Archive of Our Own

Harry knew that he was different the moment he asked Uncle Vernon why the floating light surrounding his body had tiny scratches in it, but Aunt Petunia’s didn’t. It took a lot of explaining to realize that no one else could see them. Not the light or the scratches.

“There are no lights boy!”

It had been screamed in his face as he was thrown into the cupboard under the stairs, and he was punished with no dinner. But that didn’t stop the truth. There were lights, there were colors, scratches and sometimes dents.

Everyone was different, Harry realized. The Dursleys never let him out if they could help it. He was only allowed to go to school because Aunt Petunia didn’t want social workers poking their noses in family affairs. When he was allowed outside, his favorite thing to do was to people watch.

Some people, like Aunt Petunia, had no scratches, no dents and her light was small, barely visible. Then there were people like Uncle Vernon who had little scratches with a light slightly bigger than Aunt Petunia.

Sometimes, there were people with a large light, nearly blinding. Those were the people that had more than just scratches and dents. They had tears, gouges and sometimes holes. Harry didn’t understand what it all meant.

What did the light represent? What did the dings and dents signify? How come he was the only one who could see it? He needed answers but there was no one to get them from. He knew better than to ask Uncle Vernon again, and there was no telling what his aunt would do if pressed—he didn’t fancy having to do more chores as punishment.

Harry had guesses. At first he thought that those with larger lights and scratches weren’t nice people. Uncle Vernon was a great example of that. Only, it didn’t really make sense because one of his teachers had a similar light and a little more scratches than Uncle Vernon and she was really nice, treated him with a smile and kind words. So that couldn’t be it. That also shot down the belief that those with small lights and no dings meant they were nice. Aunt Petunia was the furthest thing from nice.

Guesses weren’t facts.

Harry wasn’t sure what it all meant, and he still didn’t, at least until he met a boy in a robe shop. He had thought that being a Wizard explained it. Surely, all Wizards could see what he could. He asked Hagrid about it but was given a strange look in return as he politely told Harry that it wouldn’t do good if he announced that he could see things others couldn’t.

It wasn’t a Wizard thing at all.

When Harry walked into the robe shop—after Hagrid told him he would be back later—he froze at the sight of a boy his age getting measured for a set of school robes. It wasn’t the boy’s appearance that drew his attention, no, it was his light.

The light was the biggest one he had ever seen, so bright that Harry had a hard time looking at him. Where Uncle Vernon had scratches, this boy had gouges. Where some people had dents, this boy had holes and craters.

“Hello,” the boy greeted him softly. “Hogwarts too?”

It took too long for Harry to answer, his eyes were still on the light surrounding him. Every time his eyes moved he found a new hole or tear.

“Are you alright?”

Harry jerked a little, eyes glancing up to see a wary expression but concerned eyes.

“Yes. Sorry, I just—this is all so new to me.”

A strange look flittered across his face as he bit his lip. “Are you a Muggleborn?”

Harry didn’t know what that meant. He wished Hagrid was with him to translate this kind of thing. When he didn’t answer the boy closed his eyes briefly.

“Are your parents wizards?”

Oh.

“They were wizards. Hagrid said so at least, and I think he’s trustworthy.”

The boys head tilted to the side. “Were?”

“They died when I was a baby,” Harry said, shrugging at the sympathy on the boy’s face. No one ever talked about his parents, no one ever asked why he was living with the Dursleys. He wasn’t sure what to do with sympathy, it was the first time he was ever on the receiving end of it. “I live with Muggles though, my aunt and uncle.”

When the boy grimaced, Harry wondered if he knew Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. That was exactly the same kind of grimace he had when talking about them.

“Be careful who you admit that to, okay?”

Harry frowned at the serious tone. “Are Muggles bad? My family isn’t very nice to me, but they aren’t all like that.”

The boy looked around the room, making sure that the lady who ran the shop was preoccupied with another customer.

“That’s not it. My father isn’t very nice to me either. You’ll find that some Wizards do not take kindly to those whose parents don’t have Magic.”

Well that was just silly. What did it matter as long as they had Magic. Isn’t Magic what made a Wizard a Wizard? Right? Harry said as much too and all he got was a nervous look.

“I don’t know,” the boy whispered, biting his lip again. “My father won’t explain it to me. He just says that Muggleborns are bad for our world and that I have to understand that.”

“What happens if you don’t understand that?”

The boy looked down, not meeting his eyes. “If I do what he says then there’s no punishment.”

It all made sense. Harry nodded in understanding. It was just like with the Dursleys. It didn’t matter that he knew the truth, that Magic existed. That he could see things that others couldn’t. It didn’t matter because his uncle was only going to take a lie. He wanted Harry to admit that there was no light, that there were no holes. He wanted Harry to lie and say whatever it was that he wanted to hear. If not, then there was a punishment—Harry was bad if he didn’t agree.

Harry didn’t like the punishments.

“You can do what he says and not believe it,” Harry whispered, stepping a little closer to grab his hand. “That’s what I do when my uncle tells me I’m wrong.”

The boy looked down at Harry’s hand that was on his. “What is it that he wants you to stop doing?”

Harry bit his lip, as he looked down at the floor. Hagrid’s warning was in his head, but he ignored it. If Harry could help in anyway, even if by showing how they might have similarities, then he’d do it. Even if that meant making him an outcast.

“I can see things,” Harry admitted, eyes glancing up in time to see grey eyes go wide. “Everyone has a light and sometimes the light has scratches and dings in it.”

“Do I have a light?”

Harry nodded rapidly, his hair falling a little bit in his face. “You have a very large light.”

The other boy puffed out his chest and it had Harry laughing lightly. He didn’t know if a large light was a good thing or not, but he’d let him pretend.

“And your uncle doesn’t want you thinking you can see it?”

“Yeah,” Harry frowned. “But he also says there’s no such thing as Magic and he’s wrong.”

The boy nodded, a serious look on his face as he looked at Harry. “So I can listen to what my father says without believing it? He says a lot of stuff.”

So did Uncle Vernon. “I always say, ‘Yes, Uncle Vernon’ when I really just want to argue, but I don’t. I let him think he’s right to avoid punishment.”

The boy’s tongue poked out as he considered that. “It’s worth a try.”

Harry beamed, squeezing their hands before he let go. It was kind of nice, knowing that he found someone that he could relate to. They had a shared secret.

“What’s your name?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

A hand was offered in greeting, and he didn’t hesitate to grab hold and return it.

“Harry Potter.”

The wide eyes were back, but it came with a wheeze as Draco coughed.

“Are you taking the mickey?”

“No,” Harry said slowly, lips forming a frown as he dropped his hand. “That’s me.”

“Oh,” Draco breathed, eyes wide in understanding. “No wonder you said—but then that means—and they treat you like—oh no—this is not good—my father would say—but—”

“Hey, hey.” Harry held up his hands, voice soft in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “It’s okay.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s really not. My father and those that think like him don’t like you.”

Insulted, Harry wanted to back away, but he couldn’t do that. Not when Draco and he had come to such an understanding.

“What did I do?”

“You don’t know?”

“Is it about Voldemort? Hagrid said—”

“Shh.” Draco covered his mouth as he looked wildly around the store. “Don’t say his name.”

Harry wondered if that was a Wizard thing. Hagrid hadn’t wanted to say it either. It was just a name, what did it matter? Even a nickname like You-Know-Who still meant Voldemort, so what was the difference? It was like when Aunt Petunia made Uncle Vernon use a substitution instead of a swear word. It was still in place of the swear word and meant the same thing, so why not just say the swear word?

After jerking out of Draco’s hold, he said, “It’s not like I remember anything. I was a baby.”

“Impressive.”

He didn’t think so. Everyone looked at him like he did something amazing, and for all he knew, maybe he did. But he couldn’t remember doing anything. If they were going to praise him, couldn’t it be for something he actually had a recollection of doing?

“Do you want to finish off your shopping with Hagrid and I?” Harry asked, needing to change the topic otherwise he’d just get frustrated. It wasn’t Draco’s fault that he didn’t like the celebrity status that had been thrusted upon him.

Draco’s hands fidgeted with his robes. “I want to, but I’m here with my parents. They are collecting my stuff while I’m in here for the last fitting of my robes.”

That seemed odd to him. Shouldn’t Draco’s parents have waited for him? Why get his stuff without him? Maybe it was like how Hagrid talked him out of getting a golden cauldron earlier. Did Draco like flashy things too? Maybe his parents didn’t want to spend extra money.

“And since they don’t like me…” Harry trailed off looking down, stomach sinking. He was used to people not liking him. The Dursleys hated him, his cousin’s friends were bullies and most of the teachers let it happen.

No one liked him.

He had hoped that maybe Draco—

“I’ll write to you, okay?” Draco asked hesitantly, eyes pleading. “I think we could be friends.”

Friends.

Harry never had a friend outside of the spiders in his cupboard.

“Okay, but I don’t have your address.”

Draco grinned, eyes sparkling as they crinkled slightly, and his nose wrinkled.

