ‘ highly gifted’ angle, he bought the second- and third-year texts as well. Because of Severus’ presence, nobody dared to bother them. Afterwards, Harry purchased a couple of pairs of high-quality Basilisk hide boots from Gladrags, which according to Tom were a lot more comfortable and durable than the standard Dragonhide ones sold at Madam Malkin’s, yet ten times more expensive. A fact which was helpfully pointed out by Severus. Well, Harry could care less about money and purchased the boots anyway. Next, he bought himself a trunk yet refrained from choosing one with magical enchantments. Usually, they were overcharged, poorly applied and certainly wouldn’t suffice his high expectations. Instead, Harry opted to charm the trunk himself once he had finished his school shopping. Severus and Harry then paid a visit to the post office. Both rented post boxes to prevent their mail from being further interfered. Better to be safe than sorry. With the majority of the shopping out of the way, the only thing left to purchase was a wand.

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on the faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which was ignored by both Harry and Severus. Behind the counter, Harry spotted thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The back of his neck prickled pleasantly as he inhaled the thick and dusty air of the shop while reaching out his magic to sense the wands in the back.

“Good afternoon”, said a soft voice. Harry didn’t flinch. He had sensed Mr. Ollivander move about and by the lack of reaction so had Severus. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

Harry calmly met the pale eyes: “Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Ah yes”, said the man, “Yes, yes . I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.”

Harry tuned out Mr. Ollivanders words after that. Tom had told Harry about the man’s antics in detail. Personally, he could care less about his supposed celebrity status or the wands of his parents. The information was to no use for him. The only interesting detail oddly enough did not concern him, or his parents, but Severus. Apparently, he had never bought a wand but received the wand of his mother, Eileen, before starting Hogwarts. According to Mr. Ollivander, it had been in the Prince family for generations. While Severus could wield magic with it and his magic had adapted itself to match the wand’s core, his wand wasn’t 100 percent compatible. He was even offered to select a new wand, but Severus declined. Maybe Harry could work with that later. Following the awkward conversation, Mr. Ollivander pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. He began to magically measure Harry. The last of the Potters almost sneered at all the ridiculous measurements the wandmaker was taking. Seriously, the size of his nostrils? Tom had told him that most of this was just for show. He could barely refrain from rolling his eyes and wished it would be over soon. Finally, the tape measure stopped.

“That will do”, Mr. Ollivander said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor, “right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry eyed the wand with weary eyes: “I would rather not. It won’t work.”

“Mr. Potter, you cannot know that. Just give it a try”, Mr. Ollivander urged.

Harry sighed and grabbed the wand. Before he could even wave the wand, the wooden stick exploded in his hand. Luckily, Harry’s magic protected him from any splinters. Looking up from his hand, Harry raised a single eyebrow signalizing the wandmaker that he had been aware of the incompatibility all along. Mr. Ollivander looked slightly shocked. Harry cleared his throat: “I would rather not destroy any more wands here in your esteemed establishment. May I select it myself?”

Large pale, shock-filled eyes stared at him: “You can feel them?”

Harry grinned and drawled in a Snape-like tone: “Obviously.”

Without another word, Harry simply summoned an old, dusty box from the very back of the store and placed it on the counter.

Mr. Ollivander stared at the boy in awe and took the wand out of its boxing: “Curious… curious…”

This time, Harry actually rolled his eyes.

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare: “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happened that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other…”

“Not that this isn’t interesting”, Harry interrupted the old man’s rambling, rather tired of it, “but I’m rather unconcerned by the core. It fits me well. The wood on the other hand doesn’t. It’s holly, isn’t it? Well, it interferes with the magical flow. It doesn’t suit me. Would it be possible to replace the wood with something more suitable?”

Mr. Ollivander stared at him in disbelief. In all his years, no one, absolutely no one had ever dared to request something like that. His wands were perfect the way they were.

A grin appeared on Harry’s face: “I will pay of course.”

An hour later, Harry and Severus left the dusty store and Mr. Ollivander behind. After a short argument, Mr. Ollivander had grudgingly agreed to change the wood of the wand. His new wand now resided in his back pocket. Holly had been replaced by blackthorn which channelled Harry’s magic much better.

“Are we done now?”, Severus asked hopefully. He definitely wasn’t the most patient man.

“Nope”, Harry said, popping the ‘p’, “there is one more shop I’d like to visit.”

The potions master rolled his eyes: “Which one? Please tell me you do not intend on buying a cat.”

Harry grinned: “Are you allergic?”

“No, but I hate the hair, especially on my clothing.”

Harry snorted: “A simple change of colour could solve that problem. What about a nice orange with purple stars? I’m kidding. I will spare you from cat hair then. I do not wish to obtain an animal. I want something else that we won’t get here.”

With a wave of his hand, strong Notice-Me-Not Charms and full-body Glamours were applied to the both of them: “Please follow me.”

Harry turned on his heels and led the potions master towards the dark alley. It was better if Harry Potter wasn’t seen down there. He was the beacon of light and shouldn’t wander around Knockturn Alley. Ignoring all the strange and shady figures, he headed straight for an inconspicuous store squeezed between a magical blood bank and a funeral parlour that also housed a law firm on top. Harry quickly entered and found himself in a small yet clean room. The furniture was of the finest mahogany. An intricately woven carpet of rich crimson colours lay underneath their feet and the air smelt pleasantly of lavender. The store’s interior overall clashed drastically with the disreputable Alley outside.

“Good afternoon, my dear”, a tall woman spoke standing behind the counter, a warm smile on her face, “how can I help you?”

“I would like to get a wand.”

“But you just bought a wand”, Severus eyed him wearily.

“Ollivander’s?”, the witch asked. Her skin was the color of freshly fallen snow. Piercing light-blue eyes were pronounced by high cheekbones. The entire bone structure in her face screamed pureblood or Elvish, while her hair was even lighter than the famous Malfoy family’s.

Overall, Harry thought she was something otherworldly, something eerie, yet Harry couldn’t help himself but smile: “Yup.”

“Did he harass you with that ridiculous tape measure?”

There was this melodic undertone Harry couldn’t quite place. But like always, Tom came to his help. He pointed out the Nordic origin of her accent. She probably was a descendant of the Ice Elves, very skilled magic wielders who had once upon a time populated the islands that were now known as Svalbard, which now belonged to Norway.

Harry’s grin grew wider: “He surely did. Measured my nostrils, earlobes and eyebrows.”

Snape chose that moment to interrupt the conversation: “Again, why do you intend to buy another wand?”

“Professor Snape, your protégé is a very clever young man”, the witch began, making it clear that she could in fact see through the Glamours and was well aware who she had been dealing with, “he wishes for a wand that will suit him perfectly, not like the mass merchandise that is sold at Ollivander’s. Every magical core is unique and therefore requires a specifically manufactured wand to access the magic at its best. Ollivander manufactures his wands as he pleases. His wands aren’t manufactured with a specific Witch or Wizard in mind. The only reason people manage to find a wand in his store is because there are so many. His customers get lucky most of the time and find a wand that is partially compatible with their core, yet never completely. I, Lady Aurora, on the other hand only craft personalized wands. I promise my wands will work better than anything sold at Ollivander’s.”

Severus seemed curious but chose to remain silent. Harry ignored the potions master and stepped forward, allowing Lady Aurora to begin her work. He was quickly measured, although much less theatrical than Ollivander had done before. Afterwards, large trays of core ingredients and different woods, all much more exotic and diverse than those used by Ollivander, were placed in front of him. In the end, Harry selected a large dark phoenix feather, a vial of priceless Basilisk venom, an incredibly expensive and rare fragment of Lethifold cloak, finished off by a very light piece of alder wood.

Lady Aurora smiled at the young customer in front of her: “A very unorthodox selection of cores, my dear. You have selected very strong ones. They will suit your core very well. I doubt that many will be able to wield magic by using these particular cores. But together? Nearly impossible. I will need your blood to bind them. Of course, your blood will not be used for anything else. You may watch.”

And Harry did just that after the cut on his hand had been healed. Harry, Severus, and Tom watched as Lady Aurora performed her intricate work, weaving the different cores together with the help of Harry’s blood and intricate runes. The air was thick with magic once she finally joined the cores with the wood. Harry gladly accepted the finished wand and let his magic surge through it. Tom and Lady Aurora had been right. His alder wand was much better than the Ollivander wand.

“How is it?”, Lady Aurora smiled.

A Cheshire grin plastered Harry’s face: “Mr. Ollivander should retire.”

“Is it that good?”,Severus’s mask slipped, leaving him as an open book.

“Well”, Lady Aurora shrugged her shoulders, “you can try it for yourself and finally get a wand that suits you.”

A while later, Severus Snape was staring in awe at his new cypress wand. It contained Manticore mane hair soaked in boomslang venom and Severus’ blood.

“Surprised, aren’t you?”, Lady Aurora fixed the potions master with her sparkling eyes while helping Harry with the selection of wand holsters. Soon, Galleons were exchanged. Lady Aurora’s wands were quite expensive but worth every Galleon. Afterall, they were the best. Once the shopping had been finished, Harry was guided to one of the Apparition points of Knockturn Alley. Severus offered his arm to transport Harry to Spinner’s End. The last of the Potters’ had no intention to return to his dear relatives. He had other work to do, work he couldn’t do at Privet Drive. He had to finetune his magic. Years of continuous use of wandless magic required that. He had to learn how to not overpower his spells. Wands were like magical amplifiers. Most Witches and Wizards, those incapable of wandless magic, were dependant on their wands. Harry on the other hand was powerful enough to perform most spells without one. Still, he needed to blend in. Better not to reveal his cards too soon. He therefore had to get used to his wands. But Tom was positive he could achieve the task within the four weeks before Hogwarts would start.

Chapter 11: The Hogwarts Express

Chapter Text

A soft crack sounded as Harry Apparated away from Spinner’s End and landed in the heart of London, right outside of King’s Cross Station. Since it was the weekend the station was relatively calm, he was luckily spared from the typical London rush hour madness. It was September 1st. and today, he would finally travel to Hogwarts. It was quite early. Too early. But Harry had planned to circumvent the masses that would soon be flooding platform 9 ¾ and thus opted for an early entry. Smiling to himself, he headed for a bakery to buy himself some lunch for the long train ride and some breakfast. A healthy lunch that didn’t purely consist of the sweets from the trolley. While munching on a croissant, he thought about the last four weeks at Spinner’s End.

It was nice at Spinner’s End if you forgot about the vile smell outside and overlooked the decaying houses in the neighbourhood. On the inside though, Severus Snape’s house had been well cared for. Harry had immediately fallen in love with the living room, especially with the books covering the walls from floor to ceiling. With no spare rooms, Severus had let Harry transform his office into a bedroom. The two of them had soon settled in. Harry spent most of his time in the basem*nt, either in the duelling room adapting and fine tuning his magic to his newly acquired wands or brewing potions in Severus’ lab. They had fallen into a routine quite easily. Of course, Severus had been curious and had further interrogated Harry and Tom in length. Some questions had been answered, some not. In turn, Severus had informed the duo about the developments of the Wizarding world of the last ten years. Overall, it had been nice.

“I think you should leave for the platform now,” Tom said, bringing Harry out of his thoughts, “if you wait much longer, the platform will be too crowded.”

Harry stuffed the last bite of his flaky pastry into his mouth and left the bakery.

“Where has Dumbledore placed your welcoming committee?” Tom purred in the back, “after he so kindly forgot to provide you with instructions on how to obtain access to the platform in your letter.”

“Tom, I’m sure they’re here somewhere,” Harry replied while making his way to the platforms. Because of several strong Notice-Me-Not charms and a Glamour to hide his scar, people left him alone. He had shrunken his trunk to the size of a matchbox and placed it in his pocket. Without the bulky thing and only his black leather satchel people would take even less notice of him. He had almost reached his destination, when he overheard his name. Avada-green eyes focussed on a group of redheads, all dressed in second-hand attire. A plump woman was scolding two of her children. The two children in question, who appeared to be twins, were loudly complaining about being at the train station far too early. In response, the plump woman reminded them of the importance of being at King’s Cross to assist Harry Potter finding the platform.

“Obviously Weasleys”, Tom remarked, “of course he would use them. Those blood traitors are as Light as it can get. They’ll wash your brain with all their pro-Light propaganda. Not as if they could.”

Harry chuckled: “I think we should forgo their assistance. Don’t you think, Tom?”

“Of course, we should”, Tom purred, “and if they wait long enough for the ‘Boy-Who-Never-Appeared’, they might even miss the train.”

Harry quietly chuckled under his breath and passed by the redheads, quickly heading for the barrier. Moments later, he found himself staring at a scarlet steam engine. Luckily, Platform 9 ¾ was still rather empty. Only a few Witches and Wizards were scattered across the smoke wafted platform. Harry boarded the train without further ado and found himself an empty compartment at the end of the train. He settled himself down near a window, a position that would allow him to observe the coming and going on the platform. Something he would do occasionally. He had much better things to do than observing.

Pulling his current reading material out of his backpack – the latest Dark Arts guide that had been published in Russia only a few weeks ago. Both Tom and Harry devoured the Cyrillic letters in front of them, processing and storing the information away carefully. The book certainly wasn’t anything ground-breaking, but it contained a few handy new variations of known Dark curses. The Dark Arts weren’t banned in Russia. In fact, they flourished there. Plenty of books were published freely, with none being banned or censored. Magical residents of the British Isles wanting to study the Dark Arts as well as keep up to date had to rely on foreign literature, more specifically Russian, Scandinavian or German. Magic was cherished in those countries, every branch of it. Light and Dark. Magic itself wasn’t evil. Only the Witch or Wizard wielding it. Sadly, those in Britain were too biased to understand that. Decades of Light propaganda had ensured that.

Time passed quickly and the platform became more and more crowded the closer it got to eleven o’clock. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chatting, colourful crowd.

Finally, the whistle blew, signalizing the departure of the train. Oddly it wasn’t the whistle, but a loud shriek that tore Harry’s eyes off his book. The plump Weasley woman was sprinting towards the train followed by her flock of red haired children: “Hurry, or you’ll miss the train! Percy, take Ron! Fred, George, quick now!”

“Pity!” Tom purred in the back, “and I had such high hopes they’d miss the train.”

“Tom, you can’t always get what you want.”

Tom chuckled: “But if you try, sometimes, well, you might find what you need.”

Just then, somebody knocked at the compartment door.

“Enter.”

The door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy. Upon spotting Harry, his pale eyes lit up: “Here you are. I’ve been searching the entire train for you. May I come in?”

Harry signaled him to enter. Draco immediately strode inside and closed the door. He let himself fall on the seat opposite of Harry, threw back his head and sighed while closing his eyes: “Thank Merlin I’ve found you. Crabbe and Goyle are getting on my nerves already. I hope I won’t have to play their nanny for the entire seven years of Hogwarts.”

Harry smirked since Tom had told him all about the rather dense lackeys of the Malfoys: “Good luck with that.”

Draco let out a long sigh: “I hope they do not end up in Slytherin and in the same dorms as me. Well, we’ll see soon.”

“Indeed.”

Suddenly, pale eyes shot open: “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your lack of introduction at Madam Malkin’s. That wasn’t proper at all. But I’ll repeat myself. I’m Draco Malfoy and it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

Harry once again eyed the offered hand. Shrugging his shoulders, he accepted the offer and locked eyes with the young Malfoy heir: “I’m glad to accept, Draco. I hope you’ll excuse my previous lack of etiquette. But honestly, my guardian really is an impatient man and I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

Draco’s brows furrowed: “A scene? How could you possibly cause a scene? By pretending to be the oh so famous Boy-Who-Lived and handing out autograph cards?”

Harry grinned: “Draco, my dear! I don’t have to pretend.”

Harry could see the wheels spinning inside Draco’s head, before his jaw dropped: “You seriously are The Harry Potter?”

Harry had already lifted the Glamour on his scar after boarding the train and now simply brushed away his hair to uncover his apparent trademark: “The one and only.”

Draco gasped upon the sight in front of him: “Had… had I known… I heard rumours that you were about to start Hogwarts… But…”

“Yeah, how exciting,” Harry rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, “I hope you now understand why I wasn’t too keen to reveal my name. Still, I hope that my supposed character, the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, won’t change anything between the two of us. I’m not like the media paints me. It’s rubbish anyway. I’m not special, nor Light or golden. I’m just Harry, just Harry who wants to enjoy his time at Hogwarts, learn and make friends like everybody else. I hope my public persona won’t get between us, right?”

Draco paled slightly while contemplating Harry’s words: “Ehh… I suppose not. Most what’s printed in the Prophet is crap anyway. So yes… I’m looking forward to getting to know the real Harry.”

With that sorted out, the conversation turned to much more pleasant topics. Harry and Draco had just continued discussing the four houses of Hogwarts, when there was a knock again. Draco looked at Harry, silently asking for permission to open the door. After Harry had nodded in approval, the blonde stood up and opened the compartment door to reveal three children, two boys and a girl roughly their age.

“Draco, where have you been hiding?” a tall, dark-skinned boy with a friendly face scolded playfully, “you could have told us you were heading for the end of the train.”

“Sorry,” Draco looked at his feet, “but I was busy getting away from Crabbe and Goyle. As far as possible. Please tell me you haven’t brought them along?”

The dark-skinned boy chuckled: “Of course not. Now, where are your manners again, Draco? May we come in?”

“Ehh,” after a quick glance at Harry, Draco signaled the three to enter, his voice becoming smug upon the prospect of introducing the famous ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, “come in. Let me introduce you to my travel companion. Harry, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott and lastly Blaise Zabini. Pansy, Theo and Blaise, meet Harry Potter.”

Three jaws dropped. In the back, Tom chuckled while Harry was busy rolling his eyes. And this was just the beginning. He had the feeling that there would be a lot of eye-rolling in the future.

“You… you are… Harry Potter?” Pansy’s pug eyes almost looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. She wasn’t a beauty. That much became more and more evident the longer Tom and Harry looked at her. Her not too stellar looks were most likely the result of too many generations of inbreeding. She was a pureblood through and through. Yet now, her usual hard-faced mask was distorted by shock and disbelief.

Amused by the display in front of him, Harry grinned. “No, I’m just Dumbledore’s lost bastard child after he had a nice shag with his favourite goat.”

Upon that declaration, Tom was more than certain that her eyes would indeed pop out. Next to her, the weedy, rather pale looking boy, Theodore Nott, turned even paler. Blaise on the other hand threw his head back in laughter: “That certainly isn’t the golden material that will land you in Gryffindor, my precious golden boy.”

Harry’s grin grew wider: “That wasn’t my plan anyway.”

The long, slanting eyes of the dark-skinned boy turned calculating: “Well, is your supposed father aware of your mischievous plans? Or was he busy with his beloved?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders: “I might have forgotten to tell a certain goat-lover. He was indeed too busy.”

Blaise let out a roar of laughter: “This certainly isn’t what I expected to find inside this compartment. Tell me, Draco, where did you meet this little minx?”

The three newcomers finally took their seats. Theo and Pansy settled down on Draco’s side and Blaise took the seat next to Harry. After a quick reminder that Harry refused to be treated like a celebrity, the atmosphere in the compartment lightened up considerably. Draco told the three newcomers about his shopping trip to Diagon Alley and how he had met Harry at Madam Malkin’s. They continued talking about Quidditch, friends, and family and were only interrupted by the lady with the trolley. Sweets were soon passed around before the conversation turned towards the sorting ceremony and the Hogwarts houses. They had just begun discussion the different houses, when a knock echoed through the compartment. The door slid open before any of them could react.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” a girl with bushy brown hair and rather long front teeth spoke. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robe and had a bossy sort of voice. Her lack of etiquette gave her away as a Muggleborn. Tom guessed she was one of those ‘know-it-all’s’ who thought they were better than everyone else. Harry agreed but wasn’t bothered by her, because of her blood status, she would end up in another house anyway. He instead focused his eyes on the round-faced boy behind her. He looked close to tears. Harry narrowed his eyes. Could this be The Neville Longbottom, son of Alice and Frank Longbottom? If so, Neville deserved his help. Much like Harry, he had lost everything because of the schemes of one old, demented goat.

Before Harry could open his mouth, Draco had already begun to speak: “No, we haven’t. But next time wait before entering. People might value their privacy and it isn’t very polite to…”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry stopped his rant about etiquette quickly, “we haven’t seen a toad. But have you tried to Summon it or maybe have a prefect try to locate it?”

Neville stared at him with hope in his eyes. But before he could say anything, the bossy girl had already embarked on her lecture about the restrictions of magic. After roughly five minutes, Harry lifted his hand, indicating that he, too, had something to say: “Congratulations for reading a book, Miss?”

“Granger, Hermione Granger! Well, the laws of 1843 clearly dictate…”

“I don’t care,” Harry interrupted her, “you can use magic on the train. It’s not forbidden since the school year has already started and the Hogwarts express technically serves as an expansion of the school territory.”

Granger looked ready to kill: “But…”

“I’m not interested,” Harry retorted while swiftly rising from his seat. Granger clearly wanted to argue. Instead, Harry simply pushed himself past her and stopped in front of Neville. He had chubby, red cheeks, and was shaking slightly. The area around his eyes were slightly red and puffy as if he had cried at some point or had been very close to tears. Harry noticed that his black robe was fastened under his left ear. His whole demeanour and the way his shoulders were slightly hunched over screamed of insecurities. Harry guessed that whoever had raised Neville hadn’t done much for the boy’s confidence. He had to do something: “Do you want me to find your toad, Neville?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide staring at Harry: “Ye… yes… p… p… please.”

Without further ado, his new blackthorn wand slipped into his hand. Ignoring the protest of Granger, he quietly flicked his wand to Summon the wayward toad. Already beginning to play the role of an overachiever, not caring that this was a third or fourth year spell. A few compartments to the left, a door slid open. Harry heard the croaking before he saw the toad shooting towards him. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he snatched the toad out of thin air and handed it over to Neville.

“Trevor!” the boy squeaked, a smile growing on his face. He silently caressed his toad like it was his most precious possession. Obviously, Trevor seemed to be of great importance for the shy boy. Just as Neville had opened his mouth to thank Harry, a head of bushy brown hair shoved past him. The Granger girl gripped Neville’s arm to tug him away, probably back to their compartment: “Come on, Neville! I don’t want to be present when somebody is going to get expelled for illegal magic before the year has even started.”

Chuckling quietly, Harry turned back to his compartment. Just as he wanted to enter, he caught a pair of pleading eyes on him. Interesting. It seemed like Neville wasn’t too keen on spending the remainder of the journey trapped with the bushy know-it-all.

Harry cleared his throat audibly: “Neville, if you want to, you can sit with us. There’s a free seat in our compartment.”

The angry brown eyes of Granger bore into him as she tried to pull Neville away: “Neville, don’t listen to him. Now, come on!”

The shy boy flinched at her tone and tried to free himself from her fingers that dug deeper and deeper into the flesh of his arm. Harry shook his head at Granger’s antics: “You know that we live in a free country and Neville can sit wherever HE wishes.”

Granger stopped in her tracks to gawp at him. Neville meanwhile felt equally shocked. No one had ever stood up for him like that. No one! Harry smirked as the shy boy freed himself from Granger’s grip and hurried back towards his saviour: “I… I think… I wi… will accept your invitation.”

Harry graced the shy boy with a warm smile: “Shall I Summon your trunk?”

“Yes, please,” surprisingly Neville had answered without a stutter.

“Neville, how dare you!” Granger shrieked, having come over her initial shock, “I’ve sat with you when nobody else wanted to keep you company and I’ve even searched for that blasted toad of yours. For hours! And now you simply abandon me for somebody who will soon be expelled for illegal underage magic?”

By that point, many heads were poking out of the neighbouring compartments to watch the scene Granger had caused. Some laughed while others confirmed his earlier statement since underage magic was indeed allowed on the train. Granger turned on her heels and ran, not liking to be proven wrong. Harry on the other hand ignored the whispers and laughter. With another flick of his wand, Neville’s trunk surged towards them and the two finally entered the compartment: “Neville here will sit with us for the remainder of the journey. Is that okay?”

Three heads nodded in approval while Draco chuckled: “Saved yourself from the know-it-all, right?”

Neville silently smiled in answer before turning around to help Harry with the trunk. After Neville’s trunk had been stored away, Harry ushered Neville to sit next to him. He then turned towards the rest of the compartment: “I suppose an official introduction is in order. Neville, meet Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Draco, meet Neville Longbottom, right?”

Neville’s eyes light up upon mentioning his surname: “Yes, I’m Neville Longbottom.”

Once again, Harry graced the boy with a warm smile and offered his hand: “Nice to meet you, Neville. I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Neville’s eyes widened comically but besides that he didn’t outwardly react to his name. Something, which Harry valued greatly. With his hand still offered, Harry elaborated: “Neville, I hope my supposed status as the Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t get between us. Afterall, I won’t let the past dictate who I am supposed to be. I am Harry and nothing more. No rubbish about being the supposed saviour. At Hogwarts, I want to do the things everybody else does, learn about magic, and make friends, nothing else. I don’t want to be defined by my dead parents and the actions of a madman. Can you look past that?”

Mentally, he assured Tom that he wasn’t the madman but Dumbledore. Tom seemed to be twitchy the closer they got to Hogwarts and the truth the two of them wanted to uncover. Had Tom been set up or not? Hopefully they’d find the answer. Turning his attention back to Neville, Harry knew that he had not only been referencing his parents but also Neville’s. It was manipulation and maybe a bit cruel. Still, he had to get his point across and show the shy boy that the both of them shouldn’t be defined by the past. Harry had been just about to repeat his offer, when Neville accepted his hand and answered a lot more confidently: “I… I think I can look past that, Harry.”

With a grin, Harry shook his hand: “That’s great news.”

Chapter 12: The Sorting Hat

Chapter Text

“Now, Neville, just before our merry little group here was interrupted by you and Granger, we were discussing the four houses. Which house do you want to be sorted in?” Harry leaned back in his seat, observing the shy boy next to him.

All eyes in the compartment were glued on the shy boy. His fingers twitched nervously under the gaze of so many curious yet friendly eyes. He began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. When he began to mumble, it was more to himself than to the others, his eyes firmly glued to the floor, “Well, I don’t think I have the smarts for Ravenclaw, so that’s out. I… I don’t want to end up in Hufflepuff… I want to be mo… more than that… And my Gran and uncle Algie will only ridicule me… She wants me to be in… in Gryffindor be… because my parents were there… She says I have to… to make them proud and fo… follow in their footsteps… But Granger to… told me she wants to get so… sorted into Gryffindor be… because Dumbledore was there… I’m not too keen to end up in the same dorm as her… Still I… I should aim for… for Gryffindor…”

Silence followed his rambling. Harry’s head was spinning with trying to keep up with Neville’s mutterings. Tom helpfully pointed out that Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother, was most likely responsible for her grandson’s lack of confidence. This had to change.

“But Neville, where do you want to end up?”

Neville finally looked up from his fingers, “Gran says I should get sorted into Gryffindor to…”

“No!” Harry interrupted the shy boy, “where do you want to end up? Not your Gran. Not uncle Algie. YOU!”

Neville looked like a deer caught in the headlights “I… I… don’t know… I don’t care about the houses… All I want is to prove that I’m not a squib… I want to learn about magic… But most of all, I want to find… to find true friends…”

“Well, Slytherin’s where you’ll make real friends,” Draco helpfully pointed out.

Harry felt Neville’s big doe eyes on him, silently questioning the blonde’s statement, “Neville, Draco’s right. We were discussing this before you joined us. All of us are sure we will end up in Slytherin. Including myself.”

Neville looked incredulously, “But… but you are Harry Potter! ”

“I don’t care what people think of me and never will,” Harry said calmly, shaking his head before gently patting the shy boy’s shoulder, “and neither should you. You and you alone decide about your future, Neville. If you want to learn about magic, prove yourself, do it! And if you want to find true friends, you should do just that. Stop caring about what others say. Don’t listen to their nagging. Do what you want to do. And all this house prejudice is rubbish anyway. If you read Hogwarts: A History, you will find that the houses are only about character traits. Gryffindors supposedly are bold, and brave. Ravenclaws bury themselves in books, while Hufflepuffs are patient, and hard workers. Lastly, Slytherins are cunning, determined, and truly stick together. No one is purely good or evil. Everything’s grey. Being a Gryffindor won’t make you a hero, and being a Slytherin doesn’t equal evil. Again, I don’t care about house prejudice. Neither should you, Neville. After all, I only want to find true friends who can look past my name, and I think Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy here can do that.”

They changed the topic after that. Harry knew that he had been manipulating Neville. Still, it was better to do it now than wait until the shy boy had already been sorted. Once they had discussed the different classes, Draco and Theo began to talk about the latest game of the Falmouth Falcons against the Chudley Cannons. Both boys were laughing about the latest loss of the Cannons, declaring the team was born to lose. Meanwhile, Pansy, Blaise, and Neville were discussing possible year mates. Harry half-listened to the different conversations. Halfway through the speculation on the latest professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, he had pulled out his Russian Dark Arts book. The book in question was charmed to look like his first-year Charms textbook. Harry wasn’t interested in the slightest of the speculations since Severus had already informed him that Quirinus Quirrell, the former Muggle Studies teacher, would teach the class. For the remainder of the train ride, Harry drifted between his book and the conversations in the compartment. He wanted to establish himself as a bookworm and topnotcher early on. And the book really interested him and Tom.

The sky started to darken when a voice echoed through the train, informing the students that they soon would be reaching Hogwarts. Harry pulled his black robe out of his satchel and put it on. As did everyone else, except Neville who was already clad in his black Hogwarts robe. Once the train had finally stopped, they were ushered on a tiny, dark platform. Harry ducked behind Draco as a light came closer accompanied by the familiar low voice of Dumbledore’s favourite pet giant, “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! C’mon, follow me!”

Harry had no intention to converse with Hagrid and remained hidden in Draco’s shadow as they were heading down a narrow path leading towards the Black Lake. The blonde next to him sneered in disgust, obviously unimpressed by the Giant. The sneering stopped once they rounded a corner of the path and the castle came into view. Located on the opposite side of the Black Lake, Hogwarts was perched atop a high mountain. Many turrets and towers loomed high in the sky. Thousands of sparkling windows mimicked the vast spangled sky above. The view made Tom’s heart ache. Finally, he was back home. He looked forward to being back in the castle, returning to places long forgotten, to finally feeling the magnificent and ancient magic of Hogwarts again, together with Harry. Who felt equally intrigued by the spectacular scenery in front of him. Tom knew that Harry couldn’t wait to thoroughly explore Hogwarts. Tom had told him so much about the castle. Yet Tom was also weary. The answers to his questions could and would be found in the castle. But would Tom like the answers? Had he been manipulated? Or did he murder Harry’s parents in cold blood? Almost ten years, he and Harry had waited. Some part of Tom wished to return to the way it had been. Just him and Harry. To simply disappear off the face of the earth. But there were here now, and Tom knew that Harry longed for answers. As did he.

Eventually, they reached the lake. Harry, Neville, Draco, and Pansy boarded a boat which soon started to glide across the smooth lake. As they were halfway across the lake, Harry heard fragments of a conversation from the boat in front of them.

“Seamus, I know we haven’t met him yet, but he will share a dorm with us, and we will be on many great adventures… He is the saviour of the Wizarding world… Of course, he will be a Gryffindor just like his parents…”

Harry spotted familiar ginger hair in the boat ahead and rolled his eyes. Seems like someone was hoping to befriend him to bathe in his spotlight . Sadly, Harry wasn’t interested. Next to him, Draco sneered with as much disgust as possible, “Weasley.”

The declaration of the Malfoy heir didn’t surprise him. The blood feud between the Houses of Malfoy and Weasley was legendary. All the hate just because a Weasley had refused to marry a Malfoy a few hundred years ago and thus failed to honour a marriage contract. The House of Weasley had lost the entirety of their already meager fortune forced to pay horrendous amounts of Galleons in compensation. The tendency of having far too many children didn’t help either in the long run.

They had to duck their heads as they were approaching a steep cliff to enter a passage leading underneath the castle. They departed the boats once they had reached a rough underground harbour. They followed Hagrid up a lengthy passageway followed by a flight of stone steps before ending in front of the enormous oaken front door of the castle. Once the giant had knocked three times, the door swung open to reveal a familiar, tall, black-haired woman in emerald-green robes. Time had pronounced the stern look on her face even more than the last time he had seen her at Hogwarts. Tom remembered clearly since she had been a few years ahead of him. Before them stood Minerva McGonagall, yet another pawn of Albus Dumbledore and Harry’s future Transfiguration professor.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.

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

She pulled the door open wide. Harry and the other students followed her to the Entrance Hall. Hundreds of torches on the high stone walls lit up the gigantic, regal hall that was flanked by a marble staircase to the left and a massive doorway to the right, which muffled the sound of hundreds of voices already inside. Unlike most of the students, Harry wasn’t surprised they weren’t directly led into the Great Hall but the smaller chamber next to it. The Deputy Headmistress curtly welcomed the new first years and shortly lectured them on the Sorting ceremony and the different houses, before telling them to wait for her return.

Harry let his eyes wander over the group of first years. He couldn’t help but notice how nervous most of them looked. He could hear the Weasley boy still droning on about how he would befriend The famous Harry Potter, while on his right the Granger girl was reciting parts of Hogwarts: A History to an Indian looking girl who didn’t seem the slightest bit interested, making him chuckle quietly. Taking a deep breath he continued to wait for the arrival of McGonagall.

But instead of the Transfigurations professor, the Hogwarts ghosts arrived. Several students jumped while others cried out in surprise as the ghosts glided through the wall. Harry watched everything in amusem*nt. He especially enjoyed the squeak of Weasley. Just then, Tom caught sight of a familiar blood-stained ghost and told Harry to greet the gaunt baron, “My Lord.”

Respectfully, Harry lowered his head. To the surprise of the students, the Bloody Baron returned the gesture before departing with the other ghosts.

“Was that the Bloody Baron?” Draco cried out in surprise.

“Yup,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’.

“Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start,” the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall ended their brief conversation, “now form a line and follow me.”

They followed the quick steps of Professor McGonagall, who led them towards the Great Hall. Harry smiled at the sight of the four long, richly laid out house tables flanked by hundreds of students and the thousands upon thousands of candles and the ghosts floating above them. The enchanted night sky above mirrored the starry sky outside. The first years passed the house tables and gathered in front of the table that housed all the staff members including one old goat. Harry watched as Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes scanned over the new students yet he failed to locate his crown jewel. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall placed a frail looking chair in front of them. She then placed a pointed, old, rugged, looking Wizard hat on top. The legendary Sorting Hat. Harry tuned out the song of the hat, it was the same during Tom’s fifth year. How unimaginative. The life of the hat must be utterly boring.

McGonagall instructed the first years on the Sorting process before calling a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails, Hannah Abbot, forward. She was sorted into Hufflepuff. Harry observed his future classmates as they were each sorted. Draco tensed next to him as Vincent Crabbe was called to the front. Relief broke through his usually stoic pureblood mask, as the thickset boy stumbled towards the Hufflepuff table. His partner in crime, Gregory Goyle, soon followed.

“Thank Merlin I don’t have to share a dorm with them!” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear just as Hermione Granger was called forward. The bushy girl stormed to the front and eagerly jammed the hat on her head. It took almost five minutes until the hat finally exclaimed, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The know-it-all smugly made her way towards the red and gold table and was promptly welcomed by yet another Weasley with a prefect badge. Neville groaned next to him. Harry patted his shoulder. Surprisingly, Neville leaned close to whisper in his ear, “You really are heading for Slytherin?”

Harry nodded his head. It seemed like Neville had taken the conversation on the train to heart. Ten minutes later, the shy boy was finally called to the front, the hat obscuring most of his round face as the sorting process began. Tom and Harry were sure Neville’s sorting would take quite a bit of time since Neville was obviously torn between several houses. They were surprised when the hat opened its mouth just a minute later, “SLYTHERIN.”

The entire hall was silent as Neville handed the hat over to the shocked Transfigurations professor. There had never been a Longbottom in the House of the Snakes. Never. Unlike everybody else, Neville didn’t seem to be concerned by the lack of noise and quickly walked towards the green and silver table. He didn’t even stumble. Instead, he seemed to be genuinely relieved as he sat down next to the bulky frame of Millicent Bulstrode, who was one of the only students clapping. Harry sent the newly sorted snake a smile which was promptly returned.

“That was a surprise,” Draco whispered next to him.

“Not really,” Harry quietly stated, “he was looking for true friends and where else to find them but in Slytherin.”

Just then, Draco’s name was called out. He swaggered towards the front like he owned the castle. Harry snickered at the behaviour. How typical for a Malfoy, yet it was just a façade. Underneath the regal pureblood mask, Draco was just as nervous as everybody else, yet he knew how to conceal his emotions better. The hat barely touched the blonde’s hair before it loudly exclaimed, “SLYTHERIN.”

Draco sat down opposite of Neville and was quickly joined by Theo and Pansy. Soon Sally-Anne Perks was called and sorted into Ravenclaw, and Harry was finally called forward. His journey to the front was accompanied by whispers and loud hissing. He could clearly filter out Granger’s outcry as she realized who had spoken to her on the train so rudely. The last thing he saw before the hat obscured his vision was McGonagall’s tight yet smug smile. Somebody seemed to be certain he would be ending up in the Lion’s den. What a pity.

A small voice echoed through his head, “What a surprise! Welcome back, Tom. I’m glad to see another founder’s heir back and not just Mr. Potter.”

Tom felt warmth spreading through him, well, not physically. But it was nice that the hat didn’t perceive him as an enemy, “Thank you, my old friend.”

“Sadly, we have to focus on the sorting,” the hat said, “as much as I would like to converse with you, I’m afraid it has to wait. Moving on, I’m glad that you have taken such good care of dear Harry here. No founder’s heir should ever suffer. No magical child should either. Now, Harry. You are cunning, brave, eager to learn and loyal to those close to you. Still, as a founder’s heir there are only two houses for you, Gryffindor or Slytherin, yet I have the feeling you have already decided. Well, well. You better be SLYTHERIN!”

The entire hall was dead silent. No one spoke. No one moved. The shock was written clearly on McGonagall’s face as she accepted the hat back. A quick scan of the hall revealed that the twinkle had even disappeared from the Headmaster’s blue eyes. Just then, the Slytherin table exploded into cheers. In the back, Tom snickered at the dumbstruck expressions on the other tables. Harry proudly strode towards the Slytherin table where he was greeted by his fellow classmates, sitting down next to Neville. Meanwhile the Weasley boy loudly exclaimed his disbelief. It took McGonagall almost a minute to recover, curb the noises, and continue the Sorting. To no one’s surprise, Weasley was placed into Gryffindor. Finally, Blaise joined the Slytherin table as the last student being sorted. McGonagall removed the hat and the chair and finally took her place at the staff table.

Dumbledore rose to his feet beaming at all the students in front of him. The annoying twinkle had sadly returned to his eyes, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

He retook his seat under the loud cheer of three house tables. On the Slytherin table, nobody clapped. Instead, many openly sneered at the Headmaster. How Harry wished to join them, but he had a role to play. Just then, the food appeared in front of them. Harry’s brows furrowed at all the greasy and sugary food. He couldn’t eat that. Not for seven years. It would only clog up his arteries. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, pinned down a quick note and silently and wandlessly sent it to the House Elves down in the kitchens. He then accepted the mashed potatoes from Blaise as if nothing had happened. A minute later, a big plate of vegetables appeared in front of him. Harry piled his plate with broccoli and green beans. He had been about to dig in when he felt Neville’s eyes on him. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one unhappy with the Hogwarts food and quietly passed the plate over to the shy boy.

Conversation at the Slytherin table was easy. Draco introduced Harry and Neville to the girls of their year, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis and Rhea Rowle. Daphne was a delicate looking blonde who bore the typical aristocratic features of the Greengrass family. Tracy meanwhile resembled her mother, a pure-blooded Japanese Witch who had married into the Davis family. Both girls were rather short. Rhea Rowle, on the other hand, would one day be as tall as her father. She towered over the rest of the girls, except Millicent, and had inherited the blue eyes and strawy blond hair of her father Thorfinn, one of Tom’s followers. After a while, the food was replaced by desert. Harry was happy to find a bowl of fruit in front of him and gladly shared with Neville, while Draco eagerly dug into his rich piece of chocolate cake.

At last, desert disappeared, and the old goat got to his feet again. The hall fell silent as they were given the start-of-term notices. Of course, the Dark Forest was still forbidden, magic between classes was still prohibited, and Quidditch trials were still taking place in the second week after the start of term. Overall, not much had changed – with one exception. According to the old goat, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side was declared out of bounds for everyone who wished not to die a very painful death. Why would anybody with a sane mind tell this piece of information to a school full of students? Interesting. Especially the last part of that declaration had made both Harry and Tom curious. But before the two of them could think about the forbidden corridor much longer, the Slytherin prefects called for the first years to follow them down to the common room.

Once out of the Great Hall, Harry, Draco, Neville, and the rest of their year were led down deep into the dungeons. They walked through increasingly gloomy lit corridors before finally stopping in front of a familiar bare stretch of stone wall decorated by a single silver serpent. After one prefect had uttered the current password, ‘ mors ’, they finally entered the common room, Tom’s true home. The first years looked around the low, long underground room in awe. The rough stone walls were decorated with green and silver banners, proudly presenting the Slytherin serpent in all its glory. Greenish lamps were hanging from the ceiling illuminating the room in a dim, yet cozy light. A pleasant fire was crackling in the elaborately carved fireplace. The ebon furniture was exquisitely and intricately carved. The only source of natural light, a massive window leading into the Black Lake, was currently dark. Being there personally, Harry could now understand why Tom felt so deeply connected with the school, especially the common room. He knew that he would find a home here.

Once the prefects had welcomed the first years and given them a quick tour of the Slytherin quarters, the entrance of the common burst open. Severus swept into the common room, his black robe billowing behind him. To a stranger, it would appear as if the potions master was sneering at his new proteges, yet Harry knew that he in fact deeply cared for each and every one of his snakes.

“Welcome to Slytherin,” the familiar drawl of Severus filled the common room, “as your Head of House, it is my responsibility to enlighten you on the house rules. First, what happens inside the Slytherin common room stays inside the Slytherin common room. Second, Slytherins stick to each other. Outside these walls, we present a united front. Without exception. Third, I do not care what you do, as long as you do not get caught. If you get caught, you will be severely punished. Whatever you do, do NOT get caught. Fourth, I expect you to give your very best. I do not tolerate laziness and expect you to score high in every class. And lastly, if you should ever have a problem, a question, require help or anything else, my door is always open for you. Now, I expect you to be in the Great Hall early since you will receive your timetables during breakfast. Do not be late.”

Chapter 13: First Impressions

Chapter Text

Silence laid over the dorm, soft whispers of breath the only indication of life, as Harry rustled in his covers. He had always been an early riser and a light sleeper. Ten years at the Dursleys had taught him that. The feel of soft covers under his hands, and silk on top of him alerted him that he no longer was in Little Whinging or co*keworth, but on a rather nice four-poster bed with silver and green hangings. Harry looked around the dorm, his glaze falling on the four sleeping figures he now shared a dormitory with, and quickly got out of bed. Usually, he would go outside, run, do a few exercises, and stretch his magic, sometimes while meditating. But now, he had to figure out how to do that while here at Hogwarts. Sighing, Harry silently and wandlessly conjured himself a yoga mat, and did his morning exercises followed by twenty minutes of meditation, and magic stretching. After a quick shower, Harry got dressed. Fastening his new green and silver tie, he contemplated on how to best wake up his dorm mates. As always, Tom provided him with just the right idea.

Moments later, everyone was awake. Neville was rolling on the floor, giggling, because of a nice, little Tickling charm. Theo on the other hand was glaring at him. He was soaked from top to bottom as if he had just been through a monsoon. Blaise had been hit with a strong Stinging hex and Draco looked like he had been electrocuted. His usually so well-groomed hair stood on end, and he had already threatened to involve his father. Harry was deeply amused by the display in front of him, and helpfully reminded the four boys that Snape expected them to be in the Great Hall early.

Twenty minutes later, the first year Slytherins walked into the Great Hall. Much to Harry’s surprise, the girls had already been up and waiting for them in the common room. Millicent and Rhea had banded together, and had woken the rest of the girls. Having fully memorized the map of the castle, Harry had then led them out of the dungeons. His year mates had been surprised that Harry hadn’t gotten lost once. The advantages of having an eidetic memory, and Tom as a navigator who knew the castle inside out. Once they had taken their seats at their house table, Harry began to observe the hall. The Great Hall was rather empty, since it was still quite early, not even 7:30 yet. Only a few of the older students were scattered along the four house tables. Severus, McGonagall, and Sinistra were the only teachers present. Severus lips twitched upwards upon meeting Harry’s eyes. He obviously approved of their early entry and the fact his first years had shown up together. Harry turned his attention towards his breakfast. He was very happy to find a platter of fruit in front of him, and made a mental note to thank the House Elves.

At eight, students filtered into the hall, quickly filling it up. Snape and the other Heads of Houses began handing out the timetables. Harry quickly scanned his; Transfiguration was first today, and it looked like the Slytherins and Gryffindors would take it together. Speaking of Gryffindors, Weasley and his fellow first years burst into the hall ten minutes before breakfast was over, and immediately started to stuff their faces. Many sneered at their display and clear lack of etiquette, especially at Weasley who seemed the worst of them all.

“I think it’s time to head to Transfiguration, right?” Harry raised an eyebrow towards the group, before focusing again on Weasley and his group of Gryffindors who were just leaving the Great Hall.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Draco sneered, “we shouldn’t be late for McGonagall, especially since we share a class with her golden, brave lions. No need to give her a reason to deduct points already. Will you lead us there, oh golden boy ?”

Harry snorted and rose from the Slytherin table. As did everybody else.

A few minutes later, the first year Slytherins strode into the empty Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall had still been sitting at the staff table when they had left. Her lack of appearance therefore wasn’t a surprise. The lack of red and gold on the other hand was. So far, no Gryffindor had managed to find the classroom. Harry and Tom were sure that out of their year, Granger would be the first to appear. The only question was, if Granger would arrive before McGonagall. Tom rooted for the know-it-all, while Harry’s money was on the strict professor. They would soon find out. Without further ado, Harry walked past the rows of tables to the front of the class, selecting a place in the front left row, followed by Draco and Neville. The rest of the Slytherins scattered across the rows behind them.

Three minutes later, a magical presence made him turn around. Harry narrowed his eyes as a feline form slipped into the classroom. Calculating eyes followed the cat as it made its way to the front of the class, jumping on the table. After that, the large, darkish patterned feline stopped moving. With a slightly tilted head, Harry watched the cat, covertly reaching out his magic. Moments later, a grin appeared on his face. He was proven correctly, McGonagall had appeared first and was now sitting on the table in front of them. She was an Animagus. She must have achieved the transformation and/or registered herself after that fateful Halloween night of 1981, because Tom had not been aware of her skill. Interesting . If one observed the cat more closely, the resemblance to McGonagall’s human form became more, and more obvious. The pattern around the cat’s eyes mirrored the rectangular glasses of the strict woman, and the cat’s stiff posture was another dead giveaway.

Shortly after McGonagall’s entry, Granger stormed into the classroom. She glared at the Slytherins, seemingly disappointed of not being the first to arrive, and confused on how the Slytherins had gotten there first. By the time the bell rang, most students had arrived bar Weasley and his friends. Two minutes later, McGonagall still hadn’t moved, and Granger was already contemplating on whether to look for the teacher or not. Draco leaned over, “Actually, she has a point. Where is Professor McGonagall?”

Instead of answering, Harry pointed at the cat. Draco frowned and opened his mouth to object. Just then, Weasley and his gang burst into the room, panting heavily, their robes in a state of disarray. Weasley’s washed out second-hand robes were stained with the remnants of the ginger’s breakfast. Ignoring the rest of the students, Weasley led his friends towards the only free seats in the room, “I told you we aren’t late. She isn’t even here.”

McGonagall chose that moment to leap off the table and transformed back to her human form mid-leap. Harry chuckled quietly as the whole class gasped in surprise, with Weasley exclaiming, “Wicked!”

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnegan, Mr. Thomas, and Mr. McLaggen, you are late,” McGonagall scolded the four lions, “maybe I should turn one of you into a pocket watch so the rest of you will arrive on time.”

Three pairs of eyes lowered to the floor. Only Weasley seemed brave or foolish enough to talk back, “Sorry, professor. We got lost.”

The corners of McGonagall’s mouth twitched, “Maybe I should turn one of you into a map. Now, take your seats.”

But instead of beginning the class, the professor stopped in front of Harry, “Mr. Potter, in all my years teaching at Hogwarts, I have never been discovered. How did you know? Did an older student tell you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry met his teacher’s eyes: “The pattern around your eyes is the same as your glasses and real cats… well, they move a bit more.”

Content with the explanation, McGonagall awarded five points to Slytherin for his observation skills and started the class. Obviously, Harry did not wish to reveal the true extent of his skills and secrets. Especially not yet. He won’t be broadcasting his magic sensitivity, proficiency at wandless and wordless magic, Legilimency and Occlumency, being a Parselmouth, or possessing a second wand, among other things. Especially not his special connection to one Dark Lord. The public would remain oblivious.

Harry focussed his attention back on McGonagall. The professor was lecturing the class on the course aims. She then instructed the class on how to turn a matchstick into a needle. Once finished, the instructions appeared on the board with a flick of her wand along with the homework. Another flick later, a matchstick appeared in front of every student.

Around him, wands were pointed at their matchsticks and the incantation was being repeated. Minutes later, many students groaned loudly at their unchanged matchsticks. Having all watched this, Harry rolled his eyes at the task. His blackthorn wand slid into his hand. Unlike the rest of the students, he could do without the ridiculous incantation and the wand waving. He silently pointed his wand at the matchstick on the table in front of him, and watched in satisfaction as the small wooden stick morphed into a sharp and shiny needle. Having completed the task, he pulled out a roll of parchment to start with his homework. While scribbling away, he covertly focussed his magic on those around him until he noticed something strange. His quill stopped dead on the paper as he investigated.

Something was wrong with Neville’s magic. The boy was powerful, Harry had sensed the impressive amount of magic upon first meeting Neville on the train. His magical core was large, in their year, only matched by Draco and maybe Granger. Despite her attitude, Granger would one day be a powerful witch, but back to Neville now. The shy boy was powerful, yet every time he attempted to transform the matchstick, his magic was pushed back. After a while, Harry figured out why. Neville’s magic wanted to leash out, but his wand repelled his magic. The wand wasn’t suited for Neville’s magical core.

Before Harry could confront the shy boy, Weasley’s voice cut through the room, “Professor, I’m not the only one to blame. Potter isn’t working either.”

Seconds later, the frame of Professor McGonagall loomed over his table, “Mr. Potter, why aren’t you working? And why is there a quill in your hand instead of your wand?”

With a blank face, Harry gestured towards his needle, “I have already completed the task.”

McGonagall didn’t smile, “Then you should have no problems demonstrating the transfiguration for me.”

She pointed her wand at his needle and recited the reversal incantation. Yet the needle remained a needle. Internally, Tom and Harry shared a good laugh. Harry had permanently transformed the matchstick with his special method. McGonagall’s conventional reversal spell wouldn’t work on the needle. A minute later, McGonagall seemed to have reached the same conclusion and summoned another matchstick. She watched him like a hawk as he silently pointed his wand at the matchstick making it morph into a needle.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin for this flawless transfiguration.”

“But, professor!” Granger’s bossy voice echoed through the room as soon as McGonagall had finished, “Potter never used the official transfiguration. Neither the official incantation, nor the official wand movement. He cheated!”

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter did not cheat. There are many ways to achieve a transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall scolded the bushy know-it-all before turning back to Harry, “yet I’m curious, how did you achieve the transfiguration, Mr. Potter.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he answered swiftly, “After experimenting a bit with magic, I’ve figured that instead of using the official instruction I much prefer doing it intuitively. And it worked, didn’t it?”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes and told everyone to return to their work. She collected his needle and told Harry that she would examine his work. This would determine whether she would allow him to continue deviating from the official instructions. He was then allowed to continue with his homework. Once McGonagall had left to stop Granger’s lecturing, Harry turned his eyes to Neville, “Whose wand is this?”

Neville stopped mid-movement, “My… my gran gave it to me.”

Harry frowned, “You did not select your own wand at Ollivanders?”

Neville paled, “No…”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, “You cannot continue working with that wand. It doesn’t suit you.”

A pained expression appeared on the shy boy’s face: “She told me it was a great honour to carry the wand of my father. She… she…”

“Neville, if you continue working with that wand, the development of your magical core might be permanently halted,” Harry explained calmly, “every magical core is unique and therefore requires a unique wand. This wand wasn’t fabricated for you. It doesn’t suit you. You need to have another one. One that will work for you. For you exclusively.”

“But my Gran…”

“Your Gran doesn’t have to work with a wand that doesn’t suit her. Your Gran doesn’t have seven years of Hogwarts ahead of her,” Harry interrupted the shy boy, “ you want to learn. You want to prove yourself. You want to wield magic. You cannot do that with a badly matched wand. Take Draco’s. I bet it’s better suited than your father’s.”

Having listened to the conversation, Draco at first was rather reluctant to part with his wand, but Harry managed to convince him. Neville pointed Draco’s wand at his matchstick, and let out a squeak of surprise, as the wooden stick sharpened slightly and became a bit shinier. Despite Neville’s protest, Harry swore to speak to Severus. Their head of house would and could deal with the stubborn Augusta Longbottom.

At the end of the lesson, only Harry had managed to fully transform his matchstick. Other than Neville, Draco and Granger, no one had even partially transformed theirs. McGonagall instructed them to practise on top of their essay. Harry had already finished his homework and left the class in high spirits.

Transfiguration was followed by Charms, which they again shared with the Gryffindors. The merry Professor Flitwick started the lesson reading out their names. The tiny part-Goblin squeaked upon reaching Harry’s name. The rest of the lesson was rather uneventful as they were only instructed on the theory behind the Levitation charm. Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the way Granger was lecturing Weasley on the correct pronunciation of the charm. After a quick lunch, they had Herbology with the Ravenclaws, which was a pleasant surprise. Professor Sprout was nothing but enthusiastic and quickly detected Neville’s natural affinity for plants.

Dinner was a happy affair as the first years shared their impressions of the first day at Hogwarts. Once again, Harry found a plate of vegetables in front of him. After dinner, he decided to take a little detour. He parted ways with the rest of the first year Slytherins and headed towards the kitchens. Once he stood in front of the painting, he tickled the pear and moments later found himself surrounded by House Elves. They almost burst into tears when Harry thanked them for the plates of vegetables and fruits. One elf even went so far as to apologize for the lack of healthy food, stating that the Headmaster disliked everything fresh. Harry snorted at that. Maybe it was time to steal his sweets.

A few minutes later, he arrived outside Severus’ office and knocked thrice. The door flew open and revealed one sneering Severus Snape, “What do you want, Potter?”

Harry had to stop himself from bursting out into laughter. Severus was playing his part to perfection. He was quickly ushered inside, the door closing after him with a loud bang. Immediately, strong privacy wards flared up. Harry thanked his magical guardian with a nod.

“So, how was your first day?” Snape asked, sounding genuinely interested and with a much kinder voice now. Harry told him all about his journey to Hogwarts, of the Weasleys and Granger, his first classes, and Neville’s wand.

Severus seemed to be especially curious about the little stunt with the needle he’d pulled during Transfigurations, “Minerva told me about the lesson. But only went as far as telling me that one of my snakes had managed the Transfiguration in a highly unusual manner. She never told me it was you. Anyway, are you sure about Longbottom’s wand?”

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, feeling slightly insulted, “I could sense it. Neville is quite powerful, but his wand rejects his magic. It doesn’t suit him. He even managed to perform smaller spells with Draco’s wand. That’s how incompatible his wand is. He can’t continue working with his father’s wand. He needs one that suits his core. Despite anything Augusta Longbottom thinks and says. She’s going to ruin the development of her grandson’s magical core and his education if this continues.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, a deep frown appearing on his face, “I will invite her to Hogwarts. Probably on Wednesday since Potions will be cancelled in favour of the medical examination of those who haven’t been to a magical hospital yet. But don’t expect her to agree to anything. She is a proud and stubborn Witch.”

Harry smirked, “What if the wand manufacturer was already present upon Lady Longbottom’s arrival?”

Severus’ lips curled, “You are a devious little minx.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, a sharp grin appearing on his face, “I am. But only Tom ever gets to call me that.”

The next days were rather uneventful. On Tuesday, Harry had his first lesson of History of Magic. Professor Binns was still there, droning on and on about Goblin wars, now only as a ghost. Tom doubted that the man had noticed his own death, or cared whether he was teaching first or fourth years. Being an active person and being aware of the vast magical history apart from the Goblin wars, Harry loathed the class, “Tom, please tell me there is some sort of obscure ritual to banish ghosts!”

“There is. Sadly, I haven’t investigated it,” Tom confessed, “while I have delved into the fields of Necromancy, I never had the desire to banish ghosts. The fields of Necromancy are vast, multifaceted, and oftentimes unfathomed. I know how to create Inferi and a fair share of Dark and forbidden rituals, but that’s it. It’s not easy to access information. The subject is tightly guarded by those practising, mostly long lines of Necromancers. But we can try. Maybe one of our publishers can help us.”

Harry sighed, “Thanks, Tom. Another project on our very long list. Now, tell me, was Binns this boring when he was still alive?”

Once the lesson was over, Harry had to wake up his classmates. He had been the only one who had managed to stay awake. But only thanks to Tom and a book on illegal potions he had directly ordered from Germany. It was mostly banned because most potions contained blood. Everything blood related was banned in Britain. It was ridiculous, especially since this ban included several highly potent healing draughts, powerful healing rituals, and diagnosis rituals. Banning entire branches of magic because of one or a few ingredients, or because of a few dark and thus evil witches or wizards, was so typically British. No wonder the magical community of the British Isles was the laughingstock of the magical world.

In the afternoon, they had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, once again shared with the Gryffindors. Quirrell was a stuttering mess and the entire room smelled strongly of garlic which seemed to originate from his purple turban. Harry tuned out Quirrell’s story about the Albanian vampire lord and once again pulled out his illegal potions book charmed to look like his actual DADA textbook.

To his surprise, he was called to the front during the second half of the class. Professor Quirrell announced that he wished to demonstrate the Full-Body-Bind Curse, and Harry was just the right person for the job. The professor then told Harry that he could attempt to shield himself, explaining to him the theory behind the charm. He was then instructed to stand opposite of the stuttering professor. Holding his wand lazily, Harry stood there, his face void of emotions, and waited. It took Quirrell three attempts to stutter the incantation ‘ Petrificus Totalus’. Harry watched the curse flying his way. The entire class held their breaths. Fractions of a second before the curse hit him, Harry flicked his wand and a strong shield appeared, repelling the curse. Quirrell barely managed to dodge the curse, which then hit a bookshelf behind the professor sending books flying everywhere. Harry was awarded five points and the class was dismissed. Harry felt the eyes of Quirrell follow him as he left the classroom.

On Wednesday, Harry was called to the infirmary. After extensive medical scans, Madam Pomfrey declared him healthy. When he returned to the common room, he found Draco alone, working on his Transfigurations essay. The blonde told him that Neville had been called to Severus’ office. It was almost time for dinner when Neville returned, a beaming smile on his face. Harry had spent most of his time reading while occasionally helping Draco with his essay. Harry closed his book and returned the smile, “Looks like you’ve got a new wand.”

“Yes, yes! I still can’t believe it!” Neville spoke enthusiastically, “when I arrived at Professor Snape’s office, my Gran was already there and a wandmaker. She… she looked like an elf, her skin white, her hair even brighter than yours, Draco, and she had this magical aura surrounding her. She introduced herself as Lady Aurora. I had never heard of her before, but she explained to my Gran why I needed a wand that properly fits me. I can’t believe that my Gran eventually agreed. I got to pick cores and the wood. I almost fainted when I heard the price and I never thought my Gran would pay for it. But after I demonstrated a few spells, she did. I even turned a matchstick into a needle. Look!”

Harry smiled at the magically transfigured object. Now, Neville could finally develop freely. That night, they climbed to the top of the astronomy tower to map the stars under the careful eyes of Professor Sinistra.

Thursday brought him an unfamiliar owl, which almost landed in his bowl of porridge, delivering a letter. Harry frowned at the untidy scrawl, riddled with spelling mistakes in front of him. Hagrid invited him to tea after tomorrow’s double Potions lesson. He wondered why the stupid giant would invite him after their first, less than stellar meeting. Probably one of Dumbledore’s schemes, meaning he had to go. Sadly, this would interfere with his plans. Seems like he had to push back a meeting with a certain seer. Maybe he could take Draco and Neville along.

Friday saw double Potions, the subject, Harry, Draco, and surprisingly Neville looked most forward to. Once again, they would be sharing the class with the Gryffindors. The Slytherins arrived early at Potions lab 2, which was located deep in the dungeons. The trio took their seats in the front row. The door burst open precisely as the bell was ringing. Severus strode into the classroom, his robes billowing behind him. He started his lesson by calling out names. Unlike Flitwick, Severus didn’t stop at Harry’s name.

He then shut the course book with an audible thud. Crossing his arms, he began to lecture the class, his voice barely above a whisper, “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact arts of potion-making. 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 put a stopper to death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Even Tom had to agree that Severus was quite an impressive public speaker, and more than passionate about Potions, although he loathed teaching children.

“Potter!” Severus suddenly called out, playing his role to perfection, “what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry raised a single eyebrow, “The Draught of the Living Dead of course, Sir. It’s one of the most powerful sleeping potions.”

“Correct!” Severus said curtly, “Weasley, name a potion that contains boomslang skin.”

Weasley looked dumbstruck, while Granger was waving her hand like a lunatic.

“Tut, tut – didn’t bother to open up a book before coming to Hogwarts, Weasley?” Severus sneered, “your brothers surely did. Maybe there won’t be another Weasley prefect or a Weasley Quidditch captain.”

That remark hit home. Weasley’s face turned redder and redder as he clenched his fists under the table, the colour of his face clashing comically with his ginger hair.

“Potter, do you want to help out?” Severus asked, clearly amused by the reaction he had caused.

Harry calmly met the obsidian eyes of the potions master, “Boomslang skin is one of the main ingredients of the Polyjuice Potion. Being extremely complicated and time-consuming to brew, the potion allows the consumer to assume the appearance of another person. For that, the potion must include a part of said person, mostly a strand of hair or nail clippings, which are added last. The drinker will transform back after precisely one hour.”

“Impressive!” Severus sneered, “now, Weasley, can you at least tell me where to look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Weasley was a boiling mess of anger by that point and luckily refused to open his mouth.

Severus lips curled into a sneer, “How disappointing! Can anybody else answer?”

His eyes hovered over the first years. He was clearly ignoring Granger who seemed to be moments away from jumping on the table, “Potter?”

Harry had to stop himself laughing and answered with a blank face, “A bezoar is taken from the stomach of a goat, sir. It neutralizes most poisons.”

“Again correct!” Severus’ eyes were glinting with a mixture of pride at Harry and amusem*nt at Weasley’s expense, “Weasley, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

This time, Weasley exploded, “I don’t know! Couldn’t you ask somebody else?”

Severus’ gaze turned poisonous. But before he could open his mouth, Granger had jumped up to start her lecture, “Sir, monkshood and…”

“Silence! And sit down!” the potions master snapped at the annoying know-it-all , “five points from Gryffindor for this blatant display of disrespect. And another five points from Gryffindor for every unanswered question, Weasley. Potter, can you give me the answer?”

With a Cheshire grin, Harry spoke, “Sir, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. The flower is highly toxic and must be prepared with extreme care. It’s one of the main ingredients of the Wolfsbane Potion, a rather recent invention, which allows werewolves to maintain their sanity during the full moon.”

“Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?” Snape bellowed, “and five points for each correct answer, Potter.”

The rest of the class passed pleasantly. They were instructed to brew a simple potion to cure boils. Harry paired up with Neville, while Draco worked with Daphne Greengrass. Despite his initial nervousness, Neville had warmed up to Severus and Potions. He seemed to be especially curious about the cross-references between Potions and Herbology. Taking a few shortcuts, Harry and Neville finished long before the rest of the class. They had just completed bottling their sample, when Weasley’s cauldron exploded. Thanks to his quick reflexes, Harry was able to erect a Shield charm before the botched potion could hit any Slytherins. Weasley and Finnegan on the other hand were drenched with the acid green potion. Both groaned in pain as red boils sprang up all over their arms and faces. With a few flicks of his wand, Severus vanished most of the potion, deducting twenty points from Gryffindor, and sending the two dunderheads to the hospital wing.

“That was wicked!” Neville exclaimed after the class had been dismissed.

“Yeah, it was!” Draco agreed, “shall we go to the common room to start the Potion’s essay?”

“Actually,” Harry began, “I got invited to Hagrid’s. Draco, don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to go there either, but I have a feeling that a certain barmy, badly dressed coot wants me to go there. Please, don’t let me go alone. We will make it brief.”

In the end, Draco and Neville agreed to accompany him to Hagrid’s, but only if Harry would help them with their Potions homework. As they climbed up the stairs of the dungeons, Harry’s mind was racing on the reasons for this meeting. Soon, he would find out.

Ten minutes later, the trio left the castle and made their way across the grounds. The giant lived at the edge of the forest in a small, crudely built wooden house. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

The giant opened the door after several knocks. His welcoming was accompanied by several booming barks of an enormous black boarhound called Fang. Ignoring their first, not-too-stellar meeting, Hagrid ushered Harry and his two companions inside. There was only one room inside. Rustic and charming would be the nicer description, backwards and archaic was the true one. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling. A copper kettle was boiling on the open fire. The furniture seemed to be handcrafted, though rather crudely. Harry noticed Draco sneering at the patchy quilt on the massive bed.

Hagrid gestured them to take seats at the table, “Nev’r thought I’d see a Malfoy inside me home.”

Instead of answering, Draco simply shrugged his shoulders. Taken aback by the lack of answer, Hagrid busied himself serving them tea and homemade rock cakes. Hagrid then asked them about their first week of school. Since Harry refused to eat or drink any of the giant’s food, he wandlessly and silently vanished his rock cakes. He noticed Draco quietly feeding his rock cake to Fang while Neville slipped his into the pockets of his robe. Neville was just telling Hagrid everything about his first Herbology lesson, when Harry noticed the cutting from the Daily Prophet.

“As if somebody had placed it there!” Tom helpfully pointed out. Harry definitely agreed and let his eyes wander over the article describing the ongoing investigation on the Gringotts break-in that had taken place on the 31st of July, coincidentally his birthday, and the day Hagrid was supposed to take him to the magical bank. And hadn’t the searched vault been emptied the same day? What a surprising coincidence. Just then, the newspaper snippet was snatched out of his hands.

Draco quickly scanned the paper before a frown appeared on his face, “Harry, this happened on your birthday.”

After that, Hagrid refused to meet their eyes and instead offered them more rock cakes. Tea turned into an awkward affair, and the trio was glad to leave twenty minutes later. Harry’s mind was spinning. Had this break-in and the content of the emptied vault have something to do with the third floor corridor? Tom and Harry would think about this later. They had other things to worry about and a certain seer to visit.

Chapter 14: The Prophecy

Chapter Text

Darkness covered the silent room, minutes creeping past midnight, his roommates having finally fallen asleep. Harry threw back his blanket and rose from the bed, still fully dressed. He slipped his shoes back on and looked around the room. Draco, Neville, Theo, and Blaise were all sleeping peacefully. It had taken quite some time to get them to bed, especially after that wonderful trip to Hagrid’s. But now, they were finally sleeping. Harry waved his illegal alder wand at the sleeping boys, putting them under strong sleeping spells to ensure they wouldn’t awake for the duration of his little night stroll. Afterall, he planned on not getting caught.

He then pointed the alder wand at himself, layering himself with Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not Charms, before silencing his movement and cloaking his scent. With so many teachers, prefects, ghosts, Filch, and Mrs. Norris patrolling the corridors one could never be careful enough. He quietly left the dormitory. In the common room, he passed the few older students who were still awake without complications, and managed to slip out into the deserted dungeon corridor unnoticed.

Harry wandered the castle, as he covertly reached out his magic. He encountered Mrs. Norris, who was patrolling the entrance hall, and Professor McGonagall on the third floor, but managed to dodge both without a problem. After twenty gruelling minutes of climbing stairs, he finally reached the top of the North Tower. Only a small golden badge on the ceiling and a wooden circular trapdoor above him indicated that this was the entrance to the Divination classroom and by extension Sybill Trelawney’s living quarters. With a flick of his wand, the trap door swung open letting a rope ladder fall down, just ending above of his feet. Without further ado, Harry climbed upwards. Once he had reached the trapdoor, he started to smell the cooking sherry. Harry closed the trapdoor behind him and entered the Divination classroom. It looked like a mixture of an attic and old-fashioned tea shop. The smell of herbs, tea and cooking sherry was heavy in the air. Scarfs were wrapped around the many table lamps, bathing the room in a dim, crimson light. The curtains were all tightly shut and the fire under the crowded mantlepiece was close to dying.

She was sitting in the middle of the room, drooling over the crystal ball that served as her pillow. Sybill Trelawney was a thin woman, draped in gauzy shawls and a cloak covered with shining sequins and strings of beads. Her hands were encrusted with bangles and rings, while her thick glasses had fallen on the floor. This was the woman who had prophesied his and Tom’s fate? Harry sneered at the seer while Tom tried to rein in his anger. It was time to find answers.

With a flick of his wand, gemstones were dispersed around the room. Seconds later, they flared up. They would prevent the castle from detecting any illegal Dark magic. After making sure that the gemstones were indeed working, Harry pointed his wand at Trelawney and quietly spoke, “Imperio.”

Trelawney immediately woke up. Her eyes glazed over, jaw unhinged, the smell of sherry wafting out making Harry wondered how much she had downed. He could spot two empty bottles within close proximity. But he wasn’t here to wonder about his teacher’s drinking problem. Instead, he forced her to meet his eyes, allowing him to slip into her mind with ease. Her mind was an open book, void of any defences, surprising Tom. He had assumed that Dumbledore would protect the source of the prophecy with every possible defence available. Seers possessed a delicate mind, messing too much with their mental spheres could damage their gift beyond repair.

The pair navigated through her torrent of flashing memories. Most were meaningless events, and of her classes. Her thoughts consisted of her thinking about future lessons, on how to impress the students with false and made-up predictions of the future. Of self-doubt. Of self-pity. Of insecurities. And a lot of drinking to quell those thoughts. Tom and Harry were disgusted by her thoughts and started to dig deeper. Almost half an hour later, they finally found what they were looking for. The memory slowed down allowing the pair to watch it.

Sybill Trelawney looked nervous as she entered the rancid pub. Dark figures were looming in the shadows of the Hog’s Head, most faces obscured and submerged in darkness. The nervousness on Trelawney’s face suddenly faded, as she loudly declared to be the great-great-granddaughter of the legendary seer Cassandra Trelawney, and that she was there for a job interview with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for the Divination teaching position.

“What’s wrong with the memory?” Harry suddenly asked, as they followed her up the stairs to a private meeting room. The memory was somehow blurry, slightly distorted, and something was wrong with the colours, as if somebody had messed with the chromatic filter.

Tom gasped, “She is under the Imperius Curse. Only the Imperius could distort a memory like this. Nobody would notice unless the memory is viewed from her perspective.”

“So, this indeed was a setup!” Harry stated enthusiastically, “but what really happened?”

“We better watch this before we start digging,” Tom said, his voice trembling in anticipation.

The job interview itself was rather boring. Trelawney was droning on and on about her lineage, being born into a family of generations of seers, how she inherited the gift of her great-great-grandmother, and about her inner eye. A relaxed Dumbledore seemed to be deeply invested into her story, yet there was something tense about his posture. As if he was concentrating on something else yet trying to conceal it – like wielding the Imperius Curse. You could spot the signs if you knew where to look for. To an outsider, this conversation would seem like a perfectly normal job interview. Fortunately, Tom and Harry were in the known as they had personal experience with the curse.

The job interview dragged on. Once Trelawney had stopped talking, Dumbledore graced her with a genial smile and informed her that she didn’t appear to be fit for the teaching position. Trelawney swallowed thickly and suddenly froze. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets as she seemingly entered a trance. In a hoarse, low voice, she spoke the prophecy that had changed everything, “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...”

Tom and Harry could hear heavy steps outside and a scuffling, followed by an angry, unintelligible voice.

Meanwhile, Trelawney continued unperturbed, “ And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

For a few seconds, everything was silent. Until Trelawney blinked. An expression of surprise appeared on her face as she stared at the Headmaster through her thick glasses, “Is everything alright?”

Just then, the door burst open, revealing the barman and Severus Snape.

The memory turned black after that, forcing Tom and Harry to pull out of it. While drifting in the vortex of Trelawney’s memories, Harry spoke, “Well, we can be sure now that he set you up. The whole job interview was a charade. Trelawney was under the Imperius Curse. He wanted to leak that prophecy to you, and he succeeded. We know why he did that. He preyed on your fears. He hoped you would do something irrational, which you did. The question remains: Is there a prophecy or not? And if there is one, what does it say?”

Tom wasn’t sure what to say. He had too many things to process.

“Tom, are you okay?”

Trying to tune out the emotional turmoil that was plaguing him, Tom sighed, “I will be.”

Harry spent the next few minutes soothing his protector. In the end, Tom’s mind was clear enough to continue. Since they were already inside Trelawney’s mind, Harry suggested to continue looking for the real prophecy, if there was even one. Eventually, Tom and Harry once again started digging through her mind, not much caring if they caused lasting damage. They found nothing. No prophecies. No job interviews.

Until Tom had an idea. They delved deeper into her mind looking for other prophecies, travelling deep into her subconsciousness. Maybe if they found others, they would find the true prophecy. Though Tom doubted that the old goat would have messed with her inner eye. After gruelling minutes of digging, they finally hit gold. Trelawney’s prophecies, unsurprisingly not many, were buried deep in the darkest corners of her subconsciousness, most unheard and thus void and null. Except one.

The real job interview took place in Dumbledore’s office. Again, Trelawney nervously recited her family history, emphasizing on the fact that her family consisted of a long line of seers. As opposed to the interview at the Hog’s Head, Dumbledore didn’t pretend to be interested in her words. It was obvious that he wasn’t listening, probably considered her presence a waste of his precious time. Again, he informed Trelawney that he didn’t perceive her to be fit for the teaching position. Close to tears, Trelawney was about to stand up to leave the Headmaster’s office, when her eyes rolled back as she entered a trance. Only this time it was a real one.

“The one with the power to match the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal… The Dark Lord and his Equal will either rule together, or kill each other… They will destroy each other or be closer than brothers… From one path, ‘ The End ’ will fall upon us. From the other, we shall be saved… For either to die, it must be at the hand of the other for neither can die while the other survives… The one with the power to match the Dark Lord approaches...”

The memory then began to fade. The last thing Harry and Tom saw was the utterly shocked expression on Dumbledore’s face. Harry then finally pulled out of Trelawney’s mind. Neither he nor Tom spoke for a long time. A look on the clock revealed that it had taken almost two hours to find the real prophecy. Speaking of the prophecy, Harry felt his ability to speak returning, “Destroy each other or be closer than brothers? That actually sounds a lot better than vanquishing you. And we already are closer than brothers, wouldn’t you agree? But what about ‘ The End’ ? Any ideas, Tom?”

But before Tom could answer, Trelawney began to shake her head, having recovered from the influence of the Imperius curse. She squinted, reached out for her thick glasses on the floor and tried to focus her eyes on Harry, “Who are you, my dear? Can I help you?”

Without answering, Harry flicked his alder wand at the Divination professor to Obliviate her. Once he had eradicated the last few hours off her mind, he once again put her under the Imperius curse, while wandlessly summoning a full bottle of cooking sherry. He ordered her to empty the bottle. Summoning the Gemstones, he reapplied the Disillusionment charms on himself and left the stuffy classroom under the noise of Trelawny gulping down the sherry. In her intoxicated state, she wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. She wouldn’t notice the missing hours, being far too busy with her inevitable hangover.

Once Harry had climbed down the rope leader, he took a deep breath. They had finally uncovered the truth. Tom had been set up. Dumbledore had indeed painted the targets on his parents’ backs by leaking a false prophecy. The old goat had initiated the switch of the secret keepers; worst of all he had dumped him at the Dursleys trying to turn him into an easily malleable boy, his personal weapon. How Harry wished to snap the old man’s neck. How unfortunate that the old fool didn’t deserve a quick death, but he would think about that later. He and Tom had a prophecy to discuss first.

After a while, Harry summarized what they had discussed, “So, we can be sure about a few things: I’m indeed the one referred to in the prophecy, born of parents who had thrice defied you, although you could have chosen Neville. But you marked me as your equal, thus setting the prophecy into motion. We could either kill each other or rule together, either becoming mortal enemies or something closer than brothers, which we already are. And Tom, don’t think for a moment I will ever change my mind. We stick together! No matter what! Nothing can tear us apart! Now and for always. The only question remaining is, will this union between the two of us cause ‘ The End’, or will it save us all? Any ideas?”

Tom felt deeply touched by these words. Never before, meeting Harry had he ever thought and dared to hope for someone he would be willing to share his life with. Harry had changed everything. And just as Harry would never leave Tom, he would do anything in the world to protect Harry. Anything.

“Tom, are you okay?”

If he had a body, Tom would have cried in joy, “Thank you for your words, Harry! You can’t image how much they mean to me.”

“It must be amazing to finally have this weight taken off your shoulders.”

Internally, Tom smiled, “Indeed it does. But I think it will take a few days until I’ve processed everything. This is too much. Even for the Dark Lord. We should head back to the dungeons and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Not yet, Tom!” Harry, on the other had yearned for answers, “what about ‘The End’ ?”

Tom sighed, having preferred to answer in the morning, “I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to talk about this… I will try, Harry, but don’t be disappointed if Lady Magic prohibits me from talking, and revealing this secret. As far as I know, the prophecy refers to an even older prophecy. A long, long time ago, magical creatures started to mingle with mankind, gifting their offspring with magic - the first Witches and Wizards. Afterwards, there was a lot of debate among the magical creatures if it had been wise to gift mankind with magic. Debates turned into fighting. Not much is known of that period since most books and knowledge no longer exist today, having vanished or been destroyed long ago.

What is known, is that an Elvish seer prophesied that the magical community would thrive as long as the non-magical community would remain oblivious to our existence. If not, ‘ The End’ would fall upon us. I do not know the exact wording of the original prophecy, but it led to a peace treaty between the different factions, magical beings and witches and wizards. The witches and wizards promised to keep magic away from the non-magical folk, and in turn were allowed to keep their magic.

Sadly, the Light faction of the Wizarding community has always leaned a bit more towards the Muggles, and encouraged open relations between the two worlds. The Dark faction, on the other hand, strives towards isolation from the muggle community. Total isolation in fact. To ensure the balance between the two sides, magical Lords were instituted, thirteen to each side. Only the most powerful Witches and Wizards can gain the title by completing a list of gruelling tasks. I’m one of them, gaining the right to call myself Lord shortly after I graduated from Hogwarts. I’m the Dark Lord of the British Isles, the first in almost five centuries. It is my goal to keep magic isolated from the non-magical folk.”

Tom stopped for a moment before adding slightly baffled, “I’m actually surprised that I could tell you this much. Usually, Magic prohibits us from telling anything. Our connection must be close indeed.”

That was a lot of information to take in for Harry, “So, you’re one of the Dark Lords trying to prevent magic from falling into the hands of the Muggles, which would lead to ‘The End’ of all magical creatures. If you combine the two prophecies, doesn’t that make us the ones who will save the magical world from being exposed?”

“It appears to be that way.”

Harry’s mind was spinning, “But who would dare to expose us? Tell the Muggles all about magic?”

Tom sighed, “Dumbledore. He has always tried to build bridges between the magical and non-magical world. And after his victory over Grindelwald, people were keen to listen. I’ve tried to stop him, but that obviously isn’t easy. Just look at all the branches of magic that have been banned in the last five decades alone. Or what he’s done to the Pagan holidays.”

A grin suddenly appeared on Harry’s face, “You didn’t have me back then. Now you do. We can do this together! You were always at a disadvantage. The old goat was always suspicious of you and blocked you at every possible moment. This time, we can take him by surprise. Do our goals still stand?”

“Are you referring to our little plan?” Tom purred, pleased by Harry’s words, “our three naughty goals?”

“Of course,” Harry laughed, “goal number one: Getting your body back. Goal number two: ensuring that nothing will ever part us. Goal number three: Making Dumbledore’s life a living hell. The prophecy only legitimizes our little plan of stopping Dumbledore, and in turn the exposure of our world. We can talk about the details later. Now, Tom, would you mind if we start with the last one already? I know it’s quite late, but I have this fantastic idea blooming inside my devious little brain. It would only require a small detour and we will be back in the dungeons in no time.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile at Harry’s mischievous attitude, “I’m all ears, my little minx.”

Chapter 15: Swamps And Birds

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry awoke at his usual time. He hadn’t rested for long, but this wasn’t the first time he had only slept a few hours. Fortunately, there were magical ways to compensate for his lack of sleep. He threw back his heavy covers. Even in early September, it was chilly in the dungeons. Sitting up, Harry crossed his legs and closed his eyes, stretching out his magic. Once he had reached a state of absolute tranquillity, he unleashed parts of his magic. Harry could feel the magical residents of the castle and the magic of Hogwarts herself. It was intoxicating. Sighing heavily, he began to absorb the magic until his magical reserves had been replenished. It felt almost as good as having a good night’s sleep. Harry had been careful and only covertly reached out his magic. With hundreds and hundreds of magic-users in the castle, his magical display wouldn’t be locked by the wards of the castle, thus leaving Dumbledore oblivious to his little magical display. Plus, he would be far too busy with something else.

Some time later in the morning, Draco was grumbling as he was dragged to breakfast, “Potter, I will kill you if you should ever try this again! It’s not even eight yet… AND ON A SATURDAY! Have you never heard of weekends!?!”

“You will see,” Harry answered cryptically. Unperturbed by the blonde’s complaining, Harry continued his way up to the Great Hall. Meanwhile, Draco went on and on with his complaints which became increasingly threatening. Thankfully, Neville remained quiet. A few minutes later, the trio took their usual seats. The hall was even emptier than normally. On weekdays, only a few of the older students would be present when they showed up for breakfast. Since it was Saturday, there were even less in the hall. Looking up at the staff table, Harry saw McGonagall buttering her scone while Severus poured himself a cup of coffee. No other teachers were present yet. Severus caught his eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow. Harry’s lips formed the word ‘later’. Having caught the silent message, the Potions Master nodded in understanding and returned his attention back to his breakfast. Opposite of Harry, Draco was still whining.

A minute later, a dark figure slipped on the bench next to the blonde, “Merlin, has he already threatened you with his father for waking him up so early?”

Harry heartily laughed at Draco’s unhinged jaw, “Mornin’ Blaise! Not yet, but he was close. Had a good night?”

“Sure did! One of the best ones I’ve ever had,” Blaise’s eyes were sparkling mischievously, “as if somebody enchanted me. Naughty, naughty. I hope it was worth it.”

Luckily, Draco and Neville hadn’t caught on to the last part, Draco because he had spilled egg all over his robes and Neville because he had been laughing at the blonde. Harry used the turmoil to address Blaise, “You’ll see.”

The dark-skinned boy’s lips curved upwards before turning to his empty plate. For the moment, Harry felt relieved. But how had Blaise known about his little sleeping charm?

“He’s probably a magic-sensitive,” Tom guessed, “you can talk to him later. Ever since meeting him on the train, I’ve wondered. The way he said you weren’t as golden as everybody believes you to be… Magic-sensitivity would explain that.”

Just another thing on his very long list of things that needed to be addressed. So far, Blaise hadn’t said anything and there were far greater things to worry about. But first, there would be a show to enjoy.

Twenty minutes later, the first Gryffindor finally burst into the hall. The tall fifth year immediately made her way to the Ravenclaw table, dragging a trail of mud behind her. Her face was flushed with excitement despite her soaked robes that were covered in mud, “Penelope, you won’t believe what’s happening on the seventh-floor corridor! There’s a swamp! A bloody swamp! Just outside the corridor with that enormous gargoyle!”

By that point, every pair of eyes in the Great Hall was glued on her.

“A swamp?” a sixth year Hufflepuff exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yeah, a swamp!” the Gryffindor confirmed, “it stretches the entire corridor and is at least a metre deep! If you don’t believe me, just go up there and see for yourself! The Headmaster is currently there trying to remove it!”

Conversations erupted in the hall, as people began to speculate. Some even stood up and left the hall to see for themselves. Among them was Professor McGonagall. Severus on the other hand, met his eyes, one eyebrow raised in question. He wasn’t angry though, quite the opposite. His lips were slightly curled, an indication that he was clearly amused - especially by the location of the swamp. It spanned the entire corridor on which the entrance to the Headmaster’s office was located. At the same time, the corridor served as the shortest connection between Gryffindor Tower and the rest of the school. There was another route, but it was much longer and thus rarely used by the residents of the lion’s den.

Meanwhile, Draco had finally managed to fully shake off his tiredness and was trying to drag Neville up to the swamp, “Come on, Neville! Just image Weasley falling into the swamp! Or Granger! I bet it will take ages to wash the mud out of her hair!”

In the end, Neville agreed to accompany Draco, although both Harry and Blaise declined to join them. Once the duo had left, Harry felt Blaise’s calculated gaze resting on him. The dark-skinned Slytherin looked him directly in the eyes, “I wouldn’t have taken you for a prankster, Potter. Does that little Sleeping Charm have anything to do with your little stroll in the moonlight?”

“Maybe,” Harry answered, his face blank and his eyes filled with innocence.

Blaise snorted and then whispered quietly, “I’m looking forward to seeing whatever you’ve planned next. Just next time don’t put me under a Sleeping Charm. I won’t snitch.”

“Sorry, Blaise. It won’t happen again,” Harry apologized quietly, “but I can’t help but wonder on how you know?”

Blaise’s smile was all teeth, “Oh, Harry, I think you already know the answer. Just like you knew that Neville’s wand wasn’t compatible with his core, I’ve known that you are not the golden boy heralded by the media. Your magic gives you away. As does your true self if you allow yourself to lower your masks. Not that I would ever talk and reveal this little piece of information.”

“Thanks, Blaise!” Harry grinned, “I really appreciate it!”

With that, both boys returned to their breakfast, ignoring the arrival of several mud-covered Gryffindors. While Harry was scooping up the remainder of his scrambled eggs, Tom purred, “And that, my dear Harry, is the difference between Slytherins and the other three houses. Blaise won’t reveal your secret because he trusts that you won’t reveal his. He trusts you with his secret. Not many Witches or Wizards would reveal that they are sensitive to magic, although he didn’t say so in many words. It’s a closely guarded secret. But he revealed his secret to you, because you possess the gift as well, and because you are a fellow Slytherin. He wouldn’t have revealed that secret to somebody outside our house.”

“Tom, do you think there are others like us currently here at Hogwarts?”

“Harry, don’t worry too much. The gift is extremely rare and only connected to a few families, none of which currently have children at this school, except for the Zabini family.”

The next day, the swamp had sadly disappeared. Not that it was Dumbledore’s doing. The muggle-loving co*ckwomble and the majority of the staff had tried to remove the swamp for most of the day. They had tried to vanish the swamp, draining it, and transforming it. Dumbledore had spent most of the afternoon trying to locate the magical anchors of the swamp. Without success. The master manipulator and his staff had finally admitted defeat shortly before dinner. Filch had been tasked to transport the students with a small barge. The staff announced the continuation of their effort for the next day. But by then, the swamp had already disappeared. But not for too long.

Harry smiled to himself as the Headmaster announced that the problem on the seventh-floor corridor had been dealt with. He would be in for a surprise. The swamp would make a return. Not one, but many. It was charmed to appear and disappear at random intervals. Harry guessed it would make a return later next week. The best part was that Dumbledore would have a hard if not impossible time removing it. The swamp’s anchors were expertly hidden. The placement of the anchors was rather unconventional, with them being placed under the gargoyle and behind several paintings. On top of that, the anchors were further obscured by chameleon runes. Both Harry and Tom doubted that anyone would ever manage to locate the anchors.

Just as he was about to exit the hall, an older Gryffindor handed him a note. Harry frowned at the familiar handwriting. The old goat had just invited him to tea.

Later that day, Harry reluctantly made his way up to the Headmaster’s office, dragging his feet up the many stairs until he finally reached the seventh-floor corridor with the gargoyle. Carefully concealing his emotions, he passed the many portraits. It just wouldn’t do bursting into laughter at the sight of the corridor and the memories of the swamp. Easier said than done since Harry wanted nothing more than to join Tom’s hearty laugh. Instead, he tried his best to ignore the amused Dark Lord and headed for the gargoyle. After quietly uttering the password, ‘Nutter Butter’, the gargoyle began to move. Harry quickly climbed up the stairs. Moments later, he found himself opposite a large oaken double-door. Knocking only once, Harry gleefully waited for the response, being well aware that the Headmaster preferred to answer after two knocks. When it became clear that Harry would not knock again, a slightly irritated Dumbledore finally told him to enter.

“Ahhh, Harry, my boy,” the ever-present twinkle of the old goat lover was already driving him crazy. He gestured towards one of the leather wingback chairs in front of his massive desk covered with a wild array of magical trinkets, “I’m glad that you made it. Tea? Lemon drops?”

“No, thank you, sir. I’m afraid I’m not too fond of these particular sweets,” Harry tried to answer as politely as possible given the situation, “I wouldn’t oppose a tea though.”

He quickly took a seat. Harry let his gaze wander around the office as the senile old fool busied himself with the tea. The goat-loving coot was probably spiking the tea or applying Compulsion charms. Only everything he tried would be in vein. Dumbledore would be in one hell of a surprise since the Disillusioned Heir ring on Harry’s right ring finger would protect him from most controlling charms and other magical influences like potions. Not that the deranged Headmaster would know.

While the Headmaster continued to prepare the tea, Harry resumed his study of the office. The walls were covered with portraits of former headmasters. Quite a few frames were empty. This didn’t surprise Harry since many Headmasters possessed more than just one frame. Some of those present were sleeping, while others were observing him with interest. But only one caught his eye. Harry narrowed his eyes at the wizard who continued to feign sleep. His hair was dark as night, with thin dark eyebrows. His delicate yet sharp facial bone structure screamed pureblood. To top it all, his appearance was finished by a pointed beard streaked with a few silvery strands of hair.

“Phineas Nigellus Black,” Tom helpfully pointed out, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes a liking to you. He was one of the smartest and most cunning Headmasters Hogwarts has ever seen. A Slytherin to the core, just like you and me. I wonder what he thinks about the twinkling old geezer and his scheming.”

Instead of replying, Harry respectfully lowered his head towards the former Slytherin Headmaster. The wizard froze in his feigned slumber, not having expected to be uncovered. Especially not so soon. His dark eyes twitched comically before fixating on Harry, his gaze turning more calculating. Seemingly liking what was in front of him, his lips curled into a sharp smile before pointing towards the current Headmaster. The gesture was a silent warning. Harry silently thanked Phineas, who then continued to feign sleep. He would properly thank the former Headmaster at a later point.

His eyes wandered over the strange assortment of magical instruments on spindle-legged tables, some of them whirring or emitting smoke. He could identify several Dark Detectors, magical surveillance devices that could be keyed to specific Witches or Wizards and a Foe Glass, which luckily didn’t show Tom despite his presence in the Headmaster’s office. He could also spot a Pensive inside a half-open cupboard which was also filled with books, Dark Arts books. The books had probably been removed from the school library. In a shelf behind the enormous, clawfoot desk he spotted the Sorting Hat.

But what caught his attention the most, was the large, crimson bird on a perch on the right side of the desk. The bird was roughly the size of a swan, his claws and beak gleaming golden. His sad, black eyes were pinned on Harry who couldn’t help but notice how sick and frail the bird looked. Harry wondered how a regal and powerful creature like a phoenix could look so devastated. Covertly reaching out his magic, Harry narrowed his eyes as a wave of disgust flooded him. He now understood why the phoenix felt so miserable – the bond between the magnificent bird and the scheming Headmaster wasn’t natural. Instead, it had been forced upon the poor bird. No decent Witch or Wizard would ever force a bond upon an animal, especially not upon a magical creature so rare and cherished as a phoenix. This again showed how far Dumbledore would go, ignoring some of magic’s most sacred laws and customs.

But before Harry could think longer about the poor phoenix, the badly dressed master manipulator turned around, finally having finished with the tea, “Harry, my boy, here. Drink.”

In the back, Phineas Nigellus Black’s eyes shot open, bringing his hands up to warn him. Pretending like nothing had happened, Harry lifted the cup up to his lips. He could sense the Compulsions in the steaming-hot drink – loyalty keyed into Albus to-many-names Dumbledore, distrust into Slytherin and an overall desire to become a Gryffindor to make his parents proud. Not wanting to test what else was hidden in the tea, Harry simply vanished the majority of the drink without uttering a single word or using his wand. In the back, Phineas Nigellus Black looked impressed. Putting the saucer with the now half-empty cup of tea back on the desk, Harry returned his attention back on the Headmaster.

“Ahh, Harry, thank you for joining me for tea,” Dumbledore’s eyes were really annoying him with their trademark twinkle, “I couldn’t help but wonder how your first week at Hogwarts has been. Afterall, the magical world must seem strange to you, having grown up in the muggle world.”

Calling forth his finest acting skills, he graced the old coot with a blissful smile, “Great, sir! Nothing but great! It still feels like a dream. Everything’s so magical. The castle, the grounds, the dorms, the Great Hall… Everything! I really like my dormmates, the subjects, and magic itself! I cannot wait to learn everything! It’s the best thing that has ever happened to me! Like a dream has come true!”

Playing the role of an over-excited child to perfection, he slightly squirmed under the gaze of the headmaster and began to fumble with the hem of his shirt.

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore’s eyes, while not having lost their twinkle, turned slightly more calculating, “what about your dormmates? Are they nice to you? Do they treat you well? Do they accept you? You must excuse the questions of an old man, but there has never been a Potter in the House of Slytherin. In fact, both your parents were proud Gryffindors. The majority of the staff and myself are still surprised that you did not get sorted into the house of the lions.”

“But, sir,” Harry began, now meeting the Headmaster’s eyes directly, “I feel quite happy in Slytherin. I really like Draco and Neville. So far, everyone has been nothing but nice to me.”

While answering, Harry felt a slight pressure on his mental shields. But he had anticipated that. Instead of his barriers, he had false memories and emotions in place. He felt the old goat entering his surface thoughts. Usually, the area would be void of anything with only his impenetrable walls of Occlumency shields in place. But not now, Dumbledore won’t get a glance of the real Harry. He could feel the Headmaster scanning the projected false memories and emotions. Memories of a humble and happy boy who was nothing but thankful for finally having found friends in Slytherin. A boy who liked to learn and explore the magical world. And then, his presence was gone.

“So, Harry, are you truly happy in Slytherin?” Dumbledore asked, though slightly confused since none of his Compulsions seemed to have worked, “no second thoughts?”

Harry graced the old coot with a wide smile, “Absolutely not, sir. Is there anything else, Headmaster? I’m sure you have a lot on your calendar with all the new first-years. I don’t want to waste your precious time too much.”

This time, he had truly caught the Headmaster off-guard, “What do you mean, Harry?”

Harry squirmed slightly under the intense gaze of the old coot, “Well, I thought you would welcome every new student… I surely can’t be the only one, right?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer to that, so Harry continued with an innocent voice, “Then why again would you call me up here out of everyone? I’m not special… Sir, if you don’t mind, I should get going… I still have to finish my Potions essay. Professor Snape’s given us a lot of homework.”

It took Dumbledore a full five seconds to recover. Meanwhile, Phineas Nigellus Black was having a hard time controlling his laughter. He even gave Harry a thumbs-up. His performance must have truly been something special for the esteemed and pureblood Wizard to resort to such a plebeian gesture. Harry soaked it all up like a sponge. He and Tom would laugh about it later.

“Goodbye, Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore had somehow regained his twinkle, “I shall remind Severus to not overstrain you with homework.”

“Sir, it’s fine,” Harry replied, one hand on the door handle, “I hope your meetings with the remainder of my year mates is as pleasurable as ours. Goodbye, sir.”

Chapter 16: Flying and Duels

Chapter Text

Harry returned to the Slytherin common room half an hour later. It had taken him slightly longer to get back to the dungeons because he had to duck into some alcoves several times to quell his laughter. Both Harry and Tom were in an excellent mood. Tom was proud of Harry’s performance, they had played Dumbledore well. The goat-loving manipulator had been presented with a totally different and mostly wrong picture of his golden boy and was probably busy thinking about why his Compulsions hadn’t worked. He would most likely come to the conclusion that they hadn’t worked because Harry wasn’t doubting his choice of house and was indeed happy and content there, which could be the case with lighter Compulsion Charms. If they went totally against somebody’s personality or their wishes, they would be void. Dumbledore would probably stop attempting to change Harry’s house and search for other ways to manipulate him. He wouldn’t assume that the Compulsions hadn’t taken hold because of the Disillusioned Potter heir ring or that Harry had actually sensed the attempted manipulations. Tom couldn’t wait until the old goat lover would see Harry’s true face. But that was quite some time away. The memories from the tea with the Headmaster and his expression when the swamp would make a reappearance would do for now.

Harry entered the common room and joined his year mates who were doing their homework in front of the massive marble fireplace. He couldn’t help but notice how excited most of them, bar Neville, looked, “Did I miss something?”

Blaise snorted, “Did I miss something, he asks,” his eyes sparkling in amusem*nt, “of course, you did. Something really big! So big in fact, that dear Draco here hasn’t managed to complete a single sentence ever since they announced it almost an hour ago.”

“But it’s flying lessons, Blaise!” the blonde Malfoy heir whined in protest, pointing towards the black notice board, “come on! Admit it! We’ve all been waiting for the announcement! And now, it’s finally here!”

That explained the excitement among his peers and it also sparked Harry’s curiosity, “When does the first lesson take place?”

“On Thursday right after Charms,” Neville answered, though he looked rather nervous at the prospect of flying. It seemed like he had to have a word with the shy boy before the flying lesson.

“The only downside is that we will share the lessons with the Gryffindors yet again,” Theo spat while the girls nodded in agreement, “what is the Headmaster trying to achieve with this? Is he trying to further fuel the rivalry between us and the lions?”

“Of course he is,” Harry stated, rolling his eyes. The rest of his year mates suddenly stared at him. How could Dumbledore’s golden boy say something like this? Then again, he was nobody’s golden boy. Well, maybe Tom’s. But Tom hated bright and flashy colours. Maybe he should think of another name.

On Thursday afternoon, the first year Slytherins made their way down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. The week had been dragging on up until that point. Not much had happened. In Transfiguration, most students were still struggling to turn their matchstick into a needle. Binns was still droning on about Goblin Wars. Quirrell was still a stuttering mess. Herbology was still mildly interesting. Harry spent most of his lessons either doing his homework, helping Draco and Neville, reading his rather shady books, or conversing with Tom. The only deviation had been Potions on Wednesday where Severus once again had deducted points from Gryffindor because of Weasley’s abyssal essay. Potions was without doubt his favourite class.

Charms on the other hand wasn’t. Flitwick still had them practising the pronunciation of the Levitation Charm while also lecturing them on the theory behind the charm. To a certain degree, Harry could appreciate the teaching methods of the part-Goblin since teachers like McGonagall didn’t bother at all to explain the theory. Instead, she expected them to self-study on the magical theory. This wasn’t a problem for Harry but for many others it was. On top of that, it led to a great number of accidents. Seamus Finnegan for example had somehow managed to make his matchstick explode. Flitwick’s teaching methods were much safer, but at times seemed to drag on. Harry wondered if they would perform the Levitation Charms before Halloween.

He was more than glad to get his mind off of Charms. Especially since Granger’s attitude was driving him crazy. Tom had wanted to use that nice Tongue Binding Curse on her when she lectured Weasley for what seemed like the hundredth time on the pronunciation of the Charm. Granger had been lucky that the bell had been ringing just at that moment. Hopefully, flying would take his mind off of classes and Granger.

After a short walk, they reached a smooth lawn close to the Quidditch field on the opposite side of the grounds facing the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. Twenty broomsticks were lying in neat lines on the ground. Neville visibly paled at the sight.

“Neville, remember, confidence is the key,” Harry spoke soothingly, patting his shoulder, “trust yourself. You can do this! You won’t be the only one who was never flown before.”

Neville took a deep breath. By the time the Gryffindors arrived, he looked much calmer. Granger was busy reciting passages of a textbook about flying, while Weasley and his gang were openly glaring at the Slytherins.

Soon after, their teacher arrived. Madam Hooch had short grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. Much like Professor McGonagall, she was a strict woman and immediately started the lesson, “What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!”

Seconds later, the Slytherins and Gryffindors stood in two long lines opposite each other, each student had a broom near their feet. Harry inspected his with critical eyes. It was old and twigs stood out at odd angles. He had heard a lot of students complaining about the school brooms. Some of them apparently started to vibrate if you flew too high, while others flew slightly to the left. Madam Hooch then curtly instructed them on how to summon the broom. Around him, students started to call out ‘up’. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry silently summoned his broom and scanned those around him. Apparently, he was the only one who had managed to summon his broom at once. Granger’s broom simply rolled over on the ground. Weasley’s face was turning redder and redder the longer his old and battered broom refused to be summoned. Even Draco was struggling with his’. On his left, Neville was turning into a nervous wreck.

Turning to the shy boy, he spoke quietly, “Remember, Neville, confidence is the key.”

Just then, Draco managed to summon his broom. Neville gulped heavily. With determined eyes, he spoke, “Up!”

Much to everyone’s surprise, the broom obeyed. Neville even managed to catch his feisty, old broom. His success was overshadowed by Weasley though. His broom finally obeyed but not in the way the redhead had anticipated. He was hit square in the face, forcing Madam Hooch to magically stop the nose bleeding. Such a shame. Tom had hoped for a broken nose. Meanwhile, most students had managed to summon their brooms. Granger and a rather silly Gryffindor girl, Lavender Brown, were told to manually pick up their broom.

At last, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms and told them to lift off on, “Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –“

But Granger, nervous and eager to prove herself, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, girl!” she shouted, but Granger was shooting up vertically, at a surprising speed for an old school broom. Suddenly, the broom rolled to the right, making Granger lose her grip. She slipped sideways off her broom and fell. Harry’s eyes followed the know-it-all as she plummeted out of the sky, twenty to thirty feet he guessed. Harry wondered why Madam Hooch did nothing to stop her fall. Harry on the other hand wouldn’t risk exposure. With a thud and a nasty crack, Granger crashed on the ground. Madam Hooch hurried towards her. Moments later, it was declared that Granger’s arm was broken, and Madam Hooch would take her to the hospital wing. Up until her return, the remaining students were told to stay firmly on the ground and those ignoring her words would be expelled.

No sooner were they out of earshot when Draco burst into laughter, “Did you see her face, the great know-it-all?”

The Slytherins burst into laughter.

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Weasley snapped, “I’m sure you’re all words! Prove yourself! I’m sure I’d win a broom race against you! I hereby challenge you!”

Draco only laughed, “Weasley, unlike you, I don’t fancy being expelled. If you want to return to you bloodtraitor mummy, please, go ahead and mount your broom. I know that I can fly, but I can wait to show you until Madam Hooch is back.”

With that the Slytherins turned away to continued laughing about Granger. Weasley and the rest of the lions were seething. Luckily, Madam Hooch returned fifteen minutes later and the flying lesson continued. Finally, Harry was allowed to mount his broom. He kicked hard against the ground. He soared upwards. Air rushed through his hair and his robes whipped out behind him. Fierce joy rushed through him. This was almost as good as casting the Dark Arts. This was easy. This was wonderful and something that came natural to him. Even Tom seemed to be enjoying himself. Well, as much as Tom could enjoy flying. He much preferred to do it without a broom, but then again Harry’s emotions were so intoxicating that he could ignore that little detail.

“Is this your first time on a broom, Potter?” Malfoy shouted, approaching Harry on his broom.

“Yup,” Harry said popping the ‘p’, before falling into a vertical dive. He pulled up at the last second and shot back upwards. High up in the air, he scanned the area. Most students had managed to lift off by now. Although most were hovering only a few feet in the air, staying close to Madam Hooch.

After ten minutes, Madam Hooch called them back on the ground to separate them into groups. Those who had trouble mounting the broom, lifting off, staying in the air or controlling the broom, stayed with Madam Hooch. Meanwhile, those who could fly, were allowed on the Quidditch pitch. They were even allowed to play with a couple of Quaffles. Millicent and Rhea, the only girls allowed on the Quidditch pitch, promptly left with a Quaffle. Harry, Draco and Theo found themselves opposite of Weasley, Seamus Finnegan and Cory McLaggen.

“Well, Weasley, if you want to prove yourself, we could do this in a game of Quidditch. Three against three. No fixed keeper. Just Chasers,” Malfoy sneered at the redhead, “well, if you dare to accept the challenge.”

“I’ll knock you off your broom, Malfoy,” Weasley roared.

Moments later, they were in the air. Harry quickly shot towards Weasley to steal the Quaffle out of his hands. A tight corkscrew later, and he was on his way to the three hooped goal posts Mclaggen was guarding. Ducking an attack by Finnegan, he easily scored. This was great.

Twenty minutes later, the Gryffindors hadn’t scored a single goal and Weasley was boiling with anger. Theo was mostly guarding the Slytherin goals, while Harry and Draco were scoring goal after goal, getting more creative in their attacks the longer the game went on. The two of them worked well together. But best of all was that Tom was equally enjoying the game. He even warned Harry when somebody was approaching, or told him when to pass the Quaffle to Draco or Theo. Never in his life had Tom enjoyed flying with brooms. Being trapped inside Harry seemed to have changed that.

Tom was jerked out of his thoughts when Harry pulled into a step dive, following the Quaffle Weasley had just let go of. He caught up to it after roughly forty metres. He quickly headed back up, evading Weasley with a tight looping and passed the ball to Draco who was tailed by Finnegan. Harry let himself fall behind leaving Weasley in the illusion that Draco was leading this attack by himself. Harry laughed at the dumbstruck expression on the Gryffindor’s faces when the ball was passed back. A few quick passes and a sloth-roll later, and Draco scored.

A whistle made the six students turn to the ground, “Potter, Malfoy, get down here!”

Harry and Draco looked at each other, both shrugging their shoulders before heading to the ground. Once he was close enough, Harry was able to identify the one who had whistled – Marcus Flint, fifth year, Chaser and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Flint was tall and muscular; his tanned stern face spoke of many hours spent on the Quidditch pitch.

“That was some fantastic flying,” the fifth year remarked once Harry and Draco had landed, “some great harmony and tactics between the two of you. Some great potential. Surely this wasn’t your first time flying, right?”

“Well, I’ve flown before,” Draco began, “but it was Harry’s first time on a broom.”

Flint’s jaw dropped, “Seriously?”

Harry nodded his head, a bright smile on his face.

“Well,” Flint said, regaining his ability to speak, “if this was your first time on a broom, Potter, and your first time playing together with Malfoy, I’m curious what you’ll do with a bit of training. I’m going to speak with Professor Snape. I want to see you on Sunday. Here on the pitch for the try-outs.”

On Friday after lunch, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins headed for the dungeons. It was time for their favourite class – potions. Today would be a practical class. Severus informed them that they would be brewing a rather simple Fever Reducing Draught. Again, they would be working in pairs, which had been arranged by the potions master himself. Harry would have groaned when it was announced that he would be working with Granger who was still wearing a cast. Her bones had been mended but were still delicate and brittle. She would be useless with that arm, something which didn’t concern Harry. He was more concerned for her vitriolic gaze and her attitude. With a sigh, he let himself fall next to the bushy Gryffindor, who growled at him like a vicious cat. On the board, the instructions appeared. Moments later, the students scrambled towards the ingredients cupboard. Harry meanwhile remained seated.

“Aren’t you going to get the ingredients?” Granger scolded, “with this cast I can’t. The potion takes exactly two hours to brew. We won’t finish in time if you don’t move now!”

Harry simply raised an eyebrow, “I don’t want to get caught in that scramble. I will collect the ingredients once there is enough space…”

“But the potion takes two full…”

“Trust me. We will finish in time,” Harry said rolling his eyes, leaning back in his seat, waiting for the students to return to their seats. Granger meanwhile gazed at him angrily. She opened her mouth three times to get him to move, before Harry eventually stood up to gather the ingredients. But not the ones on the board. He would deviate from the official instructions quite a few times. The result would be almost the same, only that his potion would take less time to brew and would be slightly more potent.

“These aren’t enough scarabaeus beetles,” Granger shrieked, “the recipe requires seven and you only brought five.”

Ignoring her, Harry began to finely chop the valerian root, “I will only need five. We won’t be following the official instructions…”

“But…”

Lazily waving his wand at the brass cauldron, Harry magically cleaned it, filled it with distilled water and slowly brought it to a simmer before returning to his root, “if we follow the official instructions, we won’t finish in time. That’s why we’re taking a few shortcuts.”

“But that’s cheating!” Granger protested, “and all the things that could go wrong. I’ve read that some potions ingredients react badly with each other. That’s why it’s better to stay with the official…”

“Don’t worry,” Harry tried to calm her, adding the valerian root to the distilled water before starting to grind the dried scarabaeus beetles to a fine powder, “I know the theory.”

“But…”

“Miss Granger, keep your voice down,” Severus glared at her, “under normal circ*mstances I wouldn’t allow a student to deviate from the instructions, but Mr. Potter here indeed knows the theory behind potions. His superb essays proved that. A deep knowledge of the theory of potions allows you to brew freely – to substitute ingredients, to specify the potions to your needs, to take shortcuts, to combine them and to create something entirely new. I trust him to not create something poisonous or melting his cauldron. Since you obviously cannot work, I’ll ask you to let him brew in peace. Watch what he is doing and take notice of the ways he deviates from the official instructions. I hope you can do that, Miss Granger. If not, I’m afraid you’re disturbing the peace of my class.”

Granger kept quiet after the threat. Although she inhaled sharply every time Harry added an anti-clockwise stir, used moongrass instead of knotgrass, or squashed the mint to a paste before adding it. In the end, his potion changed to the desired colour, a light pink, long before any other pairing had reached the simmering stage. Granger stared at him with wide eyes as he lowered the heat and waited until the potion was ready to be bottled. Suddenly, a dark figure towered over their table, “Potter, that looks more than adequate. How many scarabaeus beetles did you add?”

“Five, sir,” Harry answered respectfully.

Severus lips twitched, “Now I see why you replaced the knotgrass with moongrass and added those anti-clockwise stirs. This should be more potent than the original recipe. Quite ingenious. Bottle and label it. I will thoroughly check this.”

Harry used the rest of the class to start with his homework. Granger meanwhile drilled him with questions. Harry was glad that the class would be over soon, and he would be free of Granger’s presence. At the end of the class, only Draco and Neville had managed to brew a complete and adequate potion. Severus had simply vanished the slimy brownish gunk on the bottom of Weasley’s cauldron. The rest of the class had bottled whatever they had managed to brew. Once they were released, Harry, Draco and Neville turned towards the direction of their common room, before a hand suddenly stopped Harry, “You think you are so clever! The smart and golden Potter! Yet I bet you’re nothing but smoke and mirrors!”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Weasley, what do want? It’s not my fault that you are useless and lazy.”

The redhead’s nostrils flared, “I want to challenge you to a Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. With seconds. Midnight in the trophy room. Do you accept or are you too afraid, Potter?”

Harry only laughed, “Midnight it is.”

Once they had left the vicinity of Weasley, Draco stopped him, “Are you crazy? I hope you do not plan on going. What if we’re caught? Uncle Sev will kill us!”

A Cheshire grin appeared on his face, “I will go. I’m not a coward. And don’t worry about your uncle. We won’t be caught. I wouldn’t be so sure about Weasley and his friends.”

Later that night, Blaise entered the first-year dorm, “I think you should go now. The prefects have just gone to bed.”

“Thanks, Blaise,” Harry said, putting his book on condensed matter physics back on his bed stand while also rising from his bed, “thanks again for providing an alibi.”

“Just don’t get caught,” the dark-skinned boy smiled.

“We won’t,” Harry smiled.

Five minutes later, Harry, Draco and Neville were ready to go. They were under strong Disillusionment Charms, their feet Charmed soundless and their scent covered. Under normal circ*mstances, they would not have been able to see each other, but luckily Tom had taught his protégé a few nifty variations of the Disillusionment Charm. Draco and Neville were both in awe of Harry’s spellcasting. They made their way out of the common room and up the trophy room undetected. When they arrived the Gryffindor’s were already there.

“Ron, this is stupid,” Granger’s shrieks echoed out of the trophy room, “what if they never come? What if they set you up? Think about what will happen when they catch you out in the school at such a late hour… Think about all the house points we could lose.”

But something else caught his attention. Ignoring the Gryffindors for now, he reached out his magic. Somebody had cast a strong Compulsion Charm on the door, which would latch itself specifically onto Harry when he would try to leave the trophy room. It would compel him to pass a certain forbidden third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. Interesting. He would definitely take a small detour on the way back to the dungeons.

“Shut up, Granger,” one of Weasley’s gang, probably McLaggen, replied, “it isn’t midnight yet.”

Lifting the Disillusionment Charms, Harry used that moment to enter, “Good evening! As if we would pass such a nice opportunity. Don’t you agree, Neville?”

Positioning himself behind Harry, the shy boy chuckled, “Of course not!”

“Before we start this,” Harry began, staring at the five Gryffindors in front of him, “Granger, I suggest you return to your common room if you don’t want to get caught. Weasley, who is your second? Mine is Draco.”

Weasley seemed to be caught off-guard for a couple of seconds, “I… I…”

“Come on,” Harry taunted, “do you choose Finnegan, Thomas, or McLaggen? Granger, if I were you, I would go now and pretend to have never been here.”

But she didn’t move. In the end, Weasley selected Seamus Finnegan as his second and the duel finally began. Harry knew that they had enough time. As of now, nobody was approaching the trophy room. His magic would alert him the second somebody would enter the sixth-food corridor where the trophy room was currently located on.

Weasley started the duel with a very poorly executed Leg Binding Curse, which Harry easily side-stepped, “Is that everything you’ve got, Weasley?”

As expected, Weasley exploded and started shooting random spells. Most were just ones they had learned during DADA or sparks. Nothing unexpected. Harry dodged most or used Shield Charms. Then, a rather vicious, but badly aimed Cutting Hex hit a coat of arms. The noise was ear-shattering and would attract Filch, or somebody else patrolling the halls. Weasley stopped in his movement. Harry used that moment to warn Granger, “I would leave now!”

This time, she listened and ran. Without further ado, Harry simply disarmed the four Gryffindors, snatching the wands out of thin air thanks to his quick reflexes. This was the first time he used an offensive spell during this rather pathetic duel. Sensing Filch approaching, he didn’t waste any time and fired off four Full Body Bind Curses. Each of them hitting home. Weasley and his friends would be in one hell of a trouble when they were discovered. Draco snickered when he realized what Harry had planned but was quickly silenced by Neville. Harry meanwhile disposed of the four wands by simply throwing them back towards their owners. After reapplying the Disillusionment Charms, the trio fled. While exiting the door, the Compulsion tried to take hold but failed miserably thanks to the Potter heir ring. They passed Filch and his fleabag of a cat in the corridor just outside the trophy room.

The caretaker was panting heavily, “Students out of bed! If I catch them, they will hang from the ceiling for a week, at least! Mrs. Norris, this time we will catch the miscreants!”

They ran and ran, passing several ghosts and teachers, yet none of them noticed the three Slytherins. Leading the way, Harry quickly got them out of danger. When they reached a certain third-floor corridor, Draco stopped him, “This isn’t the way we came, is it?”

Pulling them into an alcove and erecting some strong Anti-Eavesdropping and Silencing Charms, Harry quickly explained why they were taking a detour.

“A Compulsion Charm?” Draco asked incredulously.

“A… aren’t they i… illegal?”, Neville asked, his eyes open wide.

“Yup,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’, “they are. Not that they’ll work on me since I’ve got my Heir ring. But the headmaster doesn’t need to know. I’m just curious why he wants me to explore the corridor. Afterall, it’s probably forbidden for a reason. We’ll see.”

With that, they entered the forbidden third-floor corridor. Dust was heavy in the air casting the place in an eerie darkness. Cobwebs decorated the once shining suits of armour and the massive stone statues of sphinxes and other magical creatures. The corridor was void of paintings, but Harry noticed some strong monitoring charms. The charms would alert the Headmaster immediately if somebody entered this section of the castle. Their journey ended in front of an old, rugged locked ebon door.

“Is this it?” Draco sneered sarcastically, “a locked door?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry simply pointed his wand at the door. The lock clicked and the door sprang open. The three quickly entered, only to find themselves opposite a sleeping, gigantic three-headed dog – a Cerberus. Draco and Neville let out a high pitched scream jolting the Cerberus awake. The three heads of the dog looked confused at the noise but quickly came to their senses, trying to attack. Thanks to a few flicks of Harry’s wand, the Cerberus found something much more interesting – a mountain of meat.

“Would you please calm down,” Harry turned towards his two companions while the three heads started to eagerly devour the meat, “you don’t want to alarm Filch or the teachers.”

Draco stared at him like he was some sort of alien, “But there is a Cerberus in the school! A f*cking Cerberus! In a school full of children! If my father knew… What is Dumbledore thinking?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “No idea. Probably something along the line of lemon drops...”

He continued to watch the Cerberus. It truly was a sight to behold. Three pairs of rolling mad eyes, now thankfully glued on the meat; three twitching noses; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from sharp yellowish fangs. It was no wonder that these creatures had received a XXXXX rating from the Ministry of Magic. They could easily kill and devour a man. And the Cerberus would have done so, if Tom hadn’t taught Harry how to deal with most magical creatures. With a Cerberus, it was actually quite easy: feed them or play some music. The latter would cause the gigantic dog to fall asleep immediately.

Suddenly, Neville raised his voice and pointed at the dog, “Is that a trapdoor there?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Neville was right. There was indeed a trapdoor. How curious. Harry and Tom would definitely explore this mystery later.

“If you two are quite done,” Draco whined, “can we please get back down to the dungeons. I’ve had enough of duels and watching this dog.”

Chapter 17: Halloween

Chapter Text

“These last weeks have passed rather uneventfully,” Harry couldn’t help but remark to Tom as he made his way to the last lesson of the day, Charms. Today was October 31st - Samhain - yet another anniversary of the day Tom had killed his parents. Not that Harry minded since they had uncovered the truth. The duo was quite curious about the traditional Halloween feast which would take place later that evening. Tom wondered if there was any magical aspect of the sacred Wizarding holiday remaining or if it would be a purely Muggle affair. It would probably be the latter. While Harry took his usual seat in the front row, Tom couldn’t help but wonder about Harry’s words, “Actually, my dear Harry, the last weeks weren’t that uneventful. Just think about the weekends after your little duel.”

And he did. Last week, Professor Flitwick had promised that they would finally be starting with the practical aspects of the Levitation Charms. But for the first part of the lesson, they would only revise the wand movement and the pronunciation of the spell. Therefore, Harry had no problem thinking about Tom’s words.

The face of Weasley and his friends when they entered the Great Hall the morning after the duel in the trophy room was nothing but priceless. The combination of glaring at the Slytherin table and trying to ignore the angry glances and hisses of the fellow Gryffindors was quite amusing. Afterall, Gryffindor had lost over a hundred points that night and was now last in the House Cup. If the rumours were correct, the four first years had been assigned a total of three weeks’ worth of detention with Filch. Also, the swamp seemed to have made a surprise reappearance.

After breakfast, Harry wasn’t surprised when he along with Draco and Neville were called to Severus office. When the trio arrived, Severus and McGonagall were already present. According to McGonagall’s words, the Slytherins had apparently challenged the Gryffindors to the duel and not the other way around. The two teachers questioned them extensively. But in the end, nobody could prove anything. Afterall, Blaise, Theo and several older students swore that the trio had never left the Slytherin common room and their wands were found to be clear. No Disarming Charms or Full-Body-Bind Curses had been performed with the wands of the three Slytherins. It proved to be a good thing that Harry had used his unregistered Alder wand instead of the Blackthorn wand he had purchased at Ollivander’s. In the end, the trio could go free of charge.

The next day, Harry and Draco made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. The blond Malfoy heir was nervous and constantly muttering about returning to their dorm to get his illegal racing broom. Harry told him that this was a bad idea since everybody would only think that the broom was the only reason the blonde had made it on the team and not his superb flying skills. It would be better if the two first years would use the school brooms like everybody else. They could buy or in Draco’s case use better brooms when they had successfully made it on the team.

In the end, neither had to worry. They easily made it on the team thanks to a few expertly executed plays and the fact they scored the most goals. Originally, Flint hadn’t been looking for new Chasers. Only for a new Beater. The former Chaser Cassius Warrington, a sixth year, would fill the position. To also make room for the two new Chasers, Adrian Pucey would replace Terence Higgs as Seeker. This early in the school year, Higgs, also a seventh year, was already struggling with his grades. Only Slytherins with consistently good grades were allowed to be on the team. Since it was apparent that Higgs was struggling, it was better to replace him early on. Overall, Harry and Draco were happy that both of them had made it on the team. Weasley’s obvious jealousy made it even better.

Later that night, Harry and Tom went exploring. Up in the forbidden third-floor corridor on the right-hand side, the pair easily evaded Dumbledore’s monitoring spells with a bit of wandless Parselmagic. The twinkling old geezer would never know that Harry and Tom had been there. Behind the formerly locked door, the massive three-headed dog was quite happy to see them again and greeted them enthusiastically, his massive tail waving. How a bit of meat could change such a vicious creature. After the Cerberus had eaten his fair share of meat, it even allowed Harry to pet the three heads. After a nice cuddling session, Harry had no problem opening the trapdoor and making his way down to whatever Dumbledore had placed there.

Harry easily evaded the Devil’s Snare with a simple Levicorpus Charm on himself. Of course, he hadn’t blindly jumped in the dark. Who would ever do something like that? Well, not a good little Slytherin like him. Dodging all the tendrils, he landed on top of a case of stairs at the edge of the plant. Without further ado, he headed deeper to the next level. There, he found himself opposite of another locked door. This time though, another simple Unlocking Charm wouldn’t do. If Harry understood the situation correctly, one was supposed to catch the correct flying key. What else could the brooms be for? Conveniently, the brooms were drenched with Surveillance Charms. Whoever had cast them, probably Dumbledore, would be alerted whenever a broom was mounted. With an inaudible sigh, Harry turned back to the door and tried to unlock it magically. With wandless magic and a bit of Parselmagic, the door swung open in no time. Harry used the same strategy to circumvent the massive Chess set in the next room. Because of the strong Disillusionment Charms on his person, the Mountain Troll in the next chamber could neither see nor smell him. Not enjoying the smell of the troll, Harry left that chamber quickly.

The next obstacle amused him. Once Harry had fully entered the chamber with Severus’ riddle, flames shot up. On a table in the middle of the room stood seven bottles of different shapes and sizes along with a piece of parchment covered with an elegant spidery script. It was a riddle. A very clever one and without question Severus’ doing. Ever teacher, with the exception of Sinistra, Babbling, Burbage, Trelawney and Vector had most likely been responsible for one obstacle to whatever Dumbledore was guarding at Hogwarts. Although neither Harry nor Tom would say that it had been particularly hard to pass said obstacles. Harry and Tom chose not to bother with the riddle. Again, the bottles were covered with Surveillance Charms and Tom had identified the enchanted fire. One could either pass the cursed fire with a specifically brewed potion or a well-applied, special Ice Charm.

Harry and Tom were quite disappointed when they reached the final chamber. It was empty. Nothing was there yet. Whatever the deranged Headmaster had taken out of Gringotts wasn’t there. Then again, Dumbledore wasn’t someone who kept his possessions out of sight. Whatever he wanted to achieve with this obstacle course, probably testing his golden boy, would only happen once the twinkling coot was sure that Harry would indeed go down there. More puzzle pieces would be thrown at them, before the content of the emptied vault would be placed down there. Until then, Harry and Tom would keep their eyes open. They would return whenever the old goat decided to place the contents of the vault down there.

“I told you the last weeks weren’t that interesting,” Harry said, bringing Tom out of his thoughts while Flitwick was once again demonstrating the proper wand movement for the Levitation Charm.

“Oh, Harry,” Tom purred, “what about our little strolls in the moonlight and those naughty twins?”

A week after the midnight duel, Harry and Tom were out of bed once again. It was already past midnight when they arrived at the library. They quickly passed the many shelves that were accessible for the general population and headed for the Restricted Section. Both were curious with how many and what kind of books the senile twinkling geezer had removed since Tom’s days at the magical school. Entering and circumventing the safety measures was easy. It was almost laughable. They had been browsing the Restricted Section for roughly forty minutes, when they felt somebody approaching. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a teacher. Neither Filch nor his damned fleabag. No. Two students had just entered the library.

Harry quickly put the borderline Dark Arts book, one of the few he had found, back in its place on the shelf. He quickly reactivated the Anti-Theft Charm that would alert the librarian when a student tried to remove a book. Usually with an ear-piercing scream. After having made sure that the Disillusionment Charms were still firmly in place, Harry quickly left the library. Since their stay there had been cut short, Tom and Harry decided to pay a short visit to the Chamber of Secrets to check up on the Basilisk.

Taking a few shortcuts and secret passages, they quickly headed towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. But their plan was shot to bits when the two realized that the two students, who turned out to be the Weasley twins, kept following them. But how? What followed was a weird game of cat and mouse. After almost two hours, they still hadn’t managed to shake off the two menaces. Admitting defeat, they retreated to the dungeons, surprisingly losing the twins on the way.

The next few days, Harry and Tom watched the ginger twins like hawks. At the same time, the two menaces seemed to have taken an odd interest into Harry’s comings and goings. The two kept following him, despite using secret passages or applying the strongest Anti-Tracking and Disillusionment Charms on himself. But then, the twins made a mistake.

While trying to escape the twins on his way down from the Astronomy tower a few nights later, Harry caught glance of an old parchment one of the twins was holding. Over the next couple of days, he frequently caught them studying that particular sheet of parchment. A few days later even during dinner in the Great Hall.

‘Now or never’, Harry thought to himself while passing the Gryffindor table, reaching out his magic while also getting a good glance at the parchment. What he felt, surprised him. The parchment, whose magical signature was now stored in his brain, was somehow linked to the wards of the castle and had strong monitoring and tracking spells on it.

“A map!” Tom suddenly gasped, having felt the magic on the parchment, too, “a map of the castle. That’s how they’ve been able to follow us! Look at all the dots on there – with names! What if my name is on there?”

sh*t! What if they had been discovered? Then again, most people wouldn’t be able to connect the name Tom Marvolo Riddle to the Dark Lord. Still, if they really had been discovered and the twins would tell Dumbledore, they’d be in deep trouble. There were only a few ways of finding out, but Harry refrained from stealing the map or invading the twins’ minds with Legilimency. This meant, he had to access the wards directly.

A few days later, he found himself in an abandoned section of the castle deep inside the dungeons. Tonight, the twins wouldn’t follow him thanks to the Sleeping Draught that had mysteriously found its way into their dinner. Not that he had put it there himself. It was much easier using the House Elves, who had been only too happy to help the ‘Great Harry Potter’. Breathing in the thick and dusty air, Harry wondered when this part of the dungeons had last been accessed by another human being. Tom had once stood at the same spot. But that had been nearly fifty years ago. Maybe somebody else had stood in this very room, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

Without further ado, Harry pressed his magic against a specific stone in the wall. He could feel the magic of the castle thrumming behind the very stone. This was one of the very few points within the castle to access its magical anchors and probably the only one that the deranged Headmaster wasn’t aware of. Suddenly, the protection on the castle’s magic disappeared. He had been granted access, which wasn’t a surprise since the castle had recognized him as a founder’s heir.

Tom couldn’t help but notice that the castle’s wards and magic overall felt weaker. What had Dumbledore done to the castle? Nothing good probably. The wards were outdated and weren’t replenished properly. But they currently had other things to worry about. Stretching out their magic further, the duo began to look for a certain magical signature. In the end, they had found the magic that linked the map to the castle’s wards.

Being aware of the magic from the map, it didn’t take long to create a copy of the map. Luckily, Tom’s name didn’t appear on the map. Neither could explain it since the map even showed ghosts and Animagi. They discovered that Peter Pettigrew in his rat form had somehow ended up in the Gryffindor common room and was frequently in the presence of Ronald Weasley. For now, neither Tom nor Harry cared about Weasley’s secret roommate.

What they cared about was a way to disappear from the map. The answer was easy: Disconnect Harry from the magic of the Weasley’s map, which was rather easy if you knew how to access the wards. The looks on their faces the next time they tried to follow Harry would be priceless. Additionally, Tom and Harry had improved their version of the map. It could now trace certain individuals and keep track of the magic they used. Currently, it was tracking Dumbledore. It had been quite amusing but also shocking to learn about the frequency the old fool was using Compulsion Charms. Naughty, naughty! Also, a certain stuttering DADA professor seemed to be spending an awful lot of time in a certain forbidden corridor.

“Now I see why you think the last weeks were rather eventful,” Harry snickered, “I think the Weasley twins still aren’t over the fact they can’t track me anymore. And they can’t even tell anyone.”

“Levi-O-sa! Not Levi-o-SAR!” Granger once again lectured Weasley.

Harry rolled his eyes. If Granger repeated that one more time, her well-being wouldn’t be guaranteed. Harry just hoped that Flitwick would allow them to start with the Charm already.

Ten minutes later, his patience was rewarded as the small, merry professor finally told them it was time to try out the spell. At first, Harry only watched. All feathers firmly stayed on the ground. With the exception of Finnegan’s feather, which burst into flames after a few tries. Having had enough of the spectacle, he pulled out his wand and silently pointed it at his feather. Excited ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ accompanied the feather as it rose to the ceiling before landing in front of Professor Flitwick.

“Absolutely brilliant, Mr. Potter,” the merry professor exclaimed, “twenty points to Slytherin for this fantastic piece of magic.”

“But, Professor,” Granger shrieked, “Potter didn’t use the official spell!”

“Ms. Granger, there are many ways of making things float,” Professor Flitwick chirped enthusiastically, “but I must admit that I am curious. Mr. Potter, how did you do it? Would you like to demonstrate?”

Moments later, the feather was back in the air.

“Fantastic, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick applauded, “another ten points to Slytherin. Now, I would like a word with you. The rest please continue with the Charm.”

While everywhere around him had wands pointing at their feathers, Harry walked to the front. Professor Flitwick graced him with a serene smile, “That was quite an impressive piece of magic. In all my years at this school, no first year has ever quite surprised me like this. Now, tell me, Mr. Potter, why did you do it silently?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry returned the smile, “It just comes naturally to me. I don’t like using words to taint my magic. Doing it intuitively just feels right.”

“That’s fantastic!” Flitwick said cheerfully, “only very few Witches and Wizards are able to wield magic so naturally and intuitively. Mr. Potter, I’m very happy for you. Now, have you performed this piece of magic before?”

Slightly squirming under the part-Goblin’s gaze, Harry answered truthfully, “Actually yes…”

“Did it take you long to learn?” Professor Flitwick inquired.

“No, not really,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, “wielding magic seems to come easy to me.”

“Then I must apologize to you, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick spoke, sounding sincere and thus catching Harry off-guard, “I’m sorry if those last few weeks were rather boring for you. But having taught for all these years, I know how difficult this piece of magic is to most. Most students struggle greatly, since most aren’t in tune with their magic yet. Also, a slow approach divided into many small steps has proven to reduce the number of injuries significantly. You simply cannot imagine how many heavy tomes caused havoc during my first years teaching this spell. Now, how shall we continue? How far along are you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry then demonstrated a few variations of the Levitation Charm. He levitated a rather heavy, old table, followed by an increasing number of books. Professor Flitwick was speechless and even offered private tutoring. Harry politely declined, stating that he preferred to self-study. He would be allowed to work on his homework during class but also help others during practical phases.

By the end of the class, only Granger had managed to levitate her feather. As they walked out of class, Weasley angrily walked ahead, loudly complaining to McLaggen, his voice imitating Granger’s lecturing mode, “Levi-O-sa! Not Levi-o-SAR! No wonder she doesn’t have any friends! She’s bloody mental!”

Just then, Granger rushed past them, tears running down her face.

Draco turned to him, an incredulous look on his face, “Weasley’s got a point though.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry replied pointy, “He has. But he also has the empathy and tact of a troll.”

Later that day, the Slytherins made their way up to the Great Hall for the great Halloween feast. In the entrance hall, they overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender Brown that Granger was still crying in the girl’s toilet close to the Charms classroom and wanted to be left alone. Harry saw that Draco had a nasty comment on his lips, but the blonde stopped at the sight of the Great Hall.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling, while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles stutter. Dozens of massive jack-o’-lanterns were floating in the air, some almost reaching the size of small cars. Although there was nothing magical about the decoration or the feast itself with the pumpkins clearly being a Muggle thing. No blood oozing out of the walls. No bonfires. No enchanted skeletons. No traditional Samhain ritual to contact the dead. Nothing at all associated with Samhain, the holiest of the Pagan holidays. This was all Dumbledore’s doing. When Tom had still been at school, the old Pagan holidays had still been proudly celebrated. After decades of Dumbledore pulling the strings, there was nothing left of what had once been the pinnacle of Wizarding traditions and culture. Tom and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the feast consisted of nothing but sweets. At the Slytherin table, many seemed to share their thoughts. Many students of the old pureblood lines were openly displaying their disgust at the Muggle decoration, some of them even sneering at the jack-o’-lanterns.

“This is a joke!” Draco spat, though quietly, “father’s right with saying that Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to the school! Look at the pumpkins! What’s next? Are we supposed to dress up in some ridiculous outfits and go trick or treating? This is the first time I cannot celebrate the Samhain ritual. The first time in years, I won’t be able to see my grandfather. Just because we have to be nice to the muggles. We shouldn’t have to change our traditions. They should learn ours!”

“I agree,” Neville said to the surprise of everyone who was listening, “me and my Gran have always celebrated the holidays – the real ones of course. I will miss Samhain, although I could never talk to mum or dad…”

An awkward silence followed. Neville never spoke about his parents. Never. After a while, Draco cleared his throat audibly, “Ehhh… Well, I wish there was a way we could celebrate Samhain here, but father told me that the wards will register any attempt immediately since the Pagan rituals are now classified Dark. I wish there was a way…”

Just then, the Headmaster rose from his chair, silencing the hall. After one of his typical speeches, massive amounts of sugary treats and all sorts of Muggle candy appeared on the long house tables. Rolling his eyes, Harry quickly penned down a note for the House Elves.

Just when something edible had appeared, Professor Quirrell burst into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face, “Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.”

Everyone in the packed hall stared at the teacher as he sank on the floor in a dead faint. Immediately, the other three house tables erupted in panic. Much like the rest of his house, Harry watched the scene unfold. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of the old fool’s wand to bring silence. But instead of letting them stay in the safety of the Great Hall, they were sent to their dormitories escorted by their Prefects. A clever idea indeed, especially when your dormitories were located in the dungeons where said troll was supposed to be unleashed. Not that anybody other than the Slytherins seemed to care. Even Severus had vanished mysteriously along with Quirrell.

Following the Slytherin prefect, Gemma Farley, Harry got a look at the Gryffindor table and Weasley’s attempt to stuff as many sweets as possible in the pockets of his robe. He was about to roll his eyes, when an idea struck him – Granger was still in the girl’s bathroom and had no idea about the troll. To his surprise, Tom didn’t object when he ducked into a nearby alcove.

“What are you doing,” Draco asked, suddenly appearing next to his side along with Neville.

Fixating Draco with his eyes, Harry replied as calmly and reasonably as possible, “Granger doesn’t know about the troll.”

The expression on the blonde’s face was priceless as his jaw dropped. Neville, on the other hand, hadn’t lost his ability to speak, “But… why? She… she hasn’t been very nice to you.”

“No, she hasn’t. But I’d rather not have her come face to face with a troll,” Harry spoke with a shrug of his shoulders before laughing, “also, this could brush up my picture of the golden boy. Just think about how much our badly dressed headmaster will love me! He will shower me with lemon drops.”

This made his two friends snicker. Without further ado, he left the alcove hurrying towards the girl’s bathroom near the Charms classroom. When they were two turns shy of their destination, a foul stench crept into his nose, which could only mean that the troll was close. Following the smell, the trio just turned around the last corner when they saw the twelve feet tall creature entering the girl’s bathroom. Moments later, a high, petrified scream echoed out of the bathroom. Harry followed the troll without hesitation. A second later, he found himself opposite the tall, lumpy creature, which was holding a massive wooden club in its hand. Granger was cowering underneath a sink, luckily unharmed but still shrieking.

Then, the troll moved, shattering several bathroom stalls. Splinters of wood were sent flying everywhere. Remembering the first spell that came to mind, Harry flicked his wand that had just moments before slipped into his hand. The heavy club of the troll started to float. The small, beady eyes of troll followed the crude weapon, a confused expression on its small face. Another flick later, and the club fell. A gut-wrenching thud later, and the troll began to tumble, crashing into the remaining bathroom stalls.

After subtly reaching out his magic to make sure the troll indeed was unconscious, Harry hurried towards the shaking Gryffindor, “Are you okay, Granger?”

The bushy girl stared at him with large eyes, “I… Yes…”

Just then, McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell burst into the bathroom. Professor McGonagall appeared especially shaken by the sight in front of her, “What on earth were you thinking of?”

“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me,” Granger suddenly spoke, “I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

A vein on McGonagall’s forehead was throbbing dangerously as colour returned to her face, “Ms. Granger, that’s the most immature thing I have ever heard! I had such a high opinion of you. Detention…”

“But that’s not true,” Harry interjected, “Granger was hiding here because of a very unfortunate incident that happened after Charms. Weasley insulted her, affecting her badly. Ever since then, she’s been hiding here. I knew because I overheard Miss Patil telling Miss Brown just before the Halloween feast started.”

“Then why didn’t you get a teacher?” the usually so stoic professor was almost hysterical by that point.

Harry answered with a blank expression, “Because all the teachers had left the Great Hall by then. I wanted to get a teacher, but only the prefects were there. The prefects themselves were busy taking the students back to their common rooms and in Slytherin’s case, to a common room that is located in the dungeons – the very dungeons the troll was supposed to be in. I think it’s a good thing that we didn’t hesitate because the troll was just entering the girl’s bathroom with Miss Granger inside when we arrived. And we did incapacitate the troll, didn’t we?”

Granger’s jaw had dropped, and she was openly gaping at him. McGonagall stared at them for a long time, “Is that true, Miss Granger? Did Mister Weasley really bully you?”

Granger first didn’t react. McGonagall repeated her question. Only then did the bushy girl nod her head before a fresh stream of tears started running down her face. McGonagall sighed, “Miss Granger, I am very sorry. I… No points will be deducted. No detention for you. But I will talk to Mr. Weasley. His behaviour is unacceptable. I will accompany you to the common room. Severus, would you take your students to the dungeons?”

The lips of the Potions Master curled, “Minerva, haven’t you forgotten something? Despite their precipitous actions, my students managed to incapacitate a fully-grown mountain troll while also saving Miss Granger. Not many first years would be able to achieve such a marvellous task. Shouldn’t that be rewarded?”

For a second, the stern woman was at a loss of words, “Severus, but…”

The potions master only crooked an eyebrow, until McGonagall sighed, “Fine, ten points to Slytherin for sheer dumb luck.”

“Each,” Severus added pointy, “now follow me, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Longbottom. No need to repeat this little incident again.”

They quickly followed their Head of House out of the girl’s bathroom and down to the dungeons. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Severus was limping. Once Draco and Neville had entered the common room, Harry shot a questioning glance at the potions master, who quickly shook his head, “Not now. Tomorrow morning at seven. My office. Don’t be late.”

Chapter 18: Bookworms and Brooms

Chapter Text

At precisely seven o’clock in the morning, Harry stood in front of Severus’s office, he knocked twice. It took Severus considerably longer than usual to answer the door. Raising an eyebrow, Harry stared at the Potions Master’s leg. Without receiving an answer, he was quickly ushered inside, the dire man following him with a heavy limp.

“What happened to your leg?” Harry asked once they had entered the personal living quarters of Severus and strong Privacy Wards had been erected.