“I don’t need your address; my owl will find you no matter where you are.”

Oh, how nifty. Did all owls do that? Or was that only Draco’s that did? If it was all owls how did Muggles not know about that? Were they Magical owls? Were there also non-magical owls then? Harry opened his mouth to ask but was cut off by Draco paling before he was shoved behind a rack of robes.

“Shh, don’t move, Harry. My father is coming.”

That had Harry freezing. For once, he was glad that he was rather short for his age as the rack hid him entirely. Unless Draco’s father purposefully looked through the rack, he wouldn’t be seen.

“Draco, what is taking you so long? I told you to meet your mother and I in the apothecary.”

Harry slowly parted one of the robes enough that he was able to see through a tiny sliver. Draco’s father looked a lot like him, only taller and meaner. His hair was just as blond, just as shiny but a lot longer. Was that the kind of look Draco would go for too?

“Sorry, father. There was a queue and I’ve only just now finished.”

Draco wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes, but Harry hadn’t expected him to. Uncle Vernon never liked eye contact either. He was to look at the ground and be readily agreeable.

“A queue?” It was sneered at Draco, an ugly curling of a lip. “Malfoys do not wait in a queue. We are better than that and that is something you should already know. Clearly you haven’t been paying attention to my extra studies.”

“No,” Draco shook his head rapidly. “I have been, I swear it to you, father. It’s just—”

A hand shot out to grip Draco’s shoulder, hard, and that’s when Harry saw it.

A new dent. The light pulsed before it enlarged minutely and a brand-new dent could be seen.

Horror filled him when he realized what it meant. It didn’t matter how nice you were, how mean you treated others. It wasn’t about anyone specifically. It was about how you were treated.

With each new insult Draco’s father said, a new mark would appear. A small scratch here, a little hole there.

Harry could see things others couldn’t. He could see a visual representation of the effect other people had on someone.

He hated it.

Hated to see a new tear appear as the grip Draco’s father had on him tightened as he was dragged out of the shop. The only thing audible was the low threats of punishment and the whispered apologies that were ignored.

Part of him wished that Uncle Vernon was right. That the lights didn’t exist. That there weren’t any tears or dents. That Harry was making it up.

He wished he was making it up.

Harry went through the rest of his fitting quietly, only talking when necessary. It was the same through every shop Hagrid took him to until he stopped in the middle of the pathway at the sight of a very pretty owl sitting in the window of the nearest shop.

“Hagrid, can we go in there?”

Finger pointed at the shop; Hagrid turned in delight to see the owl. “O’course we can. I’ll be the one buying you your first owl.”

It didn’t matter how many times Harry said that he didn’t have to, that he had enough money, Hagrid wouldn’t hear it. Said it was a late birthday gift.

Harry had never had a birthday gift before.

She was beautiful. A white snowy owl with kind eyes and a soft gentle hoot. He didn’t know what to call her yet, but he would find the perfect name for her.

“When I can, I’m going to send letters. Will you deliver them for me?”

The owl puffed out her chest and hooted at him. He let out a soft laugh as he stroked her feathers through the cage.

“You remind me of him,” Harry whispered when Hagrid ushered them to their last destination.

He wasn’t sure what the Wizarding world had in store for him, but he was willing to give it a try. Worst case scenario he didn’t come back for a second year and chose to live the rest of his life as a Muggle. But even as he thought that, he couldn’t help but picture Draco, his only friend.

No, if what he could see was how others shaped people, then he wanted to be there for Draco. He wanted to be able to help shape him to, but not with tears and dents. He was going to find a way to use his ability to help others.

Only, he wasn’t so sure how to do that yet.

Dear Harry,

I am writing to you like I said I would. I hope you are well and that the Muggles are treating you all right. If they aren’ t, let me know and I’ll slip in some cursed artifacts my father just bought. I don’t think it would kill them, but I haven’t tested them out so just in case, be prepared for a funeral.

Before you ask, I am doing fine. I tried what you said, and I think I can manage it. My father says a lot of things that seem intelligent until I leave the room and then all the doubts come in. I can’t tell if my mother believes what he says, she doesn’t seem willing to talk about it. The only people I can talk to are the House Elves, and they don’t make for great conversations. I think I frightened poor Dobby when I asked how his day was going. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to clean my robes properly from his tears and snot.

I wanted to ask more about your ability—how you can see things. I am utterly fascinated, and I tried to learn more from the Manor’s library but I don’t have enough information. My father thinks I am finally taking my studies seriously and has left me alone for the most part. Thank Merlin for that. My mother has been absent, she leaves the Manor a lot and stays out until dinner. I envy her. I wish I could leave too.

I don’t know where I would go if I could leave. I could always visit you, but I doubt your family would be okay with that. Maybe we could meet before Hogwarts? Let me know if it would be possible for you to be able to convince the Muggles. Perhaps Diagon Alley? A place we both know. It would be nice to see you again.

I’ve been thinking about your situation and realized how hard Hogwarts is going to be for you. I’m ashamed to admit that I never bothered to care before, but those that come from Muggle families will be behind. I don’t just mean in terms of spells, no matter what the professors tell you, we don’t all start with the same knowledge. We will learn how to perform spells at the same time but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the theory behind them already. Magic aside, there is so much to our world that you won’t understand. The history of who we are, our traditions and the way our society works. The laws, those in power and even the Minister. You won’t know any of it.

Well, that would be true if I wasn’t your friend. I’ve included a bundle of books from my library. It’s not everything you’ll need to know but it’s a good place to start. When you’re done reading them just send them back and I’ll replace them with more books. I know that might sound boring. Who wants to do homework outside of school? But I do think it will help you. Our world won’t become second nature to you like it is for me, yet. With time and hopefully the knowledge my books give you, I think this gives you the opportunity to catch up.

Should you have any questions, I will happily answer them. I do hope you’ll be able to convince the Muggles to let you leave. I would like to spend time with my new friend. I look forward to receiving your letter.

My sincerest wishes,

Draco Malfoy

P.S. Don’t worry about feeding my owl, she is rather picky and will only eat imported food. If Ivy bites you, I apologize, but there is nothing you did that was the cause. She just likes to bite people.

Harry took a cautious step away from Ivy who had perched herself on the bars of Hedwig’s cage. He had no idea what kind of owl Ivy was, but she had midnight black feathers that had a tint of dark blue at the end of each feather.

“You are quite pretty.”

Ivy sat up straighter and gave him a small hoot. Hedwig hooted too but the sound was not pleased. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because he was giving attention to another owl or if she just didn’t like Ivy.

Ivy ruffled her feathers before looking down through the bars at Hedwig, eyes narrowing slightly. They were communicating silently, and it didn’t look like a pleasant conversation.

“Would you like some of Hedwig’s food?”

Hedwig let out an indignant hoot, wings flapping a few times.

“Hey,” Harry scolded. “Ivy has traveled a long way; it must have been hard for her—”

Another indignant hoot, only this time it wasn’t Hedwig.

“Okay, my bad. I meant that it was so easy for her and look how accomplished she is. One of the best of the best when it comes to owls.”

Ivy preened, chest on display and it had him rolling his eyes. Hedwig let out a small sound that had Ivy startling before she pressed her face as far as the bars would allow before she mimicked the sound. This time, the silent conversation they seemed to have went a lot better. When Ivy moved off the top of the cage and settled next to Hedwig he was rather surprised, but what had him grinning was Ivy taking a hesitant bite of Hedwig’s food. Harry hadn’t cared either way if Ivy ate any of the food, but it was clear that Hedwig did care.

What had been anger before, was now something else entirely. Hedwig clicked her tongue a few times, puffing out her chest. Ivy hooted softly in return before she leaned against Hedwig, and they began to rub their heads together.

Uh oh.

Harry sat on his bed, keeping an eye on those two for a minute before he pulled the package of books toward him. He liked to read but didn’t get the chance to unless it was in school. The Dursleys only gave books to Dudley, and he used them as a coloring book. He was touched that Draco thought of him enough to send any.

He clutched the letter to his chest. Outside of the one Hogwarts sent, no one had ever sent him a letter before. A warm feeling spread throughout his body as he reread the letter. He didn’t know what a house elf was but hoped that maybe one of the books had an explanation. Harry bit his lip as he ran his fingers over the request for them to meet. He wasn’t sure his uncle would be okay with it. On the one hand, it would mean Uncle Vernon would see him less but on the other hand it meant Harry was happy. And if there was one thing that his uncle hated, it was seeing him happy. If he worded it right, made it seem like it was some kind of homework that he didn’t want to do, a pre-exam of sorts, maybe that would be enough.

Maybe.

His uncle did let him go, reluctantly and bitterly, but he was allowed to leave. At first it was only when Draco managed to convince his parents to let him go. They would meet at the Leaky Cauldron and use their public Floo to visit a library that was somewhere in Portree. But Harry read too quickly to only go to the library a few times a week. Soon he was leaving Privet Drive daily. He spent as much time as he was allowed to before they closed for the evening reading.

Harry read any and every book he could get his hands on. The kind librarians helped him with gentle smiles and fond expressions every time he returned a book.

“At this rate, you might as well get sorted into Ravenclaw,” one of the librarians told him with a little laugh. “I was in Slytherin myself, but I always did love the color scheme Ravenclaws had—green just doesn’t look good on me.”

Houses. Harry distractedly nodded as he considered it before he moved back to the table Draco was at, reading his own book. What house would best suit him? He had read about the sorting hat despite the lack of information actually regarding it. There were legends and stories passed down through the generations that said it was Godric Gryffindor’s hat that the founders enchanted to sort students in their absence. But there was no evidence. Harry rather liked putting his belief in something that he could prove, then again he himself contradicted that with his own abilities. He couldn’t prove what he could see, but that didn’t change the fact that he could see it.

“What major event happened in 1752?”

Harry shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he blinked rapidly at Draco. “You’re trying to trick me again, aren’t you?”

Draco liked to quiz him on books that he had read. If he got an answer wrong then he was handed a book that went into further detail on the subject.

“Would I do that?” Draco asked innocently, something Harry ever doubted he was. “Me, your best friend.”

“Yes, yes you would.”

And had. Repeatedly. Being friends with Draco showed him how naïve he had been. Draco made him think about things before he said them, and sometimes before he acted on them too. If there was one thing being friends with Draco had taught him, it was that there was always another solution, there was always another answer.

“I know what you want me to say,” Harry said, sticking out his tongue. “You want me to say the Goblin Rebellion of 1752, but the name is misleading because it really began in 1751 with the skirmish near Hogsmeade.”

“Very good,” Draco praised, putting a book on Goblin wars in their finished pile. “But you have yet to give me the answer I am looking for.”

Harry squinted; lips pursed as he thought about it. Draco did like to trick him, but he also liked to give him hints at the same time. The only thing he could think of was that the correct answer had something to do with the Goblin Rebellion of 1752 even if that wasn’t the main issue. He racked his brain for anything that might be relevant but the only thing that came to mind was—

“A Minister retired,” Harry remembered, sort of. “The public blamed him for not handling the rebellion better.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Harry slumped in his seat. “No.”

When Draco handed him a book on all of the Ministers of Magic dating back to the founding of their world, he groaned.

“It’s not so bad, bit interesting if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Harry said, sticking out his tongue again. “This is going to be just as boring as the history on Purebloods that you made me read.”

“Oh, did you finish it?” Draco perked up. “That is one of my father’s favorites.”

“I wish I hadn’t finished it,” he grumbled, narrowly avoiding the crumpled bit of parchment Draco tossed at him. “It’s creepy to see how entwined Purebloods are. You know, that kind of thing is frowned upon in Muggle society.”

Well if one ignored the royal family that is.

Draco shrugged, used to Harry pointing out the differences between the two societies.

“What house do you think we’ll be in?” Harry asked after he read the first few pages of the book on Ministers.

When Draco didn’t say anything, he looked up to see tense shoulders. “My father says I have to be in Slytherin.”

Harry wanted to point out that it didn’t really matter what Draco’s father wanted, since the hat chooses the house, but knew that it wouldn’t do any good. Uncle Vernon liked to blame him for things out of his control too.

“What if you weren’t? By that time you’d already be in Hogwarts.”

Draco bit his lip as his hands clenched around the book he was holding. “I’d have to see him during holidays.”

Each time Harry saw Draco, his light was bigger, and it was filled with far too many holes to count. He didn’t want to know what it would look like if Draco wasn’t selected to be in Slytherin.

“I’ll be sorted with you,” Harry promised, not entirely sure he’d be able to manage that. “I’ll be in Slytherin too.”

Draco snorted. “Harry Potter in Slytherin?”

Harry sat up straighter. Draco knew that he hated it when people formed opinions about him regarding his name. The librarians had done it too until he gave them the cold shoulder.

“I could be in Slytherin!”

Draco smiled softly, hand reaching out to squeeze one of Harry’s. “I think you are a Ravenclaw at heart, perhaps even a Gryffindor and Merlin knows you have far too many Hufflepuff tendencies, but I worry should you be sorted into Slytherin.”

“Why?”

A brief silence.

“It’s dangerous for someone like you, Harry. The children sorted there tend to be from families of those that would not like you based on name alone.”

“Because I got rid of Voldemort.”

Draco glared at the use of the name. “Yes, not all of them will have been his followers but the majority of them are supporters in the Dark Arts and sympathize with his teachings.”

The thing about Harry was that he didn’t like when people told him what he could and couldn’t do. Didn’t like when he was expected to follow a set of rules that made no sense. A rule for the sake of a rule was just asking to be broken. He didn’t care that Draco was probably right, that maybe he shouldn’t be in Slytherin.

Harry was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to.

And the whole world could get bent. 

Harry looked through each compartment trying to find Draco. He had barely arrived on time due to his cousin. Dudley had thrown a fit about not being able to have his second bedroom back while Harry was at school. The tantrum lasted hours, and it wasn’t until he pulled out his wand that Dudley shut right up, and they were able to finally leave.

When he couldn’t find him, Harry chose an empty compartment and decided to wait to be found instead—Draco could put in some effort for a change. While he waited, Harry pulled out a pile of books that he was hoping to make a dent in during the trip. He had already read all of their school material, but wanted a better in-depth knowledge of the things they would go over during the year. Textbooks condensed things to make it fit for the whole semester, but he didn’t want it glossed over—he wanted to truly understand all of his subjects.

He sighed happily as he delved into the fourth chapter of Advanced Potions for Young Theorists. Draco said it was a good place to start when wanting to understand the mechanics behind potions better than the textbooks could provide.

The door to his compartment slid open causing him to startle a bit as he peered into blue eyes.

“Sorry, everywhere else is full. Do you mind if I sit here?”

Harry shrugged, gesturing for the boy to sit down. “As long as you don’t mind when my friend arrives.”

When the boy sat down across from him, an awkward silence broke out before a hand was offered, “Ron Weasley.”

Weasley. Harry recalled the Weasley line from the book on the history of Pureblood families he had read. The Weasley line went back generations.

“Harry Potter.”

Ron choked, hand falling from Harry’s grasp as he gaped.

“Are you really?” He flushed as bright as his hair when Harry arched his brows.

“I do know my name.”

Despite the awkward start, Ron wasn’t bad company. There were times when he would say something that was clearly his parents' beliefs behind it, but Harry faced that with Draco too.

“Malfoy?” Ron wrinkled his nose when Harry had started telling a story of when he and Draco had accidentally walked into an Adult Only shop. How were they supposed to know that Bare Sorcery was that kind of place? They ran out with red cheeks and a promise to never go back.

“Yes, Draco Malfoy,” Harry said with a little nod, not liking the way Ron’s face soured. “He’s my best friend.”

“But his family—”

“He is not his family any more than you are yours.”

Ron grimaced. “His father—”

“Is not Draco,” Harry said firmly. “If I were you, I would judge people on what you experience and not what you are told. Just because your parents don’t like them, doesn’t mean that you have to dislike them too.”

Another flush, and this time the silence was uncomfortable. Harry wasn’t sure about Ron. He could see them becoming friends, perhaps not in the same way that he and Draco were friends, but only if he learned to not be so judgmental. Instead of salvaging the conversation, Harry went back to his book, eager to see the theory behind isolating ingredients for allergen purposes.

“Ah, there you are!” Draco panted, closing the compartment door. “Took me ages to get away and then I had to hunt you down.”

“I’m worth it.”

Draco snorted, throwing himself across Harry’s lap dramatically. “Maybe.”

It took an amusing length of time before Draco realized that they weren’t alone. It wasn’t until he sat up to inspect the books Harry brought that he noticed Ron.

“Weasley, I imagine,” Draco drawled. “I’ve heard lovely things about your family.”

Harry poked him in the back, hard. “Play nice.”

“I’ve heard similar things about your family,” Ron retorted through clenched teeth.

“Probably all true,” Draco nodded with a little hum. “The nastier it is the more accurate.”

Ron blinked a few times before shifting in his seat, clearly unsure of what to say. They tried to make small talk, but Draco was horrible at it and went silent in favor of reading a book on Transfiguration instead.

“My whole family has been in Gryffindor,” Ron boasted, placing his thumb on his chest. “I hope I don’t let them down. I want to be in Gryffindor too.”

“Gryffindor is a respectable house,” Harry agreed, ignoring Draco’s snort. “Then again, they all are. I find the whole thing a bit silly. Once outside of school I don’t see the importance of it. What employer will care if you were a Hufflepuff?”

“Rather be in Hufflepuff than Slytherin.”

Harry placed a hand on Draco’s knee, gripping it tightly when Draco lowered his book.

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?”

“There’s not a witch or wizard that wasn’t bad in Slytherin.”

“Oh?” Harry arched a brow. “And you know every witch and wizard that has ever been placed in Slytherin?”

“Well, no,” Ron flushed. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re generalizing is what you’re doing,” Harry argued. “There are plenty of bad people in other houses too.”