Obsidian eyes looked at him, “I immediately followed Quirrell last night and…”

His voice broke after that and a painful expression appeared on his face, “I cannot talk about it.”

A frown appeared on Harry’s face, “That vow again?”

Severus nodded in confirmation. At the beginning of the school year, Dumbledore had asked some of the teachers to help him guard something. That something obviously was the content of whatever had been in the Gringotts vault that had been broken into shortly after its removal. Those involved, had sworn a vow of secrecy. None could reveal any details regarding the item itself and its protection. Suddenly, Tom had an idea. Green eyes turned red, “Did you by any chance come across a certain three-headed dog?”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up, “You know about the beast?”

Smirking, Tom purred, “Of course! Harry and I have been down there. Whatever the old goat is trying to hide isn’t there yet. I know you can’t reveal anything, so I won’t ask more. Anyway, how is your leg? Do you want me to take a look at it? The only thing I want to know is why Quirrell would be interested in the content of the vault. Now, let me take a look at your leg.”

“This looks quite infected,” Harry said ten minutes later, looking up from the wound, “I know you used the standard Healing Balsams and Potions on this, but that dog isn’t an ordinary dog. Would you allow me to heal this properly? It might sting a bit, but I know what I’m doing.”

Eventually, Severus agreed. Harry first cleaned the wound magically and then tried to extract the remnants of the toxic dog saliva. Meanwhile, Severus told him that the Headmaster suspected that Quirrell was after whatever had been in the robbed Gringotts vault. After having returned from his sabbatical and accepting the DADA teaching position, Quirrell had been behaving strangely. Not just the stutter, which he hadn’t had before, but his whole demeanour and the way he dressed. According to Severus, Quirrell spent an awful amount of time close to the forbidden corridor. The exact same corridor where the Potions Master had found Quirrell last night trying to get past the three-headed dog. Dumbledore suspected that the professor was either working for the Dark Lord or being possessed by him.

Harry only shook his head once Severus had finished, “That’s just absurd. How is Tom supposed to possess that stuttering mess when he’s already residing in me? And Quirrell’s an idiot anyway. Tom would never lower himself to work with such an incompetent fool.”

Quirrell’s odd behaviour was just another point added to an increasingly long list of mysteries they had to investigate. Tom clearly had nothing to do with this. Was Quirrell working on his own? What are his ulterior motives? Was he really after the content of the vault? Or was there someone in the background pulling the strings?

Severus shrugged his shoulders before flinching, grinding his teeth as Harry was magically knitting the skin back together, “According to the Headmaster, the Dark side is on the rise again.”

Harry’s eyes met obsidian ones, eyebrows raised, “Does he have any proof?”

Severus only snorted in answer.

“I thought as much,” Harry chuckled, before turning back to the wound, “your leg should be fine now but will be delicate for the next couple of days. Please don’t try running a marathon.”

The Potions Master snorted again, “Hadn’t planned on it. Breakfast?”

Five minutes later, they were sitting opposite each other, a rich breakfast and steaming mugs between them. Severus had just placed his coffee back on the table, when he directly looked at Harry, “I’ve got a question for you: Why did you go after Granger last night? Afterall, I was clearly under the impression that you had taken a disliking to her and her overall attitude, which I agree, leaves much to be desired.”

Tilting his head to the side, Harry placed his mug back on the table, “You are correct. I’m not a big fan of her attitude and the way she treats those around her. But underneath her annoying façade she really is a smart and powerful witch – book-smart – but still very clever. She has great potential. Unfortunately, her know-it-all attitude, her sense of superiority and lack of understanding of the Wizarding world are in the way. A few pointers might push her in the right direction. I’m sure she’s going to confront me. I might help her see her faults. Anyway, I really overheard Patil speak to Brown and was there, after Charms when Weasley insulted her. I detest bullying, therefore Weasley deserves to be punished. Also, no student should come face to face with a fully-grown Mountain Troll. Just what is the Headmaster thinking allowing such a creature into a school full of children, while also allowing Quirrell’s schemes to continue? And I haven’t even talked about his abysmal teaching.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Severus inquired, sounding sincerely curious.

“I might point out some of her faults,” Harry said shrugging his shoulder, “but most of all, I’m just going to give her a few books so she can find them herself. But enough of Granger.”

The two turned back to their breakfast. It was a pleasant affair mostly spent in comfortable silence. Harry enjoyed this moment of peace before he would return to the noisy school. At least they had double potions today. Turning back to his scrambled eggs, he couldn’t help but notice how much better the food was. Laying down his cutlery, Harry sighed, “I think it’s time to go. I know it’s still early…”

“Do you have your textbooks with you, or do you need to return to your dormitory?” Severus suddenly asked.

Crooking an eyebrow, Harry simply pointed at his satchel. Severus’ lips twitched, “That’s good. Do you have a moment? I’ve wanted to show you something for quite some time now.”

A minute later, Harry was diving inside Severus’ memory of the first staff meeting of the year. The Potions Master had wanted to show him for quite some time but had never found the right moment. Suddenly, Harry found himself inside the staff room. Severus had just entered. With a frown on his face, the man took the last available seat next to the twinkling Headmaster. Smiling brightly, the barmy old coot started the meeting, “Ah, Severus, my boy, I’m glad that you are here. Now that we are finally complete, I think it’s time to start the meeting. Anything pressing you want to get off your chest?”

“The Weasley twins are suspiciously quiet,” McGonagall immediately spoke, a frown on her face, “I don’t trust this silence. I wonder what kind of prank they’re hatching. Just think about the fireworks they set off last year during the second week. The Great Hall smelt burnt for several days.”

In the end, it was agreed to keep an eye on the mischievous twins, before conversation turned towards the new first years. Flitwick and Sprout were delighted by their new protégés, while also stating that some students missed their parents or siblings terribly. Unsurprisingly, McGonagall had very little to say, before the attention of the teachers turned to the Head of Slytherin House.

“Severus,” Dumbledore spoke, his voice failing to hide his special interest in the latest batch of Slytherins, “how are the young snakes faring?”

“Well,” the dire man said pointedly.

Dumbledore’s twinkle increased in intensity, “My boy, that can’t be all.”

A deep frown appeared on the potions master’s face, “None of them suffer from homesickness and all are eager to study. No detentions and no disciplinary problems. I have nothing further to provide.”

“But Severus, I cannot help but wonder about the latest additions to your house,” the old goat-lover continued to drill, “especially not the two greatest sorting surprises since I started teaching here.”

“What about Potter,” Severus spat the name out like it was poison, “and Longbottom? They have easily blended in, they obey the school and house rules, and haven’t caught any negative attention.”

“I’m actually quite impressed with Mr. Longbottom,” Sprout was beaming with pride, “he’s a natural when it comes to Herbology. His understanding of the interaction between the different plants, soil types and the required length of sunlight is just lovely. He will thrive in the field of Herbology.”

“But what about Mr. Potter?” the old geezer inquired, clearly not interested in the Longbottom heir, “is he managing to keep up with the classes? Or is he struggling?”

“Struggling?” McGonagall coughed, “not the slightest. He is easily in the top of the year, at least in Transfigurations. His theoretical and practical work is flawless. He always gives the right answer, often underlaid with extra knowledge that speaks of an in-depth understanding of the subject. And so far, he has managed to perform all Transfigurations on the first try.”

One after another, each teacher, except Severus, confirmed this picture of Harry Potter, with Flitwick even stating that he had been considering to propose special tutoring to Harry since he had sensed that the Slytherin was rather underchallenged. The Headmaster looked slightly shocked, “Clearly, this must be a mistake. Are you sure that you aren’t talking about Miss Granger?”

“Clearly not, Headmaster,” Severus drawled, “Granger might be good, but Potter is better. Whereas Granger is reciting answers straight out of the textbook and manages to brew potions following the official instructions, Potter has a deep understanding of the subject, the interaction between the ingredients and different techniques. Unlike Granger, he is able to deviate from the recipes, shortening or even enhancing the brewing process.”

“You are allowing one of your students to deviate from the instructions?” McGonagall asked incredulously, “you never do that, Severus!”

Rolling his eyes, the dire man calmly met the eyes of the Deputy Headmistress, “I only allow those to brew freely who know what they are doing and are aware of the consequences of their doings. Most dunderheads simply aren’t. For the sake of everybody’s safety, they are thus forced to follow the official instructions.”

“A Potter with talent for potions?” Flitwick spoke in awe, “he must have inherited that from Lily.”

“No, he’s better than his mother ever was,” Severus snorted, carefully avoiding her name since it still hurt, “he will receive advanced Potions tutoring starting next Sunday. Every week. For three hours.”

At that point, Dumbledore almost lost control over his facial masks. Sadly, the memory turned blurry after that. The last thing he heard was somebody, presumably McGonagall, saying that the staff meeting shouldn’t revolve around one student and that they still had other urgent matters to discuss.

Harry was emitted back into the Potions Master’s personal quarters, a wide grin on his face.

“Entertaining?” Severus inquired, his obsidian eyes sparkling mischievously. Harry’s smile only grew wider. Sadly, he had classes to attend.

The next few days, he constantly felt Granger's eyes on him. Harry knew that the bushy hair witch had burning questions on her lips, questions she could only ask Harry. But so far, she hadn’t approached him. Probably because he was rarely alone since Draco and Neville usually accompanied him everywhere.

But today was different. It was Thursday and the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was only three days away. After the last class of the day, Charms, Draco had left for the Quidditch pitch to get some additional practise. Neville had a meeting scheduled with Professor Sprout to discuss additional tutoring. This left Harry alone for a few hours until Quidditch practise would start at six. Harry had decided to go to the library. But not because he had something urgent to research or homework to do. Granger loved spending every minute possible there. He wasn’t disappointed as he heard feet approaching ten minutes after he had settled down in a remote corner of the massive room.

Stopping in front of his table, Granger audibly cleared her throat, “Are you waiting for someone, or is this seat unoccupied?”

Granger seemed to be on her best manners today. Not looking up from his reading, Harry chuckled quietly, “No, Draco and Neville are busy. Be my guest.”

He heard Granger fishing in her bag for something until she finally pulled out her homework, “Are you also working on the Charms essay? We could work together.”

“No, already finished that during class,” Harry said, this time looking up into Granger’s wide eyes, “you know that. You kept watching me like a hawk during Charms. What do you really want, Granger?”

The bushy Gryffindor was biting her lip, squirming under his gaze, “Why… why did you come after me… You know… on Halloween? And why… why did you tell Professor McGonagall about Weasley?”

“I don’t like bullies and what Weasley did to you was bullying,” Harry said bluntly, “it wouldn’t have been fair for you to be punished. You wouldn’t have been there had it not been for Weasley’s bullying. And I came after you because somebody had to.”

“What do you mean?” Granger asked with big, tear-filled eyes.

“I’ve told the truth when I said that I overheard Patil and Brown in the entrance hall talking about you,” Harry spoke softly, “a lot of people, in fact all of your fellow Gryffindors knew that you were in that bathroom, yet none lifted a finger to try to warn you. Somebody had to do something; and luckily I did.”

The bushy hair witch flinched at the last remark, a tear rolling down her face, “But… but how did you know that… nobody would… that nobody would…”

Her voice broke after that. Harry leaned forward to pat her shoulder, “Sorry, Granger, if I’m talking rather bluntly. But to be honest, you aren’t the most popular. I haven’t seen you with a single person outside of class. You’re always alone, most of the time hiding in the library. In all those weeks at Hogwarts, haven’t you at least tried making friends?”

Granger was sobbing by that point, “They… they… would never listen to… to me…”

Just as Harry had expected, “I see. Honestly, I’m not surprised. None of the Gryffindor boys are interested in academics, their heads only revolving around sports – football for Thomas and Quidditch for the rest. The girls? While Lavender Brown and Eloise Midgen are mostly interested in beauty and girly things, Parvati Patil and Romilda Vane are relatively studious. Certainly not obsessed like you are, Granger, but they’re above average. Have you ever tried to talk to them?”

Granger looked up from her hands, her eyes red, “I… I did… I talked to them… But they… they never listen…”

“And why is that?” Harry asked, his voice bearing a mocking undertone, “is it because you talked to them like you talk to everybody else?”

A confused expression appeared on Granger’s face, “Wha… What do you mean?”

“Did you talk to them in your usual ‘know-it-all’ manner?” Harry’s voice turned more calculating, his head slightly tilted to the side observing the Gryffindor’s reaction to his words, “did you lecture them on the classes? On Hogwarts? On Magic itself? On the differences between the Magical and the Muggle world? On the superiority of the Muggle world as opposed to the stagnant Magical one? Now, did you?”

Granger stared at him incredulously, “How did you know?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry stated, refusing to be distracted, “did you?”

“Yes, but why…”

But Harry cut her short, “Do you even realize what you are doing? I suppose you’ve based your knowledge on the Magical world on the few texts you’ve read, beginner’s text mostly. This knowledge doesn’t even cover a fraction of the history, traditions and achievements of the Magical world. Our world is much older and much more complicated than you can imagine. But back to your dormmates. Out of the five girls, you are the only Muggle born. The other four are either Half-Bloods or Pureblood, all descendants of old and proud lines of Magic wielders. They’ve grown up in the Magical world – a world they’re genuinely proud of. With unrestricted access to the rich knowledge of magic, knowledge which is passed from generation to generation. Do you know, what’s the most important thing to the old Pureblood lines? It’s not money or their estates. It’s their family name. Along with the knowledge, history and achievements connected to it. Because of that, and the low birth rate within the Magical community, most old lines have become obsessed with persevering and passing down this ancient knowledge. Now you come into the picture, Granger. Let me ask you a question. How do they feel when a Muggle born like you waltzes into their world and starts insulting what’s most important to those who have grown up in the Magical world? How would you feel, if a Wizard or Witch came to you before you had become aware of Magic, declaring that the Muggle world and its traditions are barbaric and backwards? That’s how they feel. And since the current political climate is rather hostile towards critiques of Muggleborns, your dormmates stay quiet instead of addressing your lack of knowledge and manners. You will never be accepted among your peers or the Magical community if you do not try to understand their world – I’m not talking about adopting their views – simply understanding and respecting their point of view.”

With that, he ceased talking, observing Granger. Throughout his rant, her face had been through a rollercoaster of emotions, from being insulted, confused, to shock, and dawning understanding. Harry could see the wheels inside her head turning, her jaw slightly unhinged before it finally snapped shut. He could feel that she had come to a conclusion. Harry wasn’t surprised by her reaction as she pushed her chair back, “You won’t find the information in the library. But I could lend you this book.”

Under the critical eye of Granger, he reached for his satchel, pulling out an old tome. Granger snatched the book out of his hands, eagerly scanning the title before turning to Harry, “An Introduction to Magical History and Traditions by Iola Black. Where did you get this from?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “I bothered to ask when I was purchasing my books, having grown up in the Muggle world myself. According to the shop assistant, this book was required for every student who hadn’t grown up in the Magical world while Professor Dippet was still Headmaster. I don’t know why it was removed from the booklist afterwards. Anyway, it might be a bit outdated but still provides a good overview of the history and traditions of the Magical world. Trust me, it’s much better than Binns’ rant about Goblins.”

An outraged expression appeared on Granger’s face, “How can you say that about a teacher?”

Harry chuckled, “Everybody’s complaining about Binns. Come on, Granger, he failed to realize his own death and doesn’t care who’s sitting in front of him. All he does is rant about Goblin wars. He hasn’t done anything to explain anything remotely interesting and useful about the Magical world. Because of him, the Magical world only seems to be more impalpable to those unfamiliar with it. And don’t lie. I know you’ve thought the same. This on the other hand is much more useful. Read it and you’ll see. If you have any questions, ask. You know where to find me. You must excuse me now. Quidditch training is about to start.”

With that, he left a startled and speechless Hermione Granger behind.

Sunday morning, Harry had to drag Draco to the Great Hall. His face was paler than usual. The blonde was a bundle of nerves since he hadn’t slept much last night. At the sight of the rich and greasy food on the Slytherin table, he turned slightly green. Harry on the other hand wasn’t nervous and quickly sat down to pile his plate. He couldn’t wait to mount his new Nimbus 2000, to leave the ground and feel the cold air on his face.

After ten minutes, it became obvious that Draco wasn’t going to eat anything. Rolling his eyes, Harry filled the blonde’s plate with a few slices of toast. It wouldn’t be a good idea to play Quidditch on an empty stomach. At the end of breakfast, Draco still hadn’t eaten much but at least he wasn’t running on an empty stomach any more. Looking at his fellow Chaser, Harry grabbed his broom and stood up, “Time to go, Draco.”

They had just left the castle behind, when they heard hasty steps behind them, “Harry, wait!”

Both Harry and Draco turned around and watched as Granger raced after them. A sneer appeared on Draco’s face, “What do you want, Granger?”

Panting heavily, the Gryffindor stopped in front of them, “I… I just want to wish you good luck on your first Quidditch game… and… and thank you for the book, Harry. It has been very… enlightening. Maybe we could talk about it later.”

“Thanks, Granger,” Harry replied with a smile, “we will talk. Probably not today. I’ll be in the library on Tuesday. I’m sorry to cut the conversation short, but the game will start soon.”

Draco grilled him with questions until they finally reached the changing room. The blonde wasn’t pleased by Harry’s interest in the Muggleborn know-it-all but promised to not intervene. In the end, Flint delivered his impressive speech and the team entered the Quidditch pitch. They were welcomed by loud cheers from the Slytherin house, which was almost completely drowned by the loud booing from the three other houses. Afterall, Slytherin had won the House Cup the last few years in a row, ever since the legendary Charlie Weasley had left the school.

Flint and Oliver Wood, the captain and keeper of the Gryffindor team, shook hands under the careful eyes of Madam Hooch. A shrill whistle later, fourteen brooms shot in the air. Harry quickly chased after the Quaffle. He managed to get his hand on it fractions of a second before Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, could have. Shooting down into a steep dive, he managed to bypass two Bludgers and an attack from Angelina Johnson, another Chaser. He quickly passed the Quaffle to Draco, who was tailed by Alicia Spinnet. The blonde easily managed to outfly the Gryffindor Chaser, and continued to head for the Gryffindor goals. A few seconds later, he successfully scored the first goal. The Slytherin stand erupted into cheers.

Twenty minutes and some fantastic attacks later, the Slytherin team was leading 90 to 10. Their Chasers were simply too superior. Both Harry and Draco had performed quite a few high-risk manoeuvres, all of which had paid off. Johnson was still looking warily at him after the almost vertical dive he had pulled off. Also, the Weasley twins seemed to be at their wits ends. They had constantly tried to hit him with Bludgers, none of which had hit home. Some of them would have hit him if it hadn’t been for Tom who had always warned him at the last second. But nobody needed to know that.

Harry had just passed the Quaffle to Flint, when his broom suddenly jerked to the right. Narrowing his eyes at the disobedient broom, Harry tried to chase after the other Chasers. But his broom didn’t react. Instead, it continued to shake, rising higher in the process. The crowd underneath was pointing at him, screaming. Not caring about the noise, Harry continued to hold on. Focussing his magic on the broom, Harry felt the Dark Magic trying to get hold. Someone was cursing his broom. Following the foreign magic while also trying to hold onto the increasingly shaking Nimbus, his eyes landed on the teacher’s stand. Quirrell’s eyes were fixated on the broom while a few rows lower, Severus’ were equally glued on his Nimbus trying to counteract the Dark curse. But Harry would take care of the problem himself.

Focussing his own magic on the broom, he easily weakened Quirrell’s curse enough to regain a certain amount of control over his Nimbus. Gripping the handle tightly, he jerked it towards the teacher’s stand. Moments later, he crashed into several teachers, coincidentally knocking Quirrell out thus breaking his curse. Shouting a few excuses, he quickly jumped on his broom and set off again. He watched with glee as Quirrell was carried away on a stretcher. Tom even went as far as congratulating him on his great aim, making Harry snort before he chased after Spinnet.

Thirty minutes later, the Snitch finally made an appearance. But by then, Slytherin had expanded its lead. Gryffindor was now tailing behind 30 to 210. Harry’s trained eyes followed the two seekers. The Gryffindor seeker Cormac McLaggen, Rory McLaggen’s brother, had almost caught up to the Snitch which was heading in Harry’s direction. Stealing Warrington’s Beaters club, he quickly sent a Bludger in the seeker’s direction. With a satisfying crunch, the Bludger hit home allowing Adrian Pucey to catch up on the Snitch. Moments later, the Slytherin team had added another 150 points to their score.

The Slytherin stands erupted into ear-piercing cheers once more while McLaggen was transferred onto a stretcher to be transported to the Hospital Wing. It would be a busy day for Madam Pomfrey. And no matter what the Gryffindors said, Harry’s move hadn’t been a foul. Seekers could be targeted by Bludgers if they had spotted the Snitch and the rules didn’t explicitly deny any players the use the Beaters cubs.

Once he and Draco had changed out of their Quidditch robes and taken a shower, they met up with Neville to visit Hagrid – much to Draco’s annoyance, “I don’t understand why we have to go there.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry got hold of the blonde’s robe to drag him along, “I told you the stupid oaf invited me. Like you, I would much rather be in the common room to celebrate our victory, but I simply cannot shake off the thought that a certain headmaster wants me to visit his favourite pet giant. Just think about what the giant oaf is going to let slip next.”

That shut Draco and Neville down. After the incident with the three-headed dog, Harry had revealed a few of his secrets – overall not too important or juicy ones since neither Draco or Neville were that advanced in Occlumency to withstand an attack by the old goat - to the two, mostly concerning his suspicions of the headmaster and Quirrell. He had mostly explained his suspicion by the fact that Dumbledore had never checked on him during all those years at the Dursleys and the Compulsions he had sensed. Draco of course had shared his thoughts, which wasn’t a surprise concerning his upbringing. Neville’s thoughts on the other hand did. Augusta Longbottom had warned her only grandchild of the manipulative nature of the headmaster and told Neville to stay away from the man. Tom was impressed. Augusta Longbottom had always been a smart and cunning woman. How she didn’t end up in Slytherin still baffled him. Unlike her son and his wife, she had never openly declared her support for either side of the war. A clever decision if you considered what good it had done to Frank and Alice Longbottom. Dumbledore’s manipulation had painted the same target on their back as on the Potters’ – and Augusta seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

Twenty minutes later, they were all seated at Hagrid’s crudely crafted table, steaming cups of tea in front of them. They had been discussing the Quidditch match and just reached the topic of Harry’s broom. Putting his mug down, Neville stopped Hagrid’s rant about malfunctioning brooms, “It was Quirrell. Draco and I saw him. He was cursing Harry’s broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off Harry.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who hadn’t heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands before Harry had crashed into several of the teachers, “why would Quirrell do something like that?”

The trio looked at each other, wondering how to continue. Draco decided on the most direct approach, “We found out something about him on the night of Halloween. He tried to get past the three-headed dog but luckily Uncle Severus caught him. We think that he was trying to steal whatever the dog is guarding.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot, “How do you know ‘bout Fluffy?”

“Fluffy?” the blonde asked incredulously.

“Yeah – he’s mine – bought him off a Greek chap I met in a pub las’ year – I lend him to Dumbledore to guard the–“

Now this was getting interesting.

“Yes?” Harry inquired.

“Now, don’t ask me any more,” Hagrid said gruffly, “that’s top secret, that is.”

“But Quirrell tried to steal it!” Neville protested.

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid once more, “Quirrell’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”

“So why did he just try to kill Harry?” Draco cried out, obviously not impressed with Dumbledore’s favourite pet giant, “I know a curse when I see one, Hagrid. I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Quirrell wasn’t even blinking at all, I saw when I flew past the stands!”

What a clever move from the Malfoy heir, Tom thought. The gigantic oaf was shifting nervously under their gaze. Draco’s words had hit a soft spot without revealing too much. Of course, Lucius had educated his son on the Dark Arts and shown him curses. If one of his year mates would spot a Dark Curse, it would be Draco who was clever enough to lie about his source of information.

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid said hotly, “I don’t know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Quirrell wouldn’t try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh – yer meddlin’ on things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel –“

“Aha!” said Draco, “so there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

The giant oaf looked furious with himself and paled, “Shouldn’t have said that.”

“That was enlightening,” Neville remarked once they had left Hagrid’s archaic hut.

“Yes, it was,” Harry said quietly, and the Dark Lord couldn’t help but agree. Nicolas Flamel’s involvement could only mean one thing: The Philosopher’s Stone, the creation the legendary alchemist was most renowned for. Tom’s mind was spinning. He had known about the friendship and the joint research of Dumbledore and Flamel, known that they went a long way back. But to see Flamel somehow trust the old goat with the stone - his and his wife Perenelle’s life insurance since it was their source of immortality – surprised him. Over the years, many had tried to get their hands on the legendary stone, yet all had failed. The protection on the stone was said to be as legendary as the stone itself. Since the Horcruxes had ensured his immortality, Tom hadn’t cared much for the stone. Until now. The Philosopher’s Stone could ease his and Harry’s plans considerably. And if his assumptions were right, the old manipulative codger had just placed the very stone inside the school.

Kicking the grass, Draco suddenly lifted his voice, “Nicolas Flamel! I’ve heard that name before!”

“It sounds familiar,” Neville added, while staring at the nearing castle ahead, “but I can’t place it.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry said, “You’ve probably read it on the Chocolate Frog cards…”

But before he could continue, Draco exclaimed, “No, that’s impossible! I’ve got each and every card at home! All 573! And there isn’t one of Nicolas Flamel!”

Harry snorted, “Flamel might not have his own card, but he’s mentioned on one – on Dumbledore’s card actually. As far as I remember, the two of them have collaborated in the past. Something about Alchemy…”

“Alchemy?” Draco asked, his eyes were wide open while his brows seemed to disappear behind his hairline.

“Yup,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’, “Nicolas Flamel was born in 1326 and…”

“1326?!?” Draco exclaimed in disbelief, “that’s not possible!”

Rolling his eyes at the blonde’s antics, Harry sighed, “Would you please let me finish, Draco?”

“Sorry,” the blonde said sheepishly, carefully avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Anyway,” Harry continued his explanation, “Nicolas Flamel is renowned for his work in the fields of Alchemy. Together with Dumbledore, Flamel discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood, which was published a few years after the defeat of Gellert Grindelwald. But in contrast to Flamel’s greatest creation, this discovery almost seems to be insignificant.”

“What did he create?” Neville asked slightly breathlessly.

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry explained, his voice low, “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, the reason why Flamel and his wife are still alive. I believe that the stone is here at Hogwarts, guarded by that three-headed dog, Fluffy.”

“But why would Flamel willingly part with such a priceless object and allow it to be placed inside a school?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Draco, my dear,” Harry purred, a Cheshire grin on his face, “that’s the one million Galleon question.”

“And why would Professor Quirrell be after the stone?” Neville continued.

“Congratulations, Longbottom,” Harry said in a voice reminiscent of Severus Snape, “that’s the second one million Galleon question. And I intend to figure out both.”

Chapter 19: The Turban

Chapter Text

‘After the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, things have calmed down considerably,’ Harry mused while sitting in the library working on his Potions essay, thinking back on the last few weeks.

The Slytherins celebrated their victory well into the early morning, with quite a few of the older Slytherins getting a bit too excited with the Firewhisky. Many required potions to counter their massive hangover. The first years had been deeply amused by the spectacle. It wasn’t every day they got to see the heirs of old and proud pureblood lines reduced to whining teenagers. Severus seemed to be equally amused, although the Potions Master was hard to read if you did not know him well. Nevertheless, after a short speech about being more cautious when consuming alcohol, their Head of House had handed out the hangover potion.

The weeks after had been rather quiet. Classes had progressed at their usual snail’s pace. Ronald Weasley was being his usual charming self. The twins were still watching him, trying yet failing on following him, and Quirrell continued to behave strangely.

Professor McGonagall was still trying to uncover his permanent Transfiguration method and was being her usual stubborn self. According to Severus, the stern witch still hadn’t managed to transfigure his needle back into a matchstick. Despite that, she still insisted that Harry’s method wasn’t a permanent one, although she hadn’t spoken to Harry himself and asked him about his method. So far, she had only spoken to Severus who gladly kept him up to date with her investigation. In class, Harry still refused to use the official incantations. Instead, Professor McGonagall was confronted with more permanently transfigured objects she couldn’t explain. Overall, Professor McGonagall proved to be a source of continuous amusem*nt.

As was the swamp. It had roughly made a dozen or more reappearances. Because of the random nature of the reappearances, at least thirty students, most of them Gryffindors, and Mrs. Norris had fallen into the muddy depths of the swamp. It had taken Filch almost an entire day to get all the mud off his favourite feline. Sadly, a certain badly dressed manipulator hadn’t gotten his sparkling and awfully patterned robes muddy yet. But despite that, the swamp proved to be quite bothersome to the headmaster. The first few appearances, he had used Levitation Charms on himself to get out of his office since the swamp conveniently stretched the entire corridor the Headmaster’s office was located at. After that, Tom and Harry had decided to improve their creation and had added Anti-Levitation Charms to their contraption. Leaving his office had become much more bothersome for the esteemed Headmaster after that and resulted in several missed meals. Filch now was on constant alert should the swamp make a sudden appearance since his small barge seemed to be the only way to pass the swamp.

So far, Dumbledore had failed to remove it, but not for lack of trying. He had spent countless hours on said seventh-floor corridor trying to locate the swamp’s anchors. Without success. After its sixth reappearance, several Ministry Unspeakables had been called for assistance. Again, without success. After that, a handful of Gringotts’ finest Curse Breakers had tried their best. Once again, without success. Having monitored their spell crafting with the help of his map, Harry knew that the wizards were very good. But he was better. After all, Tom had taught him well.

Harry’s thoughts drifted to the two wizards who were currently monitored by his map. Apart from being busy with the swamp, Dumbledore seemed to be determined on putting the entire population of the castle under Compulsion Charms. The frequency in which the old coot used this particular piece of magic still baffled him. Sadly, Dumbledore hadn’t entered the forbidden third-floor corridor on the right-hand side yet. But when he did, the map would immediately alert him. So far, only Hagrid and Professor Sprout had set foot there. In fact, both were frequenting the corridor, the great oaf to feed his three-headed pet and the Herbology professor to tend to her murderous plant. Usually on Fridays during dinner.

Besides the occasional patrolling professors, prefects and Filch, the only other wizard to frequent the corridor was Quirrell. The stuttering professor seemed to spend an awful lot of time in the corridor but so far hadn’t managed to get past Fluffy. Certainly not for a lack of trying. But for whatever reason the man didn’t seem to be aware of the beast’s weaknesses. Which was odd, a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor like Quirrell was supposed to know his way around dangerous creatures. Creatures like the Cerberus on the third floor. It was quite peculiar.

Despite his fascination, some would say obsession, with the third-floor corridor and his surprising lack of knowledge, the man overall was behaving strangely. And rather suspiciously. Quirrell’s stutter was obviously fake and very annoying. In class, Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes whenever his name was called. This was especially tricky since the professor kept watching him. Both Draco and Neville had remarked that Quirrell seemed to be almost as obsessed with Harry as with the third-floor corridor. Besides that and a few visits to the Dark Forest, the professor seemed to be doing his best to keep under the radar.

Sighing, Harry turned back to his abandoned essay. Somewhere along his line of thoughts he had stopped writing. He had planned on confronting Quirrell but so far hadn’t found the perfect moment to do so.

“The time will come,” Tom broke the silence, his voice soft, “maybe it’s time for another stroll in the moonlight, don’t you think?”

“But is it a wise move?” Harry questioned the Dark Lord. “It wouldn’t do to be discovered this early on.”

“Harry, my dear,” Tom purred, “we won’t be discovered. Dumbledore and his idiotic pawns are no match for us, and neither is Quirrell. They won’t see us coming. And besides uncovering the secrets of that turban wearing idiot, we could improve the swamp even more.”

Chuckling under his breath, Harry turned back to his essay. Encouraged by Tom’s words, he was sure that they would uncover Quirrell’s secrets sooner than later. But for now, it was better to finish his homework. It was Friday evening and Severus had given them a lot of homework. Even Harry hadn’t managed to complete his essay in class, not because brewing had taken much of his time but rather because of the required length of the essay. Luckily, he was almost finished. Looking out of the window, he noticed it was already dark outside. A quick Tempus later, Harry frowned at the time. Just past five. It was getting dark too early for his taste. But the end of the year was approaching fast. Only four weeks until Yule. After that, the days would finally start to get longer.

But before he could continue to finish his essay, he heard footsteps approaching. This essay seemed to be cursed. In the back, Tom laughed heartily. Thanking his companion for his helpful support, Harry watched as Granger stopped in front of his table, looking rather nervously.

“May I share this table with you?” The bushy haired witch asked far more politely than usual.

“Sure,” Harry said, turning back to his homework. It wasn’t the first time that the Gryffindor joined him in the library. It had turned into a rather common occurrence since the troll incident and their first talk about the Wizarding world. So far, she hadn’t brought up the topic. Harry knew she was still busy researching.

“Potions?” Granger asked. Harry nodded silently, his quill scratching over the parchment the only sound. After a while, the Gryffindor sighed, “How far along are you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry continued to write, “Almost done… In fact, I just finished.”

Putting the quill down, he finally left the uncomfortable crouching position and stretched his arms and back, accompanied by the satisfying sound of several cracks. He then let his wand slip into his hand. Pointing his blackthorn wand at the essay, he silently cast a few spells on the parchment to magically dry the ink and make it impervious to any damage. Granger’s eyes were glued on him, “I have no idea how you manage to finish your homework so quickly. Honestly, it’s like magic.”

Both Tom and Harry chuckled at her words.

“How can you possibly be done with the essay?” Granger threw her hands up in defeat, “Snape’s been giving us a vicious week. Five feet? Isn’t that a bit much?”

“We can’t change it. He’s the teacher and has every right to be angry. Just how thick is Weasley really?” Harry asked, a frown on his face, “he kept ignoring Professor Snape’s orders thus endangering the entire class. Handling Fire Salamander blood is quite a delicate matter.”

“I still don’t get why he had to punish the entire class,” Granger sighed.

“Are you in detention right now?” Harry questioned, “no. Weasley is. I’m not trying to defend my Head of House, because this really is a lot of homework, but maybe some of us will be more careful when handling delicate ingredients.”

They stopped talking after that. Granger returned to her essay while Harry pulled out a book on the latest Muggle surveillance technologies that Tom was eager to read. He caught Granger scanning the title, but she remained quiet. The Gryffindor had stopped asking about his seemingly random selection of reading material, too baffled that he would read about nanobiology one day, then a book about Ward Weaving would be in his hands the next.

Twenty minutes of silence later, the witch finally cleared her throat, “I’m sorry to interrupt your reading, but can we… can we talk?”

After having marked the page with a wave of his hand, Harry closed the book much to the protest of Tom, “Alright, talk.”

The Gryffindor squirmed under his watchful gaze and started to fidget, “I’ve finished your book… It has explained a lot but has also given me a lot to think about…”

Lifting a single eyebrow, Harry began to fish for information, “And what conclusion did you reach?”

Slightly taken aback by his direct approach, Granger took a moment to consider her next words, “I… I might have been a bit rash and prejudiced in my judgment of the Wizarding world…”

“A bit?” Harry said mockingly, “isn’t that a slight understatement?”

Granger’s face turned red as she lowered her eyes, “More than a bit… I shouldn’t have acted the way I did… It was disrespectful… I know that the Purebloods aren’t that open either, but now I understand why… It’s because of people like me… What I did was rude, disrespectful and unjustified… I wish I wouldn’t have said the things I did… Because of my actions, I will never be… never be accepted…”

By this point, tears were running down her face.

Sighing, Harry silently conjured a handkerchief, handing it to the sobbing witch, “Don’t be too harsh with yourself…”

“But what I did,” the Gryffindor protested, failing to wipe the tears off her face with the handkerchief since her hands were trembling too much, “was inexcusable. I… I… I shouldn’t…”

Patting her shoulder, Harry spoke in a soft voice, “While your behaviour certainly wasn’t the best, you can’t blame yourself for your lack of information. You entered a new world, a world with foreign customs and traditions. I still have no idea why witches and wizards who did not grow up in the magical world – witches and wizards like us – are not provided with a sufficient amount of information before entering this world. Why was An Introduction to Magical History and Traditions removed from the booklist? Iola Black perfectly explains the basics about magical society in there. It’s just weird. Especially since the book isn’t available in the library. Or let me take this a step further: why is there a class on Muggle Studies when none is offered on the Magical society? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Granger finally looked up, a faint smile on her face, “It doesn’t… I only wish they’d make more of an effort to introduce us to their society. Then again, I can’t condemn them for being protective of their society after the way I behaved… This is far too complicated… I think I should return to less complicated matters for now and finish that potions essay. But I can’t thank you enough for providing me with the book. At least you made the effort, Harry.”

They returned to their respective task after that. An hour later, they parted without having spoken another word to each other. Granger leaving deep in thought.

The next Saturday, Harry finally managed to slip out of the common room unnoticed. It was finally time for the little stroll in the moonlight he had promised Tom. With the strong Disillusionment Charms he had cast on himself, it didn’t take them long to reach the second-floor corridor the Defence classroom was located on. Checking the time with a quick Tempus, Harry pulled out his map one last time. In the light of the full moon, he quickly spotted the dot with the name Quirinus Quirrell. The dot was currently making its way down the third-floor corridor leading towards the stairs, indicating that the stuttering professor had reached the end of his patrol and was heading back to his quarters.

This didn’t surprise Harry and Tom. The map kept recording Quirrell’s comings and goings. On Saturday nights, the man was usually on patrol duty. Normally, he would check the forbidden third-floor corridor on the right-hand side before retiring to his quarters around midnight. Some people were just too predictable. Silently cancelling the map, Harry put the map back in his pocket and waited.

A few minutes later, a purple turban came into view. The way he was constantly looking over his shoulders clearly underlined the nervous and rather tense frown plastered onto his face. The heavy bags under his eyes only added to the picture. Luckily, Quirrell walked past him and stopped in front of the DADA classroom. The stuttering professor quietly unlocked the door and entered. Harry managed to slip inside unnoticed, as Quirrell had been distracted by righting his turban. Once the turban was back in place, Harry silently followed Quirrell up the stairs to his office and private quarters.

Only this time, Harry wasn’t so lucky. Quirrell had unlocked and entered his personal quarters too quickly, and Harry had been too slow leaving him no other option but to draw his wand. With a quick flick of his unregistered alder wand the door that Quirrell had been about to close flew back. Quirrell’s eyes filled with panic as he hectically reached for his wand. Harry smirked as he caught the professor’s wand that he had wandlessly summoned the moment he had blasted the door open.

“Who are you?” Quirrell roared once he realized the absence of his wand, “show yourself!”

Ignoring Quirrell for now, Harry quickly entered the man’s personal quarters. Another flick at the professor had him completely immobilised and glued to an old, sturdy looking wing-back chair. Gemstones were quickly placed around the room to prevent the castle from detecting any illegal Dark magic while strong privacy and proximity wards flared up. Only once the room had been secured did Harry cancel the Disillusionment Charms, “Good evening, professor. I hope you had a nice patrol.”

With a wave of his hand, the Full-Body-Bind Curse lowered a bit to allow Quirrell to speak, “Potter, I should have known that it was you!”

“Really?” Harry chuckled while raising an eyebrow towards the professor, “you might have been a bit too obvious in class. Am I truly that interesting?”

“You will pay for this!” Quirrell spat, trying to fight against his magical binds.

“I highly doubt it,” Harry continued to laugh, “but I couldn’t help but notice the absence of your stutter, professor. Lost it in that room with the three-headed dog on the third floor?”

Quirrell’s jaw dropped, “How do you know…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry swiftly interrupted the professor while flicking his wand leisurely at the man, wanting to get to the point, “what matters is why you are after the Philosopher’s Stone. Now, tell me, Quirinus, and don’t leave anything out!”

Quirrell glared at him darkly at the blatant disrespect before his features glazed over as a Compelling Curse took over. The curse would force him to answer. It was a lot stronger than a simple Compulsion Charm, because of that, it was classified Dark and thus banned. It would send the caster straight to Azkaban, not that Harry cared since he did not plan on getting caught. He would have preferred to use Veritaserum but had opted to not involve Severus. The Compelling Curse would achieve almost the same result. Although it was mostly used as a weaker version of the Imperius Curse to control people like marionettes. It could also be used to force people to reveal the truth if you put enough magic behind the curse.

“I’m here to steal the stone for my master,” Quirrell started to ramble, “I want to join him. Serve him. Achieve great things at his side. To change the world forever. To rule forever. But then you came along, Potter. For a decade I have searched for him, then I finally found him in the forests of Albania. I’ve never felt more glorious in my life then when he told me to steal the stone for him. For my service, he has promised me immortality once his body is restored. I will make him proud once I manage to get past that blasted three-headed dog. Then I will present the Dark Lord with the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Harry’s brows shot up. While this certainly was an interesting story, there was just one minor fault, “Tom, he’s either your most avid fan and completely delusional, or somebody screwed with his mind. Or have you been roaming the forests of Albania lately without me noticing?”

“Funny,” was Tom’s short remark, “it certainly cannot have been me and neither of my Horcruxes with the exception of the diary, which is strong enough to influence a person like that. Since I doubt that Lucius managed to misplace that part of my soul, I sincerely doubt any part of me is involved. On the other hand, he has been in the presence of the Headmaster for a considerable length of time.”

Harry’s eyes swept over Quirrell who was oblivious to that short conversation. He frowned, “But he told the truth, Tom. The Curse would force him to tell nothing but the truth. He is either genuinely convinced that he really came across you in Albania or somebody made him believe that he met you.”

“My money is on the latter,” Tom swiftly replied, “just think about what Dumbledore did with Trelawney.”

“So, your money is on the old fool again?” Harry chuckled.

“Of course, it is,” Tom purred, “if I’m right, do I get to decide on the fate of my most devoted fan?”

“As long as you’re not aggravating that fake stutter, you can do whatever you want,” Harry sighed, “shall we uncover the truth?”

“And I thought you would never ask,” Tom purred.

Flicking his wand, Harry first forced Quirrell to meet his eyes before immerging into his mindscape, fragments of memories flashed past him. Locating Quirrell’s true motivation behind stealing the stone would be a lot more complicated than uncovering Trelawney’s true prophecy. Fishing for a single memory was easy. But piecing together somebody’s motives was something else entirely.

After some tense minutes of scanning random memories, they hadn’t come across anything. Tom suggested to start at the beginning. Why had Quirrell gone to Albania and why was he interested in Voldemort? It took a while, but finally they came across memories of a younger Quirinus Quirrell. A child suffering from a severe case of Dragon Pox, his parents crying by his bedside. The child overhearing a healer telling the parents that all hope was gone. That they had tried everything, but the ailment was too advanced. That they should prepare for the worst. The parents talking about a mysterious Dark Lord who had supposedly managed to conquer death while young Quirrell was drifting in and out of feverish dreams, fearing for his life.

What followed were memories of a young Ravenclaw, who almost died in a potion’s explosion and months spent in St Mungo’s with his parents urging him to be more careful. After that, Quirrell seemed to have developed an even deeper fear of death and a strong longing to strive for immortality. The next memories showed a slightly older Quirrell collecting newspaper articles of the Dark Lord. From what Harry could piece together, Quirrell had intended to join the Death Eaters once he had graduated from Hogwarts, but the Dark Lord had mysteriously vanished before the end of Quirrell’s seventh year.

What Harry and Tom observed next was nothing but strange.

Quirrell, who was the teacher for Muggle Studies, was patrolling the halls late at night when he overheard voices deep in the dungeons. Disillusioning himself, Quirrell was shown overhearing several Slytherin students talking about sightings of a dark spectre. According to one of the older girls, the daughter of a known Death Eater, it had been rumoured that the Dark Lord was residing in Albania. Quirrell then vanished without deducing points. The dark corridors of the dungeons then bled over to the clearing of a dark forest. Quirrell was kneeling in front of a dark, incorporeal shadow who was ordering the young man to steal the legendary Philosopher’s Stone. Both Tom and Harry frowned at the memory.

Much like Trelawney’s performance in the Hog’s Head, the last two memories were obviously fake. But unlike Trelawney, Quirrell wasn’t acting under the Imperius Curse. He had never been there. Although the memories were expertly crafted and Quirrell would never doubt them, there were small distortions and inconsistencies to the scenes of the dungeons and the Albanian forest. The noise in the castle and the way the trees moved in the back being the most obvious giveaways. But also, how time did not flow smoothly enough and the way the voices of those speaking were too clear. While these small faults would go unnoticed by most, a Master Legilimens like Tom would not be fooled. The question was, what had truly happened?

Much like with Trelawney, they found the answers buried deep in Quirrell’s subconsciousness.

The true memories showed Quirrell overhearing a conversation between Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, in which the Headmaster speculated that Voldemort was hiding deep in the ancient magical forests of Albania. But unlike the false memory, Quirrell had found himself in the company of an Albanian vampire prince who had intended to dine on the shaking Muggle Studies professor. In the end, Quirrell barely managed to escape, scared for his life. From what the two could tell, this life-threatening encounter only increased Quirrell’s fear of death. Since the vampire had promised to find Quirrell, it also led to the brilliant decision of wearing a turban stuffed with garlic. What a shame, that it was for naught. Afterall, vampires loved nothing more than the smell of garlic.

But they found more. Although it was hidden even deeper, and patchy at times. Somebody had tried to hide the memory instead of Obliviating it.

The memory showed Quirrell entering the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore welcomed the man with the purple turban with a warm smile: “Quirinus, my boy. How nice that you are back. Although I didn’t expect you to be back so early. How was Albania?”

While Quirrell began to spin the tale of the Albanian vampire prince, Tom noticed the Headmaster stiffening in his chair. Narrowing his incorporeal eyes, Tom observed Dumbledore secretly entering Quirrell’s mind.

“Is everything alright, Headmaster?” Quirrell suddenly asked.

A faint twitch of the eye was the only indication that Dumbledore had been caught by surprise, “Quirinus, tell me, did you find Lord Voldemort in Albania?”

The man with the turban was about to jump when a Body-Binding Curse hit him. What followed could only be described as patchy. But Tom and Harry understood enough. Quirrell’s mind was repeatedly entered and information was extracted, altered and rearranged. It all ended with Dumbledore telling a confused looking Quirrell, that it would be best to return to teaching for the next school year, although for the DADA position since he had gained so much practical experience in Albania. Dumbledore also told Quirrell that the Philosopher’s Stone would soon be transferred to the London Gringotts branch and that the best day to steal it would be the 31st of July, the day of the annual check-up of the bank’s wards. After that, a dizzy Quirrell was dismissed.

Having decided that he had seen enough, Harry pulled out of Quirrell’s mind. Staring at the barely conscious man with the purple turban, Harry couldn’t help but wonder, “Why would he not Obliviate the memories? I mean, that’s what I would do. I wouldn’t allow people like him or Trelawney running around with the truth buried inside their minds, no matter how deep the evidence is hidden.”

Taking a moment to contemplate, Tom finally answered, “I think in Trelawney’s case he didn’t want to mess with her Inner Eye. But Quirrell puzzles me as much as it puzzles you. I think it has to do with his approach. It’s much easier and smoother in the long term to work with real personality traits and motives. He mostly used Quirrell’s fear of death and his hopes that I would be the one granting him the gift of immortality and manipulated him from there on.”

“I think he has slightly overdone it,” Harry chuckled, “the way he turned Quirrell in a Voldemort fanboy is a bit too much.”

“I disagree,” Tom purred, “that way he’s much more motivated in finding the stone. Anyway, I’m not sure why Dumbledore didn’t erase the memory of the meeting. It’s careless. And unlike Trelawney, Obliviating just one memory while hiding others wouldn’t damage Quirrell too much if you are familiar with the charm. Maybe Dumbledore isn’t. Or he simply refrains from using it while thinking that burying the memories is enough. Who knows what’s going on in his head?”

Harry’s eyes hovered over the unconscious DADA professor, “What are we going to do with Quirrell? Should we undo the damage?”

“No, I don’t think that’s possible and it would only shed a bad light on us,” Tom answered, deep in thought, “and the fool’s been drinking unicorn blood ever since he returned to the castle. His life is doomed anyway.”

“Tom, what if we simply let him continue to go after the stone?” Harry suggested in his most sugary voice.

Raising a non-corporeal eyebrow, Tom interjected, “And then?”

A Cheshire grin suddenly graced Harry’s face, “I have plenty of ideas. But let’s Obliviate him first and then improve that lovely swamp. I will tell you on the way.”

“Of course you will, my dear,” Tom purred, already giddy with excitement.

Chapter 20: The Yule Ball

Chapter Text

After their meeting with Quirrell, time started to move quickly and soon, November faded into December. Cold creeped over the fields of Hogwarts, covering it in a fine dust of frost in the mornings until one day in mid-December when Hogwarts found itself covered in several feet of snow. The tree branches bowed down with the weight of the snow and the lake froze solid. White flecks floated down setting softly upon the students’ heads as many spent their time outside. The Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

A week before the start of the holidays, a regal white, yet exhausted looking owl had landed in front of Harry’s porridge. After removing the letter from her leg, he quickly fed her a few bits of bacon and spelled her dry. The owl hooted in contentment and after a while flew off, to rest in the owlery. Once the bird had left, Harry’s attention turned to the letter. But before he could inspect the impressive wax seal, Draco plopped down next to him, “So, I take it father finally sent you an invitation?”

Raising an eyebrow at the blonde, Harry turned his eyes back on to the expensive paper of the envelope and broke the wax seal proudly displaying the Malfoy family crest. After quickly scanning the official invitation to the Malfoy’s annual Yule ball, Harry looked up, “He did indeed invite me.”

“Please tell me that you intend on coming. Please,” Draco spoke eagerly, “I know that you intend on staying at Hogwarts, but Uncle Severus could take you out for the day. And Neville and all the others from our year will be there, too. You must attend! Please!”

Chuckling at the unusually childish behaviour, Harry quickly answered, “I’ll try my best to be there. I will talk to Professor Snape today after Potions.”

What Draco did not know was that he had already spoken to Severus a week prior. Their Head of House had collected the names of those who intended to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas or Yule break. Unsurprisingly, Harry’s name had been the only one. With a house full of Purebloods, it was hardly surprising. Back when Tom had been at Hogwarts, he had always been the sole Slytherin to stay at the school. Not that Harry cared to be alone. Instead, he looked forward to having the common room all to himself for two weeks. Two weeks to work on projects that were better kept from the eyes of the public.

After Severus had finished writing down his name, Harry had asked him about attending the traditional Yule ball at Malfoy Manor. Although Severus clearly wasn’t happy about attending any form of social gathering, he had promised to do everything in his power for Harry to travel to Malfoy Manor on Christmas Day. A couple of days prior, Severus had informed him that he had talked to the Headmaster and Dumbledore had grudgingly allowed Harry to leave the castle, but only in Severus’ company.

A week later, Harry found himself in the middle of a stream of students on their way to the train station in Hogsmeade. Although he wasn’t leaving the school, Harry had promised to accompany his friends to the train station. Everybody was wrapped in thick cloaks to protect them from the cold wind as they were walking through the snow. By the time they could see the red steam train, his teeth were chattering, and he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. Because of that, he quickly waved his friends a pleasant journey and made his way back to the castle while applying countless silent Warming Charms on himself without using his wand.

Once he had closed the massive entrance door behind him, he quickly made his way to the dungeons, ignoring the twelve massive Christmas trees in the hall. Much like Samhain, the Headmaster seemed keen on forgoing the traditional Yule decoration in favour of a much more Muggle-friendly Christmas decoration. Harry hoped there wouldn’t be a re-enactment of the birth of baby Jesus or Muggle-Christmas songs during the traditional feast.

After a quick detour to the kitchens, he finally entered the pleasantly quiet common room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Without further ado, he fetched his holiday assignments and started to work. It was better to get the homework out of the way as quickly as possible. Since he had already finished several of the essays, Harry was able to finish his last assignment, three feet on the characteristics of metal to wood transfigurations.

Since he had skipped lunch, Harry was slightly surprised by the state of the Great Hall. Since only a few more than twenty students had decided to stay at Hogwarts, mostly older Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs and much to his annoyance the four Weasleys, the four house tables had been removed in favour of one long table. When Harry sat down, Dumbledore at the head of the table was cheerfully trying to dish Professor McGonagall some suspiciously sweet looking Christmas pudding. While scanning the foods on the table, Harry only hoped that there would be at least some vegetables there. With Dumbledore so close, he didn’t dare asking the House Elves for something not purely consisting of starch and sugar. Luckily, he managed to find some green beans and a nice Shepherd’s Pie. After dinner, Harry quickly retired to the dungeons narrowly escaping the Weasley twins. He treated himself to a long and hot bath before going to bed early.

The next day, he awoke early. After completing his morning exercise and taking a quick shower, Harry headed for the Great Hall for breakfast. Besides him, only Severus and Professor McGonagall were there. After a quick and mostly quiet breakfast, he returned to the Slytherin common room and got out the notes he had been working on clandestinely. For the last few months now, Tom and Harry have tried to write down as much information as possible on an obscured resurrection ritual. With the help of his post box, several decoy vaults, a Potter house elf, and Ragnok, they had tried to gather as many Dark Arts books as possible that dealt with the problem of recreating a human body. They had accumulated quite a lot of information but so far, nothing suited Tom’s specific problem.

They would have to create the ritual themselves. It would be a complicated process. That was for sure. They would roughly base the ritual around an ancient Egyptian ritual, commonly known as the ‘Dark Trinity Ritual’ because of its three major components – bone of the father, flesh of the servant and either blood of the enemy or lover. Although not many people knew about this ritual and it was banned in Britain, it was one of the most potent and safe ways to recreate a human body. They would have to modify it though. Since the original ritual called for a Homunculus vessel, that had to contain the soul of the resurrected for a year in order to age and adapt to the body of the soul, it wouldn’t suit Tom’s requirements. And to be honest, neither did it please Harry. They simply weren’t in the position to extract Tom’s soul without harming Harry to initiate the creation of the Homunculus nor was Tom willing to spend a year in such a degrading state. They had to find a different solution.

Both of them wanted to achieve all the steps of the ritual in one night. Therefore, they had to integrate the extraction of Tom’s soul, the creation and shaping of Tom’s body all into one large ritual. What they knew so far was that they would need a powerful magical substance to boost things up. The easiest choice would be the Philosopher’s Stone. Sadly, Dumbledore hadn’t made a move yet. That’s why they would be looking into possible substitutes. They had briefly contemplated using unicorn blood but nicked the idea because of all the negative backlashes the magical substance would cause. Currently, Harry favoured Basilisk venom and Phoenix tears while Tom was thinking about an undiscovered thirteenth way of using dragon’s blood.

On top of that, they’d also need a powerful magical force to fuel the ritual. So far, Tom and Harry agreed that it would be the best idea for Harry to supply the ritual with magic. Magical, power-charged crystals would be used to support him while Severus and maybe a couple of other wizards would stabilise the ritual from the outside. Nevertheless, it would be complicated.

After having scanned all the notes, Harry started to write. He and Tom began with a rough sketch of all the different steps and components. They finished shortly before dinner. Harry stared at the long list of possible ingredients for the potion, a rough outline of the rune circle, an overview of the arithmantic equations and the sequence in which everything had to be executed. Sighing, Harry gathered all the sheets of parchment. He couldn’t risk them lying around, even if he was the only Slytherin staying at Hogwarts.

A few minutes later, he was on his way to the Great Hall, his stomach grumbling. His notes safely stored in his trunk. The trunk itself was protected with the strongest wards, mostly erected with Parselmagic. Nobody would be able to disable them. Even if somebody would manage this impossible feat, they would be in for one hell of surprise since the notes had been taken in Parselscript. After dinner, he quickly returned to his work.

The next few days passed in the same rhythm. Harry would start the day with his exercises, grab a quick breakfast, try to avoid the Weasleys twins, who kept following him, and would only interrupt his work for dinner and a few hours of sleep. But his hard work seemed to pay off. The ritual was slowly taking shape. And one night, he finally had a breakthrough.

Having worked late into the morning hours, Harry felt slightly disoriented when he was shaken out of his dreams by a dark figure. It took a moment until he realized that it was Severus who had woken him. Blinking at the potions master, Harry couldn’t help but wonder, “What are you doing here?”

“A House Elf came to me this morning, telling me that it came across you while trying to put your presents under the tree,” Severus drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I first didn’t believe it when it told me that you had fallen asleep in the middle of the common room. Seems like it spoke the truth. You have ink on your chin.”

Only then did Harry realize that he was indeed in the common room, not lying in his comfortable bed but on the floor his notes scattered around him. Suddenly, he caught sight of the Christmas tree and the pile of presents underneath it, “Severus, what day is it?”

“Christmas Day. Just how absorbed in your work have you been?” The potions master chuckled before quickly scanning the sheets of parchment on the floor, “what exactly are you working on? This clearly isn’t homework.”

“Oh, this,” Harry explained, pointing at the parchments covered in elegant Parselscript squiggles while a Cheshire grin suddenly appeared on his face, “is the first finished draft of the resurrection ritual.”

Severus’ jaw dropped, “You already finished it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’, “Tom and I finally had a breakthrough last night and continued until we finished. I must have fallen asleep on the spot. When is breakfast going to start?”

“In half an hour,” the potion master replied curtly.

Harry sighed, “I must have worked longer than I thought… Originally, I had planned to check the finished ritual before breakfast, but since I must have slept through my alarm, I won’t be able to do that if I want to take a quick shower.”

“Why don’t you taking that shower while I take a quick glance at the ritual,” Severus suggested.

Harry shrugged his shoulders after a moment, “A second opinion wouldn’t hurt.”

A flick of his wand later, and the Parselscript turned into English. Ignoring the mountain of presents for now, Harry headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later, he entered the common room, much more awake now. Severus was still scanning the massive pile of parchment; his eyes wide open, “Just how complicated is this ritual? And how much further does it go?”

“Roughly 70 sheets of parchment the last time I counted.”

Chuckling quietly, Harry sat down next to the potions master. Unsurprisingly, Severus was looking through the potion part of the ritual, “Basilisk venom, dark phoenix tears, dragon blood, unicorn hair, Runespoor eggs, Manticore venom and Chimaera mane? Are you out of your mind?”

“At times. But only when I’m busy conversing with a certain Dark Lord,” Harry laughed, “there are ways to gather the ingredients. But hopefully, this won’t be necessary. This is only the first draft of the ritual and we hope to simplify it. A certain powerful magical artefact would be a nice start. Right, Severus? Has Dumbledore still not made a move to place the stone?”

As Harry had anticipated, the potions master couldn’t answer. The vows he had sworn to protect the stone did not allow Severus to relay anything remotely connected to the stone. Instead, the potions master sighed, “We should head for breakfast soon. But before, I wanted to ask you if your dress robes for the ball have arrived yet?”

“They arrived weeks ago,” Harry said, while reaching for something in his pocket, “it’s a good thing you came down to wake me, not only to prevent me from missing breakfast. Here, I wanted to give this to you in person.”

With that, he handed Severus a small, neatly wrapped box. The potions master stared at him incredulously and raised an eyebrow as if this was the most surreal thing happening to him. Pushing the box forwards once more, Severus finally accepted the box. After staring at it for a few seconds, he finally began to unwrap it carefully. Once the wrapping paper had been removed, Severus eyed the box wearily until he finally removed the lid. His eyes growing comically wide the longer he stared at the contents of the box, “You can’t be serious!”

“The last time I checked, I wasn’t incarcerated in Azkaban,” Harry chuckled.

“That was the worst pun ever,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. He then finally took the shining jewellery out of its box. Harry watched Severus inspecting the intricate design on the cufflinks. It was one Harry had sketched himself: The Prince family crest inside a tiny cauldron. The Goblins had truly outdone themselves.

“I cannot accept this,” the potions master said, suddenly looking up, “I’m not worth…”

“Of course, you are,” Harry interrupted Severus, not accepting his rejection, “you are the last of the direct Prince line. It is your given right to wear the symbol of your ancestors. Now that you are the Lord of the most ancient and noble House Prince, you should start to show it. I won’t take the cufflinks back. Besides, I’m sure they’ll look brilliant on your black dress robes.”

Severus’ jaw snapped shut before he continued to inspect the cufflinks, “They’re masterfully crafted. Thank you. I’ve also got something for you.”

Moments later, Harry was unwrapping his present. He wasn’t surprised that it was a book and quickly went on to scan the title. Only to find none. Opening the book, he found it filled with the elegant script that could only be Severus’.

The man in question audibly cleared his throat, obviously feeling rather uncomfortable, “It’s a collection of my unpublished research containing quite a lot of recipes that aren’t too public friendly. I hope you’ll enjoy them. They might even help you at some point. In the back, you will some of my unfinished projects, projects I’ve met a dead end with. Maybe you’ll have some ideas. If not…”

“This is brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, looking up from the manuscript with gleaming eyes, “I cannot wait to read it and maybe Tom and I come up with a few ideas. Thank you, Severus.”

The potions master then reached inside his pockets once more, “Speaking of the Dark Lord. Since there are two of you, I thought it was only fair to present each of you a gift. Merry Yule, my Lord.”

Severus looked rather awkward when uttering those last to words as he handed the present wrapped in thick green paper towards Tom, the slight tremor of his hand another indication of how he truly felt. Avada green eyes turned crimson red as the Dark Lord in question accepted his present, “Thank you, Severus. A Merry Yule to you, too.”

Tom then turned his attention to the present, knowing Severus it was most likely a book. Much like Harry and Severus before, he carefully loosened the wrapping. That none of them had simply ripped the paper of their presents spoke volumes – it spoke of childhoods spent in poverty or abusive homes. The corners of Tom’s lips twitched upwards when he scanned the title of the book: ‘The Dangers of the Internet – Mass Surveillance in the Digital Age’.

“Thank you, Severus,” Tom said, a genuine smile plastered across Harry’s face, “I will certainly devour this.”

After that declaration, Severus relaxed considerably. Red eyes turned back to green and Harry quickly turned to his pile of presents under the large Christmas tree. Most of his year mates but also a few older Slytherins and the entire Quidditch team had sent sweets. Oddly, a roughly and rather crudely cut wooden flute from Hagrid had found its way under the tree. Draco had gifted him a selection of white peaco*ck quills, while Neville had selected a book on obscure plants and their usage in potions. What surprised him the most was Granger’s present, a book on the latest findings in the field of xenobiology, which had been published only weeks ago. He certainly hadn’t expected a present from the Gryffindor but was glad that he had sent her a book about the foundation of the Wizengamot which also focused on the functions of all its members.

Once all the presents had been unwrapped, Severus was about to stand up from his armchair, when Harry suddenly met his eyes, “There is one more thing. Tom and I would like to speak to Lucius tonight. We need a proper ritual chamber for the resurrection and at least one more wizard to stabilise the ritual. Malfoy Manor would be perfect since the wards will shield us from detection. I know for a fact since Tom helped Abraxas with the ward weaving. Furthermore, Lucius is a skilled and powerful wizard who hopefully is still true to the cause. We would like you to set up a meeting towards the end of the ball.”

The potions master agreed without complaint. After the draft of the ritual had been safely stored away, the two finally went up to the Great Hall. Breakfast was a merry affair. Even the Muggle Christmas decorations and Dumbledore’s overly happy demeanour couldn’t dampen Harry’s mood since he was just so happy about finishing the first draft of the resurrection ritual. He watched Ronald Weasley shovel enormous amounts of food in his mouth, waiting for the moment when the redhead would choke, before his eyes moved over to the teachers. Professor McGonagall was smugly declaring that Professor Trelawney had sadly declined to join them, since her Inner Eye wasn’t feeling too well. Chuckling quietly to himself, Harry was just about to turn back to his plate when he felt something.

His wards had been breached. Ever since arriving at Hogwarts, he had heavily warded his space and personal belongings. While nobody would be able to open or steal his trunk, such strong measures on his bed would only arouse suspicion. Therefore, he had instead opted to surround his bed with strong yet subtle monitoring charms which would alert him whenever somebody came too close or breached his privacy.

And somebody had just done that. Somebody rather powerful.

It wasn’t Dumbledore though. The Headmaster was happily sitting at the head of the table eating his usual plate of overly sugary things while being engaged in a lively discussion about the creatures of the Dark Forest with his favourite domesticated pet giant.

In the end, it took all of Harry’s willpower and a lot of persuasion by Tom to remain seated. Fifteen gruelling minutes later, Tom finally deemed it safe to leave. Harry rushed back to the dungeons as quickly as possible without running. Once he had reached the entrance of the common room, he quietly hissed at the bare wall. Inside, he stopped refraining himself and quickly headed for the dormitories taking two steps at a time.

With a loud bang, the door to the first-year dormitory was thrown open. Reaching out his magic, Harry quickly deduced that his trunk hadn’t been touched. Instead, somebody or rather something had placed a wrapped package on top of the comforter of his bed. Narrowing his eyes at the package, Harry concentrated on the magic surrounding it. While the interior of the package radiated strange and ancient magic, the wrapping was soaked with Compulsion Charms, charms that would make him wander the castle tonight urging him to explore the restricted section of the library and pulling a specific book out of the shelves. This was without doubt Dumbledore’s doing. Besides that, he could detect remnants of House Elf magic. Since Dumbledore couldn’t have placed the package himself, a House Elf had most likely placed it there.

Shaking his head at the Headmaster’s manipulations, Harry quickly focussed his magic on the wrapping to disable the Compulsions. After making sure that it was free of harmful magic, Harry cautiously began to unwrap the package. He could feel that there was some sort of fabric inside, a very light fabric. Harry’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the fluid and silvery grey fabric, “Tom, is this what I think it is?”

“I need to take a better look at it, Harry. Please, reach out your magic once more,” Tom ordered rather gently, a suspicion already forming in his mind. When Harry’s magic touched the fabric, both were astonished by the amount of magic residing in the fabric. Slowly, the magic of the fabric started to unravel in front of their eyes. It was covered in tiny runes, old Pictish runes that were almost forgotten nowadays. But what was even more fascinating was the fabric itself.

Tom had seen many Invisibility Cloaks in his days. Most were woven out of Demiguise hair or produced out of ordinary fabric, layered with runes and Disillusionment Charms. They all faded over time. But this one was something different entirely.

“I think,” Tom began slowly, still in awe of the fabric, “that this is the famous Potter Invisibility Cloak. I’ve seen your grandfather using it. I’ve always wondered why it was considered to be so special, so unique. I think the answer is in the fabric. It’s no ordinary fabric. It feels like the Lethifold I once had the displeasure to come across during my time in Papua New Guinea. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is its skin, although that should be impossible. Put it on.”

Harry was about to throw the cloak over himself when he noticed a note falling out of the fabric. Quickly crouching down to pick up the piece of parchment, he found himself frowning at the note.

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.

Tom could recognise the handwriting anywhere. This was without doubt Dumbledore’s doing.

“Why would he have the cloak?” Harry suddenly roared in anger, “why? Certainly, nobody with half a brain would part with such a valuable and useful artefact, especially in times of war!”

Tom didn’t know the answer to that, “Calm down, Harry! The only one to answer that is the old coot himself. But I guess that a lot of persuasion was involved. Knowing Dumbledore’s tendency for mind-altering magic, I don’t think your father willingly parted with the cloak. I’ve known your grandfather, and if James was anything like him, he would never part with such a valuable family heirloom.”

Shaking his head, Harry finally put on the cloak. The magic surrounding him felt pleasant, intoxicatingly so. Without doubt, the Invisibility Cloak was something else entirely. After a while, Harry pulled the cloak off and sighed, “Tom, do you think the cloak is the next piece of the puzzle?”

“Of course, it is,” Tom purred, “tonight after we return from the Yule Ball, the two of us will go exploring and see what the old fool has hidden in the Restricted Section. Hopefully, this will take us a step closer to the stone.”

A few hours later, Harry stood in front of a large conjured mirror inspecting his appearance, frowning at the bowtie. Tom had instructed him how to tie the piece of fabric, yet Harry was still unsure if he had done it right.

“Stop bothering,” Tom chuckled, “you look dashing and did a great job with the bowtie.”

Harry felt his cheeks heating up. But Tom was right. His slacks and shirt were of the finest silk, both black and pleasantly hugged his frame. His equally black waistcoat was finished with dark green stitching. On top of that, Harry wore a traditional dress robe. To honour his Hogwarts house, Harry had chosen the rich Slytherin green. It also worked well with his eyes. To also acknowledge his position as the last of the Potters, the family crest had been embroidered right above his heart, although he had forgone the usual red and gold colouring and instead opted for more neutral black and whites. Overall, the tailors at Gladrags had done a marvellous job matching the opposite Houses of Slytherin and Potter. Tom was sure that the outfit would raise many eyes.

And indeed it did as Harry knocked at Severus’ door ten minutes later. The potions master’s brows rose as he stared at the Slytherin in front of him, “And here I thought one couldn’t combine the Houses of Slytherin and Potter unless mimicking those vile Christmas decorations.”

Ignoring his words, Harry focussed on the potions master instead, “You don’t look bad either, although your choice of colour is just too predictable. Nice cufflinks though!”

To that Severus only snorted and ushered him into his office. He quickly followed the potions master, as the man entered his private quarters. They would take the floo from there on. It was just too cold and bothersome to walk to the edge of the wards surrounding Hogwarts in all the snow and apparate from there on. Flooing was much easier in this weather.

“Are you still sure about meeting Lucius?” Snape asked, obsidian eyes boring into him.

Raising an eyebrow, Harry calmly met the potions master’s eyes, “Trust me. I can deal with Lucius. I’m sure his reaction will be most… surprising.”

Without another word, Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the flames. Moments later, the world stopped spinning and Harry found himself surrounded by nothing but white marble as he stepped out of the fireplace. A spike of magic told him that Severus had arrived, too. Before one of them could utter a word, a House Elf clad in a clean pillowcase embroidered with the Malfoy family crest appeared in front of them with a soft pop to clean them of the soot and to escort them to the ballroom. Under the calculating gaze of countless Malfoy ancestors on the walls, all with grey eyes and pointed faces framed by light blond almost white hair, they walked to the ballroom in silence.