Ron frowned at the floor. “My father says—”

“Again, you shouldn’t judge something without experiencing it for yourself. Why listen to what you’ve been told over your own personal experience?”

Ron said nothing, but his expression was thoughtful. Hopefully it gave him a lot to think about. It bothered him when people just believed what others said, or even what books said. Harry had read plenty of books from biased authors that hadn’t done their research. That was the beautiful thing about the library, there was always another author to read from.

The rest of the train ride was filled with mostly silence. Ron, whether peer pressured into it or not, pulled out a book too and began to read. When the scenery changed and they could see the castle in the distance, Harry turned to Draco.

“Whatever happens, know that I’ll still be here, okay?”

“I know,” Draco played with Harry’s thumb but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t have to follow.”

“Don’t be daft.”

Draco smiled, albeit a bit wobbly. “I can handle his punishments.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

One day, Lucius Malfoy was going to regret ever harming his son.

Harry would make sure of it.

“Better be Slytherin!”

Silence. There were no cheers or polite clapping. Just utter silence.

Harry had known that the sorting hat would look into his head, but he hadn’t been aware of how creepy it was. He wasn’t surprised when he was told that he would do well in Slytherin, just as he wasn’t surprised that Ravenclaw was also a house for him.

Part of him longed for Ravenclaw, but even to the hat it was a second choice. For Slytherin had been the first thing the hat whispered to him.

Harry jumped off the stool before handing the hat to Professor McGonagall and thanking her. By then the rest of the school seemed to catch up with the outcome and the Slytherin table erupted into cheers.

“We got Potter!”

He hated that his face heated up at that. Several other older students yelled something similar, as if it were a competition that had just been won by whichever house managed to have Harry Potter sorted into it.

“Excuse me,” Harry said to a girl before he pushed himself in between her and Draco. She let out a scoff but allowed him more room. Even if she hadn’t, he would have forced her to move.

“See? I told you it would work out,” Harry whispered to Draco, aware that all eyes were on him, and not just his housemates.

“You’re a self-sacrificing idiot.”

The insult fell flat with how grateful Draco was as he grabbed hold of Harry’s hand and squeezed it.

“Not really,” Harry argued as the sorting continued. There were still a few people looking at him, some of them Professors. “Slytherin was the hat’s first choice.”

Draco looked impressed, and he had to wonder what the hat’s first choice for Draco was. He’d laugh himself silly if it was Hufflepuff, what with all of the shit Draco said about them. It would serve him right.

The rest of the sorting seemed to drag on, but he busied himself with looking around the Great Hall. When he glanced at the head table and met piercing black eyes, he jolted a bit.

“Who is that?”

“Severus Snape,” an older student across from him said. “He’s our head of house and he’s also—”

“The youngest Potion Master in history,” Harry finished, a bit awed. He had read about Professor Snape in a few potion books. He even bought a copy of one of his essays on the uses of Murtlap Essence that had been published in a potion journal.

“Yeah, but I meant more along the line that he’s also the Potion’s Professor.”

Harry ignored the other student as he tilted his head and stared at Professor Snape. There was definite hostility on his face, which had Harry’s stomach sinking, but there was also intrigue. He waved at him, which had Snape’s eyes widening a bit before a polite nod was sent his way.

It was better than nothing.

“Harry has a crush on him.”

“I do not!” Harry said, face turning red when a few people snickered. “I just think that the advancements that he has made on—”

“Give it a rest,” Draco grinned. “He’s friends with my father and believe me when I tell you that he’s no fun conversationalist.”

Who cared about that? It wasn’t like Harry was going to talk to him about topics outside of school.

“He’s actually quite mean,” the same student said across from him before he grinned and introduced himself. “Marcus Flint.”

Flint. Another name he recognized. Flint was a Pureblood, just not one of the sacred twenty-eight.

“I’m the Quidditch Captain. The youngest ever. They usually reserve that for fifth years and above, but I was chosen even as a fourth year—”

“Only because everyone in last year’s team graduated except for you.”

Marcus pouted at the person next to him. “Still.”

Once the sorting had finished and dinner was done, Harry felt exhausted. He wasn’t used to so much food readily available—the Dursleys only ever gave him scraps that they didn’t want. He sleepily followed behind a prefect named Perkins who led them to the dungeons where their house resided in. Harry marveled at the glass windows that allowed them to see into the Black Lake. It was too dark to see anything, but in the light of day maybe he’d be able to identify some of the creatures swimming by.

When they entered their dormitory, Harry immediately flopped on the furthest bed where his trunk was sitting at the end of.

“Hey, that’s my—”

“I don’t care,” Draco growled, shoving a trunk into a rather tall boy’s hand. “This bed is mine.”

Draco took the now free bed next to Harry’s, placing his trunk at the end. Harry tried to hide a grin, but his lips still twitched.

“I think introductions are in order.”

“I already know all of you.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the boy who was still holding the trunk Draco shoved at him. “Yes, but Harry doesn’t know any of you.”

All eyes were on him as he waved. “Harry Potter. I’m sure you’ve never heard of me.”

A few chuckles.

“Theodore Nott.”

Nott. Harry recognized that one. And the pattern continued with Vincent Crabbe and Greggory Goyle. They were all Pureblood names that he had come across several times in his research. The only one that had his brows rising was,

“Blaise Zabini.”

Zabini. It wasn’t included in some Pureblood books despite the fact that the surname went back generations. The fact that others did include it meant that the Pureblood status was contested but not enough proof to discount entirely.

“Any relation to Aria Zabini?”

Blaise’s eyes widened before he looked down at his trunk. “My older sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Theodore frowned. “She’s never at your parties.”

By the way Blaise’s hands clenched, he assumed it must have something to do with her father. It was widely known, at least according to Draco, that Mrs Zabini married several times over.

Harry spoke, saving Blaise from having to talk about his family if he didn’t want to, “I read about her findings in France. She discovered a new Rune.”

Blaise smiled softly. “She’s always been good with Runes. She’s a curse breaker.”

“Wicked,” Vincent grunted. “Greg wants to be a curse breaker.”

Greg looked down shyly but said nothing.

“I’ll see if she can spare some books on the subject,” Blaise offered, smiling when Greg let out a little surprised sound.

Books. Oof. Harry just knew he was going to love his dorm mates. He wanted to bring out some of his books that he had brought along but his eyes felt a little too heavy. He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes and promptly fell asleep.

He couldn’t wait for the first day of lessons. Potions was going to be fun; he just knew it.

Potions was not fun.

From the moment he stepped foot inside the room, he felt under attack. He had listened to Professor Snape’s opening lecture—despite being distracted by his rather large light and heavy tears, dents and holes—and agreed with most of what was said, he nodded in all the places that he should. And yet, he was treated as if he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Potter!” Harry jerked, quill stabbing his parchment in freight as he blinked owlishly up at Professor Snape who was glaring at him. “Where would you look if I was to tell you to find me a bezoar?”

A girl next to Ron, also a Gryffindor, raised her hand, but neither Snape nor Harry paid her any mind.

“The belly of a goat, sir.”

Snape’s mouth closed as he tilted his head slightly to peer at Harry closely. “What’s the primary ingredient in Essence of Dittany?”

Trick question. He had enough practice with that from Draco.

“Salt water.” The only reason he knew that was because of the extra potion books he bought. Their first-year text book didn’t cover Essence of Dittany, only ever mentioned Dittany the herb.

“If I wanted to make a Cheering Solution, how many times am I to stir it clockwise?”

Another trick question.

“You wouldn’t, sir,” Harry said, fingers trembling at the attention. He didn’t like that everyone was staring at him. When Draco entwined their fingers, he felt himself relax. “Cheering Solutions can only be stirred counterclockwise.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Very good.”

The praise didn’t really feel like praise when it was said with such venom. The rest of the lesson went by without a hitch. It was rather dull; they learned the proper way to cut and identify ingredients. He had hoped they would actually brew something.

“No, go on, I’ll catch up with you,” Harry told Draco when it was time to head to the next class.

“Harry, I don’t think—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured. “I won’t be long.”

When the last student left, Harry took a deep breath and approached Snape’s desk.

“Yes?” Snape demanded; tone harsh in a way that had Harry wanting to flinch back.

“I was wondering if I had done something to upset you.”

An arched brow. “Explain.”

“It’s just—” his eyes slipped closed. “You obviously don’t like me. I know that there are people that don’t like me because of what I did as a baby. I don’t agree with them, but I can’t change their mind. I was just hoping—”

“Cease your rambling.”

Harry’s mouth closed with a click. His nerves had his hand trembling, something Snape took notice of.

“I had expectations of you, Potter. None of them came to fruition.”

What did that mean? What kind of expectations?

“I’m sorry that I didn’t meet them. I know that people think that I am—”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Snape’s tone was firm but no longer harsh. He hoped that was a good thing.

“You will find that a lot of people will have expectations of you. While unfair, it can’t be helped. I assumed that you would be like your father.”

Harry jolted. The only person who ever talked about his parents had been Hagrid. Part of him was hungry for more information, but by the way Snape’s lip curled when he said father, it was clear that they didn’t get along.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, shoulders slumping in relief. “You didn’t like my father.”

That, he could work with. It was a way better alternative than thinking he had done something wrong.

“That relieves you?” Another arched brow as Snape placed his fingers under his chin. “You are a most unusual child.”

Harry fidgeted. That wasn’t praise but not exactly an insult either.

“I’m used to that. My aunt and uncle didn’t like my parents either. Draco’s father doesn’t like me because of who I am, as well as a lot of others out there too. If you don’t like me because of my parents, then it means I didn’t do anything personally to you, which I am glad because I really wanted to meet you. I have your essay on isolating ingredients to combat allergens—”

“You’re rambling again.”

This time it was said with a hint of a smile, even if there was no visible movement of his lips. Harry took it as a win.

“I’m sorry.”

“First lesson as a Slytherin, never apologize.”

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop the apology that wanted to escape. He had gone his whole life having to apologize for things that he shouldn’t have had to; the spot of dirt that his aunt swore was still there after he mopped, the missing food that he hadn’t eaten, the space he took up.

“Are there other rules?” Harry hesitantly asked. “I haven’t read anything that would suggest—”

“Unwritten rules.”

Oh no. Harry frowned. He would much rather there be a book that he could study instead.

“Your next class starts in five minutes,” Snape warned, gesturing to the door.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I’m glad that you don’t dislike me for me.”

He was halfway to the door when he heard Snape say, “Fifteen points to Slytherin for answering all of my questions.”

Harry wanted to turn around and gape, but he didn’t think that Snape would appreciate that. He settled for a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

“And Potter?”

This time he did turn around, hand outstretched on the knob. “Sir?”

“Should you pass my class with an Outstanding grade, I might just have a few notebooks with my research on that essay lying around.”

A little gasp escaped, and he knew his eyes were wide, but he couldn’t help it. Nor could he stop a wide grin from forming.

“Thank you, sir! I’ll do my best!”

He was out the door when Snape mumbled something in reply. It was too low to hear, but he hoped that it wasn’t negative.

Maybe their next lesson would go a lot smoother.

Hogwarts wasn’t exactly like he thought it would be. From the books he had read, he thought he knew what to expect, and for the most part he did, but there were things that books just didn’t capture. The staircases that moved whenever they wanted to, some not even moving on certain days. The paintings that yelled insults and then there was Peeves who was just as bad. Ghosts that didn’t care who they walked through and a wide variety of plants that he wanted to avoid at all costs.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, crossing his arms as he refused to believe that he was pouting. “How is it that I can be good at so many subjects except for this one?”

Herbology.

The bane of his existence. He could name most of the plants, some of them were frustrating with their ridiculous requirements. If it’s spotted on a Wednesday at noon then it’s not a Bouncing Bulb. If the leaves don’t try to attack you then it’s not a Puffapod either. Harry was never going to be able to remember all of that.

He didn’t even like plants.

“I think it’s funny,” Draco said, smirking over the top of whatever fucking plant they were supposed to be identifying. The leaves waved as if taunting him. “Have to keep you humble every now and again.”

“Like you even know the definition of humble.”

Draco glared. “I’ll have you know that I am always humble.”

Someone in the tray behind them snorted and it had Harry openly laughing as he tried to remain upright when Draco’s face morphed into indignation.

By the end of the lesson, Harry was covered in dirt, had a cut on his face from a sneaky leaf that he was pretty sure was trying to initiate a fight, and his robes were covered in some kind of liquid that smelled like Uncle Vernon’s stinky socks.

“Look on the bright side, if that plant hadn’t spit on you we wouldn’t have been able to narrow it down to a Spiky Severing Bush.”

Some damn silver lining that was.

Despite the horrible subject that Herbology was, he liked Professor Sprout. Actually, he liked all of his professors except for Professor Quirrell. There was something off putting about Quirrell that he didn’t care for. The man knew Defense Against the Dark Arts well, even if most of the lessons were theory and not practical use of the spells. He could always practice performing them in their dormitory with Draco—Blaise hated when they did that.

Flying lessons were okay. He wasn’t sure he’d like it since it wasn’t something that reading could help with, but there was always a sense of wonder every time he got on a broom. Draco talked about how amazing Quidditch was, and maybe he was right, Harry wouldn’t know, but flying in general was fun.

At least it was until Longbottom got hurt.

“Hey, he dropped this,” Draco said, bending over to pick up a Remembrall. “I always thought these things were useless. What’s the point of telling someone they forgot something if it doesn’t actually tell you what you forgot.”

“Maybe it could be tweaked,” Harry said, head tilted as he considered it. It did seem rather pointless. The mechanics behind it interested him. Everyone forgot something, how far back did the spell in the Remembrall go? An hour? A day? A week? A month? “It would require combining—”

“Give it back, that’s not yours!”

Draco startled before turning to face Ron, Thomas and Finnigan. “It’s not like I stole it. It fell out of his robes.”

Finnigan narrowed his eyes. “Likely story. I saw you eying it from across the Great Hall during breakfast.”

Had he? Harry had been absorbed in a new potion book and couldn’t recall what Draco had been doing. 

“Only because I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“So, you admit it!”

“Admit what?” Draco said, flabbergasted. “I already told you; it fell out of his robes, and I picked it up.”

“Or you stole it.”

Their logic was full of gaping holes and held nothing substantial. It irked Harry that Slytherins were always seen as suspicious. Well, if they wanted to think them the bad guys, then Harry was going to show them how right they were.

He held out his hand and watched as Draco didn’t hesitate to hand it over. With a whispered spell the Remembrall came to life and started flying. The three Gryffindor boys yelled as they tried to catch it. They dodged, jumped and even rolled in their attempts. It was rather amusing.

When the Remembrall came to close to his face, Harry pulled out his potion book and swatted it away. Unfortunately, the Remembrall seemed to like that and kept coming back for more.

“Why?” Harry cried after the seventh time he hit the ball away. He had to get creative with it since the Remembrall was adapting to the way he swung. Sometimes he had to sidestep, other times he had to swing through his bent knees just to get the damn thing away from him.

“Potter!”

Harry jerked so violently at the familiar voice that he missed his swing and accidentally hit Thomas in the head.

“So sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Thomas glared at him as he rubbed the top of his head. 

With his focus elsewhere, the Remembrall kept gently knocking into the side of Harry’s head in an attempt to get him to play again. It wasn’t until Draco snatched it out of the air with his hands that Harry was able to use the counter spell on it.

Harry turned around, putting on his most innocent expression that he adopted from Draco and faced Professor Snape.

“Yes, sir?”

“Care to explain what you are doing?”

“Malfoy stole Neville’s Remembrall!”

“That’s a serious accusation, Weasley. You wouldn’t happen to have proof, would you?”

Ron winced as he looked around, probably to see if anyone would help. “Malfoy was eying the Remembrall at breakfast.”

Snape made a thoughtful sound. “I had the horrible misfortune to witness you scarf down your breakfast at such an alarming rate that you choked on a sausage. If we follow your logic, does that mean that I wanted to steal the rest of your food?”

Ron flushed bright red. “No, sir.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor.”

When all of the Gryffindors gasped, and the Slytherins snickered, Snape held up a hand. “Next time come with proof, Weasley.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Malfoy, Potter, with me.”

Harry and Draco shared a look as they quickly followed Snape, not into the castle but instead to his least favorite place.

Herbology greenhouses.

When Snape moved to enter greenhouse four, Harry cleared his throat. “Would you mind if I wait outside, sir?”

“If I were to ask why, will it be an intelligent answer?”

That was a warning. Snape didn’t have the patience for much of anything.

“Harry has bad luck when it comes to Herbology. The plants don’t like him,” Draco explained, smirking at Harry’s glare.

“Oh, in that case, no.”

Harry forced himself not to sigh as he followed Snape and Draco into the greenhouse. He tried to remain by the door but a plant with a very long vine started to touch him and he panic ran to catch up.

“Apologies Pomona, I would like to borrow Flint if possible.”

“Not at all, not at all. Flint dear, please go with Professor Snape. If you aren’t back by the end of the lesson, today’s homework is a revision of everything we have done this year so far.”

All of the students in the greenhouse groaned, much to her amusement as she laughed warmly.

Harry managed to avoid all of the plants except for one that wrapped a vine around his arm and squeezed.

“Let go, you stupid—”

Snape tsked, flicking the plant, causing it to recoil and retract the vine.

“I see that Mister Malfoy was right. That plant is rather poisonous, it’s best we get you to my office, I have several potions that will help.”

Poisonous??

Harry hated Herbology.

“Sir—”

“The present atmosphere does not bode well for sensitive conversations. You would do well to remember that.”

Flint closed his mouth as all four of them walked to the dungeons in silence. They didn’t pass many people, but the ones they did see steered clear of them entirely. What he wouldn’t give to have Snape’s level of influence on others.

Once inside Snape’s office, and after a salve was placed on Harry’s wound, did he speak up.