In the massive, lavishly decorated ballroom, Harry and Severus were greeted by a Malfoy in flesh and blood. Lucius Malfoy could easily be considered to be the pinnacle of pureblood society. Much like his ancestors, his pale, pointed face was framed by an impressive mane of pale hair, proudly paying homage to his Veela ancestry. His robes were of the finest silk, the green, black and silver representing the Malfoy family colours accompanied by the family crest embroidered right above his heart. In his right hand, he carried an obsidian walking stick with a snake head which contained his wand. His cold grey eyes were examining the newest arrivals with calculating interest, “Mister Potter, welcome to Malfoy Manor. What an… unexpected development. I was most surprised when my son expressed the desire to invite you to this social gathering. He was most adamant in his endeavour…”

Before Lucius Malfoy could say more, a hand had been placed on his shoulder, “Lucius, my dear, where are your manners?”

Although her tone was light, Lucius Malfoy straightened up immediately and cleared his throat, “I must ask for your forgiveness, Mister Potter. With the greatest pleasure we welcome you to Malfoy Manor. We, the Malfoy Family, feel honoured that you spend this very special evening here with us.”

“Thank you for this most humble invitation, Lord Malfoy,” Harry said meeting the grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, his face a blank mask. After that, he quickly turned to Narcissa Malfoy, “Lady Malfoy, it’s a pleasure meeting you. May this night be blessed by magic herself.”

Harry bowed his head to pay respect to the hostess of the Yule ball. He then took her hand to grace her with a ghost of a kiss. Looking up, Harry saw the faint surprise in her eyes she failed to completely hide behind her impartial mask. Besides that, Narcissa Malfoy’s face mirrored the picture of a perfect Pureblood. Much like her husband, her delicate yet stoic facial features spoke of generations of carefully arranged marriages that sometimes boarded the macabre. The Black family had always been eager to preserve their lineage. And Narcissa certainly was proof of that although her light hair had been inherited from the Rosier line through her mother Druella.

“And may your Yule be equally blessed by magic,” Narcissa replied, her tone light as she was trying to solve the puzzle in front of her. Luckily, more guests arrived at that moment and Harry excused himself.

Shadowed by Severus, Harry entered the lavishly decorated main ballroom. Thousands of ice crystals were hanging from the ceiling. Gigantic, richly decorated Yule trees were standing in each corner of the room. On an elevated platform, a magical chamber orchestra was playing gentle tunes while little fairies were floating above their heads.

But Harry ignored all that. There were far more interesting things in this room than lavish decorations and grandeur. It was time to enter the stage of politics.

By the time the guests were called to the banquet hall, Harry had already conversed with several high-ranking Ministry officials, among them an Unspeakable, a Senior Auror and the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. But it was at dinner that Harry finally got the opportunity to speak to one of his main targets of the night.

Much like the ballroom, the banquet hall was lavishly decorated with thousands of ice crystals and several Yule trees. Small round dinner tables were scattered across the hall, all laid out with exquisite crockery, shining cutlery and crystal goblets. Like expected, Harry and Severus were led to the head table. Afterall, Severus was the godfather of the sole heir of the Malfoy family and thus expected to sit with the hosts. Pureblood customs dictated that Harry as Severus’ ward had to be included.

Seated between Draco and Severus at the head table, Harry thus found himself opposite the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge. The man seemed eager to talk to the famous Boy-who-lived, as he cheerfully addressed Harry mere seconds after he had taken his place, “Mister Potter, what a pleasure of finally meeting you.”

Sadly, their conversation was interrupted shortly afterwards by Lucius Malfoy. The room felt silent as the Lord of the Malfoy family gracefully rose from his chair. After the speech had been delivered, the food appeared on the tables. Most dishes appeared to be of French origin, paying homage to the background of the Malfoy family. Once Harry’s plate had been filled, it didn’t take long for the Minister of Magic to continue their conversation, “Mister Potter, you can’t imagine how happy I am to finally meet you. All these years after the fall of You-Know-Who, I’ve wanted to get in touch with you. After all, we, the Wizarding Community, have so much to thank you for. But sadly, all ways to you were blocked. Dumbledore as your magical guardian said it was to protect you and shield you from harm. Is it really true that you grew up in the Muggle world?”

“It is,” Harry replied with a blank face, “I grew up with my mother’s sister and her family. I only got informed of my magical heritage a month before the start of Hogwarts. It was quite a… surprise, Minister, to tell you the truth.”

“Really?” Fudge said, his expression a mixture of shock and surprise, “nobody told you?”

“No,” Harry stated courtly, “I wish somebody had told me before. A month really isn’t enough time to prepare yourself properly before entering a foreign world one is utterly unfamiliar with.”

What followed was an awkward silence, until the Minister finally cleared his throat, “Well, I hope that you had a pleasant start at Hogwarts despite these unfortunate circ*mstances.”

Harry forced a smile on his face, “I tried to prepare myself as much as possible. I bought a lot of additional reading material when I was buying my school supplies. Professor Snape here can certainly attest to the countless hours in Flourish and Blotts. Therefore, I had read up on the school subjects and gained a general overview of the culture, customs and traditions of the magical community. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder, why is there no class on magical culture, customs and traditions offered at Hogwarts? Especially when Muggle Studies is offered as an elective starting in third year. I certainly am not the only student brought up outside the magical community. A Muggleborn student and I have talked about this extensively. We feel that a class about the Magical Society could facilitate the entry of many non-magically brought up students considerably. The least one could do is assign a book on the basics of Wizarding traditions to those students or offer literature on this topic in the school library. Sadly, information is hard to come by since the school library does not offer books on Wizarding traditions.”

“What an interesting point, Mister Potter,” Lucius Malfoy silky voice cut into the conversation, “and such an uncommon position. For years, it has been suggested that the Wizarding community should appropinquate itself towards the Muggle world whereas you suggest the opposite. Why would you favour such an approach?”

“Lord Malfoy, the more I read, learn and experience of the Wizarding culture, the more it fascinates me,” Harry explained, playing the part of a slightly agitated yet enthusiastic child to perfection, “those traditions date back hundreds if not thousands of years. Whereas many Muggle cultures and civilisations have risen and fallen, the Wizarding world has stood the test of time. Personally, I think the Wizarding society should cherish their rich and ancient traditions instead of abandoning them in favour of assimilating to the Muggles. I only wish they would make an effort to include those new to their world, like me. Muggle-raised Witches and Wizards can still decide which culture they prefer. But only after being exposed and educated about both of them – Magical and Muggle.”

“Minister,” Lucius Malfoy’s silky voice was now directly addressing Cornelius Fudge, “Mister Potter has just confirmed the issue I’ve been trying to address for years. In fact, most members of the Board of Governors share this opinion, but our efforts keep getting dismissed.”

“May I add something?” Harry asked, an innocent look on his face. After both the Minister and Lucius Malfoy had voiced their consent, Harry continued his first move on the stage of politics, and education was a safe topic to start, “I also couldn’t help but wonder about the declining number of classes offered at Hogwarts, especially in comparison to the other magical schools.”

Harry couldn’t be happier when the food eventually vanished, and the guests of the Yule Ball returned to the ballroom. The conversation had eventually turned into a heated argument about the declining standard of education at Hogwarts ever since Dumbledore had taken over as Headmaster. Lucius Malfoy had watched Harry in awe, clearly baffled by the boy’s stance on education that clearly did not line with the old goat. Cornelius Fudge had been eager to listen and soaked up Harry’s suggestions like a sponge. Harry was sure that many of his ideas would soon be discussed in the Ministry and on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Maybe even during the next session of the Wizengamot. Of course, most likely in favour of his ideas. The fact that Severus had been involved into the conversation halfway through to confirm and elaborate on a few of Lucius’ and Harry’s claims had only added to the cogency of his ideas. It would be interesting to see the Minister go against Dumbledore.

After the pleasant dinner, Harry spent the next few hours engaging in casual conversation with several high-ranking guests of the ball or dancing with his year mates. He shared a few dances with Daphne, Rhea, Millicent and Neville, who were all surprised about his dancing skills. Harry might not be the most talented dancer, but Tom had taught him well. Overall, the evening was only interrupted by the traditional lightning of the Yule Fire. After midnight, the crowd slowly began to thin. Scanning the ballroom, Harry’s eyes met obsidian ones. It was time to move.

Ten minutes later, a nervous House Elf popped up in front of Harry, “Mister Harry Potter, Master requests your presence in his office. Dobby is told to escort Mister Harry Potter to Master’s office.”

Ignoring the pointed look of his friends, Harry quickly followed Dobby. The Elf appeared to be hyper-active, jumping up and down and talking almost too fast to understand him, his voice high, once they had left the ballroom. What Harry could decipher was that the Elf was warning the Great Harry Potter who had beaten the evil Dark Lord that Master Lucius was a dangerous Dark Wizard. Harry almost snorted at that declaration. Lucius Malfoy clearly did not have his servants under control.

Harry was more than glad when they arrived at the office of the Lord of the Malfoy Family and he could finally leave the rebellious Elf behind. Without looking back, Harry opened the shining mahogany double door. The office behind was as lavish as the rest of the house. The walls were of the finest and purest white marble, the bookcases filled with old, priceless tomes and an intricately woven carpet on the ground with its rich colours all reeked of Galleons. Ignoring all the wealth around him, Harry’s eyes landed on the man of the house. Lucius Malfoy, the image of a Pureblood, was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, his family crest proudly displayed behind him on the white marble. Pale grey eyes landed on Harry as the Malfoy Lord gestured him to take the seat next to Severus, “Mister Potter, please join us.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Harry said with a slight nod of his head before gracefully taking the offered seat next to the Potions Master.

“Now,” Lucius Malfoy said with a silky voice while casually locking his hands underneath his chin, “I can’t help but wonder about the reason why you asked for a meeting, Mister Potter. So far, you are a conundrum. While Albus Dumbledore and the media are keen on presenting you as the golden saviour, your actions speak differently. You turned your back on Gryffindor and instead got sorted into the snake pit. According to my son, you are weary of the Headmaster and promote the preservation of Wizarding traditions. And today, you directly positioned yourself against Dumbledore’s politics. I wonder what game you are playing, Mister Potter. I wonder which side you are on. Which goals you aim to fulfil. So many mysteries indeed. And I wonder if you will tell me.”

A Cheshire grin suddenly appeared on Harry’s face as his Avada-green eyes met the pale ones of the Head of the Malfoy family, “Very well observed, Lord Malfoy. But after all, you have always been observant and managed to manoeuvre yourself through the world of politics, always positioning yourself carefully at the top of the food chain. The fact that you’ve managed to stay out of Azkaban after the disappearance of the Dark Lord clearly indicates your skills.”

At the last words, Lord Malfoy paled, “What did you say?”

The grin on Harry’s face grew only wider, “I’m impressed that you managed to stay out of Azkaban after the disappearance of the Dark Lord.”

Lucius Malfoy turned even paler, his jaw slightly quivering, “Why did you use that name? What game are you playing?”

“Oh, Lord Malfoy, I positioned myself a long time ago,” Harry chuckled darkly, “did you ever wonder what happened that night ten years ago? Where did he go to? Lucius, I’m afraid I never left.”

At those last words, green eyes turned crimson. Lucius Malfoy’s jaw dropped completely while losing all the colour in his face. In an attempt to flee from the dangerous crimson eyes, he pushed himself back off his desk while simultaneously trying to stand up. Because he had pushed himself off so forcefully, the Lord of the Malfoy family lost his balance and tumbled over with his chair while a high-pitched scream escaped his mouth.

Tom found every bit of his self-restraint tested, while Severus next to him erupted in laughter. Meanwhile, Lucius tried to untangle himself and regain some of his dignity yet failing spectacularly. At this sight, Tom couldn’t keep quiet any longer, “Lucius, I’m disappointed. Where are your manners?”

This caused Severus to only laugh louder which in turn caused Lucius to stop his struggle in favour of openly staring at the laughing Potion Master, “You knew?”

“Of course, I did! You should have seen yourself tumbling over like a peasant” Severus managed to get out in between laughter before turning to his Lord, “you were right, my Lord, scaring your minions is much better than being on the receiving end.”

“It is,” the Dark Lord said, his diabolical smile widening showing too much teeth, “but now do get up, Lucius, or do you intend on staying on the ground like the vermin you so despise.”

When the Lord of House Malfoy refused to move, too shocked by the words of his master, Tom lost his patience and hissed angrily, “Hurry, Lucius! You don’t want to test me!”

Only then did the blonde start to move. Once he had picked up his chair, placed it back behind his desk and sat down, did he speak, “But what about the boy, my Lord?”

“Your concern for Harry touches me, Lucius,” Tom hissed quietly, “but let me assure you that Harry and I are on the same page. He is not under my possession. We interact on an equal footing. He lets me reside inside his body until we manage to get mine back. And here, you come into play, my dear Lucius. We have to talk.”

Chapter 21: The Mirror of Erised

Chapter Text

An hour later, Harry exited Lucius’ office in high spirits. He was pleased with the outcome of the meeting, as was Tom. Lucius had been reluctant at first. But after Tom and Harry had filled him in on Dumbledore’s set up and the false prophecy, the reluctance had begun to crumble. Severus’ presence certainly had helped as well. In the end, Lucius had pledged to continue honouring the vow he had sworn the day he had turned seventeen. Thus, he would do everything in his power to assist the Dark Lord and Harry. He had gladly offered the ritual room of Malfoy Manor and his assistance in the ritual itself. One less thing to worry about.

With Severus in tow, Harry re-entered the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. Only about a dozen guests of the traditional Yule Ball were still scattered across the massive room. Since all of the more influential guests and his friends had already left, Harry decided that it was best to return to Hogwarts. Afterall, it was well beyond midnight. But before he could make his way to the floo, a voice made him turn around, “Harry, I thought you had left already. Where have you been all this time?”

“I was talking to your father, Draco,” Harry said, turning to the heir of the Malfoy family, “it took a bit longer than expected. I take it that the others have left already, right?”

But before Draco could answer, the silky voice of his father echoed through the hallway, “Draco, why aren’t you in bed yet?”

Draco spun on his heels to face his father, only for his jaw to drop. The usually immaculate Lucius Malfoy had faint bags underneath his eyes, his blonde mane was slightly dishevelled, and his robes hadn’t been straightened yet – all in all a look rarely seen on a Malfoy. With eyes open wide, Draco continued to stare at the Lord of the Malfoy family, “Father… what… happened…”

“To bed, Draco, now!” Lucius silenced his son, his silky tone turning steely, “Mister Potter, I bid you farewell. May your path be blessed by Magic herself.”

“May yours be equally prosperous, Lord Malfoy,” Harry said, politely returning the traditional Pureblood gesture before making his way to the floo. He felt the eyes of both Malfoys on him as he threw a pinch of floo power in the fireplace. The moment he arrived at Severus’ office back at Hogwarts, he was sure that Draco would send him an owl demanding an explanation to what had happened between Harry and his father. Not that he would be told the truth. Luckily, they wouldn’t meet face to face until the end of the holidays. This would give Harry enough time to come up with a plausible alternative story. But for now, he had other things to worry about. Like the library he had to go to.

After a curt farewell to Severus who arrived moments later, Harry rushed to the dungeons. Once inside the dorm, he quickly changed out of his dress robes and into much sturdier attire. He then grabbed his map and quietly hissed its password. Dumbledore seemed to be patrolling the corridors close to the library. Just as anticipated. After another quiet hiss, Harry shoved the deactivated map in his pocket and threw the invisibility cloak over himself.

He had a Headmaster to play with.

Out in the hallways, he came across nobody. But the lack of people did not trick Harry. He was being monitored. But not by any teachers, ghosts, portraits, Filch or his flea-bitten feline. By the time he had reached the library, Harry had counted fourteen Monitoring Charms specifically crafted to alert the caster whenever Harry had passed. Dumbledore appeared to be eager tonight, clearly not letting anything up to chance.

Sensing that Dumbledore was close, Harry silently unlocked the door of the library. He strode past rows and rows filled to the brim with ancient tomes, his feet not making a single sound on the ebon floorboards, until he reached the Restricted Section. Oddly, the door was lacking its usual protective Charms and could be unlocked by a simple Alohom*ora. It was too easy. Rolling his eyes at the Headmaster’s schemes, Harry quickly flicked his Blackthorn wand at the door and entered the Restricted Section.

A minute later, Harry had reached his destination. He now stood in front of an inconspicuous shelf in the back of the Restricted Section. Subtly reaching out his magic, Harry quickly managed to locate the book Dumbledore wanted him to pull off the shelf. It was an ancient tome, bound in dark leather and oddly enough one of the only books in the library with a faint taint of Dark magic underneath the many layers of Anti-Theft, Monitoring and Compulsion Charms. The Charms would immediately alert the Headmaster once the book had been touched, whereas a Compulsion Charm would latch itself onto Harry persuading him to flee to an unused classroom on the first floor. Also, a standard Anti-Theft Charm would go off once the book had been touched.

After he had disabled the Compulsion Charm, Harry finally grabbed the book. Seconds later, an ear-piercing scream echoed through the Restricted Section. Having anticipated this, Harry quickly placed the screaming book back on its shelf and headed for the exit of the library. On the way out, he quietly passed Filch and Misses Norris, evaded Severus and Quirrell a corridor ahead, and ducked past Peeves who was juggling parts of a suit of armour that was begging the poltergeist to stop. Chuckling to himself, Harry stopped in front of the door of the classroom Dumbledore had wanted him to discover. Sensing the approaching Headmaster, Harry pushed the door open while disabling more Compulsions that were attached to the door.

The room was empty with the exception of a massive mirror. Immediately, Harry’s hair stood on end. The mirror with its clawed feet was drenched in Light magic. Truly revolting, mind-altering Light magic. Tom didn’t need to warn him. The mirror was dangerous. Carefully stepping closer, Harry lowered his Invisibility Cloak and tried to decipher the engravings on the silvery, ornate frame of the mirror.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a calming breath. There was nothing he would rather do than run. But he knew that he had to stay and face the mirror. The artefact which had enchanted so many by showing the most desperate desire of a person’s heart. Eventually, it had driven them all to madness. The legendary Mirror of Erised.

I show not your face but your heart’s desire.

Such an innocent statement, yet it couldn’t be more deceiving. It was a malevolent creation. People had been trapped in front of the mirror, their lives withering away with their minds ensnared by scenarios of grandeur and impossible feats, yet most were nothing but illusions.

Harry didn’t want to be here. Unfortunately, it would arouse suspicion if he left without looking into the mirror. The Compulsions on the entrance of the classroom were specifically tailored to induce Harry to look at the deceiving mirror. Feeling Dumbledore entering the room, Harry was left with no other choice but to face the legendary Mirror of Erised.

What he saw did not surprise him.

Harry saw an older version of himself standing right next to a tall man with pale skin and jet-black hair. His high cheekbones perfectly accentuated the deep crimson eyes that so perfectly clashed with the vibrant green of Harry’s own eyes.

“Tom, are you seeing this, too?” Harry asked through their mental link, not sure how much time had passed.

“Us… Only the two of us,” Tom finally brought out, equally taken aback by the intoxicating yet toxic magic of the mirror, “two against the world.”

Harry’s lips curled into a mischievous smile at those words. At this moment, he was more than glad that the mirror in front of him didn’t show his reflection. After relishing in the wonderful feeling of seeing him and Tom together, Harry gathered all his willpower to tear his eyes off the Mirror of Erised. With great struggle he succeeded. Instead of directly facing the mirror, Harry spun around, his eyes open wide in surprise while tears started flowing down his face, “Mom? Dad?”

Forcing his facial features through a rapid succession of hope, shock, disbelief and disappointment, Harry stared at the seemingly empty room ahead of him. And then, he slowly turned back to the mirror. But instead of gazing inside the poisonous depths of the mirror, Harry kept his eyes firmly glued on its frame. Taking a deep breath, he raised a hand. Pointing his shaking hand at the mirror, Harry began to speak, a slight tremor in his voice, “This… This is not real… They… they’re dead… a…a…and nothing… nothing can bring th…them back… You’re showing… no…nothing… b…b…but illusions!”

Harry then quickly turned on his heels, pulled his Invisibility Cloak back over his head and fled past a still Disillusioned Dumbledore. He ran until he was sure that he had activated a few of Dumbledore’s Monitoring Charms. The aging Headmaster would be under the impression that his golden pawn was on his way back to the dungeons. But Harry and Tom had different plans.

With a silent wave of his hand, Harry unlocked an unused classroom somewhere on the second floor once they were sure to be beyond Dumbledore’s magical reach. Inside, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and magically sent it back to his dorm. He then quickly cloaked himself with layers and layers of Disillusion, Anti-Detection, Notice-Me-Not and Magic-Concealment Charms – all high-level Charms and performed with Parselmagic. He would be much more agile and less restrained with the Charms as opposed to using the cloak. Once finished, Harry pulled his magical map out of his pocket. He quickly spotted the dot he was searching for. The dot with the name Albus Dumbledore was still on the first floor yet clearly moving towards the staircase. With unfathomable glee, Harry and Tom watched as the dot moved up the stairs and entered the forbidden third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.

Finally.

Tom’s and Harry’s eyes were glued on the map as the dot with the old fool’s name attached to it entered the room with the massive Cerberus. The dot then quickly made its way past one obstacle after another, effectively disabling the protective measures. It didn’t take Dumbledore long to reach the final chamber. Once he was in there, the map began to list spell after spell Dumbledore cast.

“He’s modifying the magic of the mirror,” Harry exclaimed in realisation, “those high-level Light Spells he’s using… It’s the only explanation.”

“It is most likely,” Tom stated after a moment of contemplation, “we will soon find out.”

A feral smile appeared on Harry’s face as he watched Dumbledore layering the final chamber with Protective and Monitoring Spells. They would indeed soon find out.

Almost an hour later, Harry and Tom watched as Dumbledore finally left the forbidden corridor on the third floor and made his way up to his private quarters. By that point, both of them were giddy in excitement. Once the old coot had finally entered the Headmaster’s office, Harry left the unused classroom on the second floor he had been hiding in. With the map in his hand, he quickly headed for the staircase. Soon, he was standing in front of the first chamber of the magical obstacle course. Reaching out his magic, Harry sensed the additional protections that had been placed on the door. Without further ado, he quickly disabled them with his Parselmagic.

Once inside the first chamber, he found himself opposite a tail-wagging, slobbering Cerberus. Harry raised his eyebrows as the vicious creature, instead of attacking him, simply rolled over and presented him with its belly. Quietly chuckling to himself, Harry began to pet Fluffy. Maybe that name fit better than he had originally thought. So far, the vicious beast had been nothing but sweet and gentle whenever Harry had visited throughout the last few months.

Once the Cerberus had been sufficiently cuddled, Harry moved on to the next part of the ridiculous obstacle course. Having already been down there, he made quick progress and soon entered the final chamber. His presumptions had been right. The Mirror of Erised now stood in front of him.

Because of the monitoring function of the map, Tom and Harry had a faint idea of what Dumbledore had done to the mirror. Still, that wasn’t enough to determine what the old coot had done exactly. Taking a deep breath, Harry slowly and carefully reached out his magic. His eyes were closed to not be perturbed by his heart’s desire mirrored ahead of him. Fractions of a second later, an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine as his magic faintly brushed against the toxic magic of the legendary magical artefact. It took every bit of self-restraint and encouragement by Tom to delve further into the multi-layered magic of the mirror.

Slowly but steadily, the different layers of the mirror unravelled themselves as Tom and Harry pushed past the surface apparitions and deeper and deeper into the mirror. It truly would have been an impressive piece of magic hadn’t it been for the enticing and alluring nature of the toxic Light magic of the Mirror of Erised. But hidden behind the magic of the mirror, there was something more.

Something Dark.

Something very Dark.

Yet pure at the same time.

The Philosopher’s Stone.

It was indeed there.

Harry was about to make a move, when Tom suddenly stopped him. Just in time. Harry had almost fallen for one of Dumbledore’s traps as he had been about to reach out his magic to get the stone.

“How clever yet so typically Dumbledore,” Tom mused, “only somebody who wants to find the stone, find but not use it, will be able to get it out of the mirror. This should be surprisingly easy for us once we’ve disabled those Monitoring Spells. Don’t you agree, Harry?”

Without further ado, Harry’s Parselmagic tore through the magical protections surrounding the stone. Once the protections had been temporarily disabled, Harry pulled his magic back. Only then did he finally open his eyes and stepped in front of the mirror. Every neuron of his brain was focussed on one thing and one thing only – finding the stone. But not for himself. He had to find the stone for Tom. For Tom only.

After some tense seconds, Harry suddenly felt a weight in his pocket that hadn’t been there moments prior. And then, he felt the true magnitude of the power of the Philosopher’s Stone.

Before, the power of the stone had been cloaked by the Mirror of Erised. But now that the stone was in his pocket, the power of the mirror seemed to considerably pale in contrast to the stone. The stone was truly powerful and now, both Tom and Harry could understand why so many had tried yet failed to go after the stone or recreate its powers. Tom burned to explore the stone and fathom its secrets and knew that Harry felt the same. But for now, it was better to get out of the chamber.

Once he had torn his attention off the stone, Harry quickly pointed his illegal Alder wand at the empty space ahead of him and started to chant in Parseltongue. Slowly, a sphere started to materialise. It soon started to shift, getting more solid and gaining a red tint. Pushing his magic into the orb, Harry began to mould it after the stone in his pocket.

Ten minutes later, he held a perfect copy of the Philosopher’s Stone in his hand. Only upon close inspection one would realize that this was a fake. Without further ado, Harry magically pushed the fake stone inside the mirror. Another push of his magic later, and the protections were back in place. Before leaving the chamber, he quickly cloaked the magic of the stone. It was better if the presence of the stone outside this very chamber went unnoticed.

Some time later, Harry finally found himself back opposite a tail-waving yet noticeably tired Fluffy. Although the Cerberus seemed happy to see him, it only lifted its three heads for a moment before going back to sleep.

By the time Harry had reached the Slytherin common room, a quick Tempus revealed that breakfast would start in only an hour. It had been a late night for sure. Sighing to himself, Harry made his way to the dorm. With a few hisses in Parseltongue, the hidden compartment of his trunk opened. After having placed the stone inside, Harry shut the compartment and warded it with the strong Parselmagic. He doubted that anyone would manage to break the wards. He then let himself fall on the bed not bothering to undress and let sleep take him.

Hours later, Harry opened his eyes again feeling well rested. A Tempus revealed that lunch would start soon. After a quick shower, he was on his way to the Great Hall. Usually, he would simply skip lunch in favour of working on the resurrection ritual, but today sleep had been more important than keeping up his daily routine. He was sure that his appearance would raise a few eyebrows. And it sure did.

“Mister Potter, how unusual to see you here,” Professor McGonagall promptly greeted him as Harry was about to slip on the bench as far away from any Weasley as possible which meant sitting close to the teachers. Forcing a faint blush on his face, Harry lowered his head, “Good morning, professor.”

“Well,” the stern woman began, “I take it you returned from Malfoy Manor a bit later than expected?”

Blood rushed into Harry’s face as he answered with a slightly hesitant undertone, “Yes, professor.”

“I’m happy that you enjoyed yourself, Mister Potter,” McGonagall said much to his surprise, “I’m happy to see you deviating from your schedule and enjoying yourself once in a while. I’m sure if you continue this way, you’ll have devoured the entire library by the end of your second year. Madam Pince insists that no student has ever shown such a keen interest for knowledge and books than you, Mister Potter. Not even Miss Granger.”

Turning and lowering his head in feigned embarrassment, Harry caught the poised smile and twinkle of the Headmaster. Without doubt, the man was sure that he had set up Harry perfectly last night in one of his grand schemes. He wouldn’t smile for long though.

After lunch, Harry was once again followed by the Weasley twins. Not in the mood for one of their cat and mouse games, he simply hissed at one of the hidden passages built by Salazar Slytherin himself and was soon standing in front of the entrance to the common room. Once inside his dorm, he opened his trunks. Before starting to investigate the stone, he set up the magical crystals. He had no intention of having any of the possible Dark magic required to break the different layers of the stone being locked by the wards of the castle. Once the crystals had been set up, Tom and Harry began to examine the stone.

Upon first glance, the stone was nothing special, at least if you ignored the simmering and pulsating magic inside. The ruby-red stone with it’s rough and uneven surface easily fitted into his hand. But the appearance was deceiving. There was much more to the Philosopher’s Stone and Tom and Harry were determined to uncover its secrets. It would be necessary for the ritual to work.

In the end, it took almost two days to unravel the countless magical layers and secrets of the stone. To say that Tom was surprised by their discovery was putting it mildly. But honestly, he should have expected it. Although he had delved into the ancient and mysterious arts of Alchemy, Nicolas Flamel had taken his research much further. If the Wizarding World would only know what he had done, people wouldn’t speak so fondly of him anymore.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry exclaimed, once they had unravelled the last magical layers of the stone.

“And neither can I,” Tom said, deep in thoughts, “but actually, I shouldn’t be that surprised. After all, Alchemy is all about perfect harmony between its different components. Taking the effect of the Elixir of Life into consideration, in order to give life…”

“…life first has to be taken,” Harry concluded, his voice failing to masquerade the horror evoked by the true nature of the Philosopher’s Stone. Despite all the horrible things he had done in his life, even Tom was feeling uneasy as he was staring at the stone and the old Sanskrit and Babylonian runes etched underneath its surface.

From what they had figured out, the stone wasn’t actually a mineral but the crystallised heart of a phoenix, one of the strongest and most powerful creatures alive. Instead of dying, they would burst into flames at outstretched intervals of time and shortly afterwards rise from the ashes, regaining their initial power and beauty. Because of that, they were basically immortal and thus, considered a symbol of life. How Flamel had managed to obtain the heart of such a creature was a miracle. Tom had never heard of a Phoenix dying naturally or being killed. Let alone one that had willingly donated his heart to an Alchemist. They were also extremely smart and thus, wouldn’t be deceived easily. It was a miracle indeed.

But what Flamel had done to the heart of the phoenix was even more so.

The heart of one of the lightest creatures there is had been drenched with layers upon layers of runes and Dark magic to serve two purposes – to absorb ‘life’ and to give it back by producing the Elixir of Life. The first step might sound innocent at first, but the truth was much more gruesome and macabre. ‘Life’ referred to blood as the elixir vitae – the conductor of life. And for the magic of the stone to work, it required every drop of blood of a living sentient being, preferably a human being, to be absorbed. But one living sacrifice wasn’t enough. According to Flamel’s definition of a sufficient amount of ’life’, this referred to a very specific and powerful magical number of lives.

Seven hundred and seventy-seven lives to be precise.

Even in Tom’s books, that was quite a large number. How had somebody as known and as popular as Nicolas Flamel managed to kill such a large number of people and drain their blood without anyone noticing? Then again, Flamel had created the stone during the Middle Ages, a period of wars, crusades, civil unrest and the Black Plague. A lot of people had died young and unexpectedly. Maybe that explained the disappearance of so many. Still, 777 was quite a large number. And Flamel certainly hadn’t only killed knights and terminally ill people beyond saving. Among his victims were innocent children, pregnant women, peaceful farmers, hard workers, cruel tyrants and helpless elders – both magical and non-magical. Although long since gone, their signatures were still locked deep inside the Philosopher’s Stone.

Tom wondered why Flamel had gone to such lengths to create the stone. Sure, avoiding death was always a keen motivator, yet Tom himself had achieved that with far less murders on his hands. Probably, he would never know why Flamel had done it. And there were far more important things to worry about, like the exact properties of the Elixir of Life.

After both had digested the hidden secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone, Tom and Harry continued to focus on the resurrection ritual. Once they had extracted a sufficient amount of the elixir, they began to examine the magical substance. It was a tedious process, but luckily Tom had experience working with unknown magical artefacts, ingredients and substances. Also, Harry had quite a good grasp on the theory of potions and to a certain extent alchemy. In the end, they had ascertained the exact properties of the elixir fairly quickly. Having two minds working and focusing on the same problem certainly had its merits.

After that, they spent the remainder of the holidays working on the resurrection ritual, incorporating the Elixir of Life.

Most days were the same. Waking up early. An hour of exercise followed by a quick shower. Breakfast in the nearly empty Great Hall. Working on the ritual in the common room. Dinner. And even more time working on the resurrection ritual before exhaustion took over.

The only time Harry and Tom deviated from that routine was on New Year’s Eve. Severus had paid him a visit earlier that day. The Potions Master had kindly reminded him what day it actually was and that he couldn’t miss the traditional festivities or people might start asking questions. Harry had assured him that he had planned on attending anyway.

Hours later, Harry was asking himself why he had decided on attending again. Sitting in the Great Hall surrounded by nothing but Weasleys and a twinkling Headmaster was utterly dreadful. Once again, the traditional Wizarding customs had been forgone in favour of the Muggle customs. At least McGonagall subtle jabs at Sybil Trelawney were rather entertaining and Severus constant sneers and eye rolling made the evening bearable to a certain extent. Finally, the clock striking midnight accompanied by the fireworks conjured by Dumbledore heralded the start of the new year. Once the spectacle was over, the few students that had remained at the castle were told to go to bed. But Harry had different plans.

Instead of returning to the dungeons, he ducked into an alcove somewhere close to the kitchens to layer himself with Disillusionment, Notice-Me-Not, Noise-Cancelling and Scent-Cloaking Charms. Once all Charms had been set, he headed straight for his destination – the statue of the one-eyed witch, Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, by the stairs to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor. Dodging teachers and Dumbledore himself on the way, Harry quietly tapped his illegal Alder wand at the statue muttering Dissendium under his breath. With an almost inaudible click, the hump on the witch’s statue opened to reveal a short slide into a tunnel. Hearing feet approaching, Harry quickly entered and closed the entrance behind him.

Ten minutes later, he finally felt the oppressive weight of the wards surrounding Hogwarts being lifted off his shoulders. Without further ado, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared with a quiet crack.

“Good evening, Mister Potter,” a snarky yet friendly voice greeted him in smooth Gobbledegook, “may the new year be a prosperous one for you.”

“May the gold float for all eternity, Ironclaw,” Harry replied the greeting with a respectful bow of his head. He had apparated straight into the private entrance hall of the Goblin bank. The right was usually reserved only for the Goblins themselves. But being a friend and ally of the Goblin race, Ragnok had keyed him into the wards of the bank’s London branch and thus granted him direct access to apparate and disapparate on occasions like tonight.

“It will,” the small Goblin replied with a sharp smile barring his sharp teeth, “if you would now please follow me, Mister Potter. Ragnok is awaiting you.”

Moments later, he was led into the sparse yet lavish office of the manager of the Potter and Slytherin estates. Ragnok was sitting behind his desk, “Good evening, Harry. We, the Goblin nation hope that Magic will grace you in every way possible.”

“And may your endeavours always be fruitful, Ragnok,” Harry replied while taking the offered seat in front of the Goblin’s desk. After a few words exchanged in rapid Gobbledegook, Ironclaw was dismissed. Once they were alone, Ragnok surveyed him with a sharp gaze before his stoic mask merged into an equally sharp smile, “I take it you managed to get the artefact we have corresponded about out of the school. Am I right?”

“Of course I have,” Harry replied, a Cheshire grin suddenly gracing his face, “managed to sneak it right past the old fool. Had it in my pocket the entire night while sitting at the same table as the esteemed Headmaster.”

Before him, the eyes of the Goblin grew wide, clearly not believing Harry’s claims. Harry meanwhile reached for his pockets and without further ado, he placed the Philosopher’s Stone on the desk between the two of them. For a brief second, the Goblin stifled before bursting into full belly laughter that lasted the next few minutes. Swiping the tears off his face, Ragnok finally regained his ability to talk, “Irontooth’s Hammer! What a feat!”

“Indeed, it is! The old man won’t know what hit him,” Harry chuckled before turning serious, “anyway, before we start negotiations, I wanted to inform you that I have extracted a sufficient amount of the elixir and thus will not require the stone anytime soon. Therefore, I entrust you and in extension the Goblin nation to ensure the stone’s safety. For keeping the stone safe, I in turn grant you unlimited access to the stone’s power.”

Ragnok looked stunned for a moment until his lips twitched to reveal his sharp teeth as he turned all business, “I think it’s time to draw up a contract.”

Hours later, Harry apparated back to the tunnel hidden behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, his pockets empty. The legendary Philosopher’s Stone now resided in the ancient Peverell vaults well beyond Dumbledore’s reach. Neither Tom nor Harry had felt comfortable keeping the stone at Hogwarts longer than absolutely necessary. Now that they had uncovered its secrets and extracted enough Elixir of Life, it was better that the stone was gone and kept safe. And who better to trust than the Goblins?

On the day before the students were set to return to the castle, Harry was seemingly lounging in the common, three stacks of parchment in front of him, when Severus entered the room. Looking up from the floor once the Potions Master had stopped in front of him, Harry tilted his head, his lips curled, “I’m aware that the students return tomorrow.”

“Are you?” Severus sneered before looking at the three stacks of parchment, “have the two of you gone even more insane? How can that wretched ritual evolve into something even more complicated?”

“You’re wrong, Severus,” Harry replied with a sugary sweet smile, “what you’re looking at are three rituals. Not one.”

“Three?” the Potions Master parroted, his jaw slightly unhinged and eyes wide.

“Yes, three,” Harry confirmed, his smile only growing brighter, “three finished resurrection rituals. Don’t worry, we’re only performing one. Which one depends on several factors. But before we move on to that, let me first explain a few things to you. The rituals themselves are quite similar. They only differ at a few stages, mostly regarding the brewing process and the runes used during the actual resurrection.”

“But why?” Severus suddenly interrupted him.

“It’s mainly because of the outcome of the ritual,” Harry replied bluntly, “let me show you.”

With that, he grabbed the first stack of parchment and began to explain, “As you can see, this ritual features three distinct brewing stages connected to the three moon phases it takes to complete the potion. Before you ask, all three rituals take exactly three moon cycles to brew. Besides, all three require to be brewed in an iron cauldron with a special liquid fire crystal coating. As you can see, the potion base consists of thrice purified water which is then mixed with Re’em Blood. The brewing has to begin on a full moon. The potion is then slowly brought to a boil while adding the freshly powdered moonstone. I don’t have to add that, this first step is extremely complicated given the delicate nature of the moonstone. Finely chopped hellebore and dittany are then added in equal parts before the heat is reduced and the potion is let to simmer for an hour. Meanwhile, the potion is stirred seven times anti-clockwise every ten minutes. After that, the temperature is raised slightly for the valerian root and the asphodel to be added. In order to balance the latest two ingredients, bloodroot and deadlyius have to be dissolved fifteen minutes later. The inclusion of fluxweed, wormwood and dittany should be fairly easy, whereas the next step featuring the Runespoor eggs and powdered Dragon claw is…”

“…an extremely delicate process,” Severus interrupted him, “I am a Potions Master if you had forgotten.”

“As if we would trust anybody else with this potion,” Harry snorted before turning serious again, “the other two rituals only vary slightly. You will soon see for yourself. Anyway, on the night of the second full moon, more powdered Dragon claws, hellebore and dittany are added to prepare the potion for the two most important ingredients of this brewing stage. Precisely 77 minutes after midnight, equal parts of Dark Phoenix tears and Basilisk venom have to be added. To complicate things, I, the donor of the blood, have to inject myself with both substances at the same time to ensure the compatibility of my blood and the potion. If I do not, my blood will be immediately dissolved if added to the potion on the night of the ritual and thus ruin the entire thing and…”

“Injecting yourself with Basilisk venom and Dark Phoenix tears?” Severus suddenly exclaimed, “are you suicidal?”

“Not if both ingredients are equally measured,” Harry said, clearly unconcerned, “according to the ancient laws of Alchemy, Basilisk venom and Black Phoenix tears are the exact opposite. One is deadly poisonous, while the other is the strongest healing substance there is, even stronger than regular Phoenix tears. As long as the dosage is balanced, I should be fine since both will neutralise each other but in turn strengthen my blood enough to withstand being included in the potion.”

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and obsidian orbs boring into his eyes, “You cannot possibly be serious about this!”

“Am I a prisoner of Azkaban?” Harry sneered, “clearly I’m not. I’m much too careful for that. Trust me, we will not screw this up. Let’s move on. Apart from regular stirs between the second and third full moon, the potion is mostly left to simmer. On the third full moon, the Elixir of Life is added. At that point, the Basilisk venom and the Dark Phoenix tears should have matured enough for the elixir to be integrated. During the next moon cycle, the ripening process slowly modifies the Elixir of Life developing the desired traits we need for the resurrection ritual. On the night of the ritual, which has to take place on the following full moon, the cauldron with the finished potion is placed at the centre of the rune circle. Let me show you.”

With that, Harry produced the intricate layout of the rune circle out of the stack of parchment. Severus’ eyes widened momentarily at the complex and interwoven sketch. The cauldron at its centre was surrounded by circles and circles of runes with the exception of two slightly smaller blank circles opposite each other.

“This circle is where I am going to stand,” Harry said while pointing at the one to the right of the cauldron, “the other one is reserved for the servant offering his flesh. He also must be the one to add the bone of the father into the potion before sacrificing his own flesh before my blood is offered at last. But before all that, seven magical crystals have to be set up to power the ritual. I will activate them with Parselmagic while Lucius and maybe another person will stabilise the rune circle from the outside. Once my blood is added, everything should work out.”

Silence followed. Of course, Harry had left out quite a few steps. He had only explained the most important things. There was no need to talk about all 777 stirs and every single rune. Severus was smart enough to follow the instructions for the brewing process by himself. Suddenly, a frown appeared on the Potions Master’s face. Without another word, Harry handed him the stack of parchment containing the instructions for the first ritual. After almost half an hour had passed, Severus finally looked up from the instruction, “Why are you adding powdered Dragon claws twice? And what about these runes?”

Following the gaze of Severus, Harry easily realized which runes the Potions Master was referring to. The man really was clever. A Cheshire grin graced his face as he answered, “Very well spotted, Severus. Both questions actually are interlinked. The runes emphasize the effect of the powdered Dragon claws. Powdered Dragon claws in turn are commonly used to increase the consumer’s brain functions. What isn’t commonly known is that the powder stimulates and intensifies the bond between soul and magic.”

“I’ve never heard of that!” Severus said, his eyes narrowed in scepticism, “and what utilisation could that serve in a ritual such as this?”

“That, my dear Severus, is the reason why there are three rituals,” Harry spoke with a dangerously alluring voice as his Avada-green eyes turned a deep crimson, “since there is no flesh, no bones or any organic matter in general left of my body since it all disintegrated in front of my very eyes as the Killing Curse hit me, there is no proper anchor left to sculpt my body after. In this case, the inclusion of powdered Dragon claws and the specific rune sequence would ensure that my future body is moulded after the last form my soul had resided in before my demise.”

Severus in front of him paled, a look of horror appearing on his face, “But…”

“Not my most appealing form. I’m aware of that,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, “that’s why there are two alternatives. In general, the ritual can be altered to put emphasis on the four major human components.”

“What about the others?” Severus almost asked pleadingly.

“The second one requires for an additional bone of my father being added to the potion three weeks into the third brewing cycle,” Tom sneered, his magic dancing around him in anger, “obviously I’m not too keen to look even more like my dear dead father than I already did. But at least, I would look human again.”

To that, Severus silently nodded his head.

“Anyway,” Tom continued, “the fourth option is out of the way. Explaining a carbon copy of Harry is just too bothersome, leaving only one other option…”

“The servant,” Severus suddenly breathed out, “but... you… you wouldn’t…”

Tom tilted his head to the side and eyed the Potions Master critically, “Wouldn’t do what, Severus? That I would never lower myself to align myself to my most trusted? That’s where you are wrong, my slippery friend, because the idea behind it is quite genius. Let me explain why. If seven drops of the servant’s blood are added to the potion a week before the actual ritual, my new body would include certain trademarks of the servant’s line. While still being me, I would even be included on the family tree of the donor.”

“That’s impossible!” Severus exclaimed.

“No, it isn’t,” Tom replied with a sharp smile, “I’ve talked with the Goblins about it and they have ensured me that it would work. They have also provided me with this. It’s a perfect plan actually. But take a look at it yourself, Severus. After all, this affects you and you only, since I wouldn’t trust anyone else except you.”

Severus’ eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he accepted the single sheet of parchment that displayed the Prince family tree.

“Look,” Tom said, while pointing out a specific branch of the tree, “while I know that you are the only living descendent of the Prince line, the Goblins could easily declare me to be a long lost member of the line, specifically this one.”

Severus followed the finger of the Dark Lord that had stopped just below a particular name, “My Lord, you… you can’t…”

“Oh, Severus, I am indeed serious, although currently NOT incarcerated,” Tom said before Harry could push to the front to deliver his favourite joke, “Harry and I have discussed this extensively. We are both sure that it could work. But in the end, you have to decide, Severus. Only you can do that. We are not forcing this upon you, although we would much appreciate it if you would agree. You have until Easter to decide. Meanwhile, Harry and I will gather the required ingredients and equipment.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Severus somehow managed to bring out.

Tom rolled his eyes before dismissing the clearly shocked Potions Master.

Chapter 22: Double Trouble

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry was in a considerably good mood as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Afterall, the Philosopher’s Stone was finally in their possession, the ritual had finally been completed and Severus had been informed about his possible involvement in the ritual. They had clearly achieved a lot during the holidays. As Harry sat down at the single long table in the hall, not even Dumbledore’s twinkle could dampen his mood. So far, the old coot hadn’t set foot near the forbidden corridor on the third floor. Therefore, the theft of the stone remained unnoticed. Harry wondered how long it would last. Tom was convinced that it wouldn’t happen until the end of the school year.

What was curious though was the absence of Severus. On one side, he could understand why the Potions Master had decided to forgo breakfast in the Great Hall. Afterall, he probably had a lot to think about. On the other hand, it wasn’t typical for Severus to miss meals, but he had heard Professor McGonagall talk to Professor Flitwick that Severus was apparently busy brewing to restock Madam Pomfrey’s potions supply. Ignoring their conversation about the arrival of the students later that day, Harry returned his focus on the plate in front of him filled with a delicious full English breakfast. After all the hard work, he felt like he deserved the treat.

Planning on taking advantage of the few hours that he had the common room all to himself, Harry pushed the now empty plate away and rose from the long bench. Lost in thoughts of what he would do, Harry wandered through the hallway leading down towards the dungeons. He was torn between a long hot bath or a few hours of meditation. Tom on the other hand seemed to favour a bit of light reading. Or maybe a visit to the Chamber...

But before they could come to a decision, Harry felt hands on him tugging him into a nearby classroom. Cursing himself for his lack of observation, he immediately reached for his Blackthorn wand to curse whoever had dared to lay a hand on him. He drew his wand in one swift and lightning fast movement that spoke of years of practise while turning towards his abductors. He was about to utter a series of nasty curses but stopped when he came face to face with two identical smiling faces.

“Dear Harrykins,” one of the Weasley twins started, “no need to be so hostile…”

“…we come in peace,” the other twin continued while both showed him their bare palms, “nothing to worry about.”

“Really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow, refusing to put his wand back into his holster, “after you’ve been monitoring and trying to follow me for months? Sure. Why have you been spying on me?”

“Not spying,” both of them said simultaneously.

“Sure,” Harry snorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Never in our innocent lives would we ever dare to spy on the precious Boy-Who-Lived ,” one twin said, appearing to be offended before pointing at his brother, “Gred and…”

“…Forge,” the other twin continued while pointing back at the other redhead, “are men of honour. We value nothing more than…”

“What do you want?” Harry interrupted the rambling.

Instead of being offended by his curt interruption, the two identical grins appeared on their faces, “Talk!”

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighed, “Then talk.”

“Dear Harrykins,” Fred began, “one night, Forge and I, innocent as we are, couldn’t sleep. Being as we are…”

“…we couldn’t help but wonder that a certain Golden saviour,” George continued smoothly, “was wandering the halls well past curfew… It was like a divine vision that warned us that…”

“You saw me on your map,” Harry cut in, “please, continue.”

“You know about the map?!” both twins exclaimed in wonder, “but how?”

“You weren’t the most subtle,” Harry snorted, “and since I don’t like being tracked and followed around, I made sure that my name stopped appearing on your nifty little parchment. How I achieved that feat? Well, that remains my secret for now. But coming back to your little story. What did your divine vision show you?”

Much to his surprise, the twins recovered quickly and only a second later, George continued, “Since you already know about the map…”

“…we saw you roaming the seventh-floor corridor,” Fred picked up from his brother, before George took over, “the one with the Gargoyle that…”

“…guards the office of our dear Headmaster,” Fred said, innocently batting his eyes at Harry, “late at night…”

“…on the Friday after the start of term,” George concluded.

Staring at them for a moment, Harry tried to ignore the panicking Dark Lord in the back and instead focussed on the twins, “And what else did you see?”

Shrugging their shoulders, both said simultaneously, “Nothing!”

After a few tense seconds, Fred added, “You went straight back to the dungeons after half an hour.”

Tom immediately relaxed, relieved that those two menaces hadn’t seen Harry inside Trelawney’s office. But he wondered what else they had seen before Harry had managed to disconnect his name from their map and what they planned to do with the information. Sharing his thoughts, Harry eyed the two redheads, “And what do you seek to do with that blackmail material?”

At this, both twins looked clearly offended, “Blackmail? Us?” We would never snitch on a fellow prankster. Never!”

“On the opposite,” Gred chuckled, a mischievous spark in his eyes, “we have to confess…”

“…that we are impressed,” Forge proceeded, while both twins pulled Harry closer, wrapping their arms around his shoulders in the process, “that swamp truly is a masterpiece…”

“…it truly is, Forge,” Fred said, respectfully lowering his head towards Harry, “we admire it…”

“…worship it,” George breathed, “never in our wildest dreams would we have thought to come across a fellow prankster…”

“…least of all for it to be the famous Boy-Who-Lived,” the other twin spoke equally quiet, trying to cloak his excitement, “and we are curious what else you have in store.”

That clearly wasn’t what Harry had expected, “Just for the record: you won’t snitch?”

After both had shook their heads, he continued, “Then what exactly do you intend to achieve with this meeting except proclaiming your reverence?”

Instead of directly answering, both redheads looked at each other before turning to Harry, an equally determined expression on each face, “We want to collaborate! Share knowledge and elevate our joined creations to new heights. Harrykins, what do you say?”

Harry clearly hadn’t expected this turn of events and neither had Tom. But in the end, both decided to give the Weasley twins a shot. This was mostly due to the magical aura of the two menaces. In contrast to the revoltingly Light aura of their piggish younger brother, the twins weren’t the Light Wizards everyone expected them to be. In fact, their auras were much darker. Not Dark but definitely on the Grey or neutral side. They were clearly intelligent much unlike the rest of the Weasleys Tom had the displeasure to encounter. From what Tom and Harry figured out during their - and there was no other word to call it - negotiation, the twins didn’t vehemently oppose Wizarding traditions as the rest of their family did. It was interesting indeed.

Especially when the two menaces started talking about their business endeavour. They planned to open a joke shop – ‘the greatest there ever will be’ – and they were currently developing a wide range of products for it. As of now, they were only in the developmental stages of their grand schemes, but they promised to progress soon, once they had refined and perfected their recipes. Tom was more than curious to see what they were working on. It sounded like they were combining Potions, Runes, Charms, and Transfigurations, which in itself was quite a feat considering their age. Working with the twins would surely be interesting and might prove useful in the future.

In the end, both parties agreed that for a possible collaboration, a demonstration of their talents was in order. Harry promised to show off some of his skills later that week while Gred and Forge would reveal to him some of their projects in development. The only thing Harry insisted on was a vow of secrecy. The twins didn’t object since it went both ways and thus, would protect both parties. Overall, Tom and Harry were pleased by the rather unexpected turn of events as they returned to the common room.

When the rest of the Slytherins returned a few hours later, the pair was deeply engrossed in a large necromancy tome dealing with different types of ghosts. Currently, the tome was concealed to look like an advanced Charms manual. Harry had owl ordered it from a rather shady publishing house based in Knockturn Alley that specialised in banned books as well as imported foreign literature. The book certainly contained plenty of banned Dark rituals and curses dealing with ghosts. Maybe, it was time to test out a few those nifty curses and rituals. Binns seemed to be the perfect guinea pig.

Draco, being his usual spoiled and impatient self, immediately confronted him about the Yule Ball, demanding answers to what Harry had discussed with his father. Rolling his eyes, Harry magically silenced the pampered peaco*ck and told him to have this conversation in a more private setting. Draco clearly wasn’t happy when Harry refused to follow him to their dorm immediately. At least Harry lowered the Silencing Charm.

An hour later, Harry was on his way to dinner, the rest of his year in tow. Neville was animatedly talking about the latest plant he had received from his Gran – a young Semi-Thaumatagoria, an extremely rare and powerful plant distantly related to the original Thaumatagoria, which was said to bear incredible strength-enhancing properties. Tom and Harry would certainly keep an eye on Neville’s developments with the plant.

Once they entered the Great Hall, Harry’s eyes wandered immediately over the sea of black robes. As usual, the atmosphere at the Hufflepuff table was a merry one whereas a lot of Ravenclaws were deeply immersed in the books in front of them while occasionally remembering to take a bite off their plates. The Slytherins were scheming while the Gryffindors were as obnoxiously loud as ever. Speaking of the lions, Weasley was already stuffing his face, gravy dripping off his chin right on his washed-out robes while his mischievous twins were blowing kisses in his direction. Although Tom knew that there was hardly anything serious about the twins’ antics, he couldn’t stop feeling possessive. This was HIS Harry and HIS Harry only.

“Shut it,” Harry suddenly brought the brooding Dark Lord out of his thoughts while making his ways to the Slytherin table, “look at Granger.”

And Tom did. Much like at the start of the year, Granger sat alone at the end of the long table. The gaps she had slowly started to close to her peers over the last few weeks were back again. But that wasn’t what struck Tom most. It was Granger herself. Her normally immaculate robes were crumpled, and her hair was even bushier than usual. She had bags underneath her puffy eyes she desperately tried to hide behind her curly locks. Still, even from the opposite side of the Great Hall, Tom could see it. Something definitely was wrong. But when Harry tried to confront her after dinner, she had already disappeared.

The next day wasn’t much better. Granger shunned any contact like the plague. At the Gryffindor table, she kept as much distance from her housemates as possible. In class, she would hide herself behind a huge stack of books. Not even once would her hand be in the air nor would she raise her voice to answer questions like she usually did. Something was clearly bothering her.

At dinner, Granger barely touched her food. Ten minutes in, she suddenly pushed her plate away, stood up and fled out of the Great Halls, tears running down her face. Avada-green eyes followed her leaving the hall. Sighing quietly to himself, Harry contemplated on what to do next. Should he follow and confront the brash Gryffindor, or should he leave her to herself. Surprisingly, Tom suggested to follow her, suspecting that something had gone horribly wrong during the Yule holidays. Bracing himself, Harry, pushed his plate away and was about to rise from his seat, when he felt a hand on his arm, “Please tell me this isn’t about Granger? I know she’s spent time with us doing her homework but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’ve seen how she’s acted today, Draco,” Harry said, a frown forming on his face.

“But why should you be the one?” Pansy suddenly asked, “she’s a bloody Gryffindor! Let them take care of themselves!”

Around her, people nodded in agreement. Theo even went as far as stating that a filthy Mudblood certainly wasn’t their problem, while Millicent and Rhea started a heated argument about Granger. Only Neville and Blaise remained silent. Ignoring all the protest, Harry rose from his seat, “It’s none of your business if I’m going after her…”

“But she’s a Gryffindor!” Daphne whined, trying to reach for Harry’s arm yet failing. Suddenly, Harry’s eyes turned steely, making his year mates flinch, “I don’t care what you say and who she is. She might have been sorted into Gryffindor yet none of those brave and heroic lions care for one of their own. Instead, she is ridiculed and laughed at. She’s an outcast in her own house and if there’s one thing that I hate it is bullying. I’m checking on her no matter what you say because somebody has to. Cover for me should I return past curfew.”

Not bothering for their replies, Harry quickly left the Great Hall. When he reached the entrance hall, Granger was already gone. Cursing quietly, Harry quickly ducked into a nearby alcove and pulled out his map. Hopefully Granger hadn’t retreated to Gryffindor tower but a glance at the map revealed that the tower was empty bar the Weasley twins. A couple of minutes later, Harry groaned as he stared at the small black dot with the name Hermione Granger.

Oh, the irony.

Shaking his head, Harry placed the map back in his pocket and headed for the stairs. A few minutes later, he stood in front of a familiar set of doors. He only hoped that Myrtle wasn’t inside. He could do without the wailing ghost. The door opened with a soft crack and Harry slipped inside the usually deserted girl’s lavatory on the second floor. Granger’s uncontrolled sobs resonated from the high ceiling. The stubs of a few candles bathed the room in a dull light, eerily accentuating the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Ignoring the sink with the defective tap for now, Harry headed for the stalls from which the sobs seemed to originate, silently coating the room with privacy and proximity wards. Most wooden doors were flaking and scratched. One of them was even dangling off its hinges. Stopping in front of one of the better ones, Harry heard the sudden intake of air before Granger’s trembling voice echoed through the lavatory, “Go… go a… away!”

“That’s not going to happen, Granger,” Harry replied firmly, “not unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ha… Harry?” Granger asked in disbelief, “you… you can’t be… be in here! This… this is a girl’s la… lavatory! What if they catch you in… inside of here?”

To that, Harry snorted, “As if anybody would ever come in here, Granger! Because of Myrtle, every female student of this school stays as far away from this lavatory as possible and you know that. That’s why you came here in the first place. Please come out and talk to me.”

“No! Leave!” was Granger’s stubborn reply and the sobs continued.

“That’s not going to happen, Granger! After all, I, too, am very stubborn. I will wait here until you’ll come out yourself,” Harry said firmly, before sitting down on the floor. Leaning against the closed door of the stall right next to the one Granger was hiding inside, Harry pulled an ancient Alchemy tome out of his satchel and began to read. He would stay the night if necessary, although he hoped that the stubborn Gryffindor would exit the stall sooner than that.

In the end, it took nearly three hours until he could hear the faint rustling of clothes. Moments later, he heard the latch of the stall slide back. Up closer, Granger looked even worse than during class. Her bushy brown hair was all over the place obscuring most of her face. But despite the hair, Harry could easily spot her red puffy eyes and the streams of tears, both fresh and dried, behind those wild curls. Her entire body hidden underneath her crumpled Hogwarts robe was shaking. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry pushed himself off the floor, discarding the Alchemy tome and wrapping his arms around Granger. Burying her face in his shoulder, Granger continued to cry. Minutes passed as his robe became wetter and wetter. Finally, Granger untangled herself from his arms, her eyes on her feet, “Sorry, Harry… This is just so embarrassing…”

“Shut up, Hermione,” Harry said firmly, “something is clearly bothering you and it has to come out. If you want to talk, please do. That’s what friends are there for.”

“Friends?” Granger said, looking up from her feet, her eyes open wide in surprise.

“Yeah, friends,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “after all our little discussions and the time we spent together, I think it is a justifiable statement about the two of us. Don’t you agree?”

“I… well,” Granger stuttered in confusion before her eyes suddenly lit up in shocking realisation, “wait, you called me by… by my first name…”

“And?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow.

Granger looked at him incredulously, “But… but no… no… nobody does that!”

Now it was Harry’s turn to look surprised, “Hermione, I seriously cannot be the first one to call you by your given name. Your parents…”

At those last two words, her face turned sour, tears beginning to form in her eyes again.

“Hermione, what about your parents?” Harry asked quietly while stepping forward to once again wrap his arms around her trembling form. And then, the words erupted out of the young Gryffindor like a volcano, “They… they’ve never… never called me by my name… For as long as I remember… And then during Christmas… I… I… It’s just so… convoluted… I… I don’t even know where to start…”

“What about the beginning?” Harry suggested while gently rubbing her back.

“It’s… it’s a long story,” Granger said, looking up from his shoulder with red and puffy eyes, “who would listen to the story of my miserable life? Nobody!”

“A friend does!”

Granger looked at him for a moment, clearly speechless, before her legs gave away. Harry’s strong arms were the only thing keeping her upright. As it became clearer and clearer that the Gryffindor would not regain her footing, Harry gently pulled her down with him on the floor. A moment later, the sobbing witch was wrapped in his arms, most of her body resting on his crossed legs. Granger was surprisingly light for her age. After a few minutes, Harry gently brushed the strands of wild hair out of her face, his Avada-green eyes directly meeting with her brown ones, “What did they do to you, Hermione? I would be most relieved if you would tell me. Please, I’m only trying to help you.”

Granger closed her eyes for a long moment before the words finally erupted from her mouth. It seemed like Granger couldn’t remember the last time her own parents had called her by her first name. Instead, they called her an “abnormality”, a “freak”, and a “disgrace”. It all started when Hermione showed her first signs of accidental magic shortly after the start of preschool. Hermione had always been surprisingly bright for her age and the children at preschool had bullied her mercilessly for that. Without any friends and the teachers constantly looking away, her magic had lashed out to protect her. But the bullying continued nevertheless and unfortunately, the teachers soon realized and told her parents. Instead of siding with Hermione, Mister and Misses Granger scolded their only daughter for such abnormal behaviour, telling her to keep any negative attention away from their family. After all, Mister and Misses Granger were respected dentists, who only socialized with the elite. After her parents declined to send her to another, though far less prestigious preschool, the bullying continued as did the bursts of accidental magic. The outbursts got only worse once elementary school started and the scramble for grades began. Soon, Hermione was so distressed by the bullying and the pressure of her parents that her accidental magic began to show at home. Not being able to explain those abnormal things happening around her, Hermione began to isolate herself, burying herself in her studies. But again, the bullying didn’t stop. After a particularly nasty incident that led to a handful of bullies bleeding out of their ears and losing their hearing for several months, the teachers declared that they were at their wits end. Urging the Grangers to change schools, they finally gave in and Hermione transferred to another, though less esteemed school. Although the bullying finally stopped, Hermione kept to herself, shying away from her peers. Life at school became more bearable and Hermione received top grades, but the problems did not vanish. She still suffered from uncontrollable magical outbursts and the constant scolding by her parents in combination with their disapproving glances certainly didn’t help. It was tense at home. Always.

And then one day during the summer holidays, the answer to all those weird happenstances stood in front of their door. It was quite early, and the Grangers hadn’t left for work yet. Praying for her parents to finally leave so she could go down to prepare breakfast herself, Hermione was hiding in her room when the doorbell rang. A minute later, Hermione was called downstairs. Upon entering, her jaw dropped. In front of her stood the most oddly dressed woman she had ever seen, introducing herself as Professor McGonagall. Finally, Hermione had the answer to all her questions. She wasn’t a freak but a witch. It was magic she had been doing all along and she would go to a magical school to learn how to control it. Her parents appeared to be relieved by that revelation and easily agreed to send her there and pay for her tuition. Since they had to work, it was arranged for Professor McGonagall to take Hermione to Diagon Alley to acquire her school supplies. After an eventful day of shopping in the magical alley, an overwhelmed and happy Hermione returned home only to find the house empty. For the next few weeks, her parents shunned her like the plague. Maybe they needed time to adjust to the revelation? Or they were too busy? Deciding not to worry too much about her parents, Hermione buried herself in her new books and tried to learn as much as possible about the magical world, sure that she would be the brightest witch Hogwarts had ever seen.

But while she excelled in classes, the Wizarding world was different than she had expected. Again, they rejected her. Because she was a Muggleborn. Born of lesser blood. And because of her brash behaviour, as Harry had pointed out. In hindsight, she regretted how she had treated those around her, especially since this had been her first real opportunity of making friends in years. But on the other side, she had never learned to behave differently, be outgoing and sociable. Only how to be competitive and to protect herself by distancing herself from all those who would hurt her. Overall, it was a great mess and she prayed to whoever was listening to be granted a second chance. It seemed that at least Harry was willing to help her. And maybe her parents would finally support her, now that they knew about magic.

But all her hopes and dreams were shattered when she returned home for the Christmas holidays. While she was picked up from King’s Cross station, she didn’t see much of her parents soon afterwards. The house was empty. On the morning of Christmas Day, it all erupted. Hermione made her way down the stairs to join her parents in the sitting room like she would always do on Christmas Day. But when she entered, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her parents weren’t dressed in their usual casual jumpers. Instead, they looked like they were ready to go out. When Hermione asked what they were doing, her father only laughed, telling his daughter in her face that they wouldn’t spend Christmas with their freak of a daughter, the abnormality who did not go to the esteemed Mayfield school or Eton college like the children of all their acquaintances. In curt words, Hermione was informed that all of the Granger’s acquaintances had been told that she attended a boarding school far away in New Zealand and would stay there most of the year. Nobody would miss her. Especially not her parents. To them, their freak of a daughter had stopped existing. They had left after that. Whenever Hermione did see her parents throughout the remainder of the holidays, they were cruel. When she was finally dropped off at King’s Cross, she was told that it would be beneficial for her health to remain within her freakish world throughout the next holidays.

The silence was heavy in the air after Hermione had finally finished.

“That’s quite a story,” Tom remarked in the back. Harry hummed in silent agreement, before turning to Hermione, “Thank you for sharing this with me, Hermione.”

A loud sob erupted from the bushy Gryffindor, “It’s just… It’s so messed up, Harry… I… I don’t know what to do… It’s all my… it’s all my fault… I’m just… what they say I am… And even here at Hogwarts I can’t make friends… It’s…”

“Hermione, stop it!” Harry’s voice boomed through the gloomy lavatory, “I am your friend and I’m sure you will make many more! Just be open minded, kind and give them a chance to accept you. Just like you’ve done before the holidays. As for your parents, well, I can understand that you are torn and conflicted… And frustrated… But right now, there isn’t much we can do. You won’t have to return to them for at least five months if you stay here for the Easter holidays. Thus, I suggest you focus on your life here, study, exercise your magic and try making friends. Don’t worry about them too much for now. And secondly, it’s not your fault…”

“But I was born with this… condition!” Hermione screamed, jerking away from Harry’s arms, “I am the Witch! I am the one with magic…”

“Stop, Hermione,” Harry spoke, his voice dangerously calm, “if your magical abilities are anybody’s fault, it is not yours! Magic simply does not pop up anywhere at random. It’s inherited. The offspring of two Muggles could never be magical. Thus, one of your parents must carry the trait within their genes. Although it’s dormant. But it has to be there. I suppose one of their ancestors must have been magical. Or at least a Squib, magical offspring who cannot access their magic. So, if anyone is to blame for your magic, it’s your parents.”

“What?” Hermione gawped, her jaw slightly unhinged and eyes open wide.

That had been the exact same reaction Tom had had when Harry presented him with the results of the Inheritance Potion the two of them had brewed during Harry’s third year of elementary school. Although Tom had always suspected it, he had never personally investigated this particular theory of the origin of Muggleborns. After several heated arguments, Tom and Harry had simply decided to brew an advanced version of the Inheritance Potion used by the Goblins to determine if one was eligible to obtain access to abandoned vaults of Wizarding lines that had long died out. Since Harry’s mother was supposed to be a Muggleborn, the theory was easy to test. After the ingredients had been ordered via owl from the apothecary of Knockturn Alley, the potion, though complicated, had been easily brewed – with the most surprising results. Tom had stared at the long sequence of lines connecting the ancestors of Lily Potter for what seemed like ages. He simply could not believe it as he stared at the name. THE name.

Corvinus Gaunt.

The Corvinus Gaunt.

Lily Potter né Evans was a direct descendent of Corvinus Gaunt, who at one point had been the last living scion of the Slytherin line. Tom had always thought that Corvinus had only fathered one son, Maheshzar, to whom Tom was directly related to. But according to Lily Evans’ family tree, there had been a daughter as well, Sylvaine. Tom could only guess that she had been a Squib and thus been removed from the family tree and left in the Muggle world to fend for herself. This in itself was most surprising, since at that time most Squibs had been killed instead. Purebloods had only much later started to spare their non-magical offspring. Why Sylvaine Gaunt had been left alive therefore was a wonder in itself. And nothing but ironic. Oh, the irony. At least it explained Harry’s aptitude for Parselmagic and was once again an indication of how equal Tom and Harry were.

“Hermione, I have always been wondering about the origins of magic,” Harry said, bringing Tom out of his thoughts, “and shortly after Halloween came about, this research paper from a Japanese Wizard was published. He claimed that all Muggleborns are in fact the descendants of cast out Squibs and that after several generations, magic sometimes breaks out of its dormant state. Anyway, since I had the dungeons basically all to myself and plenty of time at hand, I decided to confirm the theory for myself. Since my mother is said to be a Muggleborn, I could easily test it out. Thus, I brewed an Inheritance Potion and it’s true. She really is the descendent of an ancient Pureblood line. If you want to, you can test it out yourself since I brewed too much of the potion.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, “But, Harry, not that this isn’t fantastic… But how is this supposed to help me…”

“You could easily figure out if you are related to any of the ancient lines,” Harry said shrugging his shoulder, “and if there are vaults at Gringotts for you to claim, you can take the Inheritance test at the magical bank as well. For me, nothing but good things have come out of it. Not only did I discover that my mother was in fact not just a Muggleborn, but that my godparents are still alive. I contacted one of them and he agreed to adopt me.”

“That’s great, Harry!” Hermione said with sad puffy eyes, “but why?”

Harry’s lips curled in distaste, “Because I was forced to grow up with my magic hating relatives, my mother’s sister’ family to be precise. Sadly, I’m all too familiar with your situation, Hermione.”

And then, Harry told her about his own miserable childhood at the Dursleys’, although leaving out the parts when he and Tom had changed the house dynamics. Once he had finished, Hermione looked at him for a long moment, “Harry, that’s worse than even my childhood… I… I… don’t know what to say… But I’m glad that you managed to get out of there… I… I only wish there would be a way out for me as well…”

“But, Hermione, there is,” Harry said with a firm voice filled with determination, “just take the Inheritance Potion and we’ll find out if you are related to any of the magical families. I’m sure they would be delighted to welcome you in their ranks. After all, there is nothing more important to the ancient lines than their family and preserving the continuation of their name and legacy. You wouldn’t be so alone anymore in the magical world.”

In the end, Hermione accepted to take the Inheritance Potion. She also promised to focus on her magical education and life at Hogwarts, leaving the decision about her parents for a later date.

When they left Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, it was already well past curfew. Sensing the dread of the Gryffindor, Harry quickly pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his satchel, threw the cloak over the both of them and silently escorted Hermione to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room hidden behind the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione whispered almost inaudibly, still hidden underneath the cloak, “you can’t imagine how much this means to me. Thank you for being my friend and coming after me. Nobody has ever done that for me…”

Harry then felt her arms wrapping around him, before she breathed a ‘good night’ into his ear. A second later, Hermione had already spoken the password and was gone.

The next morning, Harry was already sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying his porridge topped with a wide array of fresh fruits, when the other Slytherins arrived at the long house table.

“I can’t believe you’re already up,” Draco shook his head, an incredulous look on his pale aristocratic face, “how do you manage to go with barely a few hours of sleep without looking like you’re about to drop dead?”

“Don’t know,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders before focussing on his breakfast. For the next few minutes, he was bombarded with questions about last night. But Harry remained silent. After all, it was Hermione’s secret to tell and not his. Internally, he sighed in relief when the sound of hundreds of fluttering wings announced the arrival of the post. A large package was dropped in front of Draco, nearly knocking over a large pitcher of pumpkin juice. The blonde quickly went on to unwrap the parcel and busied himself with his usual sweets from home and thus, finally stopped pestering him with questions. Turning away from the Malfoy heir, Harry’s eyes landed on the newspaper in front of him. Suddenly, his lips curled into a sharp smile, joined by Tom’s hearty yet simultaneously sinister laughter. It seemed like Fudge had swallowed the bait at the Malfoy Yule Ball and taken Harry’s words to heart, as he stared at the title page of today’s Daily Prophet.

Minister announces extensive education reform.

Much to the surprise of everyone, Minister Cornelius Fudge announced drastic shifts within the current education system. In the presence of the entire Hogwarts Board of Governors, the Minister expressed his dissatisfaction with the exceedingly declining OWL and NEWT results and the high failure rate of the Auror and Unspeakable training programs. To ensure the best possible education of all Witches and Wizards, the current curricula, educators, and the selection of classes will be reviewed and, if needed, be restructured. For this, an independent commission of educational experts will be constituted immediately. Furthermore, the funding of Britain’s sole magical school will be validated extensively. According to the Head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Lucius Malfoy, “Hogwarts has been critically underfunded for decades, which in turn has led to the overall decline in student performance. The school has fallen from one of the top educational establishments to mediocrity, now ranking only fifth in the international school ranking. This must change. We simply have to invest in the future. Therefore, the Board of Governors support the extensive revision and reorganisation completely.” Minister Fudge…

Harry quickly scanned the rest of the article. Overall, he was more than satisfied with Fudge’s efforts. Fudge promised an extensive increase of the school’s budget, mostly to raise the wages of the currently underpaid staff, augment the overworked staff by hiring additional personnel, replenishing and modernizing the school equipment, renovating the castle itself as well as updating the wards of the school during the summer holidays. The Minister had certainly picked up a lot of his points.

Contemplating on using an Eavesdropping Charm, Harry focussed his attention on the staff table, curious as to how the teachers would react. Using the Charm was not necessary. Madam Hooch seemed to be more than happy that the school might finally be getting new brooms, while Professor Sprout was eagerly enumerating the new plants she intended to buy to Professor Flitwick. While Quirrell was avoiding everybody’s eyes as usual, most teachers seemed to be excited about the education reform. Only the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall were quietly talking to each other, probably discussing the way the Ministry was trying to interfere in Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Harry felt eyes on him. Severus was directly looking at him. His face was blank, yet his eyes did betray him. There was a current of emotions swirling inside the obsidian orbs, demanding an explanation. Mouthing the word ‘later’, Harry turned back to his breakfast, finishing his porridge. Scanning the Hall, he noticed that Hermione was not sitting at the Gryffindor table. But after last night, that was hardly surprising. He grabbed a few pieces of toast, spread some jam on top and wrapped them with a napkin. He then grabbed his satchel and rose from the bench.

“Where are you going?” Pansy asked with her shrill voice, looking at him with a questioning expression on her face, “breakfast isn’t over for another fifteen minutes?”

“Calm down, Pansy,” Blaise suddenly interfered, “we all know where he is going…”

“But,” Pansy began, “she…”

Only to be interrupted by Blaise again, “I’m sure we will meet him at Charms.”

After confirming Blaise’s assessment, Harry quickly left the Great Hall, making his way to the Charms corridor. Much like expected, Hermione was already waiting there, her face flushed but clearly looking better than the day before although a bit tired. She was sitting in front of the classroom, hunching over what Harry guessed was her Charms homework.

“Are you feeling better?” Harry asked, making her look up from her work.

“Harry, good morning! I didn’t hear you,” the bushy Gryffindor greeted him, “I was just…”

“…submerged in your Charms essay,” Harry chuckled, “I suppose it’s finished at least.”

The corners of Hermione’s lips curled into a faint smile, “It is. Although I missed breakfast because of that and much needed sleep.”

“That’s why I brought you breakfast,” Harry smiled, handing her the napkin he had been carrying. Hermione’s smile brightened as she accepted the toast and eagerly tore into the first slice, bringing out a “Thank you” between bites. Chuckling quietly, Harry reached for his satchel. With silent and wandless Summoning Charms, he easily produced two crystal vials out of the depths of the magically expanded satchel, “Hermione, the smaller one is a Pepper Up Potion. It should help you stay awake in class today. The other one is the Inheritance Potion I talked about last night.”

At that, Hermione stopped eating, looking up from her toast with wide eyes. But before she could say anything, Harry continued, “I’ve included the instructions. They’re fairly easy. Nothing too overly complicated. Just do it whenever you feel ready. I don’t want to rush you. You decide.”

Later that night, Harry found himself roaming the dungeons. Hidden underneath layers of Disillusionment Charms, he was on his way to one of the many abandoned parts of the castle. It was mind boggling how little of Hogwarts was frequented on a regular basis. Harry guessed that at least half of the castle was practically deserted, abandoned and forgotten, especially the dungeons. Sure, both common rooms and dormitories of Slytherin and Hufflepuff, the Potion classrooms and laboratories, the kitchen and house elf quarters as well as Severus’ personal quarters were located in the dungeons. But even together, they only occupied a fraction of the levels below the surface of the school. Sure, the now defunct Alchemy track was quite large, but there was so much more.

Taking another case of stairs downwards, Harry found himself on one of the lowest accessible levels of the dungeons. A thick layer of dust covered the old granite floor. The walls were covered in cobwebs and the meagre candle stumps looked like they hadn’t been light in ages. The cloying and musty scent of slow yet steady decay was heavy in the air. But despite the gloomy appearance, the magic radiating from the corridor felt odd. Somehow, it felt Darker than the rest of the castle and Harry had a good idea why.

Ignoring his gloomy surroundings, Harry strode past dusty and flaking paintings. Some of them were in such a state of disrepair that they had ceased to move. This part of the castle really had been neglected for too long. After a while, Harry reached the end of the corridor, which appeared to be nothing but a blank withered stone wall. To either side, the wall was flanked by faded wooden doors. But Harry wasn’t interested in any of them. Instead, he stared at the wall reaching out his magic. And then, he started to hiss. Slowly, the Parselmagic started to take hold and the stone began to shift. A minute later, he stood in front of a regal-looking ebon door with iron fittings. Harry felt the Dark magic oozing from the door. Without further ado, he grabbed the golden handle and entered.

Inside, time seemed to have stood still. No dust. No cobwebs. Pleasantly flickering candles lit the room. The carpet underneath his feet looked like it was new. The paintings on the wall, mostly silently hissing serpents, were in pristine condition. And lastly, the thick tomes in the countless shelves smelled of fresh parchment. Overall, the strong Preservation Charms in the room seemed to have done a wonderful job. Yet the Preservation Charms were not the sole reason for the pristine conditions. House Elves had been here not too long ago. It wasn’t difficult to guess who had called the Elves. The one who had called was hoovering a feet above the air right in front of him and staring at Harry, his jaw slightly unhinged.

“A founder’s heir has returned to Hogwarts,” the eerie voice of the ghost echoed through the room, accompanied by the metallic jangles of the heavy chains moving above his cloak covered with silvery shining blood.

“Good evening, my Lord,” Harry replied with a low bow.

“Thy evening shall be blessed by Magic herself, Mister Potter,” the Bloody Baron spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “for I hope thy return marks the commencement of Hogwarts’ rise to its former glory.”

“Fret not, my Lord,“ Harry’s lips curled into a smile, “for I shall take this task upon my shoulders. But for that, I need help.”

The Bloody Baron eyed him for long tense seconds, before he straightened himself and spoke in a much deeper and clearer voice, “Then I am to your service, Heir Slytherin.”

The next morning, Harry was in a good mood when he, followed by the rest of his year, climbed the stairs up to the Entrance Hall for breakfast.

“What is that?” Neville suddenly asked, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Don’t know,” Pansy said, shrugging her shoulders, “probably nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

“No, there is something,” Rhea gasped, grabbing Pansy by her shoulder, “listen!”

And indeed, there was.

It sounded like quite a crowd. An excited crowd. Some screaming. Some cheering.

“I have to see this!” Draco exclaimed, before setting off. The rest quickly followed.

Keeping a relatively straight face seemed almost impossible when Harry reached the Entrance Hall. The madly laughing Dark Lord certainly did not make it easier. There was literally just one way to describe the state of the usually so pristine Entrance Hall: It was a mess and Peeves was the centre of it.

The orange eyes of the malicious Poltergeist were sparkling with glee as he was watching the chaos he was causing while gently cradling his newest possession – a bright orange and green striped bag slung around his shoulders. Cackling wildly, the Poltergeist performed a few flips before reaching into the bag. Fractions of a second later, he had a pulsating, sparkling pink orb in his hand. Much to the horror of those below him, the Poltergeist began to haul orb after orb, each a different colour of the rainbow, at the students and teachers alike. The hair and skin of those that had been hit began to sparkle in the colour of the orb that Peeves had thrown at them. Rolling his eyes, Harry erected a Shield Charm with a silent flick of his wand.

Soon, students were fleeing in panic, hiding behind statues or suits of armour, or ducking into alcoves, except for the Weasley twins, who were cheering the Poltergeist. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall sent a Patronus to the Headmaster, calling for his help. This seemed to be the thing the Poltergeist had been waiting for, as his throws increased in intensity. Professor McGonagall tried to Summon Peeves’ never-ending source of orbs. But the bag seemed to be immune to her magic.

“Peeves!” Dumbledore’s voice suddenly boomed through the Entrance Hall, “this is enough! Please hand me the bag, or you will face severe consequences.”

But instead of obeying, the Poltergeist now truly burst out into maniacal laughter, while juggling several orbs in mid-air, “But dearily Dumblidididory, innocentily Peevsily here is having so much fun! Dumblidididory should join, too!”

Before the Headmaster could react, Peeves had already hauled several orbs at Dumbledore. His long beard and hair immediately started to sparkle in a nice Slytherin green, while his skin turned pink. Certainly not a good look. After throwing another dozen orbs at the students below him as well as successfully hitting Filch and Professor McGonagall, Peeves fled, chased by Dumbledore and the majority of the teachers.

Once the wild hunt had departed the Entrance Hall, most students came out of their hideouts. Soon, the Entrance Hall was filled with animatedly chatting students, talking about the latest prank of the Poltergeist. Throwing a quick glance at the Weasleys, who were both giving him a thumbs up, Harry finally headed for the Great Hall, with his year mates walking ahead. But before he had moved more than a foot, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Impressive,” Severus’ familiar drawl, though much more quietly than usual, cut through the air, “although I must express my curiosity as of how you managed to get that ghostly menace on your side. As far as I know Peeves only acts as he pleases.”

“Well,” Harry smirked, his eyes glinting, while silently erecting Anti-Eavesdropping Charms, “that’s where you are wrong. Peeves isn’t just a Poltergeist that randomly popped up here because of the presence of all the young Witches and Wizards. Much like the sorting hat, he is a physical manifestation of the Four Founders to guarantee that no harm will come to the castle. You can’t imagine how eager he was to assist me.”

Breaking the Privacy Charms, Harry left a gaping Potions Master behind and finally entered the Great Hall for a late breakfast.

By Friday night, Peeves was still having the time of his life. So far, no one had been able to stop the Poltergeist. As a result, most, or at least those who could perform the Charm, had taken to walking around protected by a Shield Charm. Still, those who couldn’t and those forgetting to put one up bore the marks of the Poltergeist as the colouring effect of the magical orbs lasted 24 hours before disappearing. At dinner, the Great Hall had been populated by a vast array of glittering colours.

Now, it was well past dinner and curfew was approaching. Not that Harry cared. He had a meeting scheduled in an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor. Unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive. Given the ten minutes he was early, it was as he had expected. Without further ado, Harry began to layer the room with Privacy, Anti-Eavesdropping and Proximity Wards before pulling out his map. A quick glance at the magical parchment revealed that two dots were approaching.

A minute later, the door was thrown open to the laughter of the Weasley twins. But before they could say anything, the door closed behind them, reactivating all the Wards placed on the room. Two sets of identical, glinting eyes stared at him, before one of them, Gred, chuckled, “Oh, dear Harrykins! What a truly…”

“…marvellous performance,” Forge continued, “we would be lying if we…”

“… told you that we weren’t impressed by your little demonstration of your talents,” the other twin proceeded smoothly, “we have tried to…”

“… convince Peeves to join us for years,” George quickly added, “but he would only bombard us with Dungbombs or worse. That’s why we’ve been asking…”

“…ourselves,” both of them spoke simultaneously, “how in Merlin’s beard did you manage to do that?”

Staring at the two red-haired menaces in front of him, a Cheshire grin suddenly appeared on Harry’s face, “Well, gentlemen, I cannot reveal all of my secrets just now. Later maybe. But you two have a bargain to keep up to, do you not?”

“Dear Harrykins, of course we are,” Gred said, feigning to be deeply offended, before reaching towards his satchel, producing a stack of parchment, “that’s why we…”

“… brought some of our finest creations yet,” Forge continued, snatching the parchments out of his brother’s hand before presenting them to Harry, “I hope you enjoy your first taste of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

To say that the Dark Lord was surprised by what he read on the parchment was a major understatement. Sure, all three ‘products’ were still in their developmental stages and far from perfect, but for two third years to come up with such ambitious creations was a feat in itself. Especially, since most adult Witches and Wizards struggled with Spell creation, Potion development, Warding, and the creation of magical objects. But not the Weasley twins.

Their first creation was quite ingenious and almost perfect. The twins had aptly called the substance ‘Instant Darkness Powder’. The powder mostly contained powdered Peruvian Moon Beetles that were then dissolved in a mixture of Fire Salamander Blood, dried Paraguay nightshade and the ashes of the Babylon weeping willow among others. The mixture was then brought to a boil until it turned into a thick, gooey mass. The mass was then removed from the fire, refined with a splash of onyx powder, and slowly left to dry. Pulverized, even small amounts of the substance could be used to instantly darken a larger space, lasting for several minutes. At least with a few adjustments the powder would achieve that. A bit more of the Peruvian Moon Beetles, a bit of concentrated sulfuric acid and some Nightingale feathers and the recipe would work perfectly, maybe even better than anticipated. Overall, the thinking behind the recipe and the calculations were quite impressive, especially for two thirteen-year-olds.

The next invention was even more so. As far as Tom understood the instructions, the Rune-enhanced Potion was supposed to turn the drinker into a canary for a limited amount of time, which in itself was quite an ambitious endeavour given that the Potion was modelled after the actual Transfiguration. While the Potion was far from perfect, the number of ideas and thoughts put into the development was astonishing and spoke of a developing deep understanding of magical theory.

The twins’ grasp on Arithmancy became especially apparent throughout their third invention, a hat which was supposed to Glamour the facial features of the wearer without being detectable from the outside. While the Runes needed to be refined, the Magical equations were done quite nicely.

Overall, Tom and Harry were deeply impressed. With a few pointers here and there, the projects of the twins would soon progress past the theoretical stage.

Looking up from the parchment, the smirk on Harry’s face grew wider, “Gentlemen, I think it’s time for proper negotiations. What do you say about creative and financial cooperation?”

Chapter 23: Valentine's Day

Chapter Text

“Financial cooperation?” the Weasley twins echoed incredulously.

“You heard that right,” Harry chuckled, “everybody knows that the Weasley family, despite being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, is far from well-off. Personally, I think that two fine gents like yourselves, gents with so much potential, shouldn’t be halted by a lack of monetary resources. Therefore, I offer full monetary support.”

“Full monetary support?” both twins echoed incredulously, “but Harrykins…”

“Shhh, stop!” Harry spoke firmly, cutting their protest short, “I certainly can afford it. As the sole heir to the Potter fortune, money certainly isn’t something I have to worry about. There is no way I’ll ever be able to spend it all. Besides that, my manager and I see that everything is very well invested. Hence, I could live off the interest alone. Anyway, why should I keep that fortune all to myself? You could certainly need a financial push. Don’t you agree?”

At the mention of the Potter fortune, the faces of the twins suddenly turned calculating, “While this sounds good and all, what do you ask for in return?”

Tom was impressed. There was certainly more to the two red-haired menaces than met the eye. They were not only ingenious inventors but also seemed to have a certain degree of understanding of business and negotiation, which was highly uncommon for Gryffindors. Harry reached for his satchel and pulled out a sheet of parchment of the highest quality, “Gentlemen, I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now and even had my account manager at Gringotts draw up a contract. Let me explain the terms I have come up so far for you. If you have questions or want to add or change anything, just voice your ideas.”

After both twins had signalled him to go on, Harry spread the parchment on a nearby table for all parties to see and began to explain the terms of the magically binding contract, “Gred, Forge, if you agree to this contract, a vault will be opened for you at Gringotts. Each month, one hundred Galleons will be deposited in that vault for each of you…”

“One hundred Galleons?” both twins whispered, clearly baffled by the amount of money, which Harry was sure was significantly more than their father’s monthly salary.

“Yes,” Harry chuckled, “each month, you will receive two hundred Galleons combined to your free disposal. With that money, you can do whatever you want. Buy ingredients, books and other equipment, pay test subjects, marketing… You name it. Should you need more, I’m open for negotiations. In order to access your vault, you can deploy one of the Potter Elves. In fact, Sage…”

With a soft pop, a delicate looking House Elf suddenly appeared in front of them, “Master Harry, Sage is at your service. What may Sage be doing for young Master?”

“Good evening, Sage,” Harry said, gracing the tiny Elf with a warm smile, “let me introduce you to Gred and Forge Weasley, my future business partners. They might be calling for you in the future to access their vault at Gringotts and have you fetch a few things in Diagon Alley.”

“It is an honour for Sage to work for Master Harry’s Weasleys,” the tiny Elf squeaked in excitement, before bowing to the twins and disappearing.

“A House Elf?” one twin said in wonder.

Harry chuckled at their dumbstruck expression, “Your personal House Elf.”

“Personal House Elf?” the other twin echoed.

“Yes,” Harry laughed, “I myself was surprised at how many House Elves are serving the Potter family. Therefore, I’d gladly offer you the service of Sage. If you accept, she can access your vault and obtain books, potions ingredients, magical objects, clothes - you name it - from the magical shopping districts. Personally, I employ my House Elves to fetch whatever I need as well as get my letters and parcels from my rented post box in Diagon Alley. If you would like, Sage could easily open a post box for you for placing and receiving orders. Would you be interested?”

“Of course!” the twins said quickly, “but what do you…”

“Later,” Harry said, cutting their questions short, “besides offering you financial support and the service of Sage, I also offer my personal help and expertise. If you want to, we could meet weekly to discuss your latest inventions. I could help you perfect your creations.”

“But you are a first year!” both twins exclaimed.

A Cheshire grin graced Harry’s face, “Add twice the amount of Peruvian Moon Beetles, pulverized not chopped, to your Instant Darkness Powder, simmer it while slowly adding eleven drops of sulfuric acid before dissolving three Nightingale feathers and your powder will work perfectly.”

For a long moment, the Weasley twins stared at him, their eyes open wide in shock and disbelief, before one of them said, “Can you repeat that again?”

Harry did. The next few minutes, he spent watching the twins as they compared their notes of the Instant Darkness Powder with Harry’s suggested modifications, recalculating the recipe. Finally, they looked up from the parchments, “That actually works!”

“Surprised?” Harry asked in mock sarcasm.

The twins looked at each other, before facing Harry again, shaking their heads, “No.”

“Good,” Harry chuckled, before pointing at the next point of the proposed contract, “once you have reached the stage of production, I offer you my help and the help of my House Elves to start a mail ordering business and possibly even one of the Potter properties in Diagon Alley to use as you store. We may negotiate properly about this at a later point. But for now, let’s not talk about shares, rent, or anything production related. Now…”

“It’s time to talk about your side of the bargain,” Gred and Forge interrupted him in perfect synchronicity. Tilting his head to the side, Harry eyed the twins suspiciously while Tom in the back did the same. It certainly was not uncommon for twins to share a connection but to speak, think and move in synchronicity to the degree the Weasley twins did, indicated something more. Wandlessly calling forth his magic, he examined the bond between the twins.

What he discovered was a lot deeper than he had expected. Invisible, yet thick tendrils of magic were floating between the two of them, indicating a deep connection that went beyond most magical bonds. Even deeper than most soul bonds. The twins shared a soul, which in itself should be impossible. It was against the laws of Magic and nature – defied everything that should be impossible. Yet here they were, sharing a soul, their magic, their thoughts – everything – even their lives, because Tom doubted that one of them could exist for long without the other. It certainly explained why they were only seen together and never alone. The magical pull between the twins was simply relentless.

Then there was the nature of twins’ magic. Tom and Harry had felt it before, but now it was much clearer. As opposed to the Light affinity of their brothers, their magic was a lot darker, thicker and denser. Tom wouldn’t be surprised if their true magical affinity, although shrouded at the moment by the lack of exposure to banned curses and rituals, was Dark in nature. The nature of their magic really was astonishing, especially concerning their heritage. They were Weasleys after all. On the other hand, soul bonds were much more common amongst Witches and Wizards with a Dark affinity. Since most Dark Magic highly emphasized on strong emotions, it was only natural for strong emotional bonds like Soul Bonds to appear more often amongst the practitioners of the Dark Arts. Tom could not help but feel curious whether the twins would answer the call of their magic.

“Harry, what are you doing?” the twins suddenly brought the Dark Lord and Harry out of their thoughts. Feeling like he had been slapped, Harry pulled back his magic and quickly tried to think about a plausible explanation, “I was… I… Well… Sorry guys, but my magic must have slipped my…”

“Stop trying to fool!” Gred suddenly said, interrupting Harry’s attempt at an excuse, “how did you do that? Seriously…”

“…we felt that you were touching our magic, “Forge continued smoothly, “your magic was brushing against ours…”

Harry wanted to curse himself to the moon and back again. Usually, most Witches and Wizards were oblivious to any magic surrounding them. Only a few selected individuals were in tune enough with their magic to sense wards or anything around them, least of all minor intrusions like what Harry had done. Why, amongst all Witches and Wizards, were the Weasley twins amongst those sensitive enough to detect his magic? Sure, it spoke in favour of the twins and in the end, it had been Harry who had not been subtle enough, thus leading to his detection, but who would blame him? It was only natural to be curious.

“…we know that you can determine one’s magical aura with the Revelio Spell,” Gred explained, failing to conceal his excitement, “were you trying to do so without the actual spell?”

Harry only nodded his head, not wanting to give away more.

“Wicked!” both twins exclaimed, before George went on, “how do you do that?”

While his brother shouted, “Can you teach us?”

That certainly was not what Harry had expected.

“Seems like those two are more interested in the ‘how’ than you attempting to get a read on their magical affinity,” Tom chuckled, “they’re too curious for their own good.”

Agreeing with the Dark Lord’s assessment for now, Harry returned his focus on the two red-haired menaces, “The answer to your question is a lot of meditation to focus and finetune your magic. We can talk about this later. But before we return to our negotiations, I must ask: how close are the two of you? Do you exchange thoughts? Can you even stay apart? And lastly, do you share your magic?”

This time, he had caught the twins off guard, “How do you know? Nobody has ever realized nor asked about it!”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry enquired, “Not even the Headmaster?”

“Not even the Headmaster. He has never been interested in us. It’s always Ron and our younger sister Ginny that he seems to be interested in,” the twins confirmed, “but how do you know?”

“Well,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, “let’s just say that I’m very proficient at reading the magic surrounding me. We can talk about my magic sensitivity and your ‘special’ connection later. Anyway, let us now turn to my end of the bargain. I demand absolute confidentiality from both of you. My name stays out of the picture. I do not want to be associated with your inventions. The source of your financial backing is to remain a public mystery. My involvement in any pranks stays a secret. Basically, I want our cooperation to stay in the shadows, preferably sealed by a magical confidentiality contract signed in blood. Or is that condition too severe for you?”

“Not too keen to taint your public image, “Forge said, before Gred continued, “oh Golden Saviour.”

“Exactly,” Harry replied, accompanied by a sharp smile, “I want nobody to suspect that I’m up to… certain things.”

“What about Lee Jordan?” both twins suddenly asked, “he is an integral part of our… business plan.”

Contemplating about this for a moment, Harry and Tom reached a conclusion. In the long run, it would only arouse suspicion if the twins would distance themselves from their friend. Therefore, it was better to include him at some point, but not now. Taking a deep breath, Harry met the twins’ eyes, “For now, I would like this to stay between the three of us, at least as long as most of your inventions are still in the developmental stage. As long as your friend agrees to the same terms of confidentiality, he may join at a later point. But what about you? Would you agree to magically seal our secret and sign a binding contract? That is the only real and binding condition I demand from you.”

The twins shared a quick look, before simultaneously shrugging their shoulders, “Sure! We will keep quiet, dear Harrykins!”

“Good,” Harry chuckled, “apart from that, there is only one demand, although the word ‘demand’ is a bit harsh. A time might come, when I might ask you to do a few things for me. Ask, not demand…”

“Like favours?” Forge suddenly asked.

“Like favours,” Harry confirmed with a curt nod of his head, “it won’t be anything too taxing and certainly always doable. Furthermore, you will always have the option to decline, although I hope it will never come to that point. Those favours will always be reasonable. Anyway, do you have to interject, change, or disagree?”

Both twins shook their heads, “For now, not. But are you serious about not adding more points to your side?”

“Yes, that’s all I ask for,” Harry answered with a sincere smile, “what about you?”

“Give us a minute,” both twins said, devious grins appearing on their faces. Without further ado, they snatched the contract off the table and retreated to a corner of the room. Harry could neither see nor hear what they were doing. It seemed like now that Harry knew about their special connection, the twins had no qualms about utilizing the soul bond to their fullest capability. But that was not the only thing. Roughly thirty minutes into their silent discussion, he saw both of them lifting their wands pointing them at the parchment. Harry’s eyebrows rose as he heard the incantation. How did those two know about this obscure spell? The spell was commonly, although mostly forgotten by now, known as “Un-crossing the Foe”-Spell. Although highly complicated in nature, it could uncover any hidden curses, runes and rituals that had been covertly applied to magical binding contracts. Outside Gringotts and the ancient families, it was rarely used nowadays. Not only did the twins know about the spell, they also seemed to have applied it correctly as the parchment started to glow in a light blue, indicating that it was free of any hidden clauses, “Dear Harrykins, we think we can agree on all points although we want to add a termination clause.”

“They truly are devious and too clever for their own good,” Tom remarked as Harry listened to their demand. It was quite an ingenious move on their part without putting Harry at disadvantage. All parties would be able to terminate the contract at any time, yet none would be able to reveal anything to the outside. Both Tom and Harry were fine with that. Thus, the clause was swiftly added to the contract.

“Gentlemen,” Harry smiled, “if you do not object, I think it is time to sign the contract.”

Since neither twin voiced their opposition, Harry reached for his satchel and pulled out a simple, yet masterfully crafted mahogany box. Small runes were etched into the polished wood to obscure the magical aura of its content. Even if the object would be removed from the box, the protection would last another hour. Without further ado, Harry opened the box.

“Wicked!” the twins exclaimed in awe, stepping closer to inspect the object, “how did you manage to get a Dark artefact like this lovely Blood Quill inside the castle?”

“House Elves, Rune protection and my account manager at Gringotts,” Harry chuckled, “I hope you do not object to using the quill, do you?”

At this, both twins laughed before Gred grabbed the Blood Quill, “Of course not! Ever since our brother Bill told us about them, we’ve been curious about them and finally, we get to use one. As long as there is…”

“…no long-lasting effect, which we know there isn’t, we have no problems signing the contract,” Forge continued, accepting the magical quill from his brother after he had signed the contract. Seconds later, both signatures had been completed. The blood was shining in a deep crimson on the otherwise mostly colourless parchment.

“That wasn’t as bad as we had anticipated,” both chuckled, while shrugging their shoulders. Harry then went on to add his signature to the magical contract. Once he had signed with his full name and title, the Blood Quill was placed back in its box and Harry went on to pull out his wand. Fractions of a second later, Latin chants filled the air sealing the magical contract. The air around him and the twins began to change as sequence after sequence of the magical contract was activated. Suddenly, he felt a wave of magic wash over him. The twins next to him gasped as the contract took hold while staring at the softly glowing parchment with big eyes. It was official now. Three mischief makers were now united.

After that night, things progressed smoothly. Harry was surprised how busy the next weeks were. Apart from the daily classes and homework, Quidditch practise took place twice a week, usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. With the approaching Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game, it was most likely that the training schedule would only increase. Then there were the private Potions ‘lessons’ with Severus. They had started shortly after Samhain. Officially, Harry would be ‘taught’ about more advanced Potions and Potions theory. In reality, Harry, Tom and Severus spent Wednesday night before Harry’s Astronomy class refining Severus’ latest inventions, working on older, abandoned projects where he had hit a brick wall, or inventing something entirely new. Their Sunday lesson was mostly reserved for duelling sessions in the Room of Requirements. Severus certainly was a worthy opponent and Harry was more than glad for finally being able to put his abilities to the test. So far, nobody suspected that the advanced Potions lessons were nothing but a cover. While Dumbledore had made a surprise visit some time during the middle of November, he had witnessed nothing but Severus ‘teaching’ Harry how to brew a “Bone Mending Potion”. Apart from voicing his concern about the difficulty of the potion regarding Harry’s age, the Headmaster had not said much and so far, had not visited again.

Besides Quidditch and the advanced Potions ‘lessons’, Harry had also started teaching his year mates practical defence spell work. It had all started with Hermione complaining about Professor Quirrell’s inability to explain or demonstrate the spells and defences they were supposed to be learning in class. They had been sitting in the library when Hermione had let it all loose. Lengthy library sessions in turn also had become a regular occurrence. Usually, Harry was sitting together with Hermione, Draco and Neville working on their homework after classes, but it was not uncommon for Blaise, Pansy, Rhea and Millicent to share their table. At times, even Theo, Daphne, and Tracey would join them. But on that day, it had only been him and Hermione.

“I just don’t get,” she had said, clearly expressing her frustration, “how anyone at this school is supposed to learn anything practical in that rotten class taught by everchanging incompetent fools? Clearly, not everyone is a prodigy like you are, Harry. Hell, even the Minister addressed the lack of quality education. But what about our current situation? Who is going to teach us the Shield Charm properly? Certainly not Professor Quirrell. The older years are busy and struggling themselves and the other professors are helplessly overworked…”

“Well, I could help you with the Shield Charm,” Harry had said, shrugging his shoulder, “like right now if you wouldn’t mind.”

An hour later, Hermione had been able to conjure a decent Shield Charm. After that, Hermione kept asking for Harry’s help. While Harry had helped his fellow Slytherins with practical magical work before, they soon insisted on joining him and Hermione. In the end, the practical magical training became a regular thing and the first year Slytherins and Hermione would meet on Mondays and Fridays. Harry’s schedule really was becoming busier and busier.

In late January, the Daily Prophet once again brought great news. Bartemius Crouch Senior had been appointed as the head of the newly formed Committee of Education. Tom internally congratulated Cornelius Fudge for the move. After all, Bartemius Crouch was nothing but a capable Wizard and knew what he was doing. He might be heavily on the bureaucratic side and certainly had lost a lot of standing because of the arrest of his son at the end of the war, but still was an important name within the Ministry. If somebody would successfully and fairly examine, judge and restructure Hogwarts, it would be Bartemius Crouch. The Committee would furthermore consist of Saul Croaker, an Unspeakable and even better, an unidentified Death Eater who had joined the Dark Lord a decade before his unexpected ‘disappearance’, Helena Yaxley, the supervisor of the Magical Law Enforcement trainee program, Eleonore Diggory , the deputy head of the Department of Magical Education, and Thorfinn Rowle, who as a multiple Duelling Champion and private Defence and Duelling instructor perfectly qualified as an independent adjudicator for the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Overall, the personnel of the Committee sounded nothing but promising. As far as Tom knew, each member was a capable Witch or Wizard and apart from Crouch and Diggory, all members lined in with Tom’s personal agenda and ancient Pureblood beliefs. Therefore, Tom and Harry were more than curious about the work of the Committee, who would start to evaluate Hogwarts, its staff and classes after the end of the Easter Holidays.

But for now, the two had other things on their mind as Harry was walking down to the Quidditch pitch. It was the first February weekend and thus time for the first Quidditch match of the new year, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.

While Draco was unusually quiet and behaving rather twitchy, Pansy and Hermione were vividly discussing Pureblood customs. For a couple of weeks now, it seemed like Pansy had taken it upon herself to teach Hermione everything about the old customs, etiquette, pagan holidays, and the Ancient Pureblood lines as well as the Wizarding communities abroad. Occasionally, Rhea and Millicent would join into her explanations while Hermione would internalise everything like a sponge. The animosity and mistrust between the Slytherins and Hermione had finally vanished and was instead beginning to be replaced by a growing mutual respect that slowly seemed to be turning into friendship. The more days passed, the brighter the smile of the bushy-haired Witch got. Finally, it seemed like Hermione was being embraced by the Wizarding world instead of being rejected. The first year Slytherins quickly learned to value the bright young Witch as she was always willing to help with the homework, lend an open ear, and provide for an interesting and intelligent conversation. While the Slytherins would educate Hermione about the Wizarding world, the Gryffindor in turn would answer an increasing number of questions about the Muggle world. It certainly was an interesting development.

But whereas the Slytherins were slowly starting to open up to Hermione and embracing her presence, the Gryffindors did the opposite. While Parvati Patil and Romilda Vane still treated her relatively civilly, the rest of the lions openly voiced their disdain about her selection of acquaintances, calling her a traitor. So far, they had not resorted to physical means, but it was only a matter of time. Therefore, Harry had taught Hermione basic Wards to guarantee her safety at least while she was asleep. Furthermore, he had gifted her a bracelet with a magical token. Should she ever feel threatened, trapped, or be caught in any sort of precarious situation beyond her control, all she had to do to activate the bracelet was to slightly push her magic against the token. It would immediately alert Harry of her location. The fact that Hermione had accepted the bracelet without protest clearly spoke volumes. Harry knew that deep down, Hermione regretted her stubbornness at getting sorted into Gryffindor. It really was only a matter of time until things would escalate.

Today certainly had potential to be that day. Quidditch was always a highly emotional matter. While the snakes were not playing against the lions, many would still perceive Hermione’s presence in the Slytherin stands as treason. Hopefully, it would not be the catalyst to the inevitable escalation. Hopefully, the Gryffindors would be too distracted by the ‘surprise’ referee. One could always pray.

While Harry and Draco entered the changing room, the rest of the Slytherins and Hermione departed for the stands. After Marcus Flint’s impressive speech, the team finally entered the pitch. Unsurprisingly, three quarters of the student population was booing, but they were not booing the Slytherin team. The crowd’s attention was focussed solely on the lonely dark figure in the middle of the pitch.

Just then, the Ravenclaw team entered the Quidditch pitch. Upon seeing the dark figure, they stopped dead in their tracks. A moment later, their captain and Beater Duncan Inglebee stepped forward and started yelling at the dark figure about the unfairness of the situation.

Not intimidated by the rigid crowd and the yelling Beater, Severus instead Silenced the rabid Ravenclaw with a silent flick of his wand and told the rest of the team to cease complaining and mount their brooms, or else, there would be severe consequences.

A week ago, Severus had told Harry and the Dark Lord during one of their weekly Duelling sessions that he had spoken to the Headmaster and expressed his concern about the upcoming Quidditch match. While the Headmaster clearly seemed to be unconcerned, Severus had reminded him of what had happened during the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match. To protect his snakes, Severus had insisted on refereeing the upcoming match. With him as referee, hopefully no one, the name Quirrell remained unspoken, would dare mess with Harry’s broom. While Severus’ move certainly was not necessary – Harry could defend himself thank you very much – he appreciated the gesture.

After Severus had threatened the still complaining Ravenclaw team with the loss of a hundred house points, the match could finally begin. At the command of Severus, fourteen brooms rose in the air. Harry immediately chased after the red Quaffle, snatching it away from Roger Davis. A few seconds and a corkscrew dive later, the Slytherin stand erupted into cheers as Harry scored the first goal of the match.

Much to the surprise of all in attendance, the match progressed smoothly. Despite being the Head of Slytherin, Severus refused to favour any team throughout the match. Not that his help was necessary. The Slytherin team played vastly superior. Because of their superb Chasers, Slytherin quickly pulled ahead. By the time the Ravenclaw seeker Colin McDougal caught the snitch after Adrian Pucey had been hit by a vicious Bludger, Slytherin was leading by more than three hundred points. The cup was as good as theirs.

A few days later, Harry entered Severus’ personal quarters to discuss one of the Potions Master’s latest inventions, a concoction fittingly named Anti-Matter Potion. If perfected, the Potion would allow the drinker to pass through any solid obstacles for a certain amount of time. It was quite an ambitious project, but Tom had a few fresh ideas that mostly evolved around the incorporation of an ancient Japanese rune alphabet, hummingbird feathers and the extraction of the hybridised Nightshade Scorpion Grass.

“I wanted to thank you for being impartial and fair throughout the match,” Harry said while throwing his satchel on a dark wingback leather chair before dropping on Severus’ comfortable black three-seater couch, while chuckling, “I think you gave most of the student population the shock of their lives. A fair Severus Snape? Do we live in an alternate universe?”

Severus looked at him for a long moment, his face as blank as the frozen surface of the darkest lake, before his lips curled into a sinister grin, “If you think that a fair me is a strange thing to behold, wait until you experience the Headmaster’s special entertainment on Valentine’s Day. I think this year he has truly outdone himself.”

While Tom was brooding about the horror that would possibly befall upon them, Harry wrinkled his nose, “Please don’t tell me there will be a magical kiss cam in the Great Hall?”

“A what?”

“You know, like the one they use at Muggle sporting events,” Harry began to explain, “they use a video camera to pick couples. Their image is projected on a large screen and they usually kiss. Has the ‘esteemed’ Headmaster copied that since he loves Muggles so much?”

“Actually, it’s much worse,” Severus sneered before erupting into dark laughter, “I can’t wait until you experience the Headmaster’s special messengers of love.”

A few days later, Harry was making his way to the Great Hall for breakfast while his fingers were brushing over his unregistered Alder wand that was hidden in the sleeve of his robe. Today was the day – the day he had been dreading for days now. It was Valentine’s Day.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins stopped dead in their tracks. Pink glitter was raining off the enchanted ceiling. Colourful balloons were hovering in the air. The long house tables were laid out with pink cutlery and loaded with rose bouquets and mountains of candy. Still, the worst hadn’t even arrived yet.

Swallowing his anger, Harry quickly led the rest of his year to their house table while covertly spelling away the glitter and erecting a Shield. Listening to the near-silent muttering of the Slytherins around him, Harry scanned the Hall. On the staff table, no teacher seemed to be sharing the enthusiasm of the Headmaster.

Roughly thirty minutes into breakfast, Dumbledore finally rose from his chair and declared that the messengers of love would deliver messages between the merry residents of the castle. Just then, the doors of the Hall burst open to reveal a whole squad of menacing looking Dwarfs dressed up as cupids. While the dwarfs were scuffling towards the staff table, Harry silently flicked his Alder wand underneath the table and pushed forth his magic. Once the dwarves had reached the staff table, the Headmaster was about to open his mouth when the tallest of the dwarves with the largest and most shining harp and bay wreath cleared his throat, “Today, we, the messengers of Cupid, are here at Hogwarts to deliver a special message to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard who has ever wandered the face of the earth. This is for you, oh magnificent magician, our heroic Headmaster.”

While all eyes in the Hall were firmly glued on the Headmaster, the dwarves started to pluck the strings of their harps and the unmelodic and off-key singing of the messengers of love floated through the Hall.

“There's things that you guess

And things that you know

There's boys you can trust

And girls that you don't

There's little things you hide

And little things that you show

Sometimes you think you're gonna get it

But you don't and that's just the way it goes

I swear I won't tease you

Won't tell you no lies

I don't need no bible

Just look in my eyes

I've waited so long baby

Now that we're friends

Every man's got his patience

And here's where mine ends.”

While the Purebloods in attendance appeared to be mostly confused by the dwarves’ tune and the staff seemed to be frozen in shock, the Muggle Borns were quickly catching up to what tune the dwarves were singing. Most were trying to hide their amusem*nt while some were openly clapping along to the song, although the twins were some of the loudest singing the chorus of “I Want Your Sex”. But before they reached the truly raunchy part of the George Michael song, the dwarves swiftly transitioned into something with a bit more of a disco vibe.

“Lookin' for a lover who needs another

Don't want another night on my own

Wanna share my love with a warm-blooded lover

Wanna bring a wild man back home

Gotta have some hot love baby, this evenin'

I need some hot stuff baby tonight

I want some hot stuff baby this evenin'

Gotta have some lovin'

Got to have a love tonight.”

Before the dwarves could reach the second part of the chorus, Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand, the vein on her forehead throbbing dangerously, “This is enough! You will stop immediately!”

But instead of obeying her order, the dwarves simply continued.

“There's a new game we like to play you see

A game with added reality

You treat me like a dog

Get me down on my knees

We call it master and servant

We call it master and servant

It's a lot like life

This play between the sheets

With you on top and me underneath

Forget all about equality.”

All around him faces got redder and redder, Tom truly applauded the Muggles for coming up with such ‘interesting’ lyrics. The Weird Sisters could definitely learn something from the likes of Donna Summer and Depeche Mode. While listening to songs about dancing Hippogriffs was entertaining initially, it could get old rather quickly. The Magical music groups and singers should certainly broaden their lyrical content.

At the staff table, McGonagall and the Headmaster were meanwhile trying to quiet the dwarves – without success. They couldn’t be magically silenced. It was another layer of Harry’s enchantment. Dumbledore seemed to realise this, too, and did the only thing possible: he fled. Unfortunately, the squad of dwarves followed, singing a rather raunchy sailor’s tune. Throughout the entire day, the dwarves could be seen following the Headmaster, delivering rather slippery and raunchy messages of love. Overall, Valentine’s Day turned out to be much better than expected.

Chapter 24: Lineage

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, the school was still talking about the Headmaster’s failed Valentine’s surprise. Now that the Muggle-raised students had filled in the Purebloods on the meaning behind most songs and educated them about Muggle music in general, it seemed like the whole student body had taken to repeating the dwarves’ Valentine’s songs, especially whenever the Headmaster was around.

Dumbledore’s reaction towards the explicit lyrics was most surprising. While the rest of the staff would simply take points away whenever they caught a student repeating those raunchy lines, although Severus would often turn a blind eye on his snakes whenever one of them was reciting some of the dwarves’ messages of love, the Headmaster would blush instead and excuse himself. ‘The reaction was odd indeed,’ Tom remarked to himself, ‘and most curious.’ As far as Tom could remember, the old goat had never been on the prude side and had never shied away from promoting his determination about the ‘power of love’. Therefore, his reaction must have been caused by something personal. Either it had been triggered by something in the lyrics or a personal experience.

“Or both,” Harry remarked, “maybe he had a secret lover and does not want to be reminded of his past? Or he is afraid of… you know… men? Or women for that matter? Or he had a bad experience in the past? Who knows…? It’s a shame that we did not manage to dig anything up on his past.”

‘That is true,’ Tom had to concede as he thought back on the weeks following Valentine’s Day. Tom and Harry had spent quite a few nights searching the vast school library for any information regarding Dumbledore prior to the man accepting the Transfiguration teaching position. While they had found some newspaper articles about Dumbledore’s time at Hogwarts and entries in magical research journals about his academic achievements, the information about his private life had been sparse to say the least. Tom had already been aware of the wizard’s age, place of birth, blood status and the Dumbledore family in general. Therefore, any information in that regard had not been anything new. Unlike most, Tom only knew too well that the owner and barman of the shady and shabby Hog’s Head was in fact the Headmaster’s younger brother, Aberforth, and that the two of them had not been on speaking terms for a very long time. Apart from some basic information about his past, the only juicy piece of information the two of them had discovered was a small newspaper clipping hidden underneath a large stack of books in an off-limits storage room hidden behind a large landscape painting deep within the Restricted Section.

Although the article was barely two paragraphs long, there was enough in there to pique Tom’s curiosity, especially since it seemed like somebody had tried to hide this very article and possibly a lot of information concerning the Headmaster’s past. According to the article, one Percival Dumbledore had been arrested in his home in Mould-on-the-Wold by a squadron of Aurors after attacking three young male Muggles. It was then shortly speculated about the possible punishment for the crime, which would most likely consist of a long stay at Azkaban.

Overall, there was something off about the article. Or maybe about Dumbledore himself. If Tom could believe the article, the father of the most eminent supporter of pro-Muggle relations had attacked three defenceless Muggle children. Tom had the feeling that there was more to the story but sadly, the library was void of any information. It certainly made sense that somebody, most likely Dumbledore himself had tried to hide those juicy parts about his past - Tom had done the same – but he could not help but wonder what else the Headmaster had hidden, especially in combination with the old coot’s reaction to those raunchy songs. Because of the limited amount of information available at Hogwarts, Tom and Harry had sent an inquiry to Ragnok a week ago, but so far even the Goblin had not managed to dig up any information. Once the school year was over and he had his body back, Tom would start to dig himself. Harry had sworn to help too.

For now, the two had other things on their mind. It was Thursday night well past curfew. Tom and Harry were on their way up to the fourth floor to meet up with their new ‘business partners’. When Harry opened the door of the abandoned classroom they had decided to meet at, neither Tom nor Harry were surprised that the Weasley twins were welcoming them with the familiar tunes of Queen,

“I want to break free

I want to break free

I want to break free from your lies

You're so self satisfied I don't need you

I've got to break free

God knows, God knows I want to break free.”

A smile graced Harry’s face. Ever since the departure of the dwarves, Gred and Forge had taken it upon themselves to further spread Cupid’s messages of love. Whenever Harry saw them out of class, the twins were loudly singing and reciting rather slippery Muggle songs. Because of their antics, teachers were constantly dodging points and assigning detentions, not that the twins seemed to care, even though the Gryffindor hourglass was almost void of any sparkling rubies. To no one’s surprise, they had been escorted out of the Great Hall during dinner a few days after the Valentine’s debacle by Professor McGonagall to question them about their involvement in the prank. Of course, the interrogation and the Prior Incantato Charm that had been cast on the twins’ wands had turned out negative. Therefore, Professor McGonagall had been forced to let them go.

“I've fallen in love

I've fallen in love for the first time

And this time I know it's for real

I've fallen in love, yeah

God knows, God knows I've fallen in love.”

Harry snorted as the twins continued to sing and internally, Tom followed suit, wondering why he had not thought about that particular Queen song before. It would have been perfect for the Great Hall. Then again, how did those two Purebloods even know of ‘I Want To Break Free’?

“Gentlemen, what a great song,” Harry said with a big grin on his face once the door had magically shut behind him and the Privacy Wards had wandlessly flared to life. The twins in turn did not even lift an eyebrow at the display of wandless magic. Instead, two wide and identical grins appeared on their freckled faces as they spoke, “Of course it is…”

“…Freddie Mercury was a musical genius, “Gred continued, “the best there is…”

“…was,” Forge proceeded smoothly, “and ever will be…”

“…even the Headmaster seemed to have taken a particular liking to that song, “Gred said, his face a mask of innocence as he turned to his brother, whose facial expression meticulously mirrored that of his brother. The two of them snickered in unison, “We think we have never seen somebody run that fast when we started singing that tune to him when he was on his way to his office earlier today. He didn’t even mind the glitter.”

Harry snorted. After Valentine’s Day, the pink glitter that had been raining off the enchanted roof of the Great Hall had mysteriously migrated to the seventh-floor corridor on which the entrance to the Headmaster’s Office was located. But unlike within the Great Hall, the glitter would stick to whoever dared to cross the corridor for days. Ever since Valentine’s Day, the swamp or the pink glitter would appear in turn at random intervals. Also, Dumbledore’s reaction to ‘I Want To Break Free’ was just too good to be true. Maybe the old coot really had had a bad lover he wanted to forget.

“Gentlemen, I can’t congratulate you enough for your splendid performance,” Harry smiled, before tilting his head slightly to the side, “but I can’t help but wonder how such talented Purebloods as you have become aware of a Muggle musical act, even if they are as grand as Queen?”

“Oh, Harrykins,” Forge sighed while putting his hand on his chest, “Gred and I had the…”

“…displeasure of growing up,” Gred continued, his hand equally on his chest, “with the most avid, obsessed might be the better word, fan of Celestina Warbeck…”

“…our mother,” both exclaimed in such a desperate way, as if a meteorite had just annihilated the entire population, “you can’t imagine the severity of constantly being tortured by that wailing banshee, especially if our mother would join her so that the entire house was shaking due to her screeching.”

By the end of their speech, the faces of the twins were filled with nothing but disgust. Tom had a strong feeling that this particular display of emotion was not feigned but rather real. Tom himself had never liked Celestina Warbeck much and thought that the twins’ assessment was rather accurate. He had always dreaded the Slug Club meetings whenever the singer had been present, showing off her ‘talent’. While Tom could understand why people liked Celestina Warbeck, he just did not. Therefore, he could clearly sympathise with the twins.

“And what did you do,” Harry asked, not attempting to hide his curiosity, “stuff your ears?”

“Of course not,” both twins replied, shaking their heads, “one day…”

“…when our mother was outside tending to the garden,” Forge continued with a grin, “we snuck into our brother Charlie’s room, stole his wand, went downstairs…”

“…charmed a passable copy of the radio, and stole the real one,” Gred proceeded, a glorious smile plastered on his face before shrugging his shoulders, “we hid it in our room and when our mother tried to turn the charmed copy on and it didn’t work, she just assumed that it had broken…”

“…afterwards, we experimented with the real radio,” both twins chuckled, “until we managed to get in a decent Muggle station…”

“Life became so much brighter,” Forge laughed, while Gred cackled, “and a lot more interesting. You can’t imagine how many proper tunes we’ve discovered…”

“…it’s just a shame that it doesn’t work at Hogwarts,” both twins sighed, “the wards simply are too strong for any Muggle signal to pass…”

After the secret of the origin of knowledge of Muggle songs had been lifted, the focus of all parties’ present shifted back to the latest inventions of the twins. They were currently struggling with a rather delicate Rune sequence on one of their Trick Wands. An hour later, everything had been sorted out and Harry was about to call it quits when the usually playful expression on the twins’ faces turned serious, “Before you go, we have one question for you, Harrykins.”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry simply shrugged his shoulders, “Well, ask.”

“You mentioned before that you possess a map similar to ours,” Gred asked, “a map that shows you all residents of the castle, ghosts included. Is that correct.”

Curious about where this was going, Harry simply answered, “Yes.”

“Lately, we have been under the impression that ours is not working correctly,” Forge explained, “maybe ours is getting old. Who knows? That’s why we wanted to ask you, if it would be possible to compare our maps?”

Under normal circ*mstances, this would be a reasonable request. Sadly, Harry was still magically tracking Dumbledore’s and Quirrell’s movements. As of now, Harry was not willing to give away that particular feature of his map. Maybe, there was another way.

“Gentleman,” Harry said, his voice velvety smooth, “would you mind showing me the malfunction first?”

Both Weasleys looked at each other, obviously conversing in silence. Then, one twin, Fred, pulled a seemingly blank parchment out of his pocket. Harry could sense the magical signature of the map, the twins had stolen out of Filch’s office, and tendrils that linked it to Hogwarts. Before he could explore the signature more, Fred whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Fractions of a seconds later, lines began to appear and before long, Tom and Harry stared at the bold letters that read:

"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP"

While Harry stared at the three out of the four names blankly, Tom’s mind was racing, springing back to a meeting that had occurred roughly a year before he had attacked the Potters – the day that Wormtail had decided to defect and join the Death Eaters. Of course, Tom had not been naïve enough to accept the small, rat-like man without proof of his loyalty. Therefore, Wormtail’s mind had been thoroughly searched for any underlying attempt of deception and treachery. Without any Occlumency shields, it had been fairly easy for the Dark Lord to enter the mind of the weak, far below average Wizard. But while Wormtail himself had been nothing but a waste of space and the only remarkable thing he had ever achieved was the Animagus Transfiguration, he had somehow managed to become friends with a surprising array of interesting figures: Remus Lupin, a known Werewolf, Sirius Black, the rebelling spawn of Orion and Walburga Black and heir to the legendary Black fortune, and James Potter, the father of his prophesized arch-nemesis.

While Tom had always respected the eccentric collective that called themselves ‘The Marauders’, not that he would ever openly admit to that, the artefact in front of him renewed and strengthened the respect he had always held for the group of stubborn Light Wizards, especially since they had created the map while still being at school. Although he doubted that Wormtail had anything to do with the crafting of the magical object.

While Harry was still staring at the names in front of him, especially his father’s pseudonym, the twins went on to unfold the map, not paying him any attention. Once Harry had managed to tear his eyes off the spot his father’s name had been, his gaze sharpened and focussed on the twins who were busy scanning the map.

“There!” both twins yelled before pointing at a specific spot on the map. Stepping closer, Harry realized that the twins had been looking at one of the towers, Gryffindor Tower to be precise.

“This can’t be right!” Gred exclaimed, a frustrated frown appearing on his face, while his brother simultaneously screamed, “It’s impossible!”

There, just above the tip of George’s forefinger, were two names: Ronald Weasley and Peter Pettigrew. The twins had finally discovered it. But before Harry could say anything, the twins had already begun to speak, both surrounded by an aura of distress and disbelief, “The map must be defective…”

“…it just has to be,” Gred continued, “everyone knows…”

“…that Peter Pettigrew is dead,” Forge proceeded smoothly, throwing his hands in the air, “killed by none other than Sirius Black, the one who betrayed your family's whereabouts to You-Know-Who…”

“…Pettigrew was killed in a blast,” Gred picked up from his brother, a look of horror in his face, “with nothing left but a finger…”

“…this truly cannot be possible!” both twins concluded, while staring at Harry, “the map must be defective. Must have been for quite a while now.”

Harry’s face remained blank while he spoke, “Did you search the common room and the first-year dormitories if they were truly empty except for your brother when Pettigrew’s name showed up?”

“Of course!” both twins exclaimed, “there was no one there!”

“Really?” Harry asked, crooking an eyebrow, “was dear Ronald truly alone? Not a creature in sight? No one sharing his bed?”

“Yes, there was no one…” Fred began, before a hand suddenly clasped his mouth shut. Meanwhile, George’s eyes were open wide in dawning realisation as he whispered, “Scabbers… But that would mean…”

“Gentlemen, congratulations,” a Cheshire grin appeared on Harry’s face as he stared at the twins, who for once seemed to have lost their ever-present comedic retorts, “you have just solved the mystery.”

Two jaws dropped. After a minute of silence, George finally seemed to recover his ability of speech, “Pettigrew is an Animagus?”

Harry only nodded his head, the smile on his face still present.

“You knew?” Fred ten asked.

“Yes,” Harry answered curtly.

“But how?” both twins exclaimed in unison.

The smile on his face morphed into a mask of seriousness, “Gentlemen, before I tell you, I have a question for you: when exactly did dear sweet Scabbers become a part of your lovely family?”

While Tom and Harry had frequently overheard Weasley complaining to his goons about his useless rat, he had never revealed the circ*mstances in which his pet had ended up in his family, only that it had once belonged to his elder brother Percy. Therefore, both were curious what the twins had to say.

“He has been in our family so long,” Forge said, scratching his head, “like forever.”

“Too long for a normal rat?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Now that you say it, yes,” Gred said, “didn’t Percy find him one Christmas night, Forge?”

Forge’s head tilted to the side, deep in thoughts, “Must have been 1981… Remember when Mom for once did not mix up our Christmas sweaters and we got that joke box from Zonko’s with those disappointing Fake Wands.”

“Yes,” Gred suddenly spat out in realisation, “didn’t Dad remark on how sickly the rat looked, and Percy had to nurse him back to health?”

“Ten years is quite a long life for a rat,” Harry remarked, a hint of sarcasm underlining his words.

“We always thought he was magical,” the twins spoke in their defence, “and he is now that we know it is an Animagus. But how did you know? You didn’t seem surprised.”

Harry chuckled, “Actually, I was aware that Pettigrew might be alive before I started at Hogwarts…”

“How?” the twins interrupted his explanation with their question.

“A document within the Potter vault hinted at it,” Harry answered vaguely, not wanting to directly reveal that he had opened his parents’ wills, “it stated that the Marauders had secretly become Animagi and that my parents had switched Secret Keepers. Hence why I knew that Sirius Black, who I also discovered is my godfather, did not betray them, and Pettigrew might have faked his death, especially since there was hardly any evidence left of his body and he could assume that unsuspicious form of his. Still, I was quite surprised when his name popped up on my map. One day, your brother took his ‘pet’ to class. From there on, it was quite easy to figure out that Pettigrew was hiding as a rat.”

The twins stared at him for a long moment as his words were setting in, “But why…”

“Why did I not catch the rat, hand Pettigrew over to the Ministry, and clear Black?” Harry interrupted their inevitable question, one eyebrow crooked, “because I want to be present during his trial and I can’t while school is still going on since legally, I’m not allowed to leave the school grounds without being accompanied by my magical guardian…”

“Harrykins, stop lying” the twins suddenly said, a playful chuckle underlining their words, “we all know that you would have acted out much sooner, caught him yourself and kept him somewhere locked away if you truly wanted to wait with the trial until the school year is over. You would not have allowed the rat to roam free. You’re scheming, aren’t you?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on the ‘innocent’ faces of the twins for a long moment. Without getting red, Harry shrugged his shoulders, “I might be.”

“What can we do to assist you, oh great puppet master?” the twins laughed, although their eyes had turned sharp.

In retrospect, the sharp perception of the twins proved to be a blessing. They would have played an integral part of the original plan anyway. Now that they were in the known, things progressed smoothly, and he had two additional pairs of eyes keeping track of ‘Scabbers’ whereabouts.

As they were walking down to Friday’s double Potions class, the only thing Tom and Harry were still worrying about was Severus’ decision regarding his involvement in the resurrection ritual. The Easter holidays and consequently the start of the first brewing cycle was only one week away. So far, the Potions Master still had not revealed his decision. Tom was slowly starting to feel restless in anticipation since everything depended on said decision.

Tom was brought out of his thoughts as Harry’s eyes fell on Hermione who stood alone outside of the Potions lab. She was fiddling with the hem of her robes. The face behind her wild mane of curly locks looked like she had cried recently, which she had not done in weeks.

“Hermione, is everything alright?” Harry asked quietly as he stepped closer.

“Yes…” she began, trying to suppress the sobs escaping her mouth, “well… no… I…”

But before she could answer, they heard footsteps approaching and Hermione’s jaw snapped closed. Throughout Potions, Harry tried to determine the cause of Hermione’s breakdown, but with the number of ears around them and the rather delicate Potion to brew, Hermione kept her face down and ignored him.

After Potions, Hermione tried to escape. While Harry was busy labelling his brewed Anti-Nausea Potion, Hermione snuck out of the classroom. But thanks to his map, Harry caught up on her on the second floor.

“Hermione, wait,” Harry called, sprinting towards her. She tried to flee, but Harry was faster and grabbed her arm to stop her, making the Gryffindor spin on her heels, “Hermione, talk to me! Running from whatever has upset you will not make it any better. Please, I’m here for you.”

Hermione’s red eyes rested on him for a long time, until a long sigh escaped her mouth, “Fine, but in private.”

A wave of relief washed over Harry, since it seemed like Hermione felt at least comfortable enough to share the reason for whatever had upset her with him. But before Harry could say or move, Hermione again spun on her heels and stormed off to the next door and tried to open it, yet it remained closed. Hermione on the other hand did not seem to accept this and started to tear at the door, seemingly having forgotten all about her magic. Shaking his head, the door unlocked with a wave of Harry’s hand. Not having realized this, Hermione rushed into one of Filch’s many storage rooms, not trying the least to rein in her emotion and sizzling magic, that was aggressively swirling around her.

Turning his attention away from the angry Witch for a moment, Harry quickly warded the storage room against any possible intruders. Just as he had been about to place the last Charm, Hermione exploded, “I just don’t understand it… It’s so unfair! So unfair! Why for once can’t something good happen to me? Why? WHY?”

Even before turning away from the door, Harry could feel how angry she was. Her magic was an angry torrent surrounding and protecting her, ready to leash out at any opportunity given. For her young age, it was a surprising amount of raw energy with a surprising, yet delicious Dark undertone.

Deciding that it was best not to upset her any further, Harry slowly turned around, his hands raised in a peace offering. His magic was carefully tucked in to not provoke Hermione, since he doubted that the angry Witch was no longer in control of herself least of all her magic. The angry look on her face, her dangerously glinting black orbits that her eyes had transformed into and her wild curls that appeared to be electrified certainly underlined the picture. Harry eyed her for a long moment, before he calmly spoke, “What is unfair?”

“EVERYTHING!” Hermione yelled, “simply everything!”

Harry shot her a look, one eyebrow crooked, “Define everything, please.”

Hermione threw her arms in the air. Harry was not sure if it was more out of anger or frustration. Maybe both. After letting out a heavy huff, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to rein in her anger. Slowly, her anger seemed to fade into desperation as her shoulder slouched, “I… I… I just don’t know what to do… Why is it always me…? First, I grow up with parents who despise me, resent me, hate me because of my magic… Then I come here, where everybody thinks I’m inferior because of my assumed lesser heritage and upbringing… And then… Then I discover… Then I discover that…”

Her voice broke after that, tears starting to form in her eyes. No longer being able to stand the sight in front of him, Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the shaken Witch. After minutes of silent comfort, Hermione had calmed considerably. Sighing almost inaudibly, Harry slowly let go of the Witch and met her eyes, “I suppose you finally took the Inheritance Potion?”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, her eyes open wide, “How did you know…”

“Was your discovery really that bad?” Harry asked, his head slightly tilted to the side, “what family are you related to?”

Slowly, very slowly, almost like in slow motion, Hermione reached for her discarded bag, while the magic around her restarted to sizzle once more, before the words erupted from her mouth, increasingly louder in volume, “Of course it had to be a family of madmen and murderers! Of course, it had to be since it’s me! Ever since I drank the Potion, I can’t look people in the eyes… But here, see for yourself!”

With that, she slammed the parchment she had produced out of her bag on a nearby table. The parchment immediately rolled up. While Hermione started to pace, tearing at her curls and magic swirling wildly around her, Harry magically unrolled and straightened the parchment with a wave of his hand.

While the parchment was mostly covered in the generic black lines caused by the Potion, Hermione had heavily added information on a few selected branches of the family tree. While the side of her mother was mostly bare from her input, her father’s side was heavily supplemented with lines and lines of Hermione’s neat handwriting. One name immediately caught Tom’s eyes:

Corvus Lestrange.

The Corvus Lestrange.

The respected Lord of the Lestrange family, proud Pureblood, one of his oldest, most trusted and most capable members of the Inner Circle, and outspoken advocate of the total separation of the Magical and Muggle world.

Tom stared at the name of one of his longest friends for a long moment, wondering how this could have happened. As he started to read Hermione’s notes, the mystery slowly started to unravel. William Granger had never been Hermione’s grandfather. Although he and Elisabeth Ashcroft, Hermione’s grandmother, had married six months prior to their son’s birth, William Granger had only passed down his name but never his genes. Somehow, Corvus Lestrange had met Elisabeth Ashcroft three months prior to her wedding and somehow, William Granger Jr. had been conceived, who oddly enough did not show any sign of magic. He should have been magical, but then again, the ability did not always manifest. Magic could be strange at times.

Then, Tom’s eyes fell on the year and the stretch of time during which Corvus must have met the Muggle woman. Tom almost laughed as he suddenly understood the reasoning behind Corvus’ actions. The meeting with Hermione’s grandmother must have taken place only days before Corvus’ own wedding, a day Tom remembered like it was yesterday. It had been a nice day. The leaves of the trees at Lestrange Manor had been waving in the pleasant breeze. Corvus had been beaming with happiness and pride as he and his wife Celestine Yaxley had sworn to be eternally bound by magic. Much like most Purebloods at that time, Corvus and Celestine had committed to remain chaste before their bond had been sealed. As he stared at the family tree, it appeared like Corvus had not been so chaste after all. Tom chuckled internally at the thought of the usually so calm and collected Corvus Lestrange getting cold feet at the prospect of his own wedding night and seeking out a Muggle woman to practise. This was too good!

Not just to tease and blackmail Corvus. The significance of the discovery of Corvus Lestrange’s granddaughter went much deeper than that. But just as Tom was recollecting the many times Corvus had told him about the strict rules of the ever so paranoid Lestrange family, Hermione’s hand slammed on the table, “Do you have it now? Do you get why I couldn’t look Neville in the eyes ever since I took the potion? MURDERERS! OF COURSE, THE HAVE TO BE DERANGED, CRAZY, PSYCHOTIC MURDERERS AND TORTURERS! Everything just keeps getting worse… First, my parents… Then all this prejudice against Muggleborns and now this… I should have never touched that Potion…”

The last part had been added quietly. Some time during her rant, she had stopped in front of the table. Her eyes were still lingering on her family tree, a painful expression in her eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry said carefully, stepping closer, “please, think about your assessment for a second…”

Hermione looked at him for a second like he had lost his mind, before angrily pointing at a cluster of names on the family tree, “BUT THEY TORTURED FRANK AND ALICE LONGBOTTOM! Do you even know the extent of what they did? The crimes they’ve committed under the order of You-Know-Who? How can you tell me to rethink my assessment of my lovely relatives?”

The last words were spat out like they were venom. Sighing, Harry looked at the boiling Witch for a long moment, “I know perfectly well what Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix did to the Longbottoms. What they did was nothing but the worst torture. I will certainly not defend the three of them, but I am here to remind you that those three do not make up the entire Lestrange family. While I am sure that you came across plenty of information about the younger generation, did you actually look up your grandfather, or the generations before him?”

The silence and the dumbstruck expression on her face told Harry all he needed to know. Of course, Hermione had stopped her investigation upon coming across the crimes of her uncles and Bellatrix. Harry could not condemn her for that. Most people would stop at that point, assuming that the Lestrange family consisted of nothing but insane, cruel murderers. In reality, the Lestrange family was much more than that and Harry would make sure to educate Hermione about her ancestors, “Did you know that Corvus Lestrange is one of the most respected members of the Wizengamot? Even despite the actions of his own sons?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, “You cannot be serious?”

Suppressing the urge to use his favourite joke, Harry shook his head, “I am. As far as I know, Corvus Lestrange took over the lordship from his father directly after he graduated from Hogwarts. Unlike most changes in lordship, this one did not occur because Corvus’ father Cyrille had died. Cyrille knew that his son was far better suited to manage the family estate and navigate the Wizengamot. Therefore, he gladly passed the lordship over to his eldest and only son. Corvus joined the Wizengamot shortly before his eighteenth birthday and has remained a member ever since. As a member of the Dark faction, most of his beliefs are mostly rooted deep within the ancient Pureblood traditions. By now, you should know that a lot of what is commonly assumed about these traditions is biased, contorted and oftentimes far from the truth. Here are a few of the bills Corvus Lestrange has tried to put through the Wizengamot. Firstly, Corvus Lestrange is one of the most outspoken advocates of an earlier identification of Muggleborns. He has suggested, if I remember correctly as far as 1951, to identify magical children as soon as possible and to establish a system, that will regularly check upon young magic wielders.”

Hermione stared at him, clearly dumbstruck.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Harry chuckled before continuing, “he also suggested to create a magical foster system and even went as far as to set up an official fund but got denied the permission to put his idea into practise. He is also a supporter for the establishment of Wizarding Tradition classes at Hogwarts alongside Muggle Studies. The initial idea was to educate magical children on the Muggle world and vice versa. While the Light faction voted in clear favour of the Muggle Studies class, the Wizarding Traditions class was dismissed. Simultaneously, a great number of Wizarding traditions were banned, like the celebration of the Pagan Holidays, Blood Magic, and adoption rituals, only to name a few. These bills Corvus has pushed forth are only the tip of the iceberg. Just go to the library and check the transcripts of any Wizengamot session since 1951. I think you will be surprised. After all, Corvus managed to contain the damage to the family done by his sons. He is clever. I doubt that many would have managed to keep the family name as clear as Corvus did when faced with such a massive backlash. Despite the actions of his sons, Corvus still is one of the most respected members of the Wizengamot and the Lestrange estate is one of the richest after the Blacks, Potters and Malfoys. Currently, he is one of the most avid supporters of the educational reforms. That should tell you enough. Does that sound like he is evil?”

“No,” Hermione said slowly, “still, his sons were known Death Eaters…”

“That they were,” Harry interrupted her, “but Corvus himself was never found guilty of being a Death Eater.”

Hermione stared at him incredulously, “How do you even know this?”

“I looked it up in the library,” Harry lied easily, shrugging his shoulders, “as the Heir to the Potter estate, I will one day inherit a seat in the Wizengamot. I think it is important to know about all the different factions, its members and their political goals and standing. That’s how I came across Corvus. Honestly, I was surprised how the man kept his standing despite his sons’ actions. It speaks of his integrity.”

“I might look him up,” Hermione finally managed to get out after a long moment of silence, “but what do you want me to do if I…”

“I do not want you to do anything,” Harry quickly interrupted her, “this is your choice. You have to decide if you want to get in touch with your grandfather or not. It is not my decision to make. Do whatever you feel is right. Exchange letters. Meet in person. Discuss your upbringing, his political ideas, his sons, magic, family traditions, Muggles or whatever you want. Become a part of the family. Ignore him. Pretend like the Lestrange family does not exist. You decide. Not me. You.”

Hermione remained quiet for a long time, before she finally cleared her throat, “I will look him up and decide then. As of now, I do not have enough information on him… But what do you think would be the best option to establish contact?”