“Flint, I do believe I have found you a new beater and a new seeker.”

The three of them froze, trading incredulous looks.

“But sir, they are only first years. The rules—”

“Let me worry about the rules. With the lack of any remaining members from the previous year, I do believe there is precedence enough to get my way.”

Flint rubbed his hands together, a startlingly menacing look on his face. “Alright boys. Which is which?”

“Seeker,” Snape gestured to Draco. “Managed to catch a Remembrall that had been charmed to avoid contact.”

Flint’s hands moved faster and faster to the point that Harry wondered if they’d catch fire.

“Beater,” Snape gestured to Harry. “Managed to hit the Remembrall no matter how it countered his movement. I’ve never seen quicker reflexes.”

The sound Flint made had him wrinkling his nose in disgust. Flint took Quidditch way too seriously.

Quidditch. He still wasn’t sold on the idea, but the excitement on Draco’s face was contagious. He knew that he’d do anything to keep that smile there.

Anything.

Even joining the Quidditch team.

Quidditch wasn’t like anything he had expected. He had never played sports in the Muggle world. None of the other kids would risk Dudley’s wrath by letting him play. There were too many rules and some of them didn’t make any sense to him. Flint wanted to see what they could do before officially allowing them on the team. Seemed rather silly to Harry. Flint didn’t have any alternatives, there were no other players.

He was kind of stuck with them.

Only four people besides them showed up to try outs but it wasn’t promising. Flint had no choice but to accept all of them in, regardless of skill. They were a pathetic looking team.

“Davis, for the last time, your job is to take the Quaffle to the goalpost, not run away from it.” 

Harry was rather glad that Flint was a Beater instead of any of the other players, they were able to coordinate fairly well. The bat he was provided with was thicker than he thought it would be and it took practice before he was able to properly use it.

Draco was good at being a Seeker. Harry liked to watch him fly by with a little wave. There were a few times that he had seen the snitch before Draco did, but he didn’t want to try out for that position. Not after putting in all the work with his stupid bat.

“Murton, you are not a Beater, don’t hit the Quaffle, you catch it!”

“It frightened me!”

Flint let out a pitiful whimper before whispering to Harry, “We are going to be dismal.”

Maybe not. With a little bit of work they might—

“Richmond! Why are you yelling like that? If you aren’t being attacked by a Chimera, then I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tuttle keeps attacking me! He’s throwing that thing at me!”

Flint placed his face in his hands. “She’s supposed to do that! Chasers throw the Quaffle at Keepers, you are a Keeper!” 

Okay, so… they were going to be dismal.

“Oh! Is the Seeker supposed to throw curses at the Keeper too? Because Malfoy won’t stop!”

When Flint looked to Draco, who was pretending to look for the Snitch, Harry snorted.

“I’m not sorry,” Draco said, giving up all pretenses. “I need some form of entertainment around here.”

Flint blew a whistle. “Enough for the day. Let’s practice again tomorrow and hope we somehow become different people who actually know what they are doing.”

“There’s the spirit!” Tuttle cheered, landing on the field and hightailing it out of there before anyone could form a reply.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Flint, it’s not even dinnertime.”

“I don’t care, I’m too depressed to eat.”

Yeah… he took Quidditch way too seriously.

 “Did you hear about last night?” Draco whispered during Charms. The rest of the class was still practicing Wingardium Leviosa while they got a head start on their homework.

“You mean besides Quirrell fainting and somehow a Troll was let loose inside the castle.”

“Yeah, besides that, that’s old news.”

For someone as uptight as Draco, he sure liked to gossip. Harry usually tuned that out and was more than willing to let Pansy fill in for him—she could gossip unlike anyone he’d ever met before and that was including Aunt Petunia.

“Then no.”

“I heard from Pansy who heard it from Boot who heard it from McMillan who heard it from—”

“Can you get to the point?”

Draco sniffed. “I waste my best gossip on you, I swear.”

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling out one of his books to fact check a statistic.

“I heard that—”

“Wait, why is Pansy talking to Boot? Didn’t he make fun of her face?”

“That was last week, Harry,” Draco said slowly, as if he was missing the point. “She also hexed his robes to bite him until he streaked through the hall naked.”

Way to go Pansy.

“Also old news,” Draco drawled, signing his name extra big at the bottom of his homework for aesthetics. “If you’d quit interrupting me, you’d know that last night Granger wasn’t in the Great Hall when Quirrell fainted. She was in the bathroom where the Troll entered.”

There was a pregnant pause as Draco’s face suggested he should be scandalized or at the very least excited.

“And?” Harry asked, quill poised over his ink bottle as he looked at Draco expectantly. “She’s been in classes, so she’s still alive.”

Draco huffed, rolling his eyes. “You are just no fun.”

“What else happened?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell you now,” Draco sniffed again. “You don’t appreciate my knowledge.”

“Gossip isn’t knowledge.”

“It can be.”

“Only when accurate and not exaggerated.”

“As if I would ever buy into exaggerations.”

Harry squinted, unsure if Draco was being serious or not. The gossip mill around Hogwarts was always heavily exaggerated.

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

Draco rolled up his essay slowly, far too slowly to not be dramatic. He made Harry wait until every bit of his stuff was neatly put away—even organized his bag—before he finally got back to the conversation.

“Longbottom and Weasley went after Granger in an attempt to save her.”

Harry was surprised. It was a well-known fact that Granger and Weasley didn’t always get along. He was also surprised that Longbottom went along with it too. Longbottom was rather timid and shy. Maybe having a friend like Weasley would make him come out of his shell a bit.

“Attempt?”

“The Troll hit Weasley in the head and he’s still in the hospital wing.”

Harry snorted, he tried to keep it minimal, but it turned into a wheezy laugh that he couldn’t hide. Unfortunately, it drew attention to him.

“If there is time to laugh, Mister Potter, then there is time to perform spells.”

Harry straightened up. “Sorry, Professor. I was starting on tonight’s homework.”

Flitwick held out his hand, waggling his fingers in demand. When the parchment was handed over, he began to read it, lips mouthing a few of the words.

“Well done, Potter. Expound on your theory in the second paragraph and it might earn you an Outstanding grade.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“A little less laughter would be appreciated. Some of your classmates are still catching up and require silence.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

It wasn’t until Flitwick moved on to help Finnigan, and Draco snorted, that Harry rounded on him and smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“I blame you for that.”

“That’s just rude. All I did was bring you knowledge, like the up-and-coming reporter that I am, and this is the thanks that I get?”

Up-and-coming reporter? Harry laughed, letting it go. Very rarely did he ever win anything when it came to Draco. Life was easier if he came to terms with that. That was okay, not every battle needed to be won.

Not to mention, he rather liked the brilliant smile on Draco’s face, and the way his eyes crinkled when he found something particularly funny.

But that was beside the point. Completely irrelevant.

Completely.

They managed to win their first Quidditch game, barely. Harry still wasn’t sure it counted. Something had gone wrong half way through the match. His broom acted up and tried to knock him off. He had barely been able to hang on, but despite that, he used the free hand that wasn’t tightly clutched to his broom handle to smack the Bludger right at Johnson’s broom, breaking it in half. It had earned him a lot of boos from the crowd and several cheers from the Slytherins, but it wasn’t against the rules, so he wasn’t reprimanded.

Johnson had to use a replacement broom and spent the rest of the match avoiding him. So did the other Chasers, which lost them the match. Draco didn’t catch the snitch, he was too busy pulling Harry onto his broom, watching as Harry’s broom continued to erratically move. McLaggen caught the snitch, but it flew right under his nose, so Harry wasn’t too sold on his skills.

Despite Gryffindor catching the snitch, they still lost by twenty points. Their chasers spent too much time avoiding Harry, which earned him a kiss on the cheek from Flint who sobbed embarrassingly on the field, so much so that Snape had to tell him to get it under control because, ‘Slytherins do not behave is such a horrifying manner.’

There was a party celebrating their win in the common room but before they could join in, Snape demanded they come to his office. Despite the rumors, Snape’s office was rather homey and comforting. There were a lot of jars with ingredients floating in them, but Harry thought it brought a sense of charm to the room.

“Congratulations,” Snape began, sitting behind his desk. “Splendid reflexes, the both of you. Potter for still performing your role as a Beater despite the circumstances, and Draco for arriving as quickly as you did to catch Harry. Thirty points to Slytherin.”

Harry and Draco shared excited grins. That would put Slytherin in the lead for the House Cup.

“Potter, I am sure you are aware that your broom was cursed.”

Harry hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the evidence did support that. “Anyone could have had access to it, I use a school broom.”

“Which is why for the next match you will be using this.” Snape pulled a broom out from beneath his desk. “It arrived too late to give it you before the match.”

Draco gasped. “That’s a Nimbus 2000! I have their last model.”

Harry didn’t really think the type of broom actually mattered. It seemed like a way to scam people out of money by coming out with a new broom every couple months that is supposed to be better than the last.