Later that night, Harry was on his way to the statue of the one-eyed witch, Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. He was in a fantastic mood, as was Tom. While the revelation earlier that day had certainly been surprising, it also opened up a multitude of possibilities. In the back of his mind, Tom replayed a few conversations he had had with Corvus while still being at school, most of which focussed on the strict inheritance rules established by the increasingly paranoid growing generations of the Lestrange family. He hoped he could clarify a few of them tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry felt the weight of the castle’s wards being taken off his shoulders. With a soft crack, he Apparated straight to the lavish entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. The moment Harry appeared there, a House Elf clad in a pillowcase that had clearly seen better days popped up in front of him, “Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Heir Potter. Dobby is so happy that the noble Harry Potter has returned. Shall Dobby be getting Master?”

“I suppose your master is in his study,” Harry said, giving the euphoric Elf a calculating glance.

“Yes, Harry Potter,” Dobby squeaked, “Master best in his study.”

“Please inform him that I’m on the way,” Harry said curtly before making his way towards said study while Dobby disappeared with a soft pop. By now, the wards should have already alarmed the Lord of the Malfoy family that a guest had arrived. Walking past lengthy rows of pale skinned men with long blond hair, Harry soon stood in front of the massive double door of Lucius’ study. Knocking twice, Lucius told him to enter.

Despite the late hour, Lucius Malfoy was immaculately dressed. No hair was out of place and his lavish lilac robes made out of the finest silk one could buy was void of any wrinkles.

“Heir Potter, welcome to Malfoy Manor,” Lucius’ silky voice cut through the silence of his office while his cold grey eyes were observing Harry for any kind of threat, “what an unexpected guest at such a late hour.”

“Good evening, Lord Malfoy,” Harry smiled, showing his open and empty hands, trying his best to not appear threatening, “it is a late hour indeed. I must excuse myself for this unannounced meeting, but a situation arose at Hogwarts that demanded swift action.”

“A situation?” the Malfoy Lord stared at him, a glance of curiosity in his cold eyes.

“A situation indeed,” Harry said, his smile turning feral, “a most surprising situation.”

“Do you need my help to solve that situation?” the Malfoy Lord asked eagerly, seemingly keen to prove himself.

“Help would be an overstatement, Lucius,” Harry chuckled, before his Avada-green eyes turned into a deep crimson, “assistance would be the fairer assessment.”

Lucius shuddered in front of him, “I will do everything to assist you, my Lord.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom ignored the spineless behaviour. Instead, he reached forward. Without asking, he grabbed the left wrist of Lucius and pushed back the expensive robe that was covering the Malfoy Lord’s marked flesh. The wrist in his hand was slightly shaking but apart from that Lucius did not dare to voice his opposition of the unasked manhandling. Without further ado, Harry’s illegal Alder wand was released from its Disillusioned wrist holder, its tip swiftly pushed against the marked flesh of the Dark Mark while the Dark Lord began to hiss. With every hissed word, the faded ink became more pronounced against the pale flesh. Once the hissing had stopped, Tom let go of the wrist. Lucius quickly pulled back his arm to stare at the Dark Mark, that looked like the day it had been magically branded on the skin.

“My Lord,” Lucius gasped, his eyes open wide as he carefully traced the Dark Mark on his left forearm, “what… what did you… do? Did you… ca… call them back…”

“No, Lucius,” Tom chuckled, “only one of my followers.”

“Who?” Lucius asked, his voice slightly quivering without taking his eyes off the vibrantly moving Mark.

“My dear Lucius,” the Dark Lord cackled, his smile all teeth, “I do not want to spoil the surprise.”

“But…” the Lord of the Malfoy Lord began.

“Silence,” Tom hissed before more of the inevitable protest could escape Lucius’ lips, “you will be splendidly rewarded by being allowed to witness the conversation I am about to have. A bit of patience is all I ask for, Lucius.”

The slightly shaken Malfoy Lord slightly nodded his head in understanding but otherwise remained silent. Leaning back in his chair, Tom watched the man opposite of him as they waited. Tom doubted they would be waiting for long. While they waited, Lucius was visibly squirming under the intense gaze of his Lord.

After several minutes, Tom felt a magical presence Apparating into the Manor’s entrance hall. The reaction opposite of him told Tom that Lucius had sensed the newcomer as well.

“I have sensed the magical signature before,” Lucius gasped, “but I cannot identify it.”

Tom chose not to answer and instead kept his eyes on the Malfoy Lord. A minute later, the sound of approaching boots on the wooden floorboards echoed through the hallway and further through the closed wooden door of Lucius’ office. A few seconds later, the door was thrown open, revealing the Death Eater Tom had called.

Despite being under Tom’s intense gaze, Lucius Malfoy lost his composure upon laying eyes on the newcomer. Clearly frozen in his seat, the Lord of the Malfoy family could do nothing more than to stare at the figure in the doorway, his jaw slightly unhinged to the point it almost seemed like he was gawping like a commoner. Savouring the moment for as long as he could, Tom finally removed his gaze from the Malfoy Lord and focussed his eyes on the other Lord in the room.

Corvus Lestrange made an impressive figure as he was standing in the doorway. Despite the decade that had passed, the Lord of the Lestrange family did not appear one day older since Tom had last seen him. His smooth face still resembled the epitome of a Pureblood mask with its high cheekbones and strong jawline. No hair of his perfectly trimmed goatee was out of place, while his long hair was falling in long waves over his shoulders. The only indication that some time had passed were the few strands of silver in Corvus’ otherwise nearly black hair, which had not been there a decade prior. Two dark orbs surrounded by a small ring of silver were boring into him like they always had. It was an intense gaze of calculation and curiosity like it always had been, although now there was a steely undertone present paired with a hint of resentment that had not been there a decade ago.

Suddenly Corvus moved, stepping into the room, his pupils dilating in apparent recognition and realisation, “After all those years… Tom, is that really you?”

The corners of Tom’s, well, Harry’s mouth curled into a smile, “Who else would it be, my old friend.”

At that, Corvus Lestrange chuckled dryly, “Only you, Tom. Only you. Who else would hide in plain sight for all these years possessing Dumbledore’s Golden Boy?”

“Who said anything about possessing,” Harry said sharply, sarcasm clearly underlining his voice while pushing the Dark Lord in the background, thus forcing the crimson eyes to change back to their usual vivid green, “usually, he is more or less riding along in the back. Like symbiosis…”

At the confused look on Corvus’ face, Harry swiftly continued, “Anyway, we’ve arranged ourselves and have an equal say in the things we do. Secondly, I’m NOT anyone’s Golden Boy…”

“But the papers,” the Lord of the Lestrange family began, “they…”

“They,” Harry swiftly interrupted him, “have never asked me about my personal feelings on that matter.”

“Allow me to ask you, Mister Potter,” Corvus asked, sounding surprisingly respectful and truthfully curious, “what are your personal feelings on that matter?”

“It’s Heir Potter,” Harry’s lips curled into a sharp smile, “it would be better for you to sit down, Lord Lestrange. I reckon it will be a long explanation.”

An hour or so later, Corvus Lestrange stared at him, his eyes open wide, while his face remained a blank impassive mask, “You cannot be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m currently incarcerated in Azkaban?” Harry asked mockingly. Before the mischievous heir to the Potter fortune could tell more of his favourite jokes, Tom pushed forward, forcing the Avada green eyes to turn back to a deep crimson, “Sorry for that, my old friend, but he is a truly devious and mischievous one and never passes on that joke.”

Corvus Lestrange snorted, which in itself was such an uncommon sight that Tom could not help but wonder what else would happen tonight.

“So, you are truly working together?” Corvus’ voice suddenly cut through his musing.

“Yes, we are,” Tom confirmed, his voice steady and determined, “Harry and I are firmly on the same side. He is as Dark as I was when I was his age. We both agree that magic must be restored to its former glory and that this feat can only be achieved by total separation from the Muggles. They are doomed but they shall not be the end of us. We shall prevail.”

“But, my Lord,” Corvus began, a hint of doubt underlining his voice, “are you sure that you can…”

“Corvus, I’m more than aware of my… currently rather compromised position,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “but I have plans in motion and hopefully, my body will be restored within the next four months.”

“How may I be of assistance, Tom,” Corvus said, sounding eager while moving to the front of his chair, leaning forward.

“While you could be of assistance in the actual resurrection ritual, this is not the reason why I called you here today, Corvus,” Tom chuckled softly at the unusual display of eagerness from his old friend, “we have other, far more important things to discuss. But before we start, I have a question for you: did you by any chance manage to change those strict inheritance rules of your family you once told me about?”

For a long moment, Corvus stared at him in faint confusion before he managed to regain his ability to speak, “No, most of them have proven to be irrevocable. But why…”

“Much like I had expected,” Tom snorted, “my own family was nothing short of paranoid, as were the Blacks, but your family, Corvus, really took it to another level. Tell me, Corvus, am I right in my assumption that even if your sons were to be set free from the Dementors none of them could inherit the title of Lord Lestrange since only unconvicted members of the main Lestrange line can obtain the title?”

“Yes,” Corvus answered after a moment of hesitation, despite his sharp wit clearly struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of questions, “but why?”

“None of our concern for now,” the Dark Lord stated bluntly, cackling internally at the next question yet maintaining his blank mask of indifference, “what is of our concern for now is what you did in the Muggle world before your wedding, Corvus. Does the name Elisabeth Ashcroft ring a bell? I thought…”

A coughing sound suddenly interrupted his words. Turning slightly in his chair, Tom’s eyes landed on the red face of Lucius Malfoy who so far had remained mostly quiet. He seemed close to swallowing his tongue at the underlining revelation of the Dark Lord’s words. Choosing to ignore the Malfoy Lord for now, Tom turned back to the equally red face of Corvus Lestrange, “Tut, tut. Such hypocrisy, Corvus. Here I thought you were always looking down on others and excoriating them for reducing their nervousness before their wedding nights by seeking out the help of Muggle women. Didn’t you especially ridicule dear old Abraxas for months after he did that?”

“What?” Lucius Malfoy suddenly managed to exclaim, somehow not swallowing his tongue, “my father never did something as disgusting as to…”

“Shut up, Lucius,” Tom chided sharply, “even though everyone denies having engaged in such lascivious acts with Muggles, almost all of them are guilty. I’m…”

“My Lord,” Corvus began to protest, trying to rein in his emotions as well as this agitated magic surrounding him back under control, “Tom, you must understand…”

“Corvus, I’m not here to scold you,” the Dark Lord spoke with a much softer voice, “I understand the reasoning behind such acts of desperation perfectly well. It is one of the few aspects of Wizarding customs that I could never understand since it seems so outdated. Why wait until the wedding night? Anyway, I am not here to talk about Wizarding customs and traditions. I am here to talk about you, Corvus.”

“How… how do you even know?” the Lord of the Lestrange family asked, this time successfully managing to keep the quiver out of his voice, while his face was blank again.

“It really is remarkable what you can come across at Hogwarts,” Tom said lightly, leaning back in his chair to better observe the two Lords in the room, “something like this.”

Without further ado, a copy of Hermione’s family tree magically appeared on the table in front of Corvus with nothing but a wave of Tom’s hand, “See for yourself. And by the way, this is legitimate. Harry and I brewed the Inheritance Potion ourselves.”

At first, Corvus Lestrange appeared to be rather reluctant to pick up the roll of parchment. His dark eyes stared at the parchment so intensely, that it would not surprise Tom if the parchment burst into flames. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Lord of the Lestrange family reached for the roll of parchment and straightened it out on the table. He stared at the family tree for a long moment remaining quiet.

“What is it?” Lucius Malfoy suddenly asked, trying hard to not sound impatient.

Corvus Lestrange refused to answer. Instead, he continued to stare at the parchment, his eyes slightly hazy and unfocused.

“Please, what is it?” Lucius repeated his question, the impatience in his voice now barely concealed.

Suddenly, Corvus looked up from the parchment. His eyes were staring in the distance, while he gasped, “I… I have a son and… a granddaughter.”

A wide grin appeared on Tom’s face, “Yes, you do, Corvus.”

“A son, who could become my successor,” Corvus whispered, now a determined look in his eyes.

“I would not focus too much on your son,” Tom injected, the smile on his face turning sour, “as far as your granddaughter told me, well, she told Harry since they are in the same year at Hogwarts, your son does not possess an ounce of magic and in fact despises everything remotely magical, even his own daughter.”

“No,” Corvus gasped, “he cannot…”

“Yes, he can, and he does,” Tom said, failing to keep the anger completely out of his voice, “he and his wife psychologically abuse and neglect their own daughter because of her magic. She does not fit into their worldview of portraying the perfect, upper-class Muggle family. Because of her magic, her abnormality, they fail to see how brilliant she is, how talented and how strong. Hermione is one of the smartest and strongest Witches of her generation. I have no doubt about that. All she needs is a bit of guidance.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Corvus asked suddenly, “what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Tom said bluntly and went on to repeat the same words Harry had spoken to Hermione only hours earlier, “you can do all you want with this information. You could get to know her, integrate her into your family, her true family, teach her everything you know, and even name her your heiress. You could also ignore and deny her existence, thus dooming the continuation of your line. The House of Lestrange would cease to exist for all eternity. I certainly will not force you to do anything. It is all up to your own decision once Hermione Granger choses to contact you.”

For the next minutes, Corvus stared quietly at the parchment in front of him. When he finally looked up and spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, “You gave me a lot to think about, Tom. But do not think for a moment that I did not realise what you were doing. You have always had your way with words, twisting them in your favour, luring and manipulating those around you with your sugar-coated words rolling off your silver tongue. You have always been a master manipulator. Nevertheless, I do appreciate that you do not force anything upon me.”

“I would never interfere with family matters,” Tom said sincerely, “never. Your blood is your blood. Mine is mine. Still, I am most certain that you will make the right decisions and do what is best for you. You always have.”

“That I will,” the Lord of the Lestrange family spoke, his voice much steadier. His eyes spoke of determination as they met Tom’s deep crimson ones. Corvus lowered his eyes after a couple of seconds and sighed, pushing himself off the chair, “You have truly given me a lot to think about, my old friend. If that is everything, I would like to leave….”

“Actually, Corvus, there is something else I would like to discuss with you,” the Dark Lord’s voice cut through the words of the Lestrange Lord like fire through ice, “sit down, please.”

Although it had been voiced as a request, everyone in the room knew that this was an order. The tone in which the message had been delivered clearly indicated that there was business to be done. Serious business, “Corvus, upon my return in the magical world I was most surprised to discover that your sons alongside Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Junior had gone after the Longbottoms and managed to earn themselves life sentences in Azkaban.”

“You were surprised?” Corvus whispered, his eyes widening slightly.

“Surprised indeed,” Tom chuckled darkly, no humour to be found, “you are aware that only those of the Inner Circle were aware of the prophecy and my plans to go after the Potters and the Longbottoms. Do you recall the order I gave to all of you?”

Corvus Lestrange closed his eyes for a long moment to recall the words that had been spoken to him a decade ago, “That… that both families were to be… left alone and you would deal with them personally.”

“Indeed, Corvus,” Tom snapped, “indeed. I have no idea what they were thinking going after the Longbottoms, especially after my strict order not to…”

“You did not order them…” Corvus began, only to be interrupted by Tom, “Of course not. I want to clarify this once and for all: I did not order them to go after the Longbottoms, least of all torture them into insanity and then get caught by the Aurors. It was a stupid and utterly reckless thing to do.”

“It is one thing we agree upon,” Corvus said finally, shaking his head, “if I was honest to myself, I never thought you had told them to go after the Longbottoms, especially in that fashion. It’s…”

“…not an order that I would have given,” Tom concluded, “exactly. But their actions got me thinking: why did they do it in the first place? We both know your sons. You have raised them. I have trained them. Sure, they are and always have been loyal to the cause, but never reckless. The same goes for Barty. The three of them would have never gone against my orders, even in my absence. Furthermore, while they could resort to violent measures if necessary and their life depended on it, neither of them revelled in torture. This became more than apparent throughout the years I trained them. They would never torture somebody into madness…”

“…Bellatrix on the other hand would,” Corvus said darkly, every bit of resentment showing in his words for ever having agreed to the arranged marriage between his firstborn and Cygnus Black’s eldest.

“That she would. It seems like the exact thing Bellatrix would like to do. We have always know that she is reckless and unstable, but to directly go against one of my orders,” Tom spat, the air around him sizzling with Dark waves of magic, “how she got the idea in her head that torturing the Longbottoms would lead to anything remotely good I have no idea. I would not be surprised if she did it out of reverence or to get me back and came up with this plan on the spot, while no one was able to stop her. I doubt that your sons or Barty cast a single curse on the Longbottoms. Of that I am most certain. Since neither was granted a trial, their lack of involvement went unnoticed. What would they get for not interfering? Three to ten years in Azkaban depending on the severity of the crime according to the Bystander Law of 1693? Another five for being a member of an illegal organisation?”

At that, Corvus laughed darkly, “As if they would ever be granted a trial. Dumbledore will promote the reinstatement of Pureblood customs and legalise the Dark Arts before that happens.”

Tom chuckled, a Cheshire grin appearing on his face, “That is where you are mistaken, Corvus. A trial might become possible sooner than you think.”

Corvus’ calculating gaze rested on him for a few long seconds, “You have something planned, do you not?”

At that, Tom’s smile only turned sharped, “That I do. Tell me, Corvus, did you ever suspect anything peculiar about the convicted Secret Keeper of the Potters?”

“Black?” the Lord of the Lestrange family asked incredulously, “Sirius Black?”

Tom chuckled, “Yes, that Sirius Black.”

“To be honest, that story always stroke me as an odd one,” Corvus confessed, his calculated gaze resting on the Dark Lord, “I could and still cannot imagine Sirius Black betraying James Potter, least of all him swearing eternal loyalty to the Dark after all those years denouncing anything his family ever stood for.”

“Exactly,” Tom chuckled, “despite his heritage, Sirius Black would have been one of the last Wizards to ever willingly join me. As a matter of fact, he did not.”

“It was Peter Pettigrew, was it not?” Corvus’ words sounded more like a statement.

“It was,” Tom confirmed, impressed but not surprised at his friend’s skills of deduction, “he revealed the Potters’ whereabouts to me once he became their Secret Keeper, having long since accepted the Mark in secrecy. When Sirius Black caught up to him, sent straight after Pettigrew by Dumbledore’s orders, he cut off his own finger, fired off a few Exploding Charms, and turned into his Animagus form, a rat. Black was caught at the scene of the crime and thrown straight into Azkaban without receiving a trial, whereas Pettigrew went into hiding mostly remaining in his Animagus form. Eventually, he was found by the Weasley family and has remained in their care ever since. He currently resides at Hogwarts disguised as the pet of the youngest Weasley spawn.”

“What are you planning?” Corvus asked, barely able to hide his eagerness.

“A few misaimed spells here and there, a bit of chaos, the usual end of the year fiasco,” Tom said shrugging his shoulders, his voice dismissive as to not reveal too much, “but in the end, Harry and I will ensure that Pettigrew is discovered and Black is finally given a trial. This in turn should open the door for many that were thrown into Azkaban without a blink of an eye to finally receive their long-due trial.”

“While that might be true for some, my boys will never be amongst them,” Corvus hissed, “they were found at the scene of the crime barring the Mark having tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. They will be the last to ever receive a trial. You have no idea about the havoc the public would wreak if Rodolphus and Rabastan would be put on trial. The wrath they have received… Tom, you have no idea how much the public hates them for what they have done. No one would risk the backlash of granting them a trial, or even voicing the idea. I have tried many times. All my attempts vanished into nothingness. There is no way they will ever receive a trial, unless…”

“Unless the Longbottoms themselves publicly request a trial,” Tom stated as a matter of fact, his voice void of emotions, curious how his friend would react.

“Augusta?” Corvus laughed darkly, “no, not even if this planet was to freeze over and this was the only option to save herself. No, she would never ask for a trial. Never. I tried to speak to her on numerous occasions, but she refuses to listen to my words. She is too devastated, too proud, too rabid to even consider negotiations with my family.”

The smile on Tom’s face turned sharper once more, “What if she was offered a deal she could not refuse?”

Chapter 25: Decisions

Chapter Text

The next week flew by and before long, it was Saturday again. Harry was accompanying his fellow Slytherins to the Great Hall for one last breakfast before they would depart for the Easter Holidays. Unlike the rest of his year mates, Harry was staying at Hogwarts and thus not in a hurry to finish his breakfast. Since the Great Hall was crowded as it was, everyone’s luggage was still in the dormitories and had to be picked up before heading to the train station in Hogsmeade. Since the train would depart at half past nine, there was not much time to waste. While everyone around him was rushing through breakfast, Harry was thoroughly enjoying his scrambled eggs and fried mushrooms alongside toast, some fresh fruit, and a nicely chilled goblet of fresh orange juice. While he took a bit of his toast, he thought about his plans for the weekend.

Tonight, he would meet Severus. The Potions Master would finally reveal his decision regarding the Resurrection Ritual. He had kept up the suspense until the last possible moment since they would start the lengthy brewing process. Just to make sure, all ingredients for all three rituals had been collected over the last few weeks. Getting the Dark Phoenix tears had been especially challenging, but with a few of Tom’s old contacts on the Potion ingredients black market and enough Galleons it had been possible. The cauldron with the liquid fire coating had been specifically crafted by the Goblins. It had cost them a hefty number of Galleons, but in the end, they could not have asked for anything better. Once again, the Goblins had truly outdone themselves.

“We’ll meet you in the entrance hall,” Draco’s voice suddenly brought him out of his thoughts, “see you there in ten minutes.”

Nodding in understanding, Harry returned his focus on his breakfast as well as his plans for the holidays. Besides starting the brewing process, a lot of things would keep him busy. Among those was a meeting with Corvus and Lucius, which was a few days away. Originally, Tom had hoped to discuss the upcoming school examination, the appointed members of the Committee of Education, and possible changes within the staff of Hogwarts during their latest meeting, since both Lords were members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Given the advancing hour and Corvus’ reaction to the plans for setting up a possible trial for his sons, Tom had decided to postpone that discussion for a later date.

Finishing the last bites of scrambled eggs, Harry reached for a napkin. Once finished, he placed the napkin on his empty plate alongside a ‘Thank you’ note for the House Elves. He could only imagine how they would react. A lot of joyous cries and fainting would surely be involved. As he was about to stand up, he felt eyes on him. Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes once again were on him, as they had been for the greater part of the week. It seemed like he had finally recovered from his very special valentine. Feigning ignorance to the attention of the esteemed Headmaster, Harry rose from his seat. On the way to the entrance hall, he was joined by Hermione.

For the last few days, the Witch had been surrounded by an air of nervousness. So far, she had refused to reveal whatever was bothering her. Harry had a good idea what it was but refused to ask her again. She had asked for a private meeting in the library after the Hogwarts Express had departed. Therefore, it would not be long until his questions would be answered.

“Looking forward to the holidays?” Harry asked as the two were lazily strolling towards the large entrance door.

“Yes, especially the quietness,” the Gryffindor admitted, “as much as I enjoy being busy here, I like to have some time for myself once in a while.”

A small chuckle escaped Harry’s lips, “So do I.”

Before they say more, they heard feet approaching accompanied by the unmistakable sound of heavy trunks being dragged over the stone floor.

“I can’t wait to show my Grand all the new Spells and Charms that I have learned,” Neville said enthusiastically once they were halfway to the station. A pleasant breeze was waving through the nearby leaves of the endless rows of trees that made up the Dark Forest. After weeks of rain, the sun was finally breaking through the sea of clouds on the horizon. Glad that he had agreed to accompany his year mates, Harry graced the shy boy with a genuine smile, “I am certain that she will be proud of you, Neville.”

The fact that Neville did not voice any doubt truly spoke of the growth he had gone through over the last few months. He was no longer the shy and insecure boy that had entered Hogwarts afraid of his own shadow and the disappointment of his grandmother. He was slowly becoming the heir he was supposed to be, an heir worthy of the Longbottom name.

“But aren’t we supposed to not be doing any magic throughout the Holidays?” Hermione suddenly asked, “won’t that alarm the Ministry?”

“That might be true if you are alone,” Pansy began to explain, before Rhea continued, “but when an adult Witch or Wizard is around, the Ministry will simply assume that it was them who cast the magic and not you.”

“Therefore, it should go unnoticed if you cast a Spell within the confines of magical places like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley,” Blaise continued to elaborate. It had become fairly common over the last few months for the Slytherins to explain certain aspects of the Wizarding world like laws, customs, traditions, and facts about the different Pureblood families to Hermione. As always, Hermione was soaking the information up like a sponge.

“Then there are places that are so tightly warded, that the Ministry won’t get a reading on the magic cast inside. The Trace is basically useless there,” Draco chuckled, clearly amused about the lack of intelligence the Ministry was getting, “places like the old Pureblood manors. Some of them are notorious, maybe even legendary for their Warding.”

Hermione looked intrigued at that. For the rest of the way to Hogsmeade station, the Slytherins continued to elaborate on the Warding of their own manors. Of course, neither went into too much detail. After all, keeping the secrets of the old Pureblood manors private was sacred.

Once they had said ‘goodbye’ to their friends, Harry and Hermione made their way back to the castle, while continuing to talk about magic outside the school. Once they had reached the castle, they headed straight to the library. Passing through the entrance, Harry sensed magic surrounding him. The door frame was laced with layers and layers of Compulsion Charms that would latch itself onto Harry once he would leave the library. What they would do, he could not tell for now. This was without doubt one of Dumbledore’s schemes. Sighing, Harry thought that he could clearly do without them. Sadly, he had a cover to maintain.

Once they had found an empty table in a secluded part of the library, Hermione pulled out a large stack of newspaper clippings about Wizengamot legislation and laws passed or failed throughout the last five decades. They all had one thing in common. They involved Corvus Lestrange. For the next hour, Harry answered Hermione’s questions about the reasoning behind some decisions, or political manoeuvring. In the end, she seemed to be satisfied and finally reached for her satchel, pulling out a single piece of parchment, “I… Well, I had my suspicions after reading up on all these laws and so on… Thank you, Harry, for clarifying and confirming my initial thought. I… I think I might go forward with this much sooner than expected. Would you mind giving this a read? I’m not sure if I managed to avoid all the no-goes…”

Harry accepted the parchment with a genuine smile on his face. He was about to unroll the parchment when a movement caught his eye. Hagrid was making his way through the library, behaving in a most peculiar manner. In his moleskin overcoat, he looked very much out of place. The way he was shuffling past the shelves with his hands behind his back, it seemed like he was hiding something behind his back.

“What is Hagrid doing in the library?” Hermione suddenly whispered.

“Don’t know,” Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders. He was about to return his attention back to the parchment, when he heard heavy steps approaching, “Hullo ‘Arry. What are yer doin’ in the library on yer firs’ day of the Holidays? Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“How subtle,” Tom thought, while Harry deeply wished he could roll his eyes.

“Flamel?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed, “who’s that?”

“Nothin,” Hagrid said a bit too quickly, his black eyes searching for distraction. Before his eyes could land on the stacks of parchment filled with Wizengamot legislation, Harry decided to distract him, “We’re just doing our homework. Wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. What are you doing?”

“Jus’ looking,” he mumbled, he said, in a shifty voice that sounded not at all unsuspicious, “what’re you lot up ter later? Want ter come down fer a cuppa?”

“Sure,” Harry said, having the feeling that this was just another thing Dumbledore wanted him to do. For the last few weeks, he and Tom had wondered when Dumbledore’s schemes would continue. As his eyes followed the Half-Giant shuffling out of the library, his hands still behind his back, it seemed like now was the time.

“What was this all about?” Hermione suddenly asked, her voice low, “and who is this Flamel?”

Harry quickly went on to explain the discoveries of the last few months, conveniently leaving out the part where he had stolen the Philosopher’s Stone and Dumbledore’s obsession for Compulsion Charms.

“That’s insane!” Hermione cried out, before quickly covering her mouth as she realized her surroundings. After muttering an almost inaudible excuse to Madam Pince, who had appeared peeking around the corner moments earlier, a disapproving look on her face at the noise. Once the librarian had disappeared, Hermione continued in a much lower, yet still agitated voice, “Are you sure that the stone is properly protected? What if someone made a move? You should tell the Headmaster…”

“I’m sure the Headmaster knows what he is doing,” Harry said curtly, not wishing to reveal more of his feelings on that matter, “if he thinks the stone is protected, then that’s enough for me.”

“But” Hermione began, “shouldn’t you…”

“Should not do what?” Harry said, looking at her incredulously, “Hermione, I’m just a student, nothing more. Even if I happened to come across this, it is neither my responsibility nor concern what the adults are doing with the stone. I would much rather focus on my friends and education. I do not care what the Headmaster, Nicolas Flamel, Professor Quirrell and Hagrid are on about.”

Hermione remained quiet for a while, clearly contemplating about the situation until she sighed, “I think you’re right… Although I don’t like it…”

“Neither do I,” Harry added, suppressing the urge to chuckle.

“I suppose the Headmaster knows what he is doing,” the Gryffindor continued, “still, I want to see what Hagrid is doing and what kind of book he picked up. It was more than obvious that he was hiding one behind his back.”

Without another word, Hermione stood up and went on to investigate Hagrid’s choice of reading. Maybe there was more Gryffindor to Hermione than he had first thought, Harry acknowledged to himself as he returned his attention back to the parchment. Unrolling the parchment, his brows rose at its content. He was almost finished when Hermione returned, a stack of books in her arms.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, letting the books all on the table, “it’s dragons.”

Looking up from the parchment, his eyes scanned the titles on the faded spines: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno; A Dragon Keeper’s Guide…

“He’s raising a dragon,” Hermione whispered. As Harry simply shrugged his shoulders, not really caring what Dumbledore’s pet giant was doing, she continued, her voice filled with frustration and incredulity, “But he can’t. Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlock’s Convention of 1709. It is far too dangerous and nowadays is classified as a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. The Headmaster…”

“I know that it is prohibited and heavily sanctioned to raise a dragon, Hermione,” Harry sighed, urging her to keep her voice down, not too keen to alarm Madam Pince again, “still, I have to remind you that the only indication we have is Hagrid searching for books on that matter. So far, that is the only thing we know. I am not doing anything until I have seen more. Anyway, we have much more important matters at our hands. Your letter sounds good so far. It is genuine without being too personal and direct, remains an air of formality and most importantly sticks to the proper Pureblood customs. Lord Lestrange will not take any offense because of the writing. I think it is fine. How long did it take you to write?”

Hermione blushed, averting her eyes, “Almost the entire week… I spent a couple of hours every evening researching the proper wording…”

“No wonder if you’re new to all these conventions,” Harry chuckled, “the rules are endless. I think if you send this letter the way it is, alongside a copy of the family tree, it should more than suffice. I think before we go to the owlery, we should return those books.”

Once the books had been returned to their rightful places, Harry and Hermione headed towards the exit of the library. As Harry was crossing the threshold, he felt the Compulsion Charms on the door frame trying to get hold on him. As usual, the Disillusioned heir ring on his finger thwarted the magic from taking into effect, although he could finally get a reading on the intention behind the Compulsions. If he hadn’t had such good control of himself, he would have burst into loud laughter at the nature of the Charms: they would force him to go down to Hagrid and question the Half-Giant about the origins of the Dragon’s egg. So, there really was a Dragon’s egg in Hagrid’s archaic hut.

“Hermione,” Harry said, stopping in his tracks, “would you mind if we first go to Hagrid’s and then to the owlery?”

For a moment, the Gryffindor looked at him, a hint of confusion in her bright brown eyes, before she collected herself, “Sure.”

A couple of hours and many vanished rock cakes later, the two finally were on their way to the owlery. Their visit to Hagrid had been a most peculiar affair. Inside Hagrid’s tiny hut, they had been welcomed by infernally hot temperatures. All curtains were closed, and the fire was on despite the warm weather outside. The source and reason for the ardour had been easily spotted: a huge, black egg underneath the kettle. After a lot of back and forth, involving lots of scolding on Hermione’s part, the Half-Giant had revealed that it was the egg of a Norwegian ridgeback and that he had won the egg last night after having won a game of cards against a stranger. The stranger, like many of the Hogshead’s shady clientele, had kept his hood up, never once revealing his face. Unsurprised by this fact, Harry had spent the better part of the next hour listening to Hermione trying to reason with the Half-Giant. In the end, Hermione had finally surrendered, and the pair had left the furnace that was Hagrid’s hut.

“I can’t believe it,” Hermione huffed out in frustration, once they had reached the owlery, “he can’t raise that creature here, so close to a school full of children. I’m shocked that he won’t see reason. What does he think will happen once that thing outgrows his hut? And you! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it would be nothing but a futile endeavour,” Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes while silently and wandlessly erecting Privacy Wards around them, “I have talked to him before and came to the realisation that Hagrid loves his monsters, convinced that they will make the perfect, harmless pets. Nothing will ever change that.”

“But he can’t just raise that thing here,” Hermione cried out, throwing her hands up in frustration, “he simply can’t.”

“And he won’t,” Harry said firmly.

“We have to tell the Headmaster,” Hermione exclaimed, her voice shrill, “he has to put an end to…”

“No, we will NOT tell the Headmaster,” Harry cut her tirade short, “for Merlin’s sake, Dumbledore has already brought a Cerberus inside the castle and told everyone to shun the very corridor the beast is hidden in. If you ask me, that is certainly not the best thing to proclaim in a school full of children. Instead, it sounds more or less like an invitation to go exploring. Telling Dumbledore will be a waste of time. He would have done something once the Dragon egg had passed through the wards and yet he chose not to. Therefore, it appears to me that he is unconcerned about one of his employees nursing a Dragon on the school grounds.”

Hermione stared at him in utter horror, “But we can’t do nothing!”

“Trust me,” Harry chuckled, pulling a piece of parchment out of his satchel, “we will do something, but it will not involve the Headmaster. The Dragon egg will be removed sooner than you think.”

Later that day, Harry was knocking at Severus’ door. He was in an excellent mood.

Earlier during dinner, the doors to the Great Hall had suddenly been thrown open to reveal a squadron of Aurors and officials of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures marching into the Hall. On the Gryffindor table, the tension on Hermione’s face had immediately resolved into relief. Led by the Head of Department for the Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures, Amos Diggory, and the Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, the group quickly made their way to the staff table, their faces grim and serious. Everywhere in the hall heads had been turning, curious, why such an illustrious collection of officials had come to Hogwarts. It had then been quickly revealed that an anonymous source had witnessed the exchange of a Dragon egg at the Hogshead. Despite Dumbledore’s efforts to contain the damage, Hagrid had been officially requested to hand over the egg. If not, he would face severe consequences. Eventually, the Half-Giant had given in and had been escorted out of the Great Hall, the Headmaster in tow, without doubt to do some much needed damage control.

Once the group had departed, the rumour mill around Harry had immediately started to spin, not that there were many people at the Slytherin table. Still, there were much more students seated at the other three house tables than during the Yule Holidays, hence the buzz in the Hall. At the Gryffindor table at the other side of the Great Hall, Hermione’s face had morphed into an expression of pure reverence. Sometimes, well, most of the time, a bit of cunning and scheming was better than diving headfirst into action.

“Enter,” Severus’ familiar drawl brought him out of his musing. He quickly entered. Curfew was only ten minutes away, and he was not too keen on getting caught out in the halls.

Once Harry had entered the Potion Master’s personal quarters, Privacy Wards immediately flared up, making sure that they would not be disturbed tonight. He was quickly led to Severus’ private experimental laboratory. The entrance was hidden underneath a sliding shelf containing jars upon jars of rare Potions ingredients and was conveniently layered with an impressive number of Security Wards. Once Harry had made his way down the case of stairs, he could not help but smile. So far, he had not been down here, their private tutoring sessions taking place in one of the student Potions laboratories or in Severus’ more public friendly laboratory, which could be accessed through his office. If Dumbledore or the Ministry would only know what kind of ingredients were hidden in this room, the Potions Master would be in deep trouble.

Cauldrons of all shapes, sizes and materials were lining the wall on his left. The remaining walls were covered with levels upon levels of shelves containing the most exotic, rare, forbidden and dangerous Potions ingredients one could imagine. It surely was a Potioneer’s dream come true. The middle of the room looked like it had housed various working stations at one point but was cleared of all furniture except one large clearing reserved for a large cauldron and a couple of tables for the preparation of ingredients.

“I hope you managed to acquire everything,” Severus’ familiar drawl echoed through the laboratory.

“Of course, we have,” Harry chuckled, “although some were a bit… tricky to acquire and we had to make use of the Goblins and several of Tom’s old contacts, the Dark Phoenix tears were especially hard to get. Luckily, everything is possible for a price.”

“That is true,” the Potions Master conceded, his face blank.

“It is. Anyway,” Harry began, dramatically gesturing towards his opposite, “I think it is time for the moment we have all been waiting for, Severus. What is your decision?”

Despite his calm and collected mask, Tom and Harry could sense that Severus was nervous. His magic was sizzling around him, obviously agitated. Normally, the Potions Master had his magic completely under control, tightly sealed. The fact that it was now raging beyond his control spoke volumes. Swallowing heavily and taking a deep breath, Severus finally collected himself and began to speak, “You two have given me a lot to think about. The decision certainly was not an easy one. I have been contemplating many scenarios back and forth and…”

“Severus, your decision,” Tom hissed, pushing to the front, thus making Harry’s vividly green eyes turn to a dark crimson, “please.”

The last word was added a few seconds later. While Tom was surely interested in the reasoning behind the decision, he had simply waited too long. Almost three months the Potions Master had kept him waiting. With the midnight of the next full moon only a couple of hours away and so many things to prepare, his patience had finally run thin. It had been hard not to snap at the Potions Master, at least not in the way that he would usually do. For Tom’s standards, this had been a relatively polite request, and Severus surely was aware of that.

The Potions Master took a deep breath and finally revealed the words everybody in this room had been waiting for, “I will offer my flesh and blood. For Lily. For Harry. For you, my Lord, and for sake of Magic herself.”

Tom could not help but smile upon these words he had so desperately wished to hear, “Thank you, Severus.”

The same words were repeated a fraction of a second later as Harry pushed forth again, thus turning his eyes back to their original, striking colour. Instead of acknowledging those words, Severus simply raised his eyes, looking at him expectedly, “Let me examine that cauldron you got. I have to make sure that the coating is evenly distributed across the entire surface before we start brewing.”

This was just so typical Severus that Tom could not help but laugh while Harry only rolled his eyes at the antics of the sullen man, both of them conveniently forgetting that he had kept them waiting so long.

Many hours of brewing later, Harry finally looked up from the mortar in front of him, stretching his fingers that had been holding the pestle for the past half an hour to grind the content of the mortar. Suddenly, he felt a dark figure looming over his shoulder, critically inspecting the powdered Dragon claw, “This should suffice.”

Harry snorted at the barely concealed surprise of the Potions Master. Sure, he was dealing with incompetent dunderheads most of the time, but by now he should be aware that Harry knew what he was doing. After all, he had been taught by the best. Opting to not comment on the Potions Master’s words, Harry simply raised an eyebrow, looking expectedly at Severus, “I suppose the fluxweed, wormwood and dittany have been dissolved completely and the Runespoor eggs have been prepared?”

“Evidently,” Severus drawled, snatching the mortar off the table, and turning on his heels to return to the massive steaming cauldron in the middle of the laboratory. Severus went on to measure the exact amount of the powdered Dragon claw. While Severus was immersed in his work, Harry carefully lowered the temperature. If the liquid inside the cauldron was too hot it would cause the powdered Dragon claw to explode. If it was too low, the powdery substance would not amalgamate completely with the rest of the ingredients, even with the help of the Runespoor eggs.

At precisely 7:07 in the morning, Harry added seven Runespoor eggs, before slowly stirring the Potion anticlockwise. Once the liquid had turned a dark orange, Severus began to carefully dissolve the Dragon power, one ounce at a time. With each ounce of the powdery substance, the Potion grew lighter and lighter. After the last of the seven ounces had been added, its colour had turned into a sparkling silver, the exact colour it was supposed to be.

Relief rushed through Harry’s veins as he stared at the shining liquid. The first stage of the three brewing cycles had been successfully completed and it could not have turned out better. Slowly, he felt the adrenaline fading and the fatigue kicking. After all, he had been up for more than 24 hours and been brewing for more than eight hours. It was time to finally get some long-deserved rest. Seeing the sweat on Severus’ forehead behind the dark curtain of greasy hair, he knew that the Potions Master felt the same. Luckily, the Potion did not require any attention for the next twelve hours.

After both had clumsily climbed up to Severus’ private quarters, Harry voiced a quick ‘goodbye’ to the Potions Master. While he was opening the door, he sensed that the entrance to the experimental laboratory was magically sealed. Thanks to a nifty Disillusionment Charm, Harry made his way to the dormitory undetected. Nobody would think anything of him skipping breakfast, since he had informed Hermione that we would spend his entire morning and probably the better part of the afternoon helping Severus brewing Potions to replenish the stocks of the Hospital Wing. It was a good thing that he had already brewed most of the Potions during the last few Potions lessons. As he fell in his warm bed, too tired to bother removing his clothes, only one thought filled his mind: they had done it. The first stage of the Potion for the Resurrection Ritual had been successfully. Tom would be back soon, in the form they had wished and hoped for.

The next few days passed in a blink of an eye. The majority was spent in the library together with Hermione, completing their homework. Well, Hermione did. Harry had finished his even before the Holidays had started, a fact Hermione was still going on about on Wednesday, while she was hunched over her Potions’ essay surrounded by mountains of books, “I still cannot believe that you finished all your assignments before the start of the Holidays.”

Making a noncommittal sound, Harry returned his attention back to the large Runes manual he was reading. It had come with the mail yesterday. It had taken quite a while to get over to Scotland since he had ordered it directly from the Iranian publishing house.

“Seriously,” Hermione’s voice was deeply laced in frustration, her quill scratching viciously over her parchment, “I have no idea how you do this. And the fact that you are not at all bothered about exams is just insane. Are you sure that you do not want me to make you a revision schedule? Your grades could…”

“I am most certain,” Harry chuckled, for the first time in more than an hour looking up from the large tome, “and my grades are fine as they are. The exams will be a piece of cake, trust me. You will do fine without driving yourself bananas. How was the letter by the way? Did Lord Lestrange write anything nice?”

“You noticed…” Hermione began to stutter before her voice broke.

“You never receive mail,” Harry stated as a matter of fact, “and it certainly did not help that Lord Lestrange sent the family’s Golden eagle. So, how was the letter.”

Hermione blushed, “Actually very nice, despite being rather formal. He says he wants to meet me during the Summer Holidays, and if I agree, even take me to Gringotts to officially confirm my claim. For the time being, he would like to get to know me better. He even sent a copy of the Lestrange chronicles to learn more about the history of the family. I cannot wait to read it and learn more about the period when they split off the main branch and left France. I will start reading as soon as possible. At least as soon as I am finished with all this homework.”

Harry graced her with a wide and genuine smile, “Is there any way I can be of assistance to get you to that book quicker?”

Later that night, Harry was once again out in the corridors well past curfew. Hidden underneath layers of Disillusionment and other protective measures, he was quickly making his way to the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. He had a meeting set up with Corvus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. Since it had been rather late the last time they had met and Corvus had been in no state to continue after the revelations of the night, the three had agreed to meet again on a later day. Tonight was the night. Since they had arranged the meeting for a rather late hour, Draco would be none the wiser that Harry had visited Malfoy Manor.

Once he had passed the boundaries of the castle’s wards, he swiftly Apparated to the lavish entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Upon his arrival, he was not alone.

“Good evening, Lord Lestrange,” Harry greeted politely, sticking to the proper Pureblood decorum, “I must congratulate you on your choice of words and selection of reading material. Your granddaughter was over joyous upon the prospect of being trusted with such tightly protected reading material of your family.”

Corvus Lestrange politely lowered his head, “Good evening, Heir Potter. You should not be surprised. After all, my family only deserves the best.”

“That they do,” Harry chuckled, “would you mind accompanying me to our Hosts’ study?”

“Of course not,” the Lord of the Lestrange family replied politely, gesturing for them to follow. A few minutes later, Corvus, Lucius and Harry were all seated around the Malfoy Lord’s desk, each had a large folder in front of him containing the information on the upcoming school examination. After the customary pleasantries had been exchanged, Corvus audibly cleared his throat, “Heir Potter, is it not the time for him to come forward?”

“No, he will not,” Harry said firmly, “it takes quite a toll for him coming out for extended periods of time. He is still recuperating from our last meeting. He might come out for a few shorter stretches of time, but for the most parts I will be the spokesperson. Since we agree on most points, it should not be a problem. He can hear every word. If needed be, I will convey his thoughts.”

Corvus Lestrange did not look convinced.

“Trust me, Corvus,” Lucius said, breaking the silence, “it works.”

Then, the talk began.

“Since Tom and I have been out of the picture for so long,” Harry said swiftly, “we would like a short summary on all the members of the Committee of Education, especially their qualifications, their beliefs regarding Magic, and their opinion on the current level of education at Hogwarts.”

The two members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors looked at each other, before Lucius audibly cleared his throat, “I think I should begin with the easiest one. Thorfinn Rowle is still true to the cause. Throughout the past decade, his political allegiance has remained undiscovered. After our Lord’s disappearance, he quickly became the most renowned and highest rated Defence and Duelling instructor in Great Britain. Although mostly employed by the old Pureblood families, he is also respected amongst the Light families because of his high-quality lessons. While Thorfinn surely cannot rectify all the damage done by seven years of abysmal Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, he is good at what he does. Therefore, it has become quite common for the richer of us to hire him, if one of our children desires to go into the Auror or Law Enforcement training. Thorfinn has a very clear idea of how the DADA curriculum should look like. Thorfinn Rowle knows what he is doing.”

“Good,” Harry smiled, “what about the others? Are Helena Yaxley and Saul Croaker still firmly on our side?”

“They are,” Corvus Lestrange swiftly answered.

“Then why is Misses Yaxley no longer on the Auror squad?” Harry asked sharply, “the last Tom remembers is that she was on her way to become Head Auror.”

“She was on her way to become Head Auror,” Corvus confirmed the previous statement, his face contorting into a grimace, “she was, until the mutual animosity between herself and Mad Eye got out of control. As far as I remember, Yaxley criticised Moody’s overly violent measures and unfair treatment of the Dark families. While her criticism was highly supported by the majority of the Auror task force because Moody was more and more getting out of control in his paranoia, Moody himself and Dumbledore disagreed. By a few unfortunate circ*mstances, all of which orchestrated by Dumbledore, Helena Yaxley lost a lot of her standing while Moody was named Head Auror. As you can imagine, Mad Eye forced her out of the squad. Since Amelia Bones did not want to lose such a capable Witch, she was offered the position to supervise the Magical Law Enforcement trainee program. Since Helena Yaxley took over that position, the level of quality and proficiency of the graduating Aurors and Hit Witches and Wizards has increased significantly, although the same is true for the failure rate. Over time, Amelia Bones and Helena Yaxley have grown rather close. Their professional relationship is mostly based upon a mutual belief in better education and training, hard work, fair judgment, and an overall dislike of Alastor Moody. I can only imagine how pleased the two Witches were, when Moody was suspended last year for his repeated unreasonable use of violence, and Rufus Scrimgeour got his position. Since his promotion as Head Auror, Scrimgeour has started to assign her some of the more complicated cases. It is also noteworthy that Helena Yaxley finally got her Transfiguration mastery. Her position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as her Defence and Transfiguration mastery should be reason enough to appoint her as a member of the Committee.”

Tom and Harry were pleased to hear that. Helena Yaxley had been one of the strongest Witches the Dark Lord had ever come across, a lot stronger than her husband. She could probably outduel most of his Death Eaters. It had also been very handy to have her in the Auror Department. He had never marked her, although Tom knew that Helena would have gladly and willingly taken the Mark. Since it could and very likely would have compromised her position, her skin had remained unmarked. Harry swiftly signalled Corvus to continue.

“Saul Croaker’s rise within the Department of Mysteries on the other hand was not halted by Dumbledore,” the Lord of the Lestrange family continued, “although I cannot tell you much of his work. I know that he supervises the training program of the Department, but is not the only one…”

“The Dark Lord wants to know if he is still studying Time Magic?” Harry suddenly interrupted Lord Lestrange.

“No, he does not,” Lucius Malfoy answered, as the other in the room had remained silent, “after he was severely disfigured as a result of an unfortunate accident in one of the secret laboratories committed to Time Magic, he…”

“Accident?” the Dark lord suddenly pushed forward, “what sort of unfortunate accident?”

“My Lord, not much is known,” Lucius hastily tried to explain, “five or six years ago, he was found by one of his co-workers and immediately rushed to St. Mungo’s. No one except Croaker himself knows what happened, only that it was quite severe…”

“How severe?” Tom hissed.

“He sur… survived,” the Malfoy Lord managed to bring out, “he lost vision in his right eye and was severely scarred, but he recovered… Mostly… Still, he paid a hefty price for his failed experiment. I will not reveal more. Originally, he wanted to return to his former work, but his superior convinced him to focus on less dangerous work. I think he works on Wards, Rituals, and Spell creation nowadays, but nobody can say for sure with the Unspeakables.”

That was true. Most things that happened in the Department of Mysteries never saw the light of day. Strange things happened in the lowest level of the Ministry, most of which the Unspeakables refused to talk about. Experiments went wrong, magic backfired, Unspeakables died, or went on to be never seen again, horrific discoveries were made – all in the name of creation and progress.

Satisfied for now that Croaker was alive and ‘well’, Tom let himself drift to the back. The smirk that appeared on Harry’s face was once again complemented by Avada green eyes instead of crimson ones, “Now, to the two most interesting people on the Committee. Gentlemen, if you please.”

Corvus Lestrange cleared his throat, “I doubt that either of them will be much of a hindrance despite them being Light. Ever since Eleonore Diggory returned to her work in the Ministry after her maternity leave eight years ago, she has quickly risen through the ranks becoming the deputy head of the Department of Magical Education. She did not earn her position for nothing. After all, she is nothing short of determined to improve the standard of teaching at Hogwarts and the postgraduate programs offered at the Ministry. It is a shame that most of her suggestions have been blocked by Dumbledore, who is convinced that the Ministry should not interfere at his school. Despite these setbacks, she has continued to push for her educational degrees to get through the Wizengamot. For her determination and resilience, I admire her deeply. In fact, Eleonore and I have worked together on many bills. She is one of the few outside the Dark faction to support my ideas of an earlier identification of magical children, a magical foster system, and a magical elementary school. I would be more than surprised if she would work against us throughout the inspection. She will not. Of that, I am sure.”

“I second that,” Lucius added, “Eleonore loves children and cherishes the preservation of Magic. Although she has never publicly voiced her disdain of Dumbledore’s refusal to cooperate with her department, her opinion is more than clear. She wants changes. This will be the perfect opportunity.”

“Good,” Harry smiled. Sure, Tom and he had read up on the members of the Committee but having Corvus and Lucius confirm their information on Eleonore Diggory was a huge relief. Then again, Bartemius Crouch Senior had appointed her, and it would be more than inconvenient to get somebody on the job who actively worked against your own goals.

“Crouch Senior should not be a problem as well,” Lucius’ voice echoed through the office, bringing Harry and Tom out of their thoughts, “despite the backlash he received after the arrest of his son, he is still true to his agenda and has never lost his work ethics. Sure, he was shoved in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but because of him, working relations with other nations have never been better. Much like Diggory, he might be a Light supporter, but he was never a supporter of Dumbledore’s pro-Muggle propaganda. Being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he of course honours our traditions. The only reason why he stopped celebrating the Pagan holidays is because they were declared to be illegal, a sucker for the rules that he is. Still, he should be on our side concerning the inspection.”

“Excellent,” Harry said, accompanied by a loud clap of his hands, “now that we have discussed the personnel of the Committee, let us focus on the changes they might implement. It should be of no surprise that some of the current classes might get an updated and Ministry-approved curriculum. Larger and more advanced varieties of Spells, Charms, Hexes, Transfigurations, and Potions. No surprise here. A few new classes, or a reintroduction of discontinued classes. No surprise either. All things we will discuss when it is time. What I really want to discuss is the faculty. Out of the current teachers, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Severus of course, Sinistra, Babbling, Vector, and Kettleburn are all adequately competent to teach their subjects. Of course, some more than others. Kettleburn is getting too old to handle the creatures and some of McGonagall’s teaching methods are rather questionable but could be rectified. Quirrell, Burbage, and Binns on the other side are clearly unfit to teach. While not completely incompetent, Quirrell will most likely not remain for much longer. The curse on the teaching position and Dumbledore’s schemes will see to that. Should the discussion about a replacement arise on the Board, I want Thorfinn’s name thrown in the mix…”

“But the curse,” Lucius Malfoy protested.

“Can easily be evaded by changing the classroom or the name of the class,” Harry chuckled, “just insist you need more space and you will be fine. Although I think that Dumbledore will try his best to have somebody he trusts teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, it should be easy to have Thorfinn work on the curriculum of the class. Tom and I want you to support his involvement. We might talk to him personally at a later point. Anyway, Charity Burbage will not see the end of term. A Pureblood Witch who knows nothing about the Muggle world educating generations of Witches and Wizards about the harmless nature of the Muggles is simply unacceptable. Tom and I want her released from her teaching position, but we doubt it will be difficult thanks to her lack of knowledge. It should become apparent rather quickly. We want her replaced by somebody who has a deep understanding of the Muggle world, who knows what they are capable of. Any candidates that come to mind?”

He was met with silence. He could literally see the wheels in Lucius’ head turning. Luckily, Corvus was much better at hiding his emotions.

“Whoever it is does not have to be magical,” Harry added, “a squib living in the Muggle world might be an even better choice.”

Suddenly, Corvus’ eyes lit up, “Perseus Selwyn.”

“The squib Lord of the Selwyn estate?” Lucius asked incredulously.

Tom could hit himself in the head for not thinking of Perseus Selwyn. Perseus was the younger brother of the late Heracles Selwyn. Unlike his powerful older brother, Perseus had never possessed an ounce of magic and therefore never received his Hogwarts letter. Unlike most magical families, the Selwyns had never disinherited their Squib son, but sent him to one of the top Muggle boarding schools. Despite being unfamiliar with the Muggle world, Perseus Selwyn had excelled at engineering, if Tom remembered correctly, and had gone on to pursue a career in academics. When his brother and his wife had died of Dragon Pox seventeen years ago, Perseus had taken over the mantle of the not so insignificant Selwyn estate, since his nephew Lynx at five years old had been much too young.

“Yes, that Perseus Selwyn,” Corvus said firmly, “one of my rather frequent correspondences. Despite being a Squib, I must concede that he knows what he is doing. Very clever that one. To this day, I have no idea how he managed to accumulate the fortune that is resting in the Selwyn vaults, while simultaneously raising his nephew, working for that Muggle university, and being a member of the Wizengamot. All that, without possessing a single ounce of magic.”

“Well, he only began attending the Wizengamot sessions after Our Lord had vanished and Lynx had started at Hogwarts,” Lucius explained, his tone slightly dismissive.

“Should his nephew not have taken over the Lordship by now?” Harry asked. After all, Lynx Selwyn was a grown Wizard by now.

“He should,” Corvus began to explain, “but Lynx decided that he needed more experience. He has been travelling the world ever since graduating from Hogwarts. The last I have heard was that he was spending time in Mexico.”

“Do you think that Lord Selwyn would accept the teaching position?” Harry asked.

Corvus Lestrange shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe. He has warned many of the Wizengamot members of the dangers the Muggles could pose to us. Sadly, hardly anyone listens, too blinded by Dumbledore’s pro-Muggle propaganda. This might be the opportunity for Perseus to educate generations of Witches and Wizards correctly.”

“Inform Lord Selwyn on the possible job opportunity,” Tom said, once again pushing forward, “if needed, we will fund him ourselves should the salary arise to be problematic. And now, to the most problematic position: Binns. He has been blinding generations upon generations of Witches and Wizards, filling their heads with nonsense about Goblin wars and false information about creatures, while neglecting our own, rich and proud history. I want him gone, preferably exorcised for good. I want the position to be filled by the best…”

“But there aren’t any Historians left in Britain,” Lucius cried out, “hardly anyone has taken their NEWTs in History of Magic. No one to graduate Hogwarts has even attempted to gain a Mastery in decades, and the only Historian left is too old. Bathilda Bagshot cannot possibly teach. Furthermore, she is too firmly in Dumbledore’s pocket, and thus not an ideal candidate to spread an unbiased version of our real history.”

The smile on Tom’s, well, Harry’s face was all teeth, “My dear Lucius, I am not referring to anyone who has ever studied at Hogwarts.”

“You want to suggest a foreign historian, my Lord” Lucius asked incredulously.

“No, Lucius,” Tom chuckled, “she was born here in Britain.”

“You cannot be…” Corvus began, having caught on to Tom’s plan.

“I am serious about this, despite not being incarcerated,” Tom said, his words spoken quickly before Harry could push forward to tell his favourite joke, “I want her in that position and no one else.”

“Who?” Lucius Malfoy asked, a confused look on his face as if he had missed something massive.

“Bridget Hawthorne, you half-wit,” Corvus exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, clearly frustrated that Lucius had not figured it out himself, “who else but Bridget Hawthorne.”

‘Indeed. Who else but Bridget Hawthorne?’ Tom thought to himself. Corvus’ words were nothing but the truth. There was no one else. Tom’s thoughts wandered to the information he had managed to collect on the Witch, one of only a handful of historians left in Magical Great Britain.

While some would clearly refrain from labelling Bridget Hawthorne British, her story had started and ended in Britain. Shortly after the first boats of pilgrims had sailed westwards to the newly ‘discovered’ continent of America, the Hawthornes, too, had departed for the new continent. What was surprising is that the Magical and the Muggle branch of the family had left together. Then again, it was before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been signed and been imposed. Shortly after the arrival in the ‘New World’, the two branches had split. Oddly, the descendants of the Muggle branch of the family had settled down in Salem, Massachusetts, with John Hawthorne even becoming involved in the infamous Salem Witch Trials, serving as judge. Many of his ancestors, like Nathaniel Hawthorne, had later turned to literature and arts.

The Magical branch of the family had taken another direction. The Hawthornes had played a crucial part in the founding of Ilvermorny, the American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Alongside descendants of the Sayres, Stewards, and Boots, the Hawthornes had taken it upon themselves to educate the young Witches and Wizards of the ‘New Continent’. Their involvement at Ilvermorny had been very specific: history. Generations upon generations of Hawthornes had taken it upon themselves to educate the newer generations on the History of Magic, while also preserving the long and rich traditions of the magical tribes that had populated the Americas long before the arrival of the Europeans. Overall, it had become customary for a member of the family to obtain a Mastery in History.

Sadly, Masteries in History and a young and small community of possible clients that mostly did not consist of filthily rich Purebloods to do research for was not enough to support the lavish lifestyle of the Hawthornes. By the time Margret Hawthorne, Bridget’s mother and sole child of the late Lord Theseus Hawthorne, was born, the once richly filled vaults of the family had run dry. A couple of fatal investments and the Great Depression had only accelerated the process. The financial situation of the Hawthornes had been so dire, that they could not even afford to send their only daughter to Ilvermorny, let alone any other of the Magical schools. The only reason why Margret had been allowed to attend in the end, had been the scholarship she had received for her outstanding performance in History of Magic.

While her outstanding performance had paid for her schooling, it had not gained her a sponsorship for a Mastery. In America, no one was willing to finance a Mastery in History. The Magical community was too small, too young and too thoroughly investigated to require any more historians.

The situation in Britain on the other hand was much different. With a relatively large number of wealthy Pureblood lines remaining, the demand for historians to research the long and rich history and origins of the ancient families was more than existent. Unfortunately, there was hardly anyone, to be honest, there was actually no one willing to delve further into History and obtain a Mastery. Thanks to Cuthbert Binns’ never-ending, dreadful droning on Goblin rebellions and the schemes of Dumbledore alongside his Light propaganda, the interest of the younger generations in History had steadily disappeared over time. Luckily, the old Pureblood lines continued to value their history.

Among them was Arcturus Black, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. A year after Margret had graduated from Ilvermorny and a few years after the defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, the Lord of the Black family offered to financially back a Mastery in History of Magic. To the surprise of no one, no Witch or Wizard in Britain showed any interest. This proved to be quite fortunate for Margret. Despite not being British and a Witch nonetheless, Arcturus Black gladly accepted her application, relieved to have finally found somebody willing to study History.

Financially backed by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Margret moved to London, making a small room in the pristine townhouse of the Black’s at Grimmauld Place her new home. For the next couple of years, Margret immersed herself into her work, discovering new facts about the ancient families daily. It all went well until a faithful Beltane celebration, six months before the end of her Mastery.

Tom had been at said Beltane celebration but had left early due to other obligations. Therefore, he had not been present when Druella Black née Rosier, who at that time had been pregnant with their second daughter Andromeda, had discovered her rather drunk husband in a very compromising position with an equally intoxicated Margret Hawthorne. It had been the scandal of the decade. That one night had almost cost Cygnus his marriage. Still, it was much worse for Margret.

Arcturus Black immediately withdrew all financial funding, thus terminating the scholarship for her Mastery, as well as expelling her from Grimmauld Place. For the next few months, Margret managed to rent a small flat in Knockturn Alley, paying with what little she had managed to save. The months were marked by many setbacks. No one was willing to pay for the remainder of her Mastery, and three months after that fateful night, she discovered that she was with child. She begged Cygnus to acknowledge his child, but he refused. A month later, her savings had run dry. With nothing but the Hawthorne diadem left, a Goblin-made family heirloom from the time when the family had still lived in Britain, Margret had become desperate, to the point that she was willing to sell off her last possession.

But whereas his own mother Merope had gotten scammed by Borgin and Burkes, Margret Hawthorne luckily had not resorted to that shady establishment in Knockturn Alley. Instead, she had gone directly to the Goblins. Unlike the Purebloods, the Goblins had not turned her down due to the affair. Always on the hunt for good business, the Goblins had gladly accepted the Goblin-made diadem back in their possession and actually paid a fair price for the heirloom. Besides money, they had offered so much more.

Unlike all the enraged Pureblood families, the Goblins had offered to pay for the remainder of Margret’s Mastery. Since it was the Goblins, there were of course conditions. By accepting the offer, Margret in turn vowed to work for the Goblins exclusively once she had completed her Mastery. It was surely a good deal for the Goblins, since it would ensure that one of the only Historians in Britain would work exclusively for the bank. The Goblins could demand hefty sums for her service should any of their customers require a historian.

Six months later, Margret’s Mastery had been complete, and Bridget Hawthorne was born. The young mother no longer had to worry about money, since the Goblins paid well and treated her as respectfully as the Goblins could.

The situation reminded Tom so much of his own childhood. It was almost macabre to see how much his own past could have been changed if his mother had made a different decision.

To say that the wrath of the Blacks calmed over time was a lie. The Blacks never forgot and certainly never forgave. In the summer after Bridget had turned elven, her desperately awaited Hogwarts letter never arrived, despite her name being on the list of those set to start at the Magical school. Of that, the Goblins had made sure. They had put her name down shortly after her birth. Even after several inquiries, no owl delivered the long-awaited letter. Thus, the Hogwarts Express departed without Bridget. After months, the Goblins finally discovered the reason behind the missing letter. Cygnus and Orion Black had bribed the Head of the Department for Magical Education, Gabriela Fawcett.

Since it was far too late to enrol Bridget at any other Wizarding school, the Goblins offered her a place alongside their own children, which to that date had been unheard of. After all, the Goblins did not share their secrets. Luckily, Bridget seemed to be an exception. Still, two subjects proved to be the exception. Margret had taken it upon herself to educate her daughter and teach her everything she knew about the History of Magic and Defence.

As far as Tom knew, Bridget Hawthorne had obtained top marks in her History and Defence NEWTs. In fact, no one bar himself had achieved higher marks in History. After her NEWTs, Bridget had gone on to study History under her own mother and Defence under Amelia Bones, who her mother Margaret had befriended through business relations with the Ministry. After successfully obtaining her two Masteries, Bridget had travelled the world and later started to work as independent contractor for various Pureblood families, tracing their past. She had also written a few books, focussing on the creature origins of Magic. Of course, Dumbledore had tried to censor and ban those books. Luckily, the Goblin lawyers had so far prevented it. Overall, Bridget Hawthorne’s relationship with Albus Dumbledore was more than strained. Not just because of his dislike for her books, but because he had not allowed her to attend Hogwarts.

Because of her long-time public feud, she was a very controversial public figure. The Purebloods were especially torn about her. On one hand, she was the bastard child of Cygnus Black, while on the other, she was one of a handful of Historians left in Britain and one of the only public figures to openly spread and encourage Pureblood beliefs. Tom had always enjoyed reading about her latest heated debates with the old fool.

While her public clashes with Dumbledore were entertaining, her relationship with the Black family was even more so. Much like her mother, Bridget openly loathed the Black family for what they had done. Tom really admired Bridget for her choice of retribution. She did the worst thing possible.

She befriended Narcissa Malfoy née Black, Cygnus’ youngest daughter.

Tom had no idea how the contact between the half-sisters had been initiated, but eventually, their friendship had blossomed and had eventually opened up the opportunity for the meeting he had had with Bridget Hawthorne.

It had all started when Narcissa had come up to him during the traditional Yule celebrations at Malfoy Manor. It must have been 1979. Ever since setting foot in the Magical world, Tom had celebrated Yule at Malfoy Manor. This tradition had not changed after leaving Hogwarts. Although the traditional ball only started in the late afternoon, Tom would always spend the entire day at the manor, celebrating this special day with those he considered his closest. Usually, his Inner Circle and their families were present, all bar the Blacks since their family was simply too large.

After a thoroughly splendid lunch, Tom had been relaxing on the balcony overlooking the vast grounds of Malfoy Manor. The coldness was a nice contrast to the heat inside. Tom had been standing there for a few minutes when he heard feet approaching, too light to be male, yet no less powerful. Turning around, he realised that it was Narcissa. He knew he should have realised before who it was approaching. After all, Narcissa’s magic was rather special. It was as Dark and vicious as Bellatrix’ but was much better controlled and had much more grace to it. A quite unique combination indeed.

When Narcissa’s eyes stopped on his face, the hint of revulsion did not go unnoticed. While the creation of the Horcruxes had neither affected his mind nor his magic, his once handsome exterior had started to deteriorate. He currently was working on a potion or a ritual to restore his appearance, but it was not high on his list.

“My Lord, I hope you are enjoying the celebrations so far and everything is to your taste,” Narcissa said politely, while lowering her head in respect.

“Your family has truly outdone themselves,” Tom smiled, aware of how wrong that expression must look on his distorted face.

Much to his surprise, Narcissa did not beat around the bush. She quickly informed him that a friend wished to speak to the Dark Lord in private to discuss a possible allegiance. Since Tom already had a suspicion of who this ‘friend’ was, he agreed to a meeting.

A couple of weeks later, the Dark Lord Apparated straight into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. A few minutes later, he was sitting behind the desk of his private study. Most meetings at that time took place there. It simply was convenient. He had forgone the larger conference room since he preferred to have personal meetings like this in a more private setting. He did not have to wait long. Two loud and confident knocks echoed through the study at precisely ten o’clock. After having been signalled to enter, the door was quickly thrown open to reveal a tall woman, who strode into the room with confident strides that spoke of no fear.

The Dark Lord had to admit that the photographs in the papers really did not do her any justice. The black-and-white photographs truly did not manage to depict her accordingly.

Bridget Hawthorne’s smooth, ivory skin seemed to be shining in the darkness of the ebon panelling around her. Her white hair was shining even brighter. If one was unaware of her heritage, one could easily assume that she was related to the Ice Elves, but her eyes gave her away. Instead of pale blue, her eyes were only pigmented with the faintest shades of light grey with an undertone of pink almost to the point of being void of any colour depending on the lighting. Much like her mother, Bridget Hawthorne had inherited the rare genetic defect her ancestors had developed over the years. It was a rare, surprisingly dominant form of albinism. She was not wearing any glasses, hence why Tom assumed that her eyes must have been magically corrected at one point.

While her skin, hair and eyes clearly were Hawthorne, the remainder of her face clearly screamed Black, an appearance which was widely considered to be the vestige of aristocratic beauty. Her high cheekbones and perfectly sculpted jawline clearly reflected that. If you ignored the lack of pigmentation, her resemblance to Narcissa was almost uncanny.

But whereas her half-sister preferred to dress in traditional Wizarding dresses, Bridget Hawthorne appeared to favour a much different style. Underneath her sturdy, yet elegant and perfectly sewn open outer robes, she was wearing dark, tightly fitted duelling robes. The robes were hugging her fit torso, clearly not hiding the muscles underneath. Instead of a dress, the preferred choice of most Witches in Britain, she was wearing black, loosely fitted slacks accompanied by Gladrags finest Basilisk-hide boots. Her choice of clothing reminded the Dark Lord of the Witches of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, then again, her mother had grown up in America. The wand in her left boot did not go unnoticed, as did the dagger in her right boot. The Dark Lord doubted that these were the only weapons on her person. Because of its magical signature, there was at least another wand hidden under the sleeve of her left arm.

A fraction of a second later, Bridget Hawthorne was standing in front of him, lowering her head respectfully while greeting him with the words, “My Lord.”

While Tom inspected the Witch in front of him, he could not help but notice how much her magic felt like Narcissa’s. Dark and vicious, yet elegant and under control.

“Lady Hawthorne,” the Dark Lord replied casually, while signalling her to take the seat opposite him. Accepting the invitation with a faint nod, Bridget Hawthorne took a seat, her movements smooth, yet calculated like a predator on the hunt for their prey.

“Lady Hawthorne,” the Dark Lord began, his voice calm, “I could not help but wonder about the reasoning for your rather… unexpected move. You never seemed overly eager to align yourself with either side. Why now?”

Bridget Hawthorne calmly met his eyes, her face blank and void of any emotions. Besides Abraxas and Corvus, anyone rarely ever seemed to be so unaffected by the Dark Lord’s magic and his physical appearance.

“Before I will answer your question, my Lord,” Bridget Hawthorne spoke up, her tone polite, “may I ask you a question first? I hope I am not being foolish and unreasonable, but your answer to the question is rather significant for the outcome of this meeting.”

Crooking a hairless eyebrow for her daring, the Dark Lord stared at her for a long moment, “As surprising as it may seem to anyone not familiar with me I am open to suggestions, accepting of questions, and certainly not averse to critique as long as everything is reasonable and delivered in an adequate setting.”

Bridget Hawthorne’s calculating gaze rested on the Dark Lord as if to determine whether he had spoken the truth. Having reached a conclusion, she slightly leaned back in her seat and revealed the question that had been plaguing her, “I cannot help but feel curious about your ideas concerning the origins of the magic that is running through our veins, my Lord.”

‘Interesting,’ the Dark Lord thought to himself as he, too, leaned back in his chair to contemplate his answer. He had been aware of how serious the Hawthornes took ‘their’ History, but it seemed like he had underestimated the significance of their passion. The thin lips on his face curled into a smile as a plan formed in his mind. Of course, he would not lie. He never did.

“Lady Hawthorne,” the Dark Lord began, “I think you will be surprised at how similar our ideas are.”

“Is that so?” the pale Witch opposite of him asked, “I was under the impression that your side is convinced that the Old Gods gifted Magic to their believers, the Purebloods, and that their gift must be protected from the Muggles at all cost.”

“Sadly, the papers have never directly consulted me in return and my followers on our stands on Magic,” Tom stated without as much as a blink of an eye, “everything that is printed is spurred by sources beyond my control.”

Bridget Hawthorne raised an eyebrow, “Dumbledore?”

“Of course. The old fool likes to spread the idea that I want to exterminate every single Muggle and Muggleborn, which could not be further from the truth. I want separation between both worlds, total separation, but not genocide and mass murder,” Tom swiftly explained, “as a descendent of a long Necromancer and Naga line, I am more than aware of the true origins of Magic. Thus, I know that Muggles cannot simply steal what is ours unless we intermingle with them too much.”

Bridget Hawthorne suddenly leaned forward in her seat, her eyes sparkling in excitement, “So you really believe in the creature origin of Magic?”

In confirmation, the lips of the Dark Lord curled into a smile.

“Good,” the pale Witch said, “Necromancer and Naga blood in your veins? No wonder you are such a powerful Wizard. That’s a hell of a combination.”

“Is it not?” the Dark Lord snorted dryly before turning serious in an instant, “now that I have answered your question, Lady Hawthorne, let us return to my initial question: why did you decide to approach me now?”

For a moment, the Witch seemed to be lost in thoughts, before finally answering, “There is talk, talk that the Dark are slowly but steadily gaining the upper hand, infiltrating the Ministry, disposing of Dumbledore’s pawns. Your duel with…”

“There was talk before and there were duels before,” the Dark Lord interrupted her, slowly leaning forward, placing his elbows on the desk in front of him, his chin resting on his folded hands, “while you speak the truth, the both of us are aware that this alone would not be enough to finally make you declare your true allegiance and seek me out. You would never accept the same Mark your father bares. Never. Not while he is alive and breathing. Now, what truly made you reconsider?”

Almost colourless eyes met crimson ones. Bridget Hawthorne surprisingly did not avert her gaze, “You did your homework.”

The corners of the Dark Lord’s lips twitched, but otherwise his amusem*nt at her words remained hidden. He then raised an eyebrow, impatiently urging her to answer.

“It was not just the talk on the streets of Diagon and Knockturn Alley,” the pale Witch explained, “the Goblins in the bank were quivering in excitement after your duel with the Prewitt twins, James Potter, Frank Longbottom, and Sirius Black, that you made them flee like dogs with their tails between their legs. They were joking that not even five of the Ministry’s finest Aurors could keep you at bay. They said that the tables were turning. That no one could stop you now.”

While Goblins rarely ever reacted to conflicts amongst Witches and Wizards, their reaction was hardly surprising given his special connection to the Goblins, “What else did they tell you?”

“Tell me?” Bridget Hawthorne parroted, taken off-guard for the first time during their meeting.

“You have grown up amongst the Goblins. Thus, you should be aware of their opinion on the current Wizarding war,” the Dark Lord stated, “what did Ragnok tell you?”

“I never said anything about Ragnok,” the pale Witch protested, “I only…”

“Enough,” the Dark Lord hissed sharply, “I have known and worked together with him for decades. If someone could have told you something valuable, something life-changing, it must have been him. Frankly, I do not mind since I trust you to keep quiet about whatever he has told you, at least if you value your dear life. Anyway, I am simply curious what exactly made you reconsider. Also, do not worry about Ragnok. I would never hurt those I consider mine.”

Bridget Hawthorne lowered her head in understanding, before whispering, “Prior to my conversation with Ragnok, I was unaware how similar some of our opinions, some of our goals and… some of our experiences were.”

“I see,” the Dark Lord said, his voice much smoother and calmer, “and what do you wish to do now?”

“I… I simply cannot join with him being amongst your ranks,” Bridget Hawthorne explained quickly, “no disrespect, my Lord, I cannot…”

“I understand,” the Dark Lord spoke, his eyes pulsating in anger at the thought of his own father. He, too, would have never aligned himself with the man that had abandoned him and refused to acknowledge his own child.

“While I cannot accept your mark for now,” the pale Witch continued, “I offer you my service.”

The Dark Lord’s lips curled into a sinister smile, “I think you have already proven yourself of great value for the Dark cause and I would gladly see you continue your great work, spreading the truth about our history, about our traditions, about our cause. I especially enjoy your little public battles with Dumbledore. I think not even I manage to rile him up to the extent that you do.”

Opposite of him, Bridget Hawthorne blushed at the compliment. This certainly was not how she had expected this meeting to go.

“Since we have reached the end of our discussion,” the Dark Lord began, “I think I do not have to remind you that the details of our meeting and the information passed by Ragnok are to be kept private. While I do not have a problem discussing certain aspects of my past, present and future with a selected few, the public must remain ignorant. Lady Hawthorne, if that is all you wished to discuss, I want to stress that my door is always open to you. I would gladly welcome you in my ranks once the time is right.”

“But Dumbledore will do everything in his power to keep that woman out of Hogwarts,” Lucius said loudly, bringing Tom out of his thoughts, “he will not allow anyone with such… controversial stances to brainwash the mind of his precious blind students and for once provide them with the truth about our past. She will never be allowed to teach as long as Dumbledore is Headmaster.”

“What if there would be, let’s say, a newly passed educational decree in place, stating that the Ministry is allowed to select a teacher of their own if the Headmaster was unable to present a more fitting, better qualified candidate?” Tom spoke, his voice bearing a seductive undertone, “the esteemed Headmaster would never be able to present a better candidate than Bridget Hawthorne.”

“What if she refuses?” Corvus asked, scepticism underlining his words.

“She would never refuse a challenge and direct opportunity to go against Dumbledore,” Tom chuckled, “never! She hates him with as much passion as she despised her father. She will accept, even if it pays less and offers her less freedom than her current occupations. She will accept, as long as you two manage to position her accordingly should the question of a new History of Magic teacher arise within the Board of Governors and in the presence of the Minister. I trust you to achieve that feat without a problem. Before I depart, did you give my suggestions regarding the Longbottoms any thoughts, Corvus?”

Chapter 26: Educational Decree Number 64

Chapter Text

Sunday afternoon, Harry found himself lounging in the library. Deeply immersed in a large tome on the medical benefits of the Dark Arts, he was enjoying the last few hours before the rest of the student population would return to the castle. Thinking back on the last few days since his meeting with Corvus and Lucius, he could not help but remark how relaxing, yet entertaining those days had been. He had spent most of the afternoons with Hermione in the library, while meeting up with the Weasley twins at night to work on their latest inventions, which were getting more and more refined with each passing meeting. Neither Harry nor the twins could wait to try them out, especially the Canary Cream they were currently developing.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sketch up a revision table for you?” Hermione’s words brought him back to reality, “the exams aren’t that far along and…”

“Hermione, for the last time,” Harry sighed, looking up from his book, “I do not need a revision table. I have no problem with the Spellwork and the theory…”

“But what,” Hermione interrupted his explanation, a worried expression in her eyes, “if you do not remember…”

“For the last time, Hermione,” Harry repeated his words, although with a much sterner voice, “I have a perfect recollection of the theory we have covered in class and always get the new Spells, Charms, Transfiguration, and Hexes to work on the first try. The exams…”

“But how can you be sure of that?” Hermione cried out, although still quiet enough to not attract Madam Pince, “it’s been months since we’ve covered some of the material in class and an older student told me that not all teachers do revision…”

“Hermione, I hardly ever forget any titbit of information,” Harry explained calmly, “it is an almost impossible feat to forget with an eidetic memory.”

“An eidetic memory?” Hermione breathed, her eyes growing wide, “but how?”

“Don’t know,” Harry said shrugging his shoulders, lying easily, “I’ve always had it. Never had a problem recalling anything, even complete books, page to page, word for word. I must admit that it is a quite handy skill to possess. It surely makes learning basically anything quite easy and in turn studying for any sort of exam rather redundant.”

“That’s how you’ve been able to study so effortlessly, “Hermione said, her eyes shining in realisation, “the reason why you are able to finish your homework so quickly.”

“It certainly did contribute its part,” Harry answered, “although I still have to process the information like everybody else and make an effort to understand whatever I come across. It is not like I get everything immediately…”

“But learning seems so easy for you,” Hermione protested, “you already know everything we do in class and…”

“Because I read ahead,” Harry chuckled, “that’s all there is.”

Hermione did not look entirely convinced, “I still think what you do is magic.”

“Might be,” Harry smiled, accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

“Still, are you really sure you don’t want me to sketch you up a revision table?” Hermione asked hopefully, “you can never be too sure. What if you do not remem…”

“Hermione, I am sure,” Harry said, his voice firm, “and I would prefer if you would leave it at that.”

Hermione remained quiet for a few seconds, before curiosity seemed to have peaked once more, “Are you going to revise at all?”

“Probably not,” Harry chuckled, “as I said I know my theory and the practical work is easy.”

After those words, his eyes reverted to the runes in the tome he was still holding. But before he continued to read, he spoke up once more, “Oh, and Hermione, I would prefer if the content of our conversation was to remain private.”

That evening, the rest of the student population returned, and the Great Hall was crowded once again. Draco seemed to be none the wiser that Harry had visited Malfoy Manor , while Neville was happily talking about his Semi-Thaumatagoria which seemed to have grown quite a bit since the Yule holidays. Throughout the entire evening, Harry could not help but feel excited about the next day and the continuation of classes. After all, the Committee of Education was set to arrive tomorrow, and the inspection of Hogwarts was about to start.

The next morning, Harry and his group of Slytherins entered the Great Hall even earlier than usual. Sure, it had involved a lot more grumbling on Draco’s behalf, but Harry was not going to miss any of the spectacle for the world. As they were making their way to their house table, Harry noticed that, while hardly any students were present yet, the entire staff was already seated. While teachers like Severus and McGonagall, maybe Sinistra and Vector, often started their day rather early, it was uncommon for most teachers, especially Dumbledore, to make an appearance before eight. Upon closer inspection, the usually cheerful Headmaster looked worried and tired, his trademark twinkle absent and dark bags underneath his eyes.

Taking his seat, Harry reached for a bowl of porridge. He immediately started to pile his porridge with a vast variety of fruits and nuts. While eating, he closely observed the staff table. While Severus was his usual closed-off self, hunched over a book, his face obscured by a curtain of shiny black hair while a piece of toast would occasionally find its way to his mouth or throwing an observant glance at the house tables, most teachers were unusually cheerful. Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch were animatedly chatting about possible new plants and brooms. Professor Vector and Professor Babbling appeared to be discussing discontinued classes, while Professor Sinistra seemed to be explaining some unusual planet movements to Professor Flitwick.

Of course, there were exceptions at the staff table. The fraud Trelawney was obviously struggling to stay awake. Harry was honestly surprised that the wretched failure of a teacher had even made it to breakfast. She had never had breakfast in the Great Hall in the many months since Harry had started at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall on the other hand looked like the end of the world was about to arrive. She was glaring angrily at the entrance of the Great Hall, as if the Four Horsem*n could pass through at any given moment, while her lips were pressed together tightly, making it seem like they had disappeared altogether. Whenever McGonagall was not burning holes in the large wooden double door, she was intently listening to the Headmaster, nodding along his words, or adding a few words here and there, without doubt discussing the bad that would come out of the Ministry’s involvement at Hogwarts. Still, no other faculty member seemed to be sharing their dark mood.

Over the course of the next hour, the Great Hall slowly began to fill. When Draco was just about to grumble what a waste of his sleep it had been to get to breakfast so early, the massive doors of the Great Hall were thrown open. All heads at all four house tables turned, as the members of the Committee of Education strode into the hall, while Dumbledore tried yet failed to conceal the frown that appeared on his face at the sight of the five Witches and Wizards that had just arrived.

Unsurprisingly, the group was led by Bartemius Crouch Senior, who looked almost exactly like the last time Tom had seen him. His grey hair, which was uncharacteristically short for a Wizard, was neatly parted to the point that it looked almost unnaturally straight and was completed by a narrow toothbrush moustache which appeared to have been cut with the help of a ruler. His expensive Wizarding robes were void of any wrinkle, like they had been magically straightened mere seconds prior. Despite the hollow cheeks and the deep wrinkles that had not been as pronounced a decade prior, his dark eyes were shining with the same determination as they always had. Tom immediately knew that Crouch Senior was taking his job very seriously. There was no doubt that he would stick to the rules and try his best to increase the standard of education at Hogwarts.

He was followed by Helena Yaxley and Eleonore Diggory. While both Witches had opted for a similar, professional cut of Wizarding robes, that is where the familiarity ended. Whereas the blonde-haired Lady Diggory was gracing her son Cedric, the newly appointed Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, with a wide and warm smile, Helena Yaxley’s face was unreadable, the perfect, blank mask of a Pureblood firmly in place, only her eyes were slightly narrowed as she observed her surroundings, always on the lookout for potential danger. While Eleonore Diggory wore her hair open and carried herself with the typical elegance associated with a proper Pureblood Witch, Lady Yaxley had her dark brown hair braided back tightly, while her precise and calculated movements spoke of her years of experience as an Auror.

They were followed by the tall and muscular frame of Thorfinn Rowle, yet his outwards appearance did betray the eye. Tom only knew too well that Thorfinn’s movements were as fast, precise, and deadly as a viper. He had not become Britain’s most well-renowned Duelling and Defence instructor as well as won the Duelling Championship seven times without a reason. To pay homage to his profession, he was dressed as always in dark Duelling robes of the finest quality. His strawy blond hair was meticulously kept short. To this day, it reminded Tom of the Muggle military haircuts he had seen throughout his summers at Wool’s Orphanage, when London had been filled with military personnel. Thorfinn’s impressive goatee on the other hand did not line in with the military at all. Unlike Eleonore Diggory, Thorfinn’s sharp blue eyes only rested a fraction of a second on his daughter Rhea. After all, a proper Pureblood always kept displays of emotions out of the public eye.

When Tom caught sight of the fifth and final member of the Committee, he gasped. He could now understand the reluctance in which Lucius had spoken of the injuries Saul Croaker had sustained deep within the Department of Mysteries. The side of his face that was facing towards the Slytherin table, his left side Tom supposed, was almost entirely covered with thick layers of scar tissue. Despite being years old, the angry scars looked like they were still inflamed, almost like they could rip at any moment, bleeding profoundly. The scars covered almost the entirety of the left side of his face, stretching from his nose over to the meagre remnants of his left ear to the back of his head, as well as further down his neck. But what really stood out against the red scar tissue was his left eye in all its milky-white glory. The blind eye stood in stark contrast to the other forest-green one that had thankfully remained unaffected by the experiment gone wrong. For a more even appearance, Saul Croaker had shaved the right side of his head and had tied the remaining mohawk-esque strip of hair on top of his head to a messy bun. Despite his gruesome exterior, the Unspeakable appeared to be in good spirits as he followed the rest of the Committee of Education to the front of the Great Hall.

Once the five Witches and Wizards had reached the staff table, Dumbledore rose from his seat, although reluctantly to welcome the Committee as well as explain the reasoning for their presence to the students. Overall, it was a rather short and unenlightening introduction, which was gladly rectified by Bartemius Crouch Senior. The head of the Committee curtly explained that over the course of the next month every class would be thoroughly inspected to ensure the best possible education for the next generations of Witches and Wizards. Apart from that, the Committee would also assess the state of the castle itself, while a group of Gringotts finest curse breakers would check the wards of the castle later that month. Throughout the entire, although rather curt speech, Dumbledore’s face turned more and more sour. After Crouch had finished, the Committee was quickly led out of the hall through the door behind the staff table.

For the next three days, Harry did not see or hear any sign of the members of the Committee in class, and neither did the rest of the Slytherins. While the members of the Committee clearly were spending time in the school, since they now joined the teachers at the staff table during meals and were frequently seen on the corridors, it seemed like they were not inspecting the classes yet and were otherwise occupied for now.

This changed on Thursday morning, as Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom. While he could clearly sense Professor McGonagall’s presence in the classroom, there was also a second magical aura in the room. His eyes quickly landed on Helena Yaxley. The stern Witch was standing in the back of the room, a clipboard tensely grasped between her fingers. He did not need to be a psychiatrist to sense the tension between the two stern Witches. This lesson surely would be interesting.

After taking his usual seat in the front row, Harry almost anxiously waited for the bell to ring. When the bell did actually ring, Harry noted that quite a few seats on the Gryffindor side still were empty. Also, there was a suspicious lack of ginger hair. Professor McGonagall, too, seemed to have made the same observation, as a frown made its way onto her face as she stared at the empty seats, “Now that all of you have managed to turn mice into snuffboxes, we will move on. Today, we will start with the…”

Just at that moment, the door of the classroom burst open as Ronald Weasley and his gang stormed into the room.

“Mister Weasley, Mister Finnegan, Mister Thomas, Mister McLaggen, you are late,” Professor McGonagall chided her lions, her voice stern, “this class started a few minutes ago. Do not be late again. Take your seats.”

Not caring the slightest about the words of his Head of House, Weasley let himself fall on his seat, his washed-out robes stained with the remnants of his breakfast. The rest of his gang quickly followed suit. Once the four Gryffindors had been seated, Professor McGonagall turned her attention back to the class, “As I was saying, we will start with…”

“Excuse me, Professor,” a stern voice suddenly cut through the room, making all heads turn, “the rules of this school clearly state that students must arrive to class on time, unless they have a solid excuse which must be issued by another member of the faculty. If they are not in the possession of such an excuse, the offense is sanctioned by deducing house points, while repeated offenders shall be punished by additionally serving detentions. Since this is my first day observing this particular class, five points shall be removed from Gryffindor each. I trust in your judgement, Professor, to assign additional punishment should this not be the first transgression.”

Judging from the look on Professor McGonagall’s face, it looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. It seemed like the members of the Committee of Education were allowed to take points and assign detentions. It was just too good to see the house of the lions losing points without McGonagall being able to do a thing about it. Harry tried to keep a straight face, while the Dark Lord was cackling like a madman at her expression. Today’s Transfiguration class really had a lot of potential.

“No further punishment is necessary, Misses Yaxley, since this is their first transgression,” Professor McGonagall lied. Of course, she would protect her lions. The fact that she had just lied to a member of the Committee of Education spoke louder than words. The loud scratching on parchment following McGonagall’s proclamation, too, spoke louder than words. It was obvious that Helena Yaxley was not convinced by the words of the Transfiguration teacher.

“Class, as I was about to tell you,” Professor McGonagall raised her voice once more, “today, a new Transfiguration will be introduced. Can anyone tell me the incantation for the Lesser Bird-Conjuring Spell?”

A few hands shot in the air. As always, the Slytherin side of the room was ignored as Professor McGonagall called out, “Miss Patil.”

“Professor, the incantation is Avifors,” Parvati answered, her voice loud and clear, “it is pronounced ‘AH-vi-fors’.”

“Correct,” Professor McGonagall said curtly, “five points to Gryffindor. Can anyone show me the wand movement?”

Again, hands shot in the air and again, the Slytherins were ignored, “Miss Vane.”

“The Transfiguration is performed with a sideways figure eight,” Romilda Vane answered quickly, before demonstrating the movement.

“Correct,” Professor McGonagall said, “five points to Gryffindor.”

Many Slytherins openly rolled their eyes at the blatant favouring the Gryffindor Head of House was showing. Since by now, most were used to McGonagall’s antics, the Slytherins simply kept quiet. When one of them raised their voice unasked for, it only resulted in lost house points and detentions. Not that the lions would ever be punished in a similar way. But unlike the Slytherins, Helena Yaxley had no such qualms about keeping her disdain quiet. Harry could have sworn that he heard her snort even in the front row where he was sitting.

It seemed like Professor McGonagall, too, had heard the noise as she hesitated to continue. After a fraction of a second, she flicked her wand and basic instructions appeared on the board, consisting of nothing more detailed but the incantation and the wand movement, not that she ever put more on the board. Professor McGonagall graced her students with her usual no nonsense look, before demonstrating the Transfiguration by turning an inkwell into a small golden bird. After the declarations of wonder from the Gryffindors had died down, she quickly told them to start practising the new Transfiguration.

Just as the first students had started to raise their wands, Helena Yaxley raised her voice once more, “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. I would like you to clarify a few points before the students delve into the practical aspect of the Transfiguration. Did you truly introduce this particular Transfiguration just now and not during any previous lessons?”

The vein on Professor McGonagall’s forehead was throbbing as she stared at the Witch opposite her, “No, I only did introduce the Transfiguration just now. Why should this be of any interest?”

Instead of an instant reply, the question was once again met by the scratching of Yaxley’s quill on parchment as the Witch was scribbling away. After a few seconds, the member of the Committee of Education looked up from her clipboard, “Do you intend to introduce the theory behind the Transfiguration throughout today’s class?”

“No,” Professor McGonagall said, trying yet failing to veil her anger, locking her arms in front of her chest in a defensive pose, “it is a part of their homework.”

Instead of openly showing her emotions, Helena Yaxley raised a single eyebrow, “Will the theory be discussed next lesson?”

“No, they will continue to practise the Transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall explained curtly.

“Will the theory be discussed at all?” Helena Yaxley finally asked the question Harry and Tom had been waiting for.

“Why should this be of any concern?” Professor McGonagall snapped, a murderous expression in her eyes.

Harry and Tom soaked up the conversation like a sponge. It seemed like Helena Yaxley was born to rile up the stern Transfiguration teacher, yet both knew exactly why she was doing it. In the end, it had been long overdue.

“Professor, please answer my question,” Helena Yaxley said calmly, outwardly appearing as cool as a cucumber.

“No,” Professor McGonagall began to speak, “but it is a part of their homework. Therefore, it should be thoroughly…”

“Most scholars disagree with your assessment,” Helena Yaxley interrupted her, her voice calm as she stated the facts, while her quill was once again scratching over parchment. After a tense and quiet moment, the quill stopped and the Witch looked up from her clipboard to directly meet Professor McGonagall’s furious eyes, “most if not all of them emphasise on the importance of a thorough theoretical understanding behind any given Transfiguration. It allows the learner to master the Transfiguration much faster, guarantees much more precise and longer lasting results, as well as prevents most accidents. Since most experts agree that a deep theoretical understanding is crucial, I simply cannot help but point out the lack of theory in your class. While a sufficient amount of practise is crucial as well, not discussing the theory at all, leaving it up to self-study, does not seem right to me. But please, go on.”

For a minute, the classroom was entirely silent as the two stern Witches were staring at each other. Eventually, McGonagall broke the gaze and told her students to finally start practising the Transfiguration.

While around him students started to practise, Harry was much too busy musing over the exchange he had just witnessed. In fact, he was so distracted that at first, he did not notice Professor McGonagall approaching, “Mister Potter, do you think yourself above practise?”

“No, professor,” Harry replied calmly, clearly aware that Helena Yaxley was listening to every word that was being exchanged.

Clearly not impressed by his response, Professor McGonagall told him to demonstrate the Transfiguration. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry simply pointed his Blackthorn wand at the wooden box in front of him and focussed his magic. Transfiguring inanimate objects into living organisms was a lot harder than turning one metal into another. Luckily, Harry knew enough about birds to achieve a permanent Transfiguration. Focussing on the basic layout of the nervous system, skeleton, and the major muscles of a sparrow, Harry released a fraction of his magic. Without uttering a single word, the box in front of him began to shift. Slowly, the wood began to morph into bones, muscles, nerves, and organs, before the light-brown plumage began to grow. Reaching out his finger, the bird immediately jumped on the offered perch.

While the students around him were all staring in awe at the little bird, Professor McGonagall only glared at the small creature. Without another word, she pulled out her wand, pointing it at the sparrow, uttering the standard Reversal Spell. Instead of turning back into a wooden box, the sparrow began to chirp happily.

“Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall glared, “I demand a demonstration of the official Spell, not your little tricks.”

Instead of a verbal reply, Harry only raised an eyebrow at the enraged professor. He was about to raise his wand to demonstrate the “official” yet subpar, non-permanent Transfiguration, when another voice cut through the silence, “Professor, what appears to be the problem? As far as I can tell, Mister Potter managed to perfectly Transfigure his wooden box into a sparrow. For that, I award fifteen points to Slytherin.”

“Misses Yaxley, while Mister Potter did manage to Transfigure his wooden box,” Professor McGonagall snapped, her eyes glittering with anger, “he did not use the official incantation…”

“I do not see why that should be a bad thing,” Helena Yaxley interrupted her, her tone light, “as we all know, there are many ways to achieve a Transfiguration, especially if one has grasped the theory behind the branch of magic and has gained a sufficient amount of control over their magic. After that, almost everything should be possible…”

“But not permanent Transfigurations,” Professor McGonagall snarled, “the Avifors Spell only Transfigures a small inanimate object for a set time…”

“Permanent Transfiguration?” Helena Yaxley suddenly asked, an expression of awe appearing on her blank face, “would you mind elaborating on your methods, Mister Potter?”

“Lady Yaxley, when I was experiencing my first bursts of experimental magic, I accidentally Transfigured a few small objects. I once turned my cousin’s toy car pink. Nothing significant, “Harry lied easily, “oddly, I realised that after a certain amount of time, most objects returned to their original state. Over time, I managed to control my magic, but the objects never remained in their Transfigured state. I began to wonder why that was the case. At the same time during my advanced chemistry classes, I learned about the build of different elements on the atomic level. An element is only stable if a specific number of atoms is positioned correctly. If atoms are wrongly positioned, missing, or surplus to requirement, the element disintegrates over time. I started to experiment. I discovered that most commonly used Transfigurations do not line in with these specific requirements. Thus, most Transfigured or Conjured objects or living beings disintegrate, return to their initial form, and can overall be easily Reversed since there are defects on atomic level. If you know enough about the correct build of the elements, you can circumvent these problems, thus leading to permanent results that cannot be Reversed easily…”

“Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall interrupted him, “how often must I remind you that Muggle science and Magical Theory do not…”

“Professor McGonagall, please continue your class. I have heard enough for today,” Helena Yaxley said sharply, her voice turning steely, “I would like to exchange a few words with Mister Potter in private.”

His private conversation with Helena Yaxley went rather well. Harry elaborated more on his permanent Transfiguration methods while Helena Yaxley was listening intently, seemingly not caring about the Muggle origin of his theories. Throughout their conversation, he even Transfigured a few objects permanently, demonstrated his self-created Core-Enlargement-Spell, which projected an enlarged model of an element’s core, and handed her a list of the most essential scientific works on cell biology and chemistry. When the bell rang, Helena Yaxley promised to further investigate his claims. Overall, Harry and Tom called it a successful endeavour.

For the rest of the week, no member of the Committee of Education graced the classes of the Slytherin first years a visit. Despite the lack of visits, Tom and Harry were enjoying the presence of the Committee immensely. According to a group of fifth year Ravenclaws the duo had overheard in the Charms corridor Friday morning; the members of the Committee had not been impressed with the teaching of Charity Burbage. Apparently, the professor of Muggle Studies had struggled to explain the basic use of automobiles, while failing to explain the basic build of the machines altogether. Overall, the Committee had not been impressed. A group of third year Hufflepuffs exchanged a similar story during dinner, this time talking about fax machines. It seemed like Burbage’s days were numbered.

The same could be said for Cuthbert Binns. When the first year Slytherins entered the History of Magic classroom on Monday morning for their second class of the day, all members of the Committee of Education were already present. None of them looked incredibly pleased. The reason for their mood became apparent quite quickly. After the ringing of the bell, Binns’ usual monotonous lecture on Goblin rebellions began. No surprise there. Despite the presence of the full Committee of Education, most students resorted to their usual pass-time activity to endure Binns’ dreadful droning, sleeping. Soon, the sound of quiet snoring mixed with Binns’ monotonous lecture, not that the ghost seemed to mind. Even when he was still alive, Binns had failed to realise the reaction of the vast majority of his students towards his ‘engaging’ lectures.

While most of his peers were catching up on their sleep, Harry on the other hand was much too busy listening to the quiet words exchanged by the members of the Committee.

“Correct me if I am not mistaken,” Eleonore Diggory whispered roughly five minutes into Binns’ lecture, “but is this not the continuation of the lecture the third years received the period prior?”

“Yes, it is,” Saul Croaker chuckled darkly, “Brasstooth the Brutal was appointed leader of the unsuccessful Goblin rebellion in 1612 after the assassination of Gorod the Grim. Therefore, I would agree with your assessment, Eleonore.”

“But is this honestly surprising?” Thorfinn Rowle sighed, “we have all experienced his… teaching.”

“Not really,” Helena Yaxley snorted, “it has been rumoured for years that Binns does not realise when a different class is sitting in front of him. Shockingly, it is true, although it is hardly surprising. No wonder nobody bothers with History anymore.”

“This will change,” Bartemius Crouch Senior spoke up, his voice underlined by a surprisingly passionate hint of eagerness that managed to wake up quite a few students present, “even if I have to banish the ghost personally.”

Harry was impressed, and so was Tom. Even a few days later, the duo could not help but be in awe of the unusual display of passion. Bartemius Crouch Senior never displayed his emotions openly. Never. Not even when his own son had been accused of being a Death Eater, caught, and prosecuted. The unusual display of emotions only manifested that Crouch Senior was taking his job more than seriously, and that he appeared to value the Wizarding tradition, customs, and history more than Tom had first anticipated. What an unexpected development indeed.

As Harry made his way to the usual double Potions class on Friday afternoon, the two recollected the couple of inspections they had witnessed throughout the rest of the week.

On Tuesday, Eleonore Diggory had inspected their Herbology class. Unlike the previous inspections they had witnessed, the class was a rather pleasant one. Since Professor Sprout clearly knew what she was doing, there was nothing to criticise. Instead of engaging in a verbal sparring match like Professor McGonagall and Helena Yaxley had, Eleonore Diggory spent most of the class assisting the students harvesting nettles. Nothing noteworthy.

Nothing noteworthy had happened during the next inspection during Wednesday night’s Astronomy class. Much like Professor Sprout, Professor Sinistra was a competent teacher. Her curriculum was very well structured, and her instructions were always precise and easy to understand. Therefore, Helena Yaxley remained mostly quiet during the two hours the first years were mapping out Orion and its neighbouring constellations. Thursday had been void of any inspections.

When Harry and his fellow Slytherins arrived at the Potions classroom, the door was already open. Usually, the door was locked and would only open a minute before the start of the class since the Potions Master did not trust students to be in close proximity with any kind of Potions ingredients unsupervised. The open door certainly piqued Harry’s curiosity. He certainly was not disappointed.

Upon entry, his eyes immediately landed on the two Wizards in the room. The usually withdrawn Severus was animatedly chatting with Saul Croaker. Sadly, their conversation stopped the moment the first students had entered the classroom.

Once the last student had taken his seat, not that anyone would ever dare being late to one of Severus’ classes, the Potions Master started the lesson immediately. After the assignment that had been due for the day had been collected, Severus briefly quizzed them on the more delicate steps of the Wiggenweld Potion. Once all questions had been answered correctly, the instructions for the Potion appeared on the board with a flick of Severus’ wand, and the students were told to start brewing.

Ten minutes later, the classroom was filled with indigo fumes as the students were carefully adding the required amount of Salamander blood while slowly raising the heat. As always, Harry was two steps ahead, already adding his last lionfish spines while also dissolving his finely chopped Dittany.

“Not that there would be any problem with your class, Severus,” a quiet voice suddenly cut through the silence of the room, although most students were too occupied by their steaming cauldron to take notice of the silently uttered words, “you have always been brilliant at Potions, your curriculum is expertly structured, theory and practise are reasonably balanced, and your safety measures are more than adequate. There is no one better to teach than you.”

“While this is certainly fluttering, you could have been a great Potioneer yourself, Saul,” Severus’ familiar, yet quiet drawl followed the declaration of the Unspeakable, “you have always been very innovative and unconventional in your approach to the interaction of Potions ingredients. Therefore, I cannot help but wonder, do you still experiment with Potions?”

The scarred face of Saul Croaker contorted into a faint smile, “At times, I do, especially if I do not feel like blowing up my face again.”

At that, Severus snorted. The quiet noise was accompanied by a dark chuckle of the Unspeakable, “Trust me, Severus, Potions are a lot safer than Time Magic. Sometimes, I feel like I made the wrong career choices. Sure, my work is interesting and so on, but I would not be stuck with that useless eye.”

A dry cough escaped Severus’ mouth, “If I may ask, how is your eye, Saul? Is there anything I can do?”

“Maybe at some point, Severus,” Croaker replied, before quickly flicking his wand in a succession of complicated movement, no doubt erecting strong Privacy Wards. With Harry’s Wandless Parselmagic, it was easy to circumvent the safety measures. Therefore, he quickly caught on to Croaker’s next words.

“…to be quite honest with you, although I would certainly appreciate if this was to stay between the two of us, Severus, since I would very much prefer that the rest of the Department were to remain ignorant” the Unspeakable explained in a hushed voice, his words fast, “I have been experimenting to restore the vision in my eye. Sure, they told me not to since the magical backlash might have some unexpected aftereffects, but I simply refuse to live the rest of my life with only one functioning eye.”

“How far along are you with your… progress?” Severus’ face was unreadable.

“I managed to restore the dark and light perception,” Croaker replied, his words underlined by a faint touch of excitement and achievement, “not much if you ask me, but it’s a beginning. I might call up on you in the future, Severus. I currently think that Potions will be my best option to reverse the damage done to my eye.”

“And the scars?” Severus asked, one eyebrow croaked.

“I do not care about the scars,” Croaker said, shrugging his shoulders, “they do not bother me. I only seek to revoke any functional defects. I do not care for aesthetics.”

“Hardly surprising,” Severus snorted, “you never stroke me as a vain one. What about your other experiments? Do you still work on your less public-friendly ones? The ones you consulted me on?”

“Of course, I do,” the Unspeakable chuckled, “as much as you do, Severus. Nothing could ever keep us from our little experiments.”

“Not even your accident?” the Potions Master asked, one eyebrow raised critically.

Croaker chuckled, “No, not even the accident. As if I would ever leave one of my projects unfinished.”

“Even your experiments on Time Magic?” Severus inquired.

“No chance, Severus, I would never give them up. I am much too curious and progress-driven for that,” the Unspeakable answered swiftly, although his tone had turned serious, “although I prefer not to tell my superiors that I resumed my experiments.”

Their conversation sadly stopped after that as Romilda Vane had raised her hand, clearly having difficulties with her Wiggenweld Potion. Once the issue had been solved, Severus went on to inspect the lines of fuming cauldrons, stopping a few times to offer advice or critique. He was swiftly joined by Saul Croaker, who, too, began to inspect the bubbling cauldrons, before coming to a halt in front of an especially vibrantly red brew, “Mister Malfoy, I suppose?”

Draco averted his eyes briefly from his cauldron to confirm his identity with a quick nod of his head.

“That is quite an impressive result you have simmering in your cauldron, Mister Malfoy,” the Unspeakable commented, “especially considering the amount of time it took you to advance to this particular stage of brewing. I must confess that I am impressed.”

“Well, Saul,” Severus began, his dark onyx orbs sparkling with glee, “then I must ask you to inspect the cauldron of Mister Potter.”

Not allowing the approaching feet to distract himself, Harry continued to carefully dissolve the octopus powder before adding his final drops of boom berry juice. Once the last drop had been added, the Potion began to sizzle and slowly morph into its final, turquoise colour. Reducing the heat, Harry began to stir the Potion in a slow, anti-clockwise movement before allowing the Potion to simmer.

“You have already reached the simmering stage?” Saul Croaker asked incredulously.

“Yes, Mister Croaker,” Harry answered lightly, forcing a slight blush to appear on his cheeks at the intense gaze of the Unspeakable, “I deviated from the instructions quite a bit and included steps of the Grand Wiggenweld Potion. It allowed me to finish faster. The deviations also resulted in a more potent Potion without the disadvantage of adding the expensive Potions ingredients the Grand Wiggenweld Potion calls for. Personally, I think it is a nice compromise between the two Potions.”

“You let one of your students deviate from the official instructions?” Croaker asked, his scarred eyebrow raised in disbelief, while repeating the same question Professor McGonagall had asked months earlier during the infamous first staff meeting.

“Only if they are fully aware of the consequences of their doings,” Severus replied swiftly, “luckily, Mister Potter knows his theory. Thus, I allow him to brew freely.”

“Over-confident, nerdy git,” a voice, which was unmistakably Weasley’s, mumbled after that declaration. Unfortunately, the redhead had failed to lower his voice enough to remain unheard.

Before Severus could react, Saul Croaker’s voice already boomed through the classroom, “Ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley, for your unwanted and unnecessary comment.”

Harry quickly ducked behind his cauldron to hide his laughter. Merlin, he really loved the inspections conducted by the Committee of Education, and honestly, he could not wait for more. Tom agreed.

They surely were not disappointed. Although the first year Charms inspection on Monday afternoon was a fairly unspectacular affair, rumours quickly started to spread throughout the school about the first Divination inspection that had occurred the same day. According to the Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley, the old fraud Trelawney had burst into hysterical sobs as the present members of the Committee, Crouch, Diggory, and Croaker, had questioned her ‘unorthodox’ teaching methods, clearly not convinced by her fake and outlandish predictions of disaster. While neither Tom nor Harry cared overly much for the Divination position, it would be quite interesting seeing Dumbledore trying to keep the source of the prophecy under his roof with the Committee clearly working against him.

On Thursday, the inspection the duo had been desperately waiting for finally took place.

Upon entering the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry immediately sensed the four magical auras were already present. His eyes immediately landed on Quirrell, who seemed to desperately try to hide his shaking hands behind his desk while nervously chewing his bottom lip. Meanwhile, the stoic figures of Bartemius Crouch Senior, Helena Yaxley, and Thorfinn Rowle were sitting in the back, quietly observing the nervous man.

Once all students had arrived and the bell had signalled the start of the period, Professor Quirrell rose from his desk and quickly set off to instruct the students on the goals of today’s class. To the surprise of no one, Quirrell’s stutter turned that into an almost impossible endeavour. At the back, the members of the Committee were only shaking their heads. After almost ten minutes, Quirrell had finally managed to convey that today’s main goal was to practise Shield Charms and smaller Hexes, Jinxes, and Curses they had learned over the last few months in preparation for the practical part of their exam. Before the students would start though, Quirrell called upon Millicent Bulstrode for a short demonstration. Harry cringed when Quirrell failed to conjure the Shield Charm in time and thus had to dodge the Knockback Jinx. It was pathetic.

Five minutes later, Quirrell had finally recovered from the demonstration, and was finally beginning to assemble the first years into pairs, always consisting of a snake and a lion. Much to his dismay, Harry was partnered with Cory McLaggen. The Gryffindor sneered openly at him, probably more than happy to finally have a ‘legal’ opportunity to hurt Harry. Unfortunately, Harry had a different plan.

The pairs were quickly ushered to arrange themselves opposite each other, thus forming two long lines. Harry’s line was then instructed to Shield themselves from whatever attack the opposite side might perform. His Blackthorn wand easily slipped into his hand, before facing McLaggen. Not bothering with the proper defence posture, he let his Wand arm limply hang by his side and waited. Upon Quirrell’s call, the opposite side started to move. Harry easily spotted the furious glint in his opponent’s eyes as his magic refused to work. McLaggen was not alone in his struggle. Most Gryffindors bar Hermione had great difficulties with their magic. Unlike the Slytherins and Hermione, they clearly lacked the practise.

After a while, the first beams of magic finally started crossing the room. With each failed attempt, Rory McLaggen seemed to be getting angrier and angrier as he shouted incantation after incantation. After a failed Flipendo, McLaggen tried his luck at the Leg-Locker Curse, screaming, “Locomotor Mortis!”

This time, a purple ray of light escaped McLaggen’s wand. With surprising aim, the Curse shot towards Harry, leaving behind a pleased Gryffindor. Internally laughing at the childish antics, a Shield was erected with a lightning-fast and precise flick of his Blackthorn wand, forcing the Curse to ricochet towards its caster. Not expecting the ‘counter-attack’, McLaggen was hit square in the chest, the force of the rebounded Curse sending him flying a few feet through the air. He connected with the hard floor with an unpleasant crunch that echoed through the entire classroom.

All around them, wands stopped as everyone was staring at the whimpering and defeated Gryffindor, before their eyes moved over to Harry, who was simply standing in line, his wand lowered, clearly in a non threatening posture.

“M…M…Mister P…Potter,” Professor Quirrell said, finally regaining control over his solidified limbs, “no… no… a… att… attacks from… yo… your side yet. O… Only…Sh… Shields.”

“But Mister Potter did not resort to any sort of Offensive magic,” Thorfinn Rowle’s deep baritone droned through the classroom as he stepped forward, his steps screaming of precision and decades of combative training, “he merely Shielded himself. If a Shield Charm is cast with enough precision, determination, and magic, it can repel and rebound most attacks. I must confess that your Shield Charm was quite impressive, Mister Potter. Ten points to Slytherin for the impressive display of magic. Would you mind a small demonstration?”

“Certainly not, Mister Rowle,” Harry replied, portraying an overeager child to perfection.

A moment later, Thorfinn Rowle had taken over the previous stop of Rory McLaggen and was now directly standing opposite Harry. The wand slipping inside the Death Eater’s hand did not escape his eyes.

“Are you ready, Mister Potter?” Thorfinn Rowle asked, trying to hide his own curiosity. Harry was sure that the man would try to test him. The corners of his mouth curled, as he calmly met Rowle’s eyes, “Certainly.”

For a moment, it seemed like the Duelling instructor would remark on Harry’s missing Duelling stance, but Rowle remained quiet, opting to verbally attack instead. Harry’s Avada green eyes calmly followed the jet of purple light. With a lazy flick of his wand, a strong Shield was erected, absorbing the Leg-Locker Curse. A Knockback Jinx and a Curse of the Boogies soon followed. Both verbally cast attacks were easily neutralised wordlessly. With each following attack, his opponent looked more impressed, but simultaneously more eager to test Harry. First-year Curses were soon replaced by second- and third-year attacks, the time between the attacks steadily decreasing. Finally, a non-verbally cast red beam of light, a Stunner most likely, was cast with the precision only a veteran fighter could do.

Whereas his previous Shields had been cast with the usual, unfocussed naiveté and lacking precision of a child, the slightly over-powered Shield that appeared in front of him was something else entirely. The vicious, yet calculated counterattack repelled the Stunner, sending it straight back towards its caster. Totally taken by surprise, the only thing Rowle could do was to dodge, narrowly avoiding his own Stunner.

“That was quite an impressive demonstration of defensive magic, Mister Potter,” Bartemius Crouch Senior’s stern, humourless voice cut through the silence of the classroom following Harry’s little magical display, “and wordless at that. I doubt that most of the students taking their NEWTs this year will be able to defend themselves quite like you did. Twenty points to Slytherin. It seems like not all hope is lost when it comes to this class.”

“It certainly is not,” Helena Yaxley smiled, an expression that somehow felt wrong on her strict face that was usually void of emotions.

This was a very clear statement. Not only about the abysmal instructions of Quirrell but also about the less than stellar teaching of his countless predecessors, as well as Harry’s magical power. Even two days later, as he was making his way to Severus’ office hidden underneath strong Disillusionment Charms, Crouch Senior’s words were ringing in his ears. It seemed like change at Hogwarts was inevitable. Still, now was not the time to think about the silent implication of those words. Today was the night for the second stage of the Resurrection Potion, and it was a delicate one.

“Are you absolutely sure that you want to go through with this shire madness?” Severus asked a few hours later, eyeing the prepared and carefully measured ingredients in front of him sceptically. The required hellebore and dittany had already been added to prepare the Potion for the addition of the next, vital ingredients.

“I am,” Harry replied calmly, “I’ve measured everything myself, and just for your interest, I trust myself. Severus, one last time, there is no turning back. I hope you are prepared for the next step. I certainly am.”

Without further ado, Harry grabbed the small, already filled syringe on the table in front of him, expectedly eyeing the conflicted Potions Master. Once Severus had finally grabbed the small vial filled with the exact same substances that were also in the syringe, Harry’s eyes moved back to the small clock on the table, waiting for the exact time to conduct the next delicate step of the brewing stage.

At precisely 77 minutes past midnight, Harry rammed the sharp needle of the syringe in his arm. Hearing the sound of a small vial being uncorked and emptied into the large cauldron, he injected himself with the content of the small syringe.

A fraction of a second later, as the substances were starting to move through his veins, a thought occurred in his mind. Maybe, he should not have injected himself with the substances. The Dark Phoenix tears and the Basilisk venom were raging in his veins, fighting for dominance despite having been previously mixed. It was agonising. Curled up into a ball, tightly clutching his knees, retreating deep inside his mind to detach himself from the war that was being forged in his body, he could not help but wonder if Severus might have been right after all. At least, Tom was there to keep him company and distract him.

Luckily, Severus had not been right and a week later, Harry was still among the living, sitting in the Great Hall enjoying his dinner. Much to his relief, the Dark Phoenix tears and the Basilisk venom had settled somewhere around dawn. While he would still feel the occasional tingle of the opposite substances interacting, weakly fighting for dominance, they had mostly calmed down and established a sort of balance, which was a huge relief. Now, the Elixir of Life and the blood of the servant were the only two vital ingredients still missing in the Potion. The former would be added during the third and final major Brewing stage three weeks away.

As Harry looked at the staff table, he could not help but notice how empty the long table felt, now that the inspection of Hogwarts had been completed and the members of the Committee of Education were gone to analyse their findings. Turning his attention back to his curry, he could not help but wonder when the first changes within the staff would be implemented. He knew that the entire Board of Governors had been called up to the Minister to discuss certain changes but the man, according to Lucius, had been rather vague when talking about the time frame those changes would occur.

Before he could think more about the matter, Daphne leaned over, asking him a question about the latest piece of Transfiguration theory they were covering in class. Although Professor McGonagall was still far from pleased to have her teaching methods questioned, she had at least, although rather grudgingly, included some of the theory in her classes. For the remainder of dinner, Harry’s attention deviated between his plate and his classmates, explaining the theory behind the Avifors Spell.

Just as he was about to finish his explanation, the doors of the Great Hall were thrown open. All heads at the long house tables and at the staff table turned towards the newcomers. The group was led by Bartemius Crouch Senior and Lucius Malfoy who confidentially strode towards the staff table. They were followed by a group of eight Witches and Wizards, among them Saul Croaker who was the only one, whose face was not obscured in the shadows of a hood. Croaker’s presence and the fact that those Witches and Wizards preferred to remain unseen led Harry to the assumption that they were most likely Unspeakables.

The reason for the Unspeakables was revealed fairly quickly, as the Headmaster rose from his chair, “Barty, Lucius, what is the meaning of this?”

“Good evening, Headmaster,” Bartemius Crouch Senior replied curtly, his voice void of emotions, “we are here on the Minister’s orders. After thorough investigation and analysation, the Minister, the Committee of Education, and the Hogwarts Board of Governors have come to the conclusion that some changes simply cannot wait. Instead, they must be implemented immediately. The first one will be implemented with the newly passed Educational Decree Number 63. The decree states that only teachers who are still alive will be allowed to teach. Therefore, ghosts will be prohibited…”

“But what about Professor Binns?” Dumbledore interrupted the elder Crouch, his eyes void of his trademark twinkle, “what about History of Magic so close to the exams? Who…”

“There is no one worse to teach History of Magic than Cuthbert Binns,” Lucius Malfoy’s silky voice echoed through the Great Hall, “the data collected by the Committee of Education, the OWL and NEWT score of the last few decades, and the overall disinterest in our history clearly show that. We are here on the orders of the Minister to convince Cuthbert Binns to step down from his position.”

“But who is going to teach the class?” the Headmaster asked, having regained some of his confidence and his annoying twinkle, sure, that there was no one for the job, “I cannot and I will not allow to leave the students without a teacher.”

“Let me assure you, Headmaster, that we will do everything in our power to find a suiting replacement,” Crouch Senior replied calmly, “all forces are currently working on the problem. Of course, you may suggest a fitting candidate. But for now, we are here to talk to Cuthbert Binns. Would you please lead the way?”

Unsurprisingly, the Great Hall erupted into loud speculation once the Headmaster, Crouch Senior, Lucius Malfoy, and the Unspeakables had left.

An hour later, Harry found himself surrounded by the closed hangings of his four-poster bed, his magical map hovering in front of him. Once the entourage had left, he had quickly excused himself from the Slytherin house table and quickly made his way through the dungeons. Although he would not be able to listen to the conversation with Binns, he would not miss this for the world.

So far, it seemed like Binns, the Headmaster, Crouch Senior, Malfoy, and the Unspeakables had only talked. The magic of the map would record any magic cast within the ghost’s personal quarters. So far, nothing had been recorded. Thus, Harry moved his attention back to his new Arithmancy manual.

Half an hour later, he felt the magic of the map finally flaring up. The corners of his mouth curled into a sinister smile at the ritual, the map was recording. The Unspeakables had just begun to banish the dreadful ghost.

By Sunday evening, none of the students seemed to be the wiser that their History teacher had been banished. Since Binns rarely interacted with any students outside his classes, his absence remained unnoticed. Still, Harry had the feeling that this would change soon. At the staff table, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall looked tense as they were quietly conversing with each other. The other teachers, bar Professor Quirrell and Professor Burbage, appeared to be unbothered by the sudden and final departure of their ghostly colleague. As always, Professor Trelawney was absent from the staff table.

Somehow, Harry was not surprised when the doors of the Great Hall were once again thrown open. Still, all around him heads were turning as the entire Committee of Education and the full Board of Governors strode into the Great Hall.

“Good evening, Dumbledore,” Crouch Senior, as always impeccably dressed, not a single hair out of place, greeted the Headmaster curtly.

“Good evening, Barty,” the Headmaster replied, trying to sound cheerfully, “to what do I owe the honour of such a visit?”

Crouch Senior eyed the Headmaster critically for a fraction of a second, before explaining the reason for the presence of the large group at Hogwarts, “Dumbledore, we are here on the Minister’s orders to introduce the new professor for the History of Magic position.”

At those words, whispers erupted throughout the entire Great Hall, speculating about the words of Crouch Senior.

Unperturbed by the noise, the head of the Committee of Education continued his speech, “Therefore, we are here…”

“But the Ministry cannot simply name a teacher,” Dumbledore interrupted his explanation, “that right is reserved to the Headmaster of Hogwarts alo…”

“Was reserved to the Headmaster,” Lucius Malfoy’s silky voice cut through Dumbledore’s words like fire cut through ice, “last week, Educational Decree Number 64 was passed. The decree specifically allows the Ministry of Magic, more specifically the Minister, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and the Committee of Education to appoint a teacher should the Headmaster of Hogwarts be unable to fill a vacant position. The decree also allows the replacement of teachers, should they not meet the strict requirements and demands for the position. As a consensus, the Headmaster is still allowed to suggest his or her own candidates as long as they are better qualified than the choice of the Ministry. Dumbledore, I cannot help but be curious, did you manage to produce a candidate for the History of Magic position?”

For a moment, the old goat seemed to be taken by surprise, before he finally answered, “Lucius, three days are hardly enough time to find a fitting replacement. I must ask for more time.”

“Sadly, that is unacceptable,” the Lord of the Malfoy family proclaimed, trying very hard to hide his amusem*nt over the situation, “we simply cannot afford leaving the students without a proper teacher until you have found a replacement. Therefore, the Ministry will make use of the Educational Decree Number 64 until you, Dumbledore, have found a better candidate. Until then, it is my honour to introduce the new History of Magic professor, Bridget Hawthorne.”

Dumbledore’s jaw dropped as one of his biggest adversaries strode into the Great Hall, a wide smirk etched on her pale face, her equally pale eyes sparkling with glee, “Good evening, Headmaster. I am looking forward to teaching at Hogwarts.”

Chapter 27: An Anticlimactic End of the Year

Chapter Text

As Harry was making his way to the Quidditch pitch for the final match of the year, Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, he could not help but wonder how eventful the last three weeks had been. He had been very well entertained to say the least. The arrival of Bridget Hawthorne certainly had a lot to do with that.

“She… she cannot teach here,” Dumbledore protested after the introduction of the new History of Magic teacher, “she… she…”

“She can and she will,” Bartemius Crouch Senior quickly cut through Dumbledore’s starting tirade, “she is the only Historian left in Britain who is young enough and adequately qualified to teach. Therefore…”

“But she will feed lies…” Dumbledore began, only to be interrupted by Crouch Senior again, “Miss Hawthorne has agreed to strictly follow the new, Ministry approved History of Magic curriculum. There should be no conflicts of interest. To ensure that, I would prefer to discuss the details of Miss Hawthorne’s appointment in private, preferably in your office, Headmaster.”

According to Harry’s map, the discussion had lasted well past midnight. It appeared like Dumbledore was trying to be as uncooperative as possible, adamant to prevent his adversary from teaching actual History to his historically oblivious students. Luckily, the Headmaster seemed to be unsuccessful.

When Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, the pale figure of Bridget Hawthorne was already sitting at the staff table, animatedly conversing with the merry Professor Flitwick and oddly Severus. The scene looked rather domestic, like Bridget Hawthorne had never taken her breakfast anywhere else. It was truly mind boggling that this was her first day of teaching at Hogwarts and her first meal in the Great Hall.

When the Slytherins entered the History classroom a couple of hours later, their new teacher was already present. Bridget Hawthorne, dressed in dark, rather form-fitting duelling robes, was casually leaning against her desk. It was odd having a real teacher in the classroom after months of enduring Binns. Still, the teacher was not the only thing to have changed. The entire classroom had been refurbished and redecorated. Binns’ ancient wooden furniture had been replaced with brand new desks and chairs, making the room smell pleasantly of freshly cut oak. The formerly smudgy, darkened walls had been repainted in a crisp white. Instead of being bare, like they previously had been, they were covered with a wide array of posters, containing important historical dates, ground-breaking legislation, family trees, and information about Hogwarts herself. Overall, the classroom was hardly recognisable, Harry mused to himself as he took his usual seat in the front row.

Just as the bell was ringing, Weasley and his gang burst into the classroom. Blind to the changes within the classroom, they let themselves fall on their usual seats in the back, not even bothering to excuse their tardiness, nor attempting to get their books, quills, and parchment on the table.

At the front, Professor Hawthorne’s lips twitched in disdain as she eyed the Gryffindors, before pushing herself off her desk, thus positioning herself in the middle of the classroom, “As unbelievable as it may sound to all of you, studying History of Magic is not a futile and redundant endeavour. We are nothing without our rich and proud past. Without the achievements of our ancestors and without proper documentation, there would be no Spells, no Charms, no Transfigurations, no Hexes, no Curses, no Potions, no Runes, no Wards, and no Rituals to learn. You would not live in the Manors of your ancestors, not wield your wands, nor wander the streets of Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, nor study at Hogwarts, and you would not be protected by the Ministry of Magic. You are here to learn about all these important achievements, about struggle, about inventions, and about war, but also about peace.”

By now, she had all eyes in the room attentively glued on her. As she was standing in the middle of the classroom, her voice firm and laced with passion, Bridget Hawthorne made an impressive figure, her lips morphed into an enchanting smile, “If we allow ourselves to remain ignorant of our past, we will never improve, since we willingly refuse to learn from past mistakes, no matter if they were our own, or date back well beyond our own days. As someone who has studied our past extensively, I can confirm the truth of these words. Let me assure you, although it might seem shocking to you, our past consists of more than just Goblin rebellions.”

Harry could not help himself but smirk at her words. Others, like Blaise and Pansy, openly chuckled at her jab at their former teacher.

“Funny, is it not?” Professor Hawthorne remarked dryly, “but I must warn you, this class is not a funny affair and certainly not a joke. Previously, it might have been, but I will not tolerate sluggishness and inattentiveness, and certainly not tardiness. Therefore, I expect you to arrive at the classroom before the bell rings, to do your homework to the best of your abilities, and to participate actively in class. This class is not the time to catch up on your sleep. I will not tolerate any disregard for these very basic rules. Since some of you have already violated some of the basic rules by being late, I expect a foot of parchment from each perpetrator on why History of Magic is an important subject to study. I expect the assignment on my desk before the start of our next lesson on Friday. Do you have any questions?”

Despite not having raised his hand, Weasley opened his mouth in protest, “But this is our first…”

“Mister Weasley,” Professor Hawthorne interrupted the redhead, “I am well aware that this is your first class with me. You should call yourself lucky that I did not deduct any points or assigned detentions. A short essay is a fairly light punishment in my books.”

Weasley’s mouth snapped shut, his freckled face turning even redder in anger. The emotion was mirrored on the faces around him. This was not how Dumbledore’s golden lions were used to being treated.

“Since there appear to be no questions,” Professor Hawthorne continued, her voice smooth and sure, “we shall start with the first proper historical topic you will learn about this year, the Wizengamot. Who can tell me anything about the Wizengamot? Do not be shy. Yes, Miss?”

“Granger, Professor,” Hermione said, unusually shy, yet eager to learn, “may I ask a small question beforehand?”

“Certainly, Miss Granger,” Professor Hawthorne smiled encouragingly.

“Will the material covered by Professor Binns be a part of our exam?” the Gryffindor asked.

“Most certainly not,” Professor Hawthorne answered, crossing her arms in front of her chest, barely managing to conceal the sneer on her face, “not only is most of his teaching historically inaccurate but it also portrays magical beings in a highly inconvenient way, thus encouraging prejudice. This, of course, shall be rectified, but not this year. Miss Granger, would you like to start? I am curious what you know about the Wizengamot.”

Unsurprisingly, at least to Tom and Harry, History of Magic quickly became one of the favourite classes of the majority of the student population. Bridget Hawthorne seemed to earn the adoration of most of the castle’s residents by storm. The Ravenclaws were particularly in awe of Bridget Hawthorne’s vast and deep knowledge of History, and her willingness to offer special tutoring to those taking their OWLs. The Hufflepuffs were especially appreciative of her demanding, yet benevolent and always helpful demeanour. The Slytherins on the other hand respected her for incorporating Pureblood traditions and an unbiased, fact-based version of the origins of magic in class, as well as directly opposing Dumbledore. While some Gryffindors seemed to agree with the other three houses and had slowly started to warm up towards their new History of Magic teacher, some dunderheads like Weasley and his gang still failed to realise that Bridget Hawthorne was not Cuthbert Binns. Unwilling to put any effort towards History, quite a few Gryffindors were now faced with a growing mountain of detentions, while the large hourglass in the entrance hall was slowly being drained of all its rubies. This once again proved how thick some Gryffindors were.

The same could be said for their Head of House. While the majority of the staff had quickly warmed up to Bridget Hawthorne and had gladly welcomed her among their ranks, Minerva McGonagall’s openly adversarial behaviour spoke volumes. While Bridget Hawthorne had managed to engage even naturally reclusive people like Severus or Filch in conversations, all attempts to converse with the Transfiguration teacher had failed so far. Living up to her true Gryffindor self, quite a few of these dismissals had taken place in the Great Hall for all to see, teachers and students alike. It was entertaining for sure, especially since the harder Bridget Hawthorne tried to ensnare the Transfiguration teacher, the harder McGonagall would snap back. It was blatantly obvious that it was only a game, or rather a source of amusem*nt for the Historian. In all her brash Gryffindor mindset, Minerva McGonagall had so far failed to realise that she was made to look silly in front of the entire school. Meanwhile, Dumbledore shunned his newest addition to the staff like the plague. The changes at Hogwarts truly were entertaining.

Some changes on the other hand were not, at least not in Harry’s book. Since the Slytherins were so far in the lead in the Quidditch house cup, all they needed in their last match of the season against Hufflepuff was a quick victory. That meant catching the Snitch quickly. While Adrian was a good Seeker, he had failed to catch the small, winged golden ball in the last match against Ravenclaw. While the Chasers of the Hufflepuff team were far from posing any threat, their Keeper was rubbish, and their Beaters missed the Bludgers half of the time, their new Seeker Cedric Diggory was a natural. Because of Diggory’s superb flying, the Hufflepuffs had easily won their match against Ravenclaw, while the one against Gryffindor had been a close call. Therefore, their captain Marcus Flint had decided to train Adrian extra hard. At one point, the entire team had been employed to help the struggling Seeker, going against Adrian one-on-one, one player after the other. Because of that, Flint had realised Harry’s ‘talent’ as a Seeker. Of course, it was not so much talent since he was able to sense the magical signature of the Snitch, not that anyone needed to know. Since it did not break any rules, Flint had decided on a very special tactic in their game against the Hufflepuffs, swiftly ignoring Harry’s protest.

Inside the changing room, Harry stared longingly at the Chaser uniforms Draco, Adrian, and Flint were holding in their hands. At least Flint had promised that this would only be a one-time affair. Sighing quietly to himself, Harry finally began to change.

A few minutes and one of Flint’s impressive speeches later, the Slytherin team was welcomed by ecstatic cheers from the Slytherin stands and deafening boos from the remaining three houses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second-to-last Quidditch game of the season: Slytherin versus Hufflepuff,” Lee Jordan’s ecstatic voice echoed over the ranks, “and now, both teams enter the pitch. Here they are! The Slytherins led by captain Marcus Flint in the lead… Wait! Is that Harry Potter in Seeker’s gear?”

After that, all hell broke loose. While the ranks erupted in upset screams, the Hufflepuff captain Malcolm Preece loudly started to argue with Madam Hooch about the unfairness and illicitness of the swap of positions by the Slytherin team. It took Madam Hooch almost ten minutes and several threats of removing points to quiet the Hufflepuffs enough to explain that it was within the Slytherins’ rights to change the positions of their players.

Finally, Madam Hooch signalled the start of the game. Harry immediately pushed himself off the ground, shooting in the air. Instead of following the Snitch, he pointed his broom handle towards Tamsin Applebee, the Hufflepuff Chaser currently in possession of the Quaffle. Surprised by the speed in which Harry was shooting past him, Applebee dropped the Quaffle. Fractions of a second later, the red ball was caught by Adrian who quickly passed the Quaffle over to Draco. A few seconds later, Slytherin was ten points in the lead.

“What kind of flying is this?” Lee Jordan exclaimed five minutes later, “I have no idea what Potter is doing! It doesn’t seem like he is looking for the Snitch! He is doing it again!”

Just then, Harry pushed down his broomstick handle to fall into a steep dive, almost knocking one of the Hufflepuff Beaters off her broom. The Beater had not been his original target. That role was still reserved for Preece. Shooting straight towards the Chaser and Captain of the Hufflepuff team, Harry was still accelerating. For a fraction of a second, Preece stared at him, his eyes open wide in surprise and fear. Pulling his broom handle hard to the side, Preece narrowly avoided a collision. Unfortunately for him, he also dropped the Quaffle trying to hold on to his spinning broom. This time, Flint caught the red ball, quickly passing it to Adrian, who sped towards the unguarded hoops of the Hufflepuffs, scoring the next goal. Slytherin was now fifty points in the lead.

Before the match, the Slytherin team had debated extensively about their strategy. While they were far ahead in the Quidditch house cup and it would be almost impossible for either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor to catch up to them, none of them wanted to leave their victory up to chance. Therefore, they had decided that Harry would catch the Snitch only if they were at least fifty points in the lead. Now that the fifth goal had been scored, it was time to catch the Snitch.

Ever since the start of the match, Harry had kept track of the magical signature of the small golden ball, making sure that Diggory was not getting too close. Currently, it was circling the hoops of the Slytherins at the opposite side of the stadium. Harry leaned back for a tight looping. Without losing any speed, he shot away from the Hufflepuff goals. Speeding past a clueless Diggory, who had long since ceased chasing Harry. He could not help but smile at the excitement spreading through every fibre of his body as he continued to accelerate. Before a single soul in the stadium could even realise what happened, Harry had already closed his fingers around the small golden ball, ending the match.

“Potter is performing a sharp turn. What is he planning this time?” Lee Jordan’s excited voice boomed through the stadium, “what is going on? Is… is that the Snitch? Yes, it is! Potter has caught the Snitch! Diggory has not even seen it! Slytherin two hundred points, Hufflepuff nil! What a game it has been!”

What a game it indeed had been. With such a large lead, no other team would steal the cup. Once the team had landed, they immediately found themselves on the shoulders of their housemates who had stormed the Quidditch pitch.

Later that day, Harry found himself in the middle of a party. Despite the approaching exams, the entire house was celebrating the victory of the house cup. Somebody had stolen the large Slytherin banner and Charmed it to stick on the wall next to the large fireplace. The tables were filled with a wide array of food and beverages, spiked punch and fire whiskey included. A large gramophone blared the tunes of the Weird Sisters, while all house politics and etiquette appeared to have been forgotten for the day in favour of the victory.

As it was getting later and later, the older years were getting drunker and drunker, and the atmosphere in the common room was getting more ecstatic by the minute. Harry meanwhile was getting more antsy by the minute. Midnight was approaching. While celebrating their victory of the house cup was good and well, he had different plans for tonight. After all, it was a full moon and the night of the third brewing stage of the Resurrection Potion. With all the celebrating students still in the common room it seemed like an almost impossible endeavour to slip away unnoticed, especially since it was well past curfew. Still, with the right distraction everything could be possible.

Focussing on the gramophone, Harry pushed forth his magic. Within seconds, the common room erupted as “Do the Hippogriff” began to play. While the entire house stormed the dancefloor, Harry Disillusioned himself with a wave of his hand and slipped out of the common room, luckily unnoticed.

A few minutes later, Severus signalled him to enter his private quarters, a frown on his face, “How bad is it?”

“Quite bad,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, “to the point the older years started singing the Muggle songs performed by Dumbledore’s messengers of love, although Marcus Flint really should not be singing, especially not George Michael songs. Good thing I brewed enough of the Headache Potion during our last lesson.”

Severus opted not to reply, the roll of his eyes saying it all. He led Harry to his private Potions laboratory. The large cauldron in the centre of the room was emitting a steady cloud of steam, its content a swirling vortex of poisonous green and glittering black. So far, the Potion had turned out perfectly. The Dark Phoenix tears and the Basilisk venom were in absolute balance, having matured perfectly. Tonight, it would be time to merge the two opposite substances completely.

At midnight, the Potions Master carefully Levitated the first vial filled with the Elixir of Life above the steaming cauldron. This was a rather tricky manoeuvre since the Elixir had to be added in the exact centre of the cauldron. Otherwise, it would react badly with either substance. Fortunately, Severus had always been more than precise and controlled in his movements. Once the first vial had been added, the vortex within the cauldron began to swirl faster, the contrast between the two substances not as precise as before, while the first fiery sparks began erupting from its unruly surface.

Over the course of the next few hours, six more vials of the golden Elixir were added to the Potion. With each added vial, the contrast between the Dark Phoenix tears and the Basilisk venom decreased as the Elixir of Life was slowly and steadily merging the two opposing substances together, changing the colour more and more towards a rich golden shimmer. Simultaneously, the number of sparks was steadily increasing. Once the final vial had been added, Harry quickly returned to the common room. Climbing over a large number of passed out, snoring bodies, he finally dropped into the soft depths of his bed, falling asleep within seconds.

After the Slytherins had recovered from their victory celebration, mostly thanks to the help of the Hangover Potion mercifully distributed by Severus before breakfast, studying for the exams continued. With the first exams only one week away, the inner Ravenclaw of many Slytherins seemed to come to light. Most students were rarely seen without a book or their revision notes, with the common room turning eerily quiet. The only one who seemed to be entirely unbothered was Harry, although he spent most of his week tutoring his peers, answering questions, demonstrating magic, and encouraging them. Surprisingly, a large number of those seeking help were second and third years. But by now, most Slytherins had gotten used to Harry’s deep and vast knowledge. Therefore, rarely anyone was lifting an eyebrow whenever Harry was explaining something, he should not know yet.

While some Slytherins were slowly going crazy, they were nothing against Hermione. Some days, Harry wondered if the Gryffindor slept at all, judging from the dark circles underneath her eyes and the hair, that was getting more and more out of control. Whenever he saw her, she always seemed to be buried in her notes and textbooks while spending an astonishing amount of time in the library. Apparently, Gryffindor common room was much too noisy to study in, which was hardly surprising given its moronic, rowdy residents. She would snap whenever somebody dared to interrupt her precious studying time and become extremely agitated in the case, she ever forgot a titbit of information no matter how insignificant. Not even Harry appeared to be able to ignore her increasingly snappish behaviour anymore. Tom, as always a more hands-on, practical individual, suggested letting the House Elves slip a few Calming Draughts in her breakfast. Harry thought it was a bit too much and opted to endure the studious Gryffindor.

A week later, the exams finally began. On Monday morning, Professor McGonagall called the first years into a large, usually unused classroom for their written Transfiguration exam. While around him students were trying to do some last-minute revision, others were complaining about the swelteringly hot temperatures within the classroom. Harry did not care, although he wondered for a second why Professor McGonagall was doing nothing against the heat. A simple Cooling Charm would be an easy solution.

The theoretical part of the exam was laughable. Having long since internalised the basics of Transfiguration theory, Harry finished well before the rest of his year mates. In the end, he spent more time reading through his new Gaelic Runes manual than answering questions. After lunch, Professor McGonagall called them in her classroom one by one for the practical part of the exams. For the main part of the exam, they were supposed to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Points would be awarded depending on how pretty the box was – how (cough) objective – and deduced if it had whiskers. Additionally, they were asked to demonstrate at least two other Transfigurations they had learned throughout the year. The stern professor was rather annoyed when presented with Harry’s permanent results and snapped at him to demonstrate the proper Spellwork if he wished to pass his exams. Raising a single, challenging eyebrow at the furious woman, he quickly flicked his Blackthorn wand at the three objects Professor McGonagall had placed in front of him. Her jaw dropped as the snuffbox, the needle, and the peppermill started to morph at the same time. After all, Harry had never uttered a single word and only flicked his wand once.