Capitalism.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, meaning it. No one outside of Draco and Hagrid had ever given him a gift before. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure that you will.” Snape didn’t really ever smile, but his face looked a little less mean. “In the meantime, you two—and I say two because heaven forbid I don’t include Malfoy—must maintain constant vigilance. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are combing over your old broom in the hopes of identifying who might have cursed it.”

There was a strange glint to Snape’s eyes that had Harry hesitantly saying, “Do you know who it is?”

“I suspect at this time, but without proof it means nothing.”

Harry wanted to ask but it was clear that Snape wasn’t going to tell him. He didn’t think it was a student, because it was too skilled for them. Unless it was a seventh year, but he didn’t even know any seventh years. He didn’t want to rule out the professors, but he didn’t know them that well either. There were other professors of subjects that he didn’t take that could have done it. But the big question was why?

Why?

Why curse his broom? What had he ever done to deserve that? He could have fallen to his death or harmed another player on his way down.

Obviously, that was what they were going for. Harry wasn’t naïve enough to think that they weren’t aiming to hurt him. He just didn’t understand the motive. There was nothing to gain from harming him, except for getting him out of the match, or worse landing him in St Mungo’s.

“We’ll be careful,” Draco promised, holding on to Harry’s hand when it started to tremble.

“Be cautious,” Snape advised, looking between them with an expression that Harry couldn’t decipher. “Don’t rush into danger like McGonagall’s Gryffindors. I will give you detention to the end of the year should you ever fall victim to a Troll or embarrass me by behaving in an undignified manner.”

Harry tried to hide a snicker behind his hand, but Draco didn’t bother to hide his laughter at all.

“Understood, sir.”

“Should you ever suspect or see something out of the ordinary, do not hesitate to come get me. Regardless of the circumstances, I will help you. I will not, however, help you after the fact if you have disregarded what I am telling you. Heed my warnings.”

How peculiar. It was obvious that Snape knew something that they didn’t but wasn’t willing to share. Well, Snape had no reason to worry. He wasn’t like Gryffindors, felt no need to investigate on his own. He’d let those more experienced handle that.

Harry just wanted to pass his first year.

Was that too much to ask for?

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I will. I’ll tell father I’m too sick.’

‘I’ll write to you every single day.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Just say the word and I’ll come back.’

‘I’ll instruct Dobby to listen for you, and should you need me, he’ll help. Just don’t expect much out of him, he’s got a bit of an obsession with you.’

‘Are you really sure? ’

‘Harry—'

“Just go!” Harry laughed, shoving Draco’s shoulder. They were in the hall right in the entrance to the castle. “I’ll be okay. I’ll miss you, but I’ll manage. I might actually get some reading done without you talking my ear off.”

Draco gasped. “Just for that, I hope you get stuck on a staircase with only Peeves for comfort.”

“That’s cruel.”

Draco lifted his nose, dramatically turning his back on Harry.

“I really will miss you,” Harry said, hoping that was enough to get Draco to turn around. “You’re my favorite.”

“I thought Snape was your favorite.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Snape isn’t nice to me like you are.”

“Snape isn’t nice in general.”

“Is that so, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco turned around, face pale and eyes wide. Harry almost felt bad for him.

“Sir, I was just—”

“Save it. I have heard worse and will undoubtedly encounter worse by the end of the day.”

Now Harry did feel bad.

“You don’t deserve that, sir.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter. I do think you just might be my favorite student. Say your final goodbye to Malfoy, there is something I would like to discuss with you in my office.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco, who flipped him off but still pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“Write to me, okay?”

After reassuring Draco that he would write to him daily, he followed behind Snape, cheeks pink and still warm from Draco’s lips.

“I have been tasked with giving you this,” Snape said, shutting his office door behind them and gesturing to a wrapped package on his desk. “I do not think it wise to give someone your age such a gift, but it is an heirloom, and something of your father’s. I am not cruel enough to withhold it from you.”

Curiously, Harry unwrapped it, holding his breath. He let it out in confusion when his fingers ran over soft silk.

“A cloak?”

“Not just any cloak, an invisibility cloak.”

Oh. Oh. Harry had read about those. The charms wore off after time, but the mechanics behind an invisibility cloak were fascinating.

“And this was my father’s?” Harry asked, hating that it came out choked.

“Yes.”

Harry’s fingers trembled and he tried to hide it the best that he could. He didn’t own anything from his father or his mother. To know that this was his father’s meant the world to him.

“Thank you.”

Snape said nothing, but what was there to really say? He appreciated silence instead of false platitudes.

“Sir,” Harry began hesitantly, afraid that he was going to ruin everything. “I know that you didn’t get along with my father, but I was wondering—”

“I will not talk about him.” Harry’s heart sunk, but what had he really expected? “If you would like to know more about your father, I recommend reaching out to Remus Lupin. He was a friend of your father’s.”

Remus Lupin.

The name didn’t sound familiar, but he was positive that Hedwig or Ivy would be able to find him. He would probably have to send them both for they were far too codependent and didn’t want to be away from each other at all.

“I can, however, tell you about your mother.”

Harry gasped, head snapping up to peer wide eyed into Snape’s eyes. There was a softness to them that he wasn’t used to seeing.

“You knew her?”

“Very well,” Snape began, head inclining slightly. “I met your mother when we were children, before Hogwarts, seeing as she lived nearby. Most people will tell you how kind Lily was, how generous, how intelligent. They would be correct, but she was also cunning and so mischievous—something they assume only described your father. Lily would have done well in Slytherin, as she later confided in me that the hat almost chose to place her there but chose Gryffindor in the end. I will forever be grateful that it did.”

“Why?” Harry asked, head spinning with all the knowledge on his mother. His heart hurt and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to make Snape stop, or to ask him to never quit talking.

“Back then was not a good time to be a Muggleborn,” Snape said, lips twisted downward. “She would not have been safe in Slytherin.”

Harry bit his lip. “Draco worried about that for me too.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up. “Worry not. I will never allow a single one of my students under my care to be harmed. If for any reason the atmosphere changes and you are not safe, I will find alternative measures for your safety.”

Warmth filled Harry. He knew that there were other professors that would care as well, but it was nice being cared about at all.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, meaning it. “Did you and my mother remain close despite the different houses?”

Snape’s lips remained twisted. “For a time, yes. We studied together, practiced together, brewed together. We spent holidays together. There was not much that we did not do together. Your mother was charming in a way that those around her envied. She had a humor to her that I envied. I am rather dull, one might say.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir.”

Snape chuckled, actually chuckled. Draco wasn’t going to believe it.

“You would be one of few.” A lip twitch, not a smile but it was something! “Your mother and I parted ways somewhere around our fifth year. I called her something that I have always regretted and tried to take back but couldn’t. She never forgave me, and part of me understands why.”

Harry closed one eye as he considered that. There weren’t that many insults given to Muggleborns. With how some of the other Slytherins talked, it wasn’t hard to surmise what Snape would have called her. He was torn. Part of him wanted to be upset on his mother’s behalf but the rest of him realized how futile that was.

The past was the past and no amount of anger would change anything.

“There were a few times I received a letter from her after Hogwarts. She did not want a reply back, requested that for closure. Lily didn’t talk much about your father in the letters, thankfully, but she did mention you. You were very loved, Harry.”

Harry turned away to wipe his eyes. It was hard coming to grips with knowing how different his life could have been. He would’ve had parents that loved him, parents that genuinely cared about him. Maybe he would have been in Gryffindor like them. Maybe he would’ve taken after them, would have followed their footsteps.

But…

Would he have still been friends with Draco? Would he still have a love of books? Would he still have loved Potions? Would he still have admired Snape and his discoveries? Would he have befriended Pansy and her gossiping ways? Would he have cared to get to know Vincent and Greg? What of Theodore and Blaise? Would they still have stayed up late playing games?

Harry liked his life as it was, but also had a hole in his heart for a family. He wanted that, envied others that were able to go home for Christmas to get kissed by their parents and play games with their family.

“Thank you,” Harry said, sniffling as he sat down, absorbing any and all information that Snape was willing to part with.

“Charms was her favorite subject.”

“She despised shepherd’s pie, for some ungodly reason the house elves make it at least once a week—”

“—llergic to Dittany. Can you imagine not being able to take Essence of Dittany?”

“Lily didn’t choose your name, your father did. She wanted to name you, Antonio. Said that it meant flourishing in Greek and came from the word Anthos that meant flower, wanted to continue her family’s theme of naming children around flowers.”

“—as really good at potions, excelled at it. She liked to help me tweak recipes. Some of her ideas led to explosions but the majority were—”

“Stars made her cry. Whenever we had to take classes in the Astronomy tower, she brought tissues.”

“Hated ice cream. Said it was too cold.”

“A doe. Her Patronus was a doe, but it wasn’t originally. At first it was an owl—”

“You remind me a lot of Lily. You have a love of learning that she would adore. I think that you might have surpassed her, and I just know that she would be proud of you.”

Nothing would bring them back; nothing would make it right. But listening to Snape talk about his mother was healing in a way he hadn’t known was needed. Growing up, he didn’t know enough about his parents to grieve them, but now he did.