The rest of the exams scheduled for the week passed without incidents. On Tuesday during the practical part of the Charms exam, Professor Flitwick squealed in delight at Harry’s expertly executed Levitation Charm, followed by his Charmed pineapple that elegantly tap-danced across the tiny professor’s desk. On Wednesday night, Professor Sinistra quizzed them on the special star movements of the Orion constellation before they were told to map the Taurus and Auriga constellations. The last exam of the week had been History of Magic on Friday.

Much to Tom’s and Harry’s delight, Professor Hawthorne had forgone to question them on Binns’ rubbish on Goblin rebellions. Instead, they were quizzed on the foundations, development, and functions of the Wizengamot, which they had covered ever since the useless ghost had been banished. For the second part of the exam, Professor Hawthorne had them write a short essay on their personal opinion on the value of History of Magic. Harry had enjoyed the latter part quite a lot since it was a nice and creative deviation from the usual pattern of repetition.

The next week started with their Herbology exam. While they spent the morning answering questions on the theory behind the interaction of different types of soil, watering, and sunlight, and the influence on various types of plant, the practical part of the exams mostly focussed on the handling and care of the Devil’s Snare. What an inconspicuous choice, especially in light of Dumbledore’s little obstacle course hidden on the forbidden third-floor corridor.

While Quirrell did not have them wrestle a Mountain Troll during the practical part of the Defence against the Dark Arts exam on Wednesday, he kept throwing weird glances at Harry and his stutter was worse than ever. Harry easily defeated the training dummy, accidentally hitting it with an overpowered Severing Charm. After that, the examinations had to be halted for twenty minutes as Quirrell tried to repair the beheaded training dummy. In the end, it had to be replaced with a back-up delivered from the Ministry.

Their last exam was Potions on Friday. After the theoretical part of the exam, most students appeared to be close to a mental breakdown. As usual, Harry was unbothered and enjoyed his lunch. Once the bell had rung, they were ushered back inside the Potions classroom and told to brew the Forgetfulness Potion. While Seamus Finnegan managed to blow up his seventh cauldron, Harry was already bottling his finished Potion. As always, he had deviated from the official instructions quite a lot. Because of that, his Potion was much more potent. Severus would surely be delighted.

Spending the remainder of the exam reading a tome on ancient Aztec rituals, the rest of the first years continued to brew to varying degrees of success. The content of Weasley’s dented cauldron smelt like rotten eggs, while Lavender Brown had trouble bottling the thick goo stuck to the bottom of her cauldron. After the bell had rung, Severus finally let them go.

“That was far easier than I thought it would be,” Hermione said, once they had left the Potions classroom and were making their way out of the dungeons, “I needn’t have learnt about Zygmunt Budge’s Purity Laws…”

Having sensed the look of exasperation on the faces of Draco and Neville, Harry quickly interrupted her, before she could go on, “Hermione, please, I think we all have had enough of exams for now. I think we all did brilliantly. There is no need to go through the exams again. Since the weather is so nice outside, what about if we go out to the lake to relax a bit for a change?”

Although Hermione appeared to be reluctant at first, she eventually agreed and the four made their way out of the dungeons followed by the rest of the first year Slytherins. After a quick stop at the kitchens to pick up some snacks from the over-joyous House Elves, they began to climb the stairs leading to the entrance hall. As he passed the threshold that connected the dungeons and the entrance hall, Harry felt a rather strong set of Compulsions trying to latch themselves onto him. It seemed like Dumbledore had waited with his big move for the end of the year. Tom had been right after all.

“I’m always right,” the Dark Lord purred, “of course, he would wait until the end of the year to unleash this spectacle upon you.”

“Smart-aleck tosser,” Harry snorted to one cackling Dark Lord as he was starting to dissect the layers of Compulsions. The main theme of the Compulsions seemed to establish a deep sense of paranoia, forcing him to reconsider his discovery of the Philosopher’s Stone, Nicolas Flamel, the Cerberus on the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor, the character and involvement of Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell, and Hagrid’s shady dealings that had led to the acquisition of the Dragon’s egg. The Compulsions would force him to confront Hagrid. Later tonight, they would then force him to go after the Stone, being under the impression that Voldemort would make a move towards the Stone. Still, this could not be everything, Harry thought to himself as he was making his way across the entrance hall.

Moments later, he was proven right as he overheard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick, who were both making their way down the large marble staircase, that the Headmaster had left Hogwarts on an urgent call from the Ministry, stating that he would be gone for most of the day. Harry had almost snorted at her words, wondering what Dumbledore was actually doing outside the school. In the current political climate, it was highly unlikely that the Ministry would demand the presence of the old goat.

Still, ignoring the Compulsions and the exchange of the two professors was no option. Instead, it was time to put his and Tom’s own plan into motion.

Once the two professors were out of sight, Harry stopped his friends, “I’m such an idiot! I left my scale in the Potions classroom. Would you mind going to the lake without me? I will join you as fast as I can, although I might drop my bag in the dormitory.”

Although Blaise was shooting him a questioning glance, the others quickly agreed, making their way on the grounds while Harry headed for the dungeons. Instead of heading for the Potions classroom, he ducked in the next alcove, pulling out his magical map. Once the map had been activated, he instantly searched the map for a set of familiar names. Luckily, they were not stuck in an exam but currently standing in a classroom on the fourth floor in the company of a few Gryffindor second years.

Thanks to a few handy shortcuts, it took him less than five minutes to climb up to said floor and make his way to the classroom. A quick glance on the map revealed that the second years had left by now. Without further ado, Harry opened the door.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Harry said smoothly, closing the door behind him, simultaneously erecting strong Privacy Wards, “I take it that the Canary Cream is working splendidly well.”

“Of course, it is, Harrykins,” Forge said with a sharp smile that was all teeth, while pointing at the large heap of brightly coloured feathers on the ground, “we think…”

“…we got it down to the right measurements, Harrykins,” Gred continued smoothly, “our test subjects can attest to that. Still, to what…”

“…do we owe the pleasure?” both twins finished in synchronicity.

“Gentlemen,” Harry began, the smile on his face turning ferally, “it is time for me to call you up on a favour.”

“What can we do for you, Harrykins?” Gred and Forge chuckled darkly.

A few minutes later, he left the classroom and the twins behind, applying strong Disillusionment Charms on himself. It would do no good if he was seen during the next stage of his plan. Since he was on a tight schedule, he quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill to pen down a short note. Once the note had been finished, the ink had been magically dried and Spells had been added to ensure that the parchment would destroy itself once it had been read by its recipient, he sprinted down the nearby case of stairs. A couple of minutes later, he stood in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the second floor. Calling forth his Parselmagic, he temporarily disabled the wards on the office door as well as the door behind, leading to Quirrell’s personal quarters. Once both wards had been disabled, he wandlessly Levitated the piece of parchment through the gap underneath both doors. Sensing the arrival of the parchment at its intended destination, he quickly reconstructed the wards. Quirrell would be none the wiser about the breach of his safety measures.

Once the wards were up again, Harry wasted no time to leave as quickly as possible. Taking a secret passageway hidden behind a painting of Carmilla Sanguina, the infamous vampire lady who had bathed in the blood of her victims, he was soon back in the dungeons. Stepping out of the secret passageway, he ended the Disillusionment Charms. Passing students and teachers alike on his way to the lake, it seemed like his little detour had remained unnoticed.

He found his Slytherins and Hermione lounging at their usual spot at the lake. In the distance, the Giant Squid was lazily drifting in the water, close to the surface. The leaves of the trees were waving in a pleasant breeze, while the sun was high in the sky. All in all, the weather could not have been better.

“Look who is joining us,” Blaise chuckled, a smirk plastered on his face, “did you get your scale back?”

“Eventually I did,” Harry replied, his lip curling into a sharp smile, “although Professor Snape was not pleased to be interrupted by one of his beloved dunderheads yet again.”

This was answered by quite a few laughs and snorts. After having sat down on the large blanket, he was offered a Cauldron Cake and a chilled bottle of Butterbeer. For the next hour, he was surrounded by happy chatter, while taking part occasionally. Still, Harry could not help but wonder how to best approach a possible visit to Hagrid’s without arousing suspicion from his Slytherins. Still, he knew that he had to go in order to stay under Dumbledore’s radar.

In the end, the decision was taken from him, as a large figure was approaching their group, his tall frame bathing them in shadows, “Hullo, ‘arry. Finished yer exams?”

Forcing a smile on his face that made Blaise snort, Harry replied, “Yes, we just finished our last exam this afternoon. Is everything alright, Hagrid?”

Dumbledore’s pet Giant truly was an atrocious actor as he failed to masquerade whatever was bothering him, “Nothin’… I… I just saw yer from me hut and thought ye were…”

“Were what?” Harry asked after a moment of silence, “were doing what, Hagrid?”

The Half-Giant carefully averted Harry’s eyes when he spoke, “Looked like yer were scheming… Yer not still searchin’ for Flamel, are yer?”

“No,” Harry said lightly, shrugging his shoulders, “you told us that that’s solely between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel. Therefore, it is neither our business nor responsibility to snoop around in other people’s dealings. I stopped looking into Flamel long ago.”

“Right. Right yer are, ‘arry,” Hagrid boomed, failing to lower his voice to the point that only Harry would hear it, “sure, the Philosopher’s Stone’s a secret between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.”

At those words, Harry wanted to smash his head against a nearby rock. Hagrid truly was the worst secret keeper ever, a fact Dumbledore seemed very well aware of, judging from the obvious manipulations. Instead of giving in to his desires, Harry forced a mask of child naiveté on his face, “Yes, it is. Anyway, I could not help but wonder, Hagrid, has your Dragon finally hatched?”

As soon as he uttered the word ‘Dragon’, Hagrid’s eyes glazed over in pure delight, “Aye, Charlie Weasley’s been writin’ me that lil’ Sigyn hatched a month ago. I might visit ‘er o’er the summer.”

“Not that this isn’t nice,” Draco’s silky voice suddenly cut through Hagrid’s rambling, “but I could not help but wonder how you even acquired a Dragon’s egg. The trade and keeping of Dragons is heavily sanctioned, even banned in Britain. Who in their right mind happens to carry a Dragon’s egg, and even willingly parts with it during a game of cards in the Hog’s Head?”

Internally, Harry thanked the heir of the Malfoy family for his quick thinking and his sharp words. Because of Draco, he would not be forced to further continue this stupid game. Thankfully, the entire school by now was aware of the circ*mstances in which the gamekeeper had come into the possession of an illegally traded Dragon’s egg.

Meanwhile, the Half-Giant looked dumbstruck at those words, the wheels in his head struggling to process the information.

“Yes, exactly,” Hermione joined into the conversation, her tone sharp, “who would carry a Dragon’s egg.”

“I ne’er saw his face, he kept his hood up,” Hagrid explained, squirming under their gazes.

“And he just happened to offer you a Dragon’s egg?” Neville asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised.

“I can’ remember too well, ‘cause we kept orderin’ drinks,” Hagrid said, scratching his head, trying yet failing to remember, “asked if we could play cards but only had the egg with ‘im and if it was alright ter use it as his stake. Since I always wanted ter have one, I agreed.”

“Just like that?” Blaise asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, “he would just give a Dragon’s egg to a stranger?”

“Ehhh, he said first he had ter be sure that I could handle it, he didn’t want it ter go ter any old home,” Hagrid explained sincerely, making the Slytherins snort quietly, “so I told him, after Fluffy, a Dragon would be easy…”

Without further prompt, the stupid oaf revealed that a bit of music was all that it took to calm the giant Cerberus, before excusing himself, making them promise to not reveal the information he had just told to anyone. Once the Half-Giant was out of earshot, Blaise snorted, raising an eyebrow as he was looking at Harry, “It’s almost like they want you to go after the Philosopher’s Stone, do they not?”

Harry’s lips morphed into a sharp smile, “I have no idea where you got that idea from, Blaise.”

While all around him the Slytherins began to laugh, Hermione’s face turned serious, “Please tell me you are not going after the Stone, are you?”

“Hermione, one of the things you should have learnt by now” Harry chuckled, “is that some things are better left in the care of adults. I refuse to get involved in their business.”

After a few more pleasant hours in the sun, they headed back towards the castle for dinner. Once they had reached the Great Hall, Hermione split from the group, heading towards the Gryffindor table. After a short glance at the empty chairs of Quirrell and the Headmaster, Harry led his Slytherins to their own table.

Once his plate had been piled with steak, potatoes, and a wide assortment of vegetables, his gaze wandered over the Gryffindor table. Hermione was animatedly chatting with Parvati Patil and Romilda Vane. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had stuck their heads together, obviously scheming. Their brother Ronald on the other hand was, as always, displaying his best table manners, shovelling large amounts of gravy-covered steak and kidney pie in his mouth, while his rat Scabbers was nibbling at a piece of his owner’s dinner.

Over the course of the last weeks, Weasley had taken it upon himself to carry Scabbers to wherever he was going. Ever since the twins had started talking about using the rat as a test subject for their vastly growing selection of inventions, dear Ronald had started to fear for the life of his beloved pet. The twins could truly be menaces when they wanted to be. Thus, Scabbers had become a common sight during classes and meals in the Great Hall.

Halfway through dinner, he felt eyes on him. Feeling his illegal Alder wand sliding into his hand underneath the table, Harry quickly confirmed that he was ready. A few seconds later, the Great Hall erupted into chaos as the Weasley twins jumped on the table, making platters of food flying everywhere while simultaneously releasing large quantities of Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks in the air. Once the fireworks had taken off, the twins started shooting all sorts of brightly coloured sparks and light hexes at each other, Levitating food everywhere, while loudly screaming, “Freedom! No more exams!”

“Enough!” Professor McGonagall boomed, rising from her seat, aiming her wand at the twins, “you will stop this instant!”

Opting not to listen, the twins instead decided to shoot a few minor Exploding Charms at several bowls of mashed potatoes. Just as the first students were being hit by the exploding mash, Harry released his magic, shooting off a wordless Animagus Reversal Spell towards the fleeing form of Scabbers. Not bothering to react to the shaking reaction of those around him towards the short display of his powers, Harry’s eyes were firmly glued on the rat as it was hit by a jet of blue light.

Suddenly, all action in the hall stopped, with the last pieces of firework exploding unnoticed in the background, as the rat started to morph, growing larger and larger, before finally, an extremely short, rat-like man with thinned, greyish, ratty hair was lying on the Gryffindor table. Upon the sight in front of them, students started to scream, trying to push themselves away from the table, while Weasley seemed to lose all the colour in his face, his eyes growing wide in horror. The teachers were frozen in shock, while Professor McGonagall gasped in disbelief, “This cannot be… Peter Pettigrew.”

Meanwhile, Pettigrew squeaked, before regaining his senses. Finally processing his discovery, the Animagus tried to flee on all fours, crawling over the table, knocking over trays, bowls, goblets, plates, and cutlery back and forth. Harry only hoped that somebody would stop Pettigrew before he would manage to get hold of a wand.

Luckily, there were professionals in the room.

While Professor McGonagall kept staring at the fleeing man on the table, who moments prior had been the pet of one of her beloved lions, two figures moved forwards, firing off spells at Pettigrew. While a white beam of light, a Petrificus Totalus most likely, fired off by the pale figure of Professor Hawthorne ceased all of Pettigrew’s movements, strong ropes conjured by Severus ensured that it would remain that way.

“This… this cannot be,” Professor McGonagall repeated, still in shock, as she stared at the frozen and bound figure lying in a pile of food on top of the Gryffindor house table, “this is impossible.”

“Obviously, it is not,” Severus’ familiar drawl echoed through the hall, as he eyed the Animagus, a look of disgust on his face.

“But… but what do we do?” Professor McGonagall asked helplessly, “the Headmaster is…”

“We obviously call for people who are authorised to deal with such a situation,” Bridget Hawthorne said coolly, flicking her wand in a familiar circular movement, before uttering the words, “Expecto Patronum.”

A large, shining Siberian tiger suddenly materialised in the Great Hall, stalking around its creator.

“Deliver this message to Rufus Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones from Bridget Hawthorne,” the professor of History of Magic ordered in a steady, no nonsense voice, “Peter Pettigrew has been discovered at Hogwarts alive, posing as the pet rat of a student since he is an Animagus. We immediately demand the help of the Auror squad and representatives from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Use my floo. The password is ‘ The Scarlet Letter’ .”

Once the silvery tiger had left, Professor Hawthorne, Professor Flitwick, and Severus immediately separated the students from Pettigrew before erecting strong Wards that would prevent the short, rat-like man from transforming into his Animagus form.

Not even five minutes later, the doors of the Great Hall were thrown open as a large group of Aurors and officials of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stormed into the Hall, led by Rufus Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones.

Even from a distance, Rufus Scrimgeour’s slight limp was hard to miss. As Tom knew, it was a souvenir he had obtained during a rather violent confrontation with Abraxas Malfoy in the spring of 1977, not that Scrimgeour was aware that it had been Abraxas to injure him since the then Lord of the Malfoy family had been wearing a mask. Unlike the last time Tom had seen the Head Auror, he had forgone his walking stick, probably forgotten due to the urgent nature of the call. Also, his mane of tawny hair had grown quite a bit since their last confrontation, although now streaked by a large number of grey strands. Deep furrows appeared on his face as his yellowish eyes, that were now hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles, landed on the bound form of Pettigrew on the Gryffindor table.

“Unbelievable,” Amelia Bones said, her tone serious, while shaking her head as she and Scrimgeour came to a halt in front of the discovered Animagus. After having received a grunt as an answer from Scrimgeour, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stepped closer to the table to inspect the bound Animagus, as always, her monocle firmly in place. Her squared jaw was working silently, as she cast Detection Charm upon Detection Charm, while her short, greyish hair kept falling into her face.

After a couple of minutes, she turned around, her voice loud and steady, “I have no doubt that is indeed Peter Pettigrew. But how?”

Bridget Hawthorne and Severus then quickly went on to explain the circ*mstances in which the hidden Animagus had been discovered.

“While this has certainly been enlightening, at least to a certain extent,” Madam Bones said, once the two teachers had finished, “I am afraid there is much more to this discovery than we can imagine. This changes everything. Rufus, in light of the consequences this will cause, I think we need to act swiftly to find out the truth. If my presumptions are proven to be right, an innocent man has been rotting in Azkaban for more than a decade. Do you agree that we should administer Veritaserum immediately?”

“Amelia, under normal circ*mstances I would never agree,” Scrimgeour’s gruffy voice echoed through the quiet Hall, “but circ*mstances as extraordinary as these call for drastic measures. I will send Williamson to get…”

“There is no need for that since we have a Potions Master in our midst,” Amelia Bones said, her tone decisive. Without another word, Severus reached for one of his many pockets. None of those present in the Great Hall batted an eye, as the Potions Master pulled out a small vial filled with a clear substance. The vial was quickly handed over to Madam Bones, while a couple of Aurors, Proudfoot and Williamson, Tom supposed, grabbed the bound Animagus. Releasing the bind momentarily, Pettigrew was swiftly placed on a Conjured chair, before a new layer of magical Bindings was reapplied which only allowed movements of his head. Throughout the entire ordeal, Pettigrew’s whiney whimpers echoed through the Great Hall, as he desperately declared his innocence.

“Well, Mister Pettigrew, we will soon find out if you are truly innocent,” the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement said, before grabbing the weak jaw of Peter Pettigrew, swiftly administering three drops of the Truth Serum. Fractions of a second later, Pettigrew’s eyes glazed over before a dreamy expression appeared on his face.

While the Truth serum was starting to work, Amelia Bones pulled a long piece of parchment and a Dictating Quill out of the depths of her robes. With a complicated movement of her wand, the setup was completed, recording every word that would be uttered until the Spell was cancelled.

“For the record,” Madam Bones began, while the Dictating Quill was scratching quickly over the parchment, “it is May 26th, 1992. We, Amelia Bones, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, are at Hogwarts, Great Hall, to investigate the discovery of Peter Pettigrew, previously believed to have been murdered by Sirius Black on November 1st, 1981. Please state your full name.”

“Peter Aiden Pettigrew,” the short, rat-like man answered, while his lips contorted into a faint, hazy smile.

“Did you reveal the whereabouts of the Potters to the Dark Lord Voldemort?” the stern Witch asked, her voice shaking slightly at the name of the Dark Lord, causing a shudder to go through the Great Hall, while all eyes were focussing on Harry, before moving back on the bound Animagus.

“I did,” Pettigrew answered, maintaining the unperturbed expression on his face. Every person present in the Great Hall held their breath at the shocking revelation.

“Were you the Secret Keeper of the Potters?” Amelia Bones continued after some long moments of silence, “and not Sirius Black?”

“I was,” Pettigrew replied calmly, “I was the Secret Keeper, while Black was only the decoy.”

“When did you join the ranks of the Dark Lord Voldemort?” Rufus Scrimgeour suddenly interfered, earning a hard look from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, “and why?”

“Directly after graduating from Hogwarts,” Pettigrew continued to answer in a monotonous voice, “I feared for my life, not wanting to share the fate of most fighting against the Dark Lord. I also did not want to remain in the shadows of Sirius and James.”

“What happened on the night of Samhain 1981,” Amelia Bones asked, for the first time, a faint touch of horror appeared to be tainting her voice.

“I was going into hiding,” Pettigrew explained calmly, “I had already revealed the whereabouts of the Potters to the Dark Lord a fortnight prior. He insisted on waiting to make a move before Samhain, since his magic would be most potent on that night. He told me to go into hiding to avoid any repercussions, should one of those closest to the Potters decide to avenge them. Sadly, Sirius Black caught up to me mere hours later.”

“What did Black do?” Scrimgeour asked, his words urgent, “did he kill all those Muggles?”

“He cornered me, asked me if I had truly betrayed the Potters, the family of his best friend,” Pettigrew spoke calmly, “instead of answering, I screamed as loud as I could, so that the entire street could hear it, that Sirius Black had betrayed Lily and James Potter to the Dark Lord. Before Black could react, I shot a Bombarda at the gas pipe in the street, cut off my own finger, and transformed into my Animagus form.”

Once Pettigrew had finished, the Hall remained eerily quiet, the eyes of everyone present either glued on the Animagus or Harry. After tense seconds of silence that felt more like hours, Amelia Bones cleared her throat, her monocle having left the safety of her right eye socket sometime during the interrogation, “I think that is enough for now. Proudfoot, Williamson, take Pettigrew to the Ministry and place him in the high security holding cell. Add Anti-Animagus Wards. I want a guard in front of his cell at all times. Inform the Minister that Head Auror Scrimgeour and I will deliver an official report, once everything at Hogwarts has been wrapped up. Inform Barty Crouch as well. I want to know why an innocent man was thrown into Azkaban under his care. Start sending out missives to the members of the Wizengamot. Include a transcript of his confession. I want Pettigrew on trial within a fortnight. We must act swiftly. Justice shall be served. Do you agree, Rufus?”

Again, Scrimgeour only grunted in confirmation before Amelia Bones continued, “Dawlish, Shacklebolt, get Sirius Black out of Azkaban immediately. After Pettigrew’s confession, I hardly doubt that there is any reason for him to remain in that hellhole any longer. Do not place him in one of the Ministry’s holding cells. Bring him to St. Mungo’s instead, so that he can be nurtured back to health. Healer Gibbon should be the best-suited to deal with the damage caused by the long-term exposure to Dementors. Inform him that it was me who ordered the transfer of Black. Contact me should a problem arise.”

Despite the expression of confusion and shock that was currently displayed on his face, Harry watched with glee as the immobile, bound form of Peter Pettigrew was Levitated out of the Great Hall. Once the Aurors and Pettigrew had left, whispers began to erupt all over the Hall. Ignoring the noise, Amelia Bones turned to the faculty. During her movement, her eyes briefly landed on Harry. An expression of sorrow and guilt appeared on her face, before she turned away to face the Deputy Headmistress, “Minerva, I am more than sorry that the students had to witness this. Should any of the students require professional help, please feel free to contact me. Before I leave, I would like to discuss a few things with Mister Potter. I guess this must be quite shocking to…”

“That is not necessary,” Severus’ familiar drawl echoed through the Great Hall, “as Mister Potter’s Head of House and one familiar with both of his parents, I am best suited to deal with this very… unusual situation. Furthermore, I believe your presence is needed at the Ministry, Madam Bones. Let me deal with Mister Potter.”

Much to the credit of the Ministry official, Amelia Bones addressed her next words directly at Harry, “Mister Potter, I hope that you are as well as one can be in a situation like this. I know that this must be quite a lot for you. If you want to discuss this issue with either myself or a professional from St. Mungo’s, I could certainly understand you. Otherwise, Professor Snape…”

“I… I trust Professor Snape,” Harry said, forcing a slight tremble into his voice, as he was nervously fumbling with the hem of his shirt, “you… you are needed at the Ministry.”

Amelia Bones’ eyes remained on Harry for a few seconds longer, before she continued to speak, “Still, do not hesitate to contact me should you require my help. Minerva, I trust you to take care of the students.”

Once Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be seemingly frozen in place, had finally reacted to the words of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a belated nod of her head, Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour left to return to the Ministry.

After the two had left, all eyes in the Great Hall wandered to the Deputy Headmistress to await whatever she would order. Obviously overwhelmed by the shocking revelation, Professor McGonagall simply kept staring at the empty spot of the Gryffindor table where Pettigrew had been lying amongst a mountain of spilled food. When it became clearer and clearer that the Transfiguration teacher was in no state to solve the situation, a pale figure stepped forward, “Minerva, are you okay?”

“Ye… yes,” Professor McGonagall answered weakly after a few seconds of silence but only after Bridget Hawthorne had placed a hand on her arm, “what I mean is no… This… this is just… We should resume dinner… We…”

“But not here,” Professor Hawthorne replied, while around her the remaining teachers were nodding their heads in agreement, relieved that finally somebody was stepping up, taking control over the situation, “I think it would be better if the students were to be escorted to their respective common room to resume their dinner there. I will inform the House Elves. Aurora, Septima, would you please take care of the Gryffindors, while Minerva and I contact the Weasley family to inform them of the recent events.”

Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector quickly agreed and led the Gryffindors, bar the four Weasleys, to their common room. Professor Flitwick and his Ravenclaws soon followed. While the Hufflepuffs and Professor Sprout were leaving, Bridget Hawthorne sent off her Patronus to inform the House Elves of the extraordinary circ*mstances. Professor Hawthorne then led Professor McGonagall and the four Weasleys out of the Hall to contact their parents. Ronald and Percy looked especially pale, seemingly in a state of shock, while the twins were trying to mask their amusem*nt. Once the other three houses had left, the Slytherins finally returned to the dungeons. After Severus had informed his students that his door was always open for everyone requiring help, he and Harry retreated to the Potions Masters private laboratory to discuss recent events and to add the next vital ingredient to the Resurrection Potion.

Once the two of them, well, three if you included the Dark Lord, were alone and Strong Privacy Wards had been erected, the Potions Master raised an eyebrow, “You could have warned me before pulling that stunt, you know.”

“Well, I could have warned you,” Harry chuckled, a smirk appearing on his face, “but I did not want to spoil the surprise, Severus.”

“Why now?” the Potions Master asked, clearly refusing to react to Harry’s teasing.

“Because the Headmaster,” Harry began, his smile all teeth, “decided that tonight was the night to send me after the Philosopher’s Stone that Quirrell is currently trying to steal.”

“But the Headmaster is gone,” Severus stated, a spark of incredibility in his dark onyx orbs, “how could he…”

“That was quite easy despite him not being here. In fact, his absence makes his scheming so much more convenient,” Harry chuckled, “he has been dropping hints the entire year, ‘convincing’ me with a nice array of Compulsions to investigate the forbidden third-floor corridor. Today, he let the cat out of the bag, so to say. When I was leaving the dungeons earlier today after the practical Potions exam, I felt a multitude of Compulsions trying to latch themselves onto me, forcing me to question the safety of the Stone, no doubt leading me to go after the Stone. The information revealed by McGonagall and Hagrid afterwards would only amplify my urge, especially since the Headmaster had left the school and thus, left the Stone unprotected. Because of the strength of the Compulsions, I needed a strong emotional upheaval to counteract the urge to go after the Stone, since a normal eleven-year-old would certainly not be in the mental and magical position to resist Dumbledore’s magic. The discovery of the traitorous spy who revealed the whereabouts of my parents to the Dark Lord should be shocking enough to explain why I could resist the magic of the Light Lord. Would you agree, Severus?”

“Certainly,” the Potions Master drawled, a spark of amusem*nt in his eyes, “but what about Quirrell?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders before directly meeting the eyes of the Potions Master, “but I have the feeling that somebody might have dropped a piece of parchment at his office earlier today, containing detailed instructions on how to get past the obstacles and extract the Stone out of the Mirror or Erised.”

“You… you did not,” Severus’ words sounded more like a question than a statement, his jaw slightly unhinged.

“Of course, I did,” Harry chuckled, while the Dark Lord in the back was cackling madly, “just imagine the havoc the Headmaster will return to. The discovery of Peter Pettigrew, while Sirius Black was innocent all along and never got a trial, despite Dumbledore being the Chief Warlock at that time. And on top of that, the infamously guarded Philosopher’s Stone stolen by one of his teachers. I guess damage control will become the favourite pastime of the esteemed Headmaster quite soon. Severus, I think it is about time to revere the magnificence of my and Tom’s genius. Do you not agree?”

“You two are insane,” the Potions Master snorted, his voice laced with amusem*nt.

“While that might be true to a certain extent,” Harry chuckled, before turning serious in an instant, “neither of us is as bonkers as a certain old coot.”

The dry snort from Severus was all he needed in confirmation. His lips curling into a sharp grin, Harry reached for his pocket to pull out a certain magical map. Once the map had been activated, he quickly scanned the parchment for a specific name. It seemed like Quirrell was busy playing chess. With a flick of his wrist, his illegal Alder wand slipped into his hand to start modifying the magic of the map. Now, the magic of the map would alert him immediately whenever Dumbledore would set a foot in the castle.

For the next couple of hours, Harry and Severus prepared the last component of the Resurrection Potion that would be added before the actual ritual. They had started by thrice purifying water in a small cauldron with a liquid fire coating and measuring the required ingredients, while occasionally checking the map. It appeared like Quirrell was making good progress. An hour before midnight, Harry had added the first two ingredients to the slightly boiling water, seven carefully measured drops of Dark Phoenix tears and Basilisk venom each. Seven minutes later, seven drops of the Elixir of Life had followed.

“Are you sure that this will work?” Severus asked a few minutes later, holding a silver dagger in one hand.

“I am most certain,” Harry said, his voice firm, “seven drops of your blood should be enough to prime the Potion. Tom and I did our calculations.”

Seven minutes before midnight, Severus lightly poked his finger with the dagger. With narrowed eyes, Harry watched as the Potions Master carefully squeezed one drop after another in the small cauldron. Once the seventh and final drop had been added, the Potion started to sizzle while red smoke began to evaporate. The reaction was just like Tom and Harry had expected. When the clock was striking midnight, Severus added the contents of the smaller cauldron to the larger one. Immediately, the now completed Resurrection Potion started to sizzle quite aggressively while deep crimson smoke started to evaporate. In contrast, the sparks dancing over the unruly surface had turned a bright white. A week from now, Tom’s body would be restored.

Once the Potion had been completed, Harry and Severus immediately left the private laboratory. After all, they had a role to play. After having climbed up to the private quarters of the Potions Master, Harry let himself fall on the leather sofa in one corner, once again pulling out the map.

“Is he still in the castle?” Severus asked, after he had closed the entrance to his hidden Potioneer’s heaven.

Checking the map for the tiny dot of Quirinus Quirrell, the corners of Harry’s mouth curled into a wicked grin, “Nope, it appears the ‘Stone’ alongside Quirrell has left the school grounds.

“Pity for the Headmaster,” the Potions Master sneered, his dark eyes sparkling in glee.

A quarter of an hour later, the magic of the map suddenly flared up, signalling that Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts. Curious at what the old man would do, Harry kept staring at the map which was still recording every bit of magic performed by the Headmaster. While he had expected Dumbledore to check on the Stone immediately, he was quite surprised by the feeling of an unpleasant wave of magic washing over him, making him shudder.

“What is it?” Severus asked, a concerned tone underlining his typical drawl.

“He is coming for me,” Harry explained quickly, Transfiguring his black robes into pyjamas while tightening the hold on his magic, “I trust you to spin this accordingly, Severus. Do not disappoint me.”

The Potions Master nodded his head in confirmation, a determined look on his usually unreadable face, pulling out his wand.

A few minutes later, a knock echoed through Severus’ private quarters. Covered under a thick blanket feigning sleep, Harry heard the rustling of robes and steps on the cold stone floor as the Potions Master made his way to the door. A moment later, the clicking sound of metal followed, before the wooden door started to creak.

“Albus,” Severus spoke, his drawl barely above a whisper, “what is the meaning of this?”

Being his usual unforthcoming self, the Headmaster ignored the question in favour of a question of his own, “Where is Harry?”

“Albus, would you please quiet down,” the Potions Master hissed, “Harry is here of course. Where else would he be?”

“He is here?” Dumbledore asked incredulously, before footsteps echoed through the room, approaching the sofa, “why would he be here?”

“After such an eventful evening, this appears to be the only right place for him to be,” Severus answered quietly, “after such a revelation.”

“What kind of revelation?” Dumbledore asked sharply, his grandfatherly tone having completely vanished, “what happened?”

“Did nobody at the Ministry tell you?” Severus asked, his voice laced with surprise and disbelief.

“Tell me what?” Dumbledore asked, assumingly staring at Harry’s sleeping form given the proximity of his magical aura and the loudness of his words.

“Today during dinner, Peter Pettigrew was discovered in the Great Hall, posing as the pet rat of the youngest Weasley spawn,” Severus explained, his voice void of any emotions, although Harry clearly could imagine the pained expression on the man’s face despite having his eyes shut in feigned sleep, “we alarmed the Aurors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour came here themselves. They immediately interrogated Pettigrew, administering Veritaserum. Pettigrew confessed everything. He was the Secret Keeper. He betrayed Lily and… James. Black… was innocent all along… They took Pettigrew to the Ministry immediately. As you can imagine, Harry was quite shaken by the events. As his Head of House and someone who was familiar with all of the involved, I offered to explain everything to Harry and… soothed him as best as I could. He has been sleeping for the past two to three hours after taking a vial of Dreamless Sleep.”

Silence followed Severus’ explanation, before Dumbledore audibly cleared his throat, “Harry has not been…”

“Has not been what?” Severus asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, “after everything he had to witness today, I think his reaction is only natural. What should he have done?”

Instead of answering, all that echoed through the Potions Master’s private quarters were quick steps on the stone floor, the rustling of robes and the banging of the entrance door as the Headmaster stormed out of the dungeons to the forbidden corridor on the third floor.

Chapter 28: The Resurrection

Chapter Text

Despite the masquerade of shock, confusion, and misery that was displayed on his face, Harry was in an excellent mood as he was making his way to the Great Hall the next morning.

After the Headmaster had left, Harry and Severus spent the next couple of hours observing the man’s actions being meticulously recorded by Harry’s magical map of the school. To the surprise of no one, the old coot had immediately left the dungeons and directly made his way to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. Harry and Severus had then watched him disable the protections of the Stone one by one. Once the Headmaster had reached the final chamber with the Mirror of Erised, no map was necessary to record Dumbledore’s reaction.

Once the Headmaster had lowered some of the defences on the Mirror, a wave of raw magic resonated through the ancient castle, making its mighty walls tremble as Dumbledore finally uncovered the theft of the Philosopher’s Stone. An unpleasant shiver ran down Harry’s spine, making his hair stand on end, upon feeling the disgusting wave of Light magic spreading through the dungeons. While one could easily underestimate the old fool because of his grandfatherly, ‘slightly’ bonkers façade, the amount of raw power Dumbledore had at his disposal clearly served as a reminder how incredibly powerful the Lord of Light really was. Tom would never make that mistake again.

Once the waves of raw magic had receded, Tom could not help but remark that the Headmaster had blown off some steam in quite a curious way. If the recordings of the maps were to be trusted, the Headmaster had fired off a nasty collection of highly destructive Light and Dark curses.

“Beacon of the Light my ass,” Severus exclaimed in disbelief, staring at the curses that had been recorded by the map, forgoing his usual sophisticated choice of vocabulary for once, “did he truly cast an Entrail-Expelling Curse and a Disintegration Curse?”

“Of course, he did. The map never lies. Dumbledore has always been a hypocrite,” Tom said, pushing to the front, thus forcing Harry’s Avada green eyes to turn into a deep crimson, “he might preach in favour of banning everything remotely Dark, but the ‘Great’ Albus Dumbledore is of course exempt from such petty laws and can do as he pleases. He does not care for the law or the dubiousness of his actions. His actions speak louder than words.”

“But why?” Severus asked incredulously, “what is the reason for using such destructive curses on school grounds?”

“We must not forget that he controls the wards of the castle, Severus,” Tom explained swiftly, narrowing his eyes at the recorded Spellwork, “since I doubt that he is going to involve the Ministry, the usage of Dark Magic will go unnoticed. As for the reasoning, using Dark Magic will take a lot more out of Dumbledore since it goes directly against his natural Light affinity. Using Dark curses should be a lot more effective than releasing large quantities of raw magic. Also, I think the Mirror of Erised might not have survived the night.”

Once Dumbledore had left the ruins of his scheming behind, they had stopped observing the map. In the morning, the map had shown them that the Headmaster had shortly met up with Professor McGonagall before trying to magically locate Quirinus Quirrell, his believed thief of the Philosopher’s Stone.

When Harry entered the Great Hall, his eyes immediately landed on the extravagantly clad figure seated at the centre of the staff table. Despite obviously having tried to mask his appearance, Dumbledore looked horrible. His beard appeared to be out of control, the furrows on his face seemed to be deeper and the bags underneath his eyes, which were currently void of any twinkle, were more pronounced than they had ever been. Yet his violently sizzling magic, having long since escaped his tight control, was what gave his state away the most, as well as the fact that those sitting next to the Headmaster were trying to get as much distance between themselves and the old coot as possible, even Professor McGonagall.

Opting to ignore the Headmaster for now, Harry made his way to the Slytherin table, seemingly dragging his feet over the stone floor. Another glance at the staff table revealed that both Severus and Professor Hawthorne were absent. Severus was obviously down in the dungeons, contacting the Ministry, while Professor Hawthorne had been in her office talking to the Weasley brothers when Harry had lastly checked his map. Feeling hundreds of curious eyes on him, he quickly lowered his head, seemingly still in shock over the discovery of Peter Pettigrew. Once he had sat down at the long table, he was immediately bombarded with questions. Thankfully, Gemma Farley, the Slytherin prefect, quickly put an end to the questioning and told everyone to leave Harry alone.

Once the ruckus had died down, Draco leaned forward, asking quietly so that only those within earshot could hear him, “I know that this is probably the wrong question, but how are you keeping up?”

Before Harry could answer, Blaise had already leaned forward, too, erecting a basic, yet surprisingly strong Privacy Ward, “I told you before that he is doing fine despite the Glamours currently applied to his face. Otherwise dear Harry here would not have fired off that Animagus Reversal Spell, now would you?”

“Expertly spotted, Blaise,” Harry said, keeping his voice low despite the Privacy Wards, making everyone move closer, “although nobody is to know…”

Before he could say more, Dumbledore rose from his seat, his eyes firmly glued on Harry.

“Whatever happens now, do not look the Headmaster in the eyes,” Harry whispered in a hushed voice, trying to move his lips as little as possible while lowering his head, “I will tell you more once I have returned to the common room. Pretend like you are trying to soothe me.”

With that, he cancelled Blaise’s Privacy Wards.

When the Headmaster arrived at the Slytherin table, he found his Golden Boy cocooned by an armada of worried and highly protective Slytherins. While Rhea and Millicent were shovelling large amounts of food on his plate, insisting that he had to eat something after such a straining night, Pansy was clutching his shoulders tightly, telling him over and over again that everything would be alright. Meanwhile, Theo and Blaise were reciting Wizengamot legislation, trying to make it very clear that justice would be served, especially following a confession under Veritaserum. Draco and Neville promised that their families would do everything in their power to help Sirius Black recover from his hardship. After all, he and Narcissa were both a part of the Black family and Sirius had been almost as close to Neville’s parents, Alice and Frank, as he had been to the Potters.

“As much as it pains me to interrupt this,” Dumbledore finally spoke up after a few moments of quiet observation of the Slytherins, “but I am afraid that this sadly cannot wait. Harry, my boy, a word with me in my office, plea-”

“But Headmaster,” Pansy protested rather loudly, “Harry needs us!”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Neville said simultaneously, “he can’t be without his friends. Especially not now.”

“Professor Snape already talked to Harry,” Draco added, “should he as our Head of House not be present for this?”

“He hasn’t even eaten a single bite of his breakfast, Headmaster,” Rhea voiced her disapproval, while Millicent was nodding along with every word, “he has to eat something first.”

Once the armada of protests had quieted down slightly, Dumbledore spoke up, his lips curling into a sad smile, “While all of your arguments might be true, I must insist that this urgent matter has to be addressed now. Harry, to my office, please.”

The last word certainly was not voiced as a request, it was an order. Reluctantly, Harry freed himself from the caring arms of his friends and rose from his seat. Every pair of eyes in the Great Hall was firmly glued on him as he followed the Headmaster towards the large wooden doors.

They walked in silence as they made their way up countless sets of stairs. When they finally reached the seventh floor, Harry was feeling deeply uncomfortable, especially when he was thinking about what he was about to do. Although Tom was trying to cheer him up, Harry knew immediately that the Dark Lord did not truly believe in his own words. If Tom had been the one in Harry’s shoes, he would have killed the old goat instead of doing the things Harry was about to do.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts as the gargoyle began to move. A minute later, he found himself in the last place on earth he wanted to be, in the Headmaster’s office. Surrounded by the twinkling man in question, his still absolutely miserable phoenix, and the countless portraits of former Headmasters on the wall, Harry could not help but feel his skin itch. Suppressing the urge to shudder, Harry let himself fall on the offered chair opposite Dumbledore. Playing the role of an anxious child who was going through the largest emotional upheavals of his life, he kept his head lowered, his eyes firmly glued on the folded hands in his laps.

“Harry, my boy,” the Headmaster said after seemingly endless seconds of tense silence, “I am so sorry about the things you had to witness last night. I wish I could have been there for you. Sadly, I could not since I had urgent matters to attend at the Ministry. Therefore, I feel even worse to remove you from your friends during such… desperate times. I hope you can forgive an old man.”

Keeping his eyes firmly glued on his hands, Harry remained silent, slightly trembling as if being reminded of the events of last night was physically paining him while tears began to flow down his cheeks.

“I am truly sorry, my boy,” Dumbledore finally said, the silence having become almost unbearable, “but let me assure you, Harry, that Sirius Black has been transferred to St. Mungo’s hospital and is currently nurtured back to health. I will keep you updated on his recovery. As for Peter Pettigrew, he is currently residing in one of the Ministry’s high-security cells. I talked to Amelia Bones this morning. She is positive that Pettigrew will be put on trial within the fortnight. Harry, I will do everything in my power to make sure that justice is served this time. Pettigrew will be punished, while your godfather…”

Before Dumbledore could say more, Harry had quickly stood up, rounded the table, and locked Dumbledore in a tight embrace, burying his head in the white mane of the Headmaster, “Th… Thank you, Sir. Thank you. I… I cannot thank you enough. I know that nothing will go wrong with you there. Thank you, Headmaster.”

Hating every word that had come out of his mouth and every fibre of his body that was coming in contact with the Headmaster, he buried his anger deep inside his mind, instead only clutching Dumbledore tighter, mentally refusing to call this an embrace or a hug. The only thing that made it worth it, was that Dumbledore, given the way the old man had gone stiff, was feeling even more uncomfortable than Harry was. He had caught the old goat totally off guard.

Ignoring the death threats from the Dark Lord, Harry stayed firmly in place, burying himself deeper into the Headmaster’s shoulder. Dreading every passing second that he had to endure this most degrading position, Harry desperately waited for the Headmaster to move.

Finally, he felt Dumbledore stir underneath him. Seconds later, he felt Dumbledore’s disgusting old and wrinkled hand gently patting his back. Forcibly clenching his teeth and clutching his magic tightly, Harry tried his best to not react viciously to the old man’s touches. Feeling like he had endured enough, he finally let go of the Headmaster, whispering, “Thank you, Sir.”

“That is the least I could do, my boy,” Dumbledore smiled, although rather solemnly, “still, if there is anything I can do, my door is always open for you, Harry.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry said quietly, wiping the faked tears off his cheeks while smiling shyly at the Headmaster. Calmly meeting his eyes, Harry felt a force invading his mind, scanning his surface thoughts. Luckily, everything that was projected there was fake. Harry in the Great Hall being shocked by the revelation of Peter Pettigrew. Harry in Severus’ living room listening to the stories of the Marauders and his mother during their Hogwarts days. Harry being beyond happy that the Headmaster was doing everything in his power to help Harry. After a second, he felt Dumbledore retreating from his mind.

“My boy, I’m glad that you trust an old man like me,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling more than ever, “but before I can let you return to your friends, I have a few questions for you, that I am afraid, cannot wait. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Sir,” Harry said quickly, before returning to his seat.

“My boy,” the Headmaster began to speak, once Harry had sat down, “what happened after Pettigrew had been escorted out of the Great Hall and the Slytherins had been returned to the dungeons.”

“Well,” Harry began, squirming slightly under Dumbledore’s intense gaze, “Professor Snape realised how strongly affected and… confused I was… So, he took me to his quarters to explain a few things… He… he told me about my parents’ days at school… The Marauders and everything… and…”

His voice broke after that.

“My boy, it’s okay. I am here for you,” Dumbledore said, trying to sound soothing, “please, continue, whenever you feel ready.”

“It… it was just a bit much when he started talking about how close my parents were to both Pettigrew and Black,” Harry said after long moments of fumbling with the hem of his shirt, “Severus… I mean Professor Snape tried to calm me for a while but realised that he was getting nowhere. He offered me a Calming Draught. After that, it was better. Sev… eh… Professor Snape then told me about the Fidelus Charm and the supposed Secret Keeper… How Sirius Black was caught and everything… And that the discovery of Pettigrew means that we have all been fooled after all… It was all a bit much… and…”

Seemingly ashamed, Harry’s words ceased as he once again lowered his head, staring at his hands.

“What happened then?” the Headmaster asked, failing to conceal the urgency underlining his every word.

“I was overwhelmed, feeling a bit anxious and restless,” Harry whispered, staring at the floor, seemingly embarrassed by this confession of weakness in front of the Headmaster, “Severus offered me a vial of Dreamless Sleep to protect me from all this…”

“Did you take it?” the Headmaster asked, leaning forward, his words sounding desperate.

Shyly lifting his head, meeting the Headmaster’s eyes, Harry nodded in confirmation, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. Coming to the realisation that his plan had been thwarted, that his Compulsions had been nullified by the discovery of Peter Pettigrew, and a vial of Dreamless Sleep, the Headmaster sank back in his seat, clearly defeated.

“Sir, are you alright?” Harry asked, trying to sound concerned, “you seem pale.”

Dumbledore’s face contorted in a painful smile, “I am, Harry. Before I let you go, I have one last question for you. Did you notice anything odd about Professor Quirrell?”

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry repeated, a look of confusion gracing his face, “no, is something wro… I mean is he alright?”

“My boy, sadly I cannot answer your question,” Dumbledore answered, smiling tiredly, “I think I have taken enough of your time, Harry. You may go. I think your friends are waiting for you.”

With that, he was released. Meanwhile, Phineas Nigellus Black was giving him a thumbs up for yet another flawless performance, while trying to hide his laughter behind his hand.

An hour later, he finally stood in front of the entrance of the Slytherin common room. After having left the presence of the Headmaster, Harry had not returned to the dungeons immediately. First, he had cleansed himself from the contact with the old goat he had suffered through. Overall, the cleansing had involved a short ritual to remove the remnants of the Headmaster’s disgustingly bright and awful Light Magic, and a long, hot bath in the Prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor.

Once he had entered the common room, he was bombarded with questions. In the privacy of the first-year dormitory of the boys, Harry opted to reveal some of his secrets, although it was only the bare minimum. He told them that he had somehow put one and one together, and identified Pettigrew posing as Weasley’s pet after overhearing the redhead telling his gang that Scabbers had been a part of the family for almost a decade, a lifespan way too long for a simple rat. Yesterday’s dinner had simply presented itself as the perfect opportunity to uncover the hidden Animagus. Although Blaise did eye him sceptically, he did not voice his thoughts, knowing that Harry was probably lying for a good reason.

Since his friends had undoubtedly felt that Harry had cast the Animagus Reversal Spell, there was no point in denying that he had been the one to uncover Pettigrew to free his godfather. Still, there was no point in revealing more for now, even if Blaise had sensed the countless Compulsions and was aware of the fact that Harry had been able to resist Dumbledore’s magic. He would explain more at a later point, but not now that most of his and Tom’s plans had not been put into motion yet. He definitely redeemed himself by telling them in detail about his meeting with Dumbledore.

Later that day during dinner, the Headmaster announced the unexpected and very unfortunate departure of Professor Quirrell due to urgent family matters. The Slytherins and Hermione kept exchanging knowing glances throughout the entire announcement while the other tables remained blissfully ignorant.

“This is just brilliant,” the Dark Lord purred, sounding extremely amused and pleased, “that means the old fool has not informed the Ministry and the Aurors, meaning that the theft has gone mostly unnoticed. I would not even be surprised if he forgot to tell most of the teachers or Flamel himself of the theft of the Philosopher’s Stone. He might have informed a few of his most trusted, but for the most part Dumbledore is going to track Quirrell personally. Since he cannot leave the castle for lengthier periods of time, at least until the end of the school year, Quirrell will have a massive head start. This is simply great.”

Harry hummed in agreement, trying to keep his amusem*nt masked from the world to see.

The days after the Headmaster’s announcement were some of the happiest and most relaxing of Harry’s life. Fuelled by the fast-approaching full moon that would mark the Resurrection of the Dark Lord, and the knowledge that most of their plans were progressing smoothly while those of the Headmaster had all but fallen apart, Harry could not help but enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that was surging through every fibre of his body as he was sitting at their usual spot at the Black Lake with his friends.

On Wednesday though, a day before the End of the Year feast, he felt eyes on him.

“Can we… talk?” Hermione asked nervously, keeping her voice low so that none of the others could hear her, “about the holidays?”

“Sure,” Harry replied, casually flicking his Blackthorn wand at his books to pack up before rising from the blanket they had been lounging on. Once they had excused themselves, they headed for a more secluded spot at the lake, where Harry swiftly erected strong Privacy Wards. Once the Wards had been erected, Harry met Hermione’s eyes, his expression serious, “Do not for a moment think that I have forgotten about you, Hermione. I had planned to talk to you before the end of the year, but I did not want to rush and concern…”

“I know,” Hermione said quietly, “and I am glad that you did not confront me sooner. I certainly needed the time to make up my mind…”

“And? Harry asked, raising one eyebrow, “what conclusion did you reach?”

For a long moment, Hermione did not answer, opting to stare at her hands instead which were fumbling with the hem of her shirt. Finally, the Gryffindor looked up, an expression of uncertainty blemishing her young face, “I… I just cannot abandon them… They… they are still my… parents…”

The last word sounded like it had physically pained Hermione to call the two people who had given birth to her ‘parents’.

“You… you probably will not understand,” Hermione began, “but… but…”

Before Hermione could say more, Harry had leaned forward, pulling the desperate Witch in a soothing embrace, “Shhhh, Hermione. I understand, even if I have never known my parents. Abandoning people is never easy, especially if we are still attached to them deep within despite their less than… stellar behaviour. Although I understand your motives, Hermione, I want you to know that you are not alone in this. Should you need help, I am always there for you. Should things get out of control, just activate your bracelet and I will get you out of there. I promise.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said, while tears began to form in her eyes, “you cannot imagine how much your words mean to me.”

All Harry did in response was to smile at her, while gently rubbing her back.

“I just have to try,” Hermione said, breaking the silence, “I just have to… Although this will not be my only option for the summer. Corvus, eh, my grandfather agreed to take me to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies once the Hogwarts letters have arrived. A Prefect told me that they usually arrive during the latter half of the holidays… He also promised to take me to Gringotts to do the inheritance test and maybe even take me to Lestrange Manor for a day or two to get to know me better… Although I wish this would take place sooner, he told me that he would be busy during the first month of the holidays because of some emergency sessions at the Wizengamot.”

Hermione clearly looked unhappy about having to wait for so long.

“About that,” Harry began, feeling rather uncomfortable about the things he was about to say, “I will probably be busy as well during that period of time because of the upcoming trial of my godfather and my change of magical guardianship. Because of that, I would prefer, should you want to get out of there, to wait until preferably a month of the holidays has passed, unless you have the feeling that you must get out of there immediately. I hope you understand.”

Although Hermione did not answer verbally, she nodded her head before burying herself deeper in Harry’s arm, taking advantage of the strong and caring arms as long as she could.

The End of the Year feast was a merry affair, at least if one was a Slytherin. While the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were clapping politely when Dumbledore was declaring that the House of the Snakes had once again won the House Cup, the Gryffindors, who had come dead last mostly thanks to their abysmal Quidditch performances and the countless points deducted by Professor Hawthorne, were openly expressing their displeasure over Slytherin’s win. Opting to ignore the table of the Lions, Harry gladly accepted the large and shiny trophy from Marcus Flint, while at the staff table Severus’ lips were curling into a gleeful smile at the prospect of keeping the Cup in his office for another year, while Professor McGonagall’s office would once again be void of any shining and prestigious trophies.

Since all trunks had been packed the previous day, breakfast the next morning was a quiet and relaxed affair at the Slytherin table, as opposed to the last-minute rush most Gryffindors appeared to be in. Once he had finished his omelette, Harry looked up at the staff table. Feeling eyes on him, Severus swiftly returned the eye contact, before confirming that the next stage of their plan would be progressing smoothly with an almost unrecognisable nod of his head. At the Slytherin table, the corners of Harry’s mouth curled into a sinister smile, which vanished fractions of a second later. Once everyone around him had finished with their breakfast, too, he stood up, leading his friends out of the Great Hall to pick up their trunks before heading to Hog’s Mead Station, a very busy summer ahead of him.

The train ride was rather unspectacular, although at the start, Hermione had been in a considerably bad mood, the prospect of returning to her parents looming in the air. Because of that, the Slytherins had made an effort to distract the Gryffindor as much as possible, talking about new Spells, Charms, and Potions they would learn next year.

Once the train had pulled into King’s Cross Station, everyone save Hermione was eager to disembark the steaming train. Once Harry and Hermione were left alone in the compartment, Harry wrapped his arms around the miserable Witch, “Remember, Hermione, I will always be there for you.”

“I know,” Hermione whispered after a while, her words almost inaudible, as she buried her head in his shoulder “and you cannot possibly fathom how much that means to me.”

After a few minutes spent in silent understanding, the two finally exited the train, his eyes following Hermione as she disappeared in the crowd, making her way back to the Muggle world, where her parents were hopefully waiting for her.

“Now that you have finally decided to grace us with your presence,” a silky voice spoke up, although keeping it low in order to not be overheard, “would you mind if we depart now. I certainly do not desire to spend any more time surrounded by Bloodtraitors and other scum than absolutely necessary.”

“Father,” Draco protested, “why would we…”

“Silence, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy hissed, his grey eyes solely focussed on Harry, “shall we leave now, Heir Potter?”

“That is acceptable, Lord Malfoy,” Harry answered swiftly. Fractions of a second after he had finished the last word, he felt a hand grabbing his arm and a strong pull as he was transported away from Platform 9¾.

As opposed to Draco, Harry kept his balance as he materialised in the grandeur that was the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Although, his stomach was turning at the unpleasant feeling of Side-Along Apparition. Doing it yourself was just a lot better and certainly less nauseating.

“Father,” Draco began, once he had gotten back on his feet, although less elegantly than a Malfoy normally would, “why is Harry here?”

For a short moment, the grey eyes of the Lord of the Malfoy family rested on Harry, “Draco, I think it is for the better for Lord Potter to explain this himself.”

“I agree, Lord Malfoy,” Harry replied, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile, especially at the correct usage of his proper title, “I take it that the Ritual chamber of your Manor has been thoroughly cleansed of all magical residue?”

“It has,” the Lord of the Malfoy family answered, a slightly offended undertone present in his words, which was rather unsurprising since a Malfoy simply was never questioned, “I performed the Spells and Rituals myself.”

“Splendid,” Harry chuckled, before turning to the younger Malfoy, “Draco, I know you must have a lot of questions. Sadly, there is work to be done that I am afraid simply cannot wait. If you want to, you can join me while I work, and I can try to answer your questions. Is that acceptable? Although I suggest seeing your mother first. She must be beyond happy to see you after such a long time.”

The sun had already set when Harry looked up from his work. Over the last few hours, Rune after Rune had been carefully inscribed on the cool stool floor with the finest quality chalk money could buy. The design was of an intricate, interwoven, and extraordinarily complex nature combining different sets of Runes. The inside of the Rune circle was void of any chalk, being reserved for the large cauldron containing the Resurrection Potion. The empty circle was surrounded by a myriad of complex Rune sequences, which would hopefully ensure the intended outcome of the Ritual, especially concerning the regeneration of Tom’s body, and three smaller circles, reserved for the three main ingredients of the Resurrection Potion, bone of the father, flesh of the servant, and blood of the equal. Initially, they had tried to combine some of the circles, but it would be far too unstable. The magical number ‘three’ was a lot more stable than any other options. Seven would have been a good alternative. Sadly, the number of ingredients was too small to consider the most magical of all numbers.

The core of the Rune circle was surrounded by more Runes. Only this time, they were supposed to stabilise and strengthen the magic within the inner circle. Since these safety and stabilising measures required quite a lot of magic to work, seven fully charged magical crystals would be placed evenly on the outermost Rune circle together with three larger circles reserved for the people who would try to manually control and contain the ritual from the outside.

“I… I still can’t believe that… that I spent a year in the company of the… of the Dark Lord,” Draco’s quiet words brought him out of his inspection of the Rune circle, “and that he is going to be… going to be resurrected tonight… But… but what will he think of me?”

So far, Draco’s reaction to the revelation had been better than Harry could have ever anticipated. In fact, it had been better than most adults who had discovered the truth. Unlike his father, Draco had not fallen off his chair, nor had he screamed like a little girl. For the most part, he had remained seated on his chair in one of the corners of the Ritual chamber, staying relatively calm and collected. It had become apparent rather quickly that there was only one thing Draco was worried about, and that was the negative reaction of the Dark Lord to any sort of supposedly undignified, or offensive behaviour the Dark Lord might have witnessed throughout the past year. After all, Draco was a Malfoy and there was nothing worse than bringing shame to the family name, or even worse, ending the long and proud family history because Draco had somehow garnered the wrath of the Dark Lord. Although Harry had told the heir of the Malfoy family that the Dark Lord was indeed not angry at all, it had done nothing to calm the blond.

“I… I… What will my father say if the family name is in shatters?” Draco whispered, hiding his face behind his hands, as his head was lowered, his upper torso hunched over, “what will he do when the…”

“Stop it, Draco,” the Dark Lord said authoritatively, pushing to the front, although he really had not wanted to come out to not strain his energy reserves for the upcoming ritual, “look at me.”

Almost like in slow-motion, the heir of the Malfoy family lowered his hands to uncover his eyes as his head moved up from its lowered position. Once the blond had laid eyes of the deep crimson orbits in front of him, which were so different from the vivid Avada green they usually were, his jaw dropped with his own, grey eyes growing comically wide. Raising one questioning eyebrow at the shaken child, Tom was about to say something, when the blond threw himself off his chair. Before the Dark Lord could react, Draco was already kneeling in front of him, luckily nowhere near any of the precious Runes, asking for forgiveness, “My Lord, please have mercy for my foolish behaviour. I did not mean for you to witness…”

“Enough,” the Dark Lord hissed before continuing with a much softer voice, “you did nothing wrong, Draco. Your behaviour could not have made your family any prouder. Your parents raised you to be a great man. They surely succeeded in their endeavour. Still, even if I would have happened to witness something… inappropriate, I would not punish you. You are a child after all, who was obviously unaware of my presence. Let me assure you, Draco, that I do not punish those I consider mine without a proper reason. Furthermore, my punishments are rarely as agonising and deadly as portrayed in the media, since none of those spreading those lies has ever been a part of my ranks. Draco, you did nothing wrong. Please, rise.”

Slowly, very slowly did the heir of the Malfoy family obey, an expression of wonder having replaced the previous display of fear and confusion, “Thank you, my Lord. Thank you for your mercy.”

“I prefer reason over mercy,” the Dark Lord chuckled, “as much as it was a pleasure talking to you, Draco, I am afraid that there is a ritual to be performed which certainly cannot wait. Therefore, Harry will return to you now.”

An hour later, every Rune had been checked. They had to redraw a handful of the Forbidden Runes close to the centre of the circle, but apart from that they had not altered any of the Runes.

Just as Harry rose from the ground to dust off his clothes, a knock echoed through the Ritual chamber. A moment later, the door was opened to reveal four impressive figures, one of them stepping forward, “Draco, dear, I think it is time for you to retire to your room. It is very late.”

“But mother,” Draco protested accompanied by large puppy eyes, “I want to stay here to see…”

“Draco, dear,” Narcissa Malfoy spoke with the soft voice that was solely reserved for her son, “I think it would be best for you to not see this.”

“But mother,” Draco tried to protest again, “I am twelve. I am old enough to see…”

“No, you will definitely not,” another figure said with a voice that had lost most of his usually present silky undertone, stepping forward to stand next to Narcissa Malfoy, “this is in no way fit for the eyes of a child. Draco, to bed.”

This time, Draco did not protest, although if the shuffling feet on the ground did indicate one thing, it was that the heir of the Malfoy family was not pleased at all with having to leave. Once he had left the room, Narcissa quickly ordered one of the family’s House Elves, thankfully not the crazy one called Dobby, to ensure that Draco had indeed gone to bed.

“Good evening, Lord Potter,” Corvus Lestrange said, finally entering the Ritual chamber, “I see that you have been busy. How are the preparations progressing?”

“Splendidly well, Lord Lestrange,” Harry replied with a sharp smile, while pointing at the finished Rune circle with a lavish wave of his hand, “the Runes have been inscribed, and have been checked as well. There should be no problem regarding this part of the Resurrection Ritual. All we need to do is place the cauldron containing the finished Potion in the middle of the circle, place and activate the magical crystals, and get into position before the clock strikes midnight. Severus, did everything go according to plan?”

“Surprisingly well,” the Potions Master drawled, while his sharp onyx eyes were inspecting the Rune circle, “the Headmaster was in quite a hurry to leave the castle. Thus, we were released from his usually endless tirades far sooner than previous years.”

“Excuse my question,” Corvus Lestrange’s words echoed through the Ritual chamber, “but why would he do that? We all know how the old man works and he certainly is never in a hurry.”

“Because somebody,” Severus started to explain, his eyes resting on Harry for a fraction of a second before returning his attention to the Lord of the Lestrange family, “supplied the former, now fugitive Defence Against the Dark Arts professor with the instruction on how to steal the Philosopher’s Stone despite stealing the original one himself months earlier. If I am correct, the Headmaster should be rather busy tracking down his former employee, while simultaneously trying to contain the damage caused by the unexpected discovery of Peter Pettigrew.”

For a moment, Corvus Lestrange appeared to be speechless, before he recollected himself, “That is quite an impressive achievement, especially given that this is the first year the two of you have entered the stage of this grand dance of powers. I simply cannot help but wonder what the two of you will do in all the years still to come.”

That was a question Tom and Harry had asked themselves countless numbers of times. For now, there were more pressing matters at hand, especially the Resurrection Ritual that they were about to perform.

Shortly before midnight, everything was in place. The magical crystals were now shimmering in a dim light, waiting to be fully activated. Besides a few sparsely distributed candles, they were the sole source of light in the otherwise dark Ritual chamber outside the Rune circle. Narcissa, Lucius, and Corvus had all positioned themselves within the three smaller circles of the outermost fringes of the Rune circle, wands in their hands, awaiting the beginning of the Ritual. Meanwhile, Severus was staring grimly at the simmering cauldron in the middle of the Rune circle from his position within one of the three central circles. Having shed his outer robe, the sleeves of his black tunic esque shirt had been rolled up to his elbows. The circle to his right was filled with nothing but a large bone that had been removed from the grave of Tom Riddle Senior months ago and had been stored in one of the many secret vaults of the Dark Lord at Gringotts until very recently. The third and last circle was occupied by Harry himself, who had removed his shirt for the duration of the Ritual, a Goblin made Ritual dagger in his right hand. Meanwhile, a myriad of sparks was dancing over the surface of the cauldron in the centre of the Rune circle, while the golden Potion inside was gently bubbling, having matured perfectly.

“Are you sure that you can heal me?” Severus asked, sounding nervous.

“Tom and I calculated this multiple times,” Harry replied calmly, mentally readying himself for the Resurrection Ritual to start at any second, “I should have enough magic left to heal you properly. Under no circ*mstances let Tom heal you just yet. His magic will be too…”

Before Harry could finish, the clock struck midnight, ceasing all conversations.

Lifting his hands, Harry activated the magical crystals. Feeling those within the outer circles releasing their magic, Harry first directed Narcissa’s, Lucius’, and Corvus’ magic as well as the steady pulses of magic erupting from the crystals towards the outer rings of the Rune circle. Soon, more and more of the Runes of the outer rings were starting to glow as more and more magic was absorbed by the myriad of complex chalk symbols on the floor. Up until this point, Harry had solely guided the magic of the others, using very little of his own magical reserves, although this was about to change.

Once the safety and stabilising measures had been fully activated, Harry focussed more of his own magic into the activation of the core of the Rune circle, as did Severus. After a few tense seconds of anticipation, the first sequence of Runes began to glow in a deep crimson, while the next sequences soon followed suit. Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes were firmly glued on the Runes to ensure that each sequence, each symbol, would be activated properly. If not, it could cause severe backlash and malfunctions during later stages of the Resurrection Ritual. Thankfully, each Rune of the core of the circle was soon glowing a deep and dangerous crimson. Once the inner Rune circle had been fully activated, Harry signalled Severus to start with the final stage of the Resurrection Ritual, the actual resurrection.

Lifting his right hand, Severus began to wandlessly Levitate the bone of Tom Riddle Senior towards the large cauldron. Taking one last deep breath, the Potions Master began to speak, his voice steady and his dark eyes firmly glued on the first of the three ingredients that would be added to the Resurrection Potion tonight, “Bone of the father, unwillingly given, you will renew your son.”

The golden surface of the Potion began to stir dangerously, emitting more fiery sparks, as the bone broke through its surface. Fractions of a second later, the entire Potion began to bubble violently, turning a vivid, poisonous blue. Once the colour of the Potion had fully shifted, Harry’s eyes returned to the Potions Master.

Felling the Avada green eyes on him, Severus began to move, removing another Goblin made Ritual dagger from the depths of his pockets, while leaning closer to the cauldron without leaving the boundaries of his Rune circle. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, the Potions Master held up his left arm above the cauldron, before continuing to speak, “Flesh of the servant, willingly and proudly given, you will revive your master.”

A fraction of a second later, the right hand with the dagger swung upwards. Severus did not bat an eye nor display his pain in any other way, as his severed hand dropped into the cauldron, breaking through the vivid, poisonous blue surface with a sickening splash. Not taking his eyes off the Potion that had turned into an angry vortex of burning crimson, the Potions Master wrapped the bleeding stump that had moments prior been attached to his left hand in a dark cloth he had produced out of the depths of his pockets with the other, still intact hand.

Once the Potion had slowed down in its movements, Severus lifted his voice for the third and final time of the night, “Blood of the equal, offered in devotion and acceptance, you will resurrect your soulmate.”

As the last word had passed Severus’ lips, Harry began his gruelling task of carving Runes into his own flesh. Thankfully, only five Runes were needed since Tom and Harry had drastically reduced the number of Runes needed by combining quite a few Runes and using Forbidden Runes, an ancient, almost forgotten yet much stronger set of Runes that had been outlawed by the International Confederation of Wizards during the days of the Founders of Hogwarts. Luckily, records of the Runes had survived in the private library of Salazar Slytherin.

The first Rune to be completed on his left arm represented “acceptance”, followed by the complementary Rune of “devotion” on his right arm. Next, the Runes “equality”, “eternity”, and “soul” were carved in a vertical line on his torso, starting in the centre of his chest before ending just above his navel. Once he had finished carving the last Rune, the dagger slipped from his bloodied fingers. Although the dagger dropped to the ground, none of the blood that had previously covered the blade and its handle did ever reach the cool stone floor. Just like the blood that was pouring out of the deep cuts on his body, it was magically absorbed by the ancient magic emitting from the Resurrection Potion.

Once a sufficient amount of blood had been added, the liquid within the cauldron turned into a blinding white. The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else, even the pulsation crimson Runes on the floor, to velvety blackness.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Harry felt a tug at his magic, first only faintly but it soon increased in strength. Having anticipated this, Harry did his best to feed as much magic to the steaming and swirling Potion as he could. It was necessary since they had forgone the lengthy process of creating a Homunculus vessel. Yet somewhere along the way, they must have miscalculated as the tug on his magic kept increasing steadily, absorbing more magic than they had anticipated, and not just from Harry.

Feeling his core being drained rapidly, Harry started to channel as much magic as he could from any potential outside source, trying his best to not completely drain the magical crystals or the other magic wielders involved in the Ritual. If any of the safety and stability measures were to fail, the results would be devastating, catastrophic even. Refusing to panic, Harry kept pushing his body and his magic beyond what would normally be possible, even for a Wizard as powerful as himself.

As his heart was beating faster and faster, and the strain on his body and magic was becoming more and more unbearable, he felt something inside him shift as his desperate prayers for help were heard. Fractions of a second later, a surge of the darkest, most intoxicating magic was rushing through every cell of his body, darker than he had ever felt. Somehow, he knew deep inside that this would be enough to power the Resurrection Ritual.

Before the thought could fully settle, a pain like he had never felt before was shooting through his head.

As Harry was clawing at his head, screaming at the top of his lungs for the pain and agony to stop, Tom felt something ripping at his soul. The feeling was increasing with every second, becoming more and more unbearable by the second, a feat which should have been impossible since he currently did not possess a body. Without warning, a pain, worse than being hit by the Killing Curse, shot through him, as he was violently ripped free.