He listened to every word with rapt attention, but he also grieved. He grieved for the life he could’ve had, but more importantly grieved for his parents and the life that was lost too early.

Harry grieved.

Dear Mr Lupin,

Hello, my name is Harry Potter. My head of house, Professor Snape, told me that I might be able to come to you for information regarding my parents. I ’ve been told that you were close friends with them. Professor Snape has told me a lot of stories about my mum, and I cherish each one, but he didn’t want to talk about my father.

Please don’t think I am only reaching out to you because of that. I would like to get to know you as well. If my parents were friends with you, perhaps we could be friends too. I looked up your name in the student records and I was very impressed with your academic achievements. Your essay on Vanishing Charms is still hanging up in Professor Flitwick’s classroom. I found it riveting and well written if you ignore a few of the flaws regarding the distance versus speed ratio.

I also looked up your name in public records as well, and I commend you for your efforts in advancing the rights of Werewolves and other Magical Creatures. I read about the upcoming hearing where the Wizengamot will vote on whether Magical Creatures should be allowed entry to Hogwarts and how you and the rest of the Justice for Injustice activist group were the leading front for the petition. I think you have a fair chance at winning if you get more signatures. Would it help if I were to publicly endorse your movement? I don’t like being recognized for my name, but if it helps at all, I will.

I wish I had known about you before now. I would have written to you sooner. There’s not much to tell you about myself that might interest you. I love to read and do research on all kinds of topics. My favorite subject is potions, and my best friend is Draco Malfoy. I was sorted into Slytherin and despite some of the older students not being that welcoming, I do enjoy it. I made the Quidditch team, a Beater. While fun, I’m not so sure it’s something I’d consider doing professionally. Don’t tell Draco, but I don’t really get the hype of Quidditch. I’d rather just read a book by a fire and settle in for a cozy night. Professor Snape is a really good head of house and he’s my favorite Professor. Unfriendly but fair. It’s my goal while in Hogwarts to make him smile. I wonder if I’ll manage it.

Probably not.

I do hope that my letter finds you well. If you don’t want to respond, that’s okay, no hard feelings. I just hoped that I could make a connection, but not everything is meant to be. If you do reply, I will be here patiently waiting.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

P.S. I know what I said, but please reply or I might just cry.

Harry walked through the shelves of the library with a frown. He was not impressed with the selection. Quantity was not equal to quality. Just because the library had a large selection to choose from did not mean that they were good books.

Tame. Watered down and lacked in-depth knowledge.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, waiting for Madam Pince to look up at him. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously, but that seemed to be her status quo when it came to students.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you had any books by Elige Lake?”

Pince’s eyebrows rose as she put away her book and regarded him closely. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

“I heard that he released a book inspired by Phineas Bourne’s, Moste Potente Potions and was curious on his theories surrounding the ingredient choices and the severity of the harsher potions in an everyday setting.”

Pince blinked rapidly before she sat up straighter. “I’m not familiar with his books on Potions. I have a soft spot for his take on Charms and the evolution of society’s take regarding the morality of spells as they age through trends.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, placing his hands on the counter. “How intriguing. I don’t believe I’ve come across anything of his like that. Is it one of his earlier works?”

“Yes,” Pince nodded, opening a drawer next to her. “I have a copy of it here for a bit of light reading. It’s not been approved by the Headmaster to be allowed a spot inside the library. Actually, none of Lake’s works have been approved.”

Harry frowned as she pulled out the book. “I’ve been wondering about that. I’ve been visiting a library in Portree regularly and while small, they seem to have a vastly different selection than here.”

Pince’s face soured as she pursed her lips. “It didn’t used to be that way. Between the Board of Governors trying to ban controversial books and the Ministry trying to force books written by their approved authors, it’s been dreadful to manage.”

Politics. Harry shuddered a bit. He did not envy her at all.

“Not to mention that the Headmaster routinely pulls books out that he deems dangerous.”

Harry made a face at that. Books aren’t dangerous, the ideals of the author are. It was a distinction that mattered. If one went into the book knowing that, they could read the book with the intention of dissecting it to get a better understanding of the mindset of the author. Didn’t mean that the book shouldn’t exist or be restricted to the public.

“That’s horrible.”

Madam Pince nodded gravely as she pushed the book into his hands. “If you’d like to read it while in here, you are more than welcome to. With it being my own copy, I’d prefer if it didn’t leave the library walls.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, hugging the book to his chest. “Is there any way I can repay you? I can rent the book, if you’d like.”

She laughed warmly, shaking her head. “The youth willing to learn is good enough repayment. Warms my heart knowing there are students like you.”

Harry thanked her again before he sat down in an empty alcove across from Ron and Longbottom. They seemed to be studying intently, which would have surprised him considering their work ethic, but based on the book titles he could see, none of them were for school subjects. The fact that they were opening a book at all was an improvement.

He read for hours, absorbed in the book, and when he was done, he asked for another one and another one until the day was gone and he was gently being kicked out of the library.

“Best hurry along before curfew sneaks up on you. Professor Snape does not take kindly to those caught out of bed.”

That was an understatement. Blaise still grumbled about his week of detention that Snape issued on top of his punishment from McGonagall for being caught breaking curfew. Why Blaise thought it was a good idea to duel Weasley and Longbottom was beyond him.

As he left the library, mind already on the different books that he planned to read tomorrow, he paused at the sound of a creaky door opening behind him. Wand pulled; Harry slowly turned around. Warning bells went off and he knew better, absolutely knew better, but something was pulling him forward.

Harry pushed the door the rest of the way open, frowning when there was nothing in there but a mirror. What was the point of placing a mirror in an unused classroom? It wasn’t dusty like the desks shoved to the side or the cloth covering aging furniture. It was obvious that the mirror had been placed there recently.

Despite everything telling him to turn around and head to the dorm, he took a step forward, and another one until he was just barely out of view of the mirror.

His heart sunk at his reflection.

Harry wanted to close his eyes or look away, but he couldn’t. He had spent his whole life seeing everyone else’s light, seeing the damage inside of it and sympathizing with every tear or ding. But not once, not once in his entire life did he think that for a single moment that he had them too.

A light just as large as Draco’s. Not filled with holes, but instead craters. Not filled with scratches, but instead gouges. Not filled with dings, but instead dents.

His breath came in quickly as he covered his mouth with a trembling hand as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t have to wonder at where they came from. One didn’t live with the Dursleys and not be shaped by them. Harry hated it. Hated them.

Harry hated the Dursleys with everything he had.

It wasn’t fair. He had to put up with their actions, their verbal abuse and the horrible mistreatment. Wasn’t that enough? No, they got to shape his light too. They had a lasting damage to him that no one else could see. It wasn’t right. What else were they going to take from him?

Harry wished Draco was with him. He could use the comfort of his best friend. He took a staggering step forward in an attempt to see the words on the mirror closer but froze when his reflection changed.

Instead of him standing there, tears down his cheeks and a horrified expression on his face, the image had changed. It was him, several years older—at least by fifteen years—holding the hand of someone who looked a lot like Draco. There were children surrounding them with varying degrees of happiness on their faces. None of them remotely looked like them and it was obvious that they were adopted.

Dad, one of them mouthed. Father, another one said.

This time when his breath came in rapidly it was for an altogether different reason.

Harry turned around and rushed out of the room, not caring that the door slammed behind him, not caring when he had to dodge Peeves, not caring when he startled Mrs Norris. He continued to run all the way to where he knew he’d be welcome.

Several impatient knocks as he shifted on his feet repeatedly, feeling jittery. Was it adrenaline? Was it anxiety? He wasn’t sure.

“You better have a very good reason for being after hours Mister—” Snape paused, eyes widening as he took in Harry’s appearance. “Are you alright?”

Harry shook his head rapidly, rushing in when Snape held open the door.

“I’m sorry I broke curfew. I was on my way back from the library when a door opened behind me. I know, don’t look at me like that. It was stupid. But I went in and there was a mirror and it showed me things and—”

“What kind of mirror?” Snape’s eyes were narrowed in anger, an anger that startled him and also made him nervous. Was that anger directed at him? He didn’t like when people were angry around him. Made him think of Uncle Vernon.

“I—I don’t know. It had writing on it, but I never got to see what it said. My reflection changed and it showed me what I think is the future? I don’t know though. I’ve never planned to adopt anyone.”

Not that he had ever thought about getting married either. Had Draco and him been married in the mirror? That was another thing. He had never thought of Draco like that. Draco was his best friend. He didn’t want to think about the future.

He just wanted to pass first year.

He flushed when Snape arched a brow.

“It, well, it showed Draco and I with a lot of children?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Snape asked, amusement coloring his tone, and it was not appreciated.

Harry glared down at the floor, face heating up, but he refused to answer. It was embarrassing enough already.

“I believe you’ve come in contact with the Mirror of Erised.”

Oh.

Oh.

Harry had read about that. It had been in a book about enchanted antiques dating back thousands of years.

“Not the future then,” Harry whispered, face heating up again. Heart’s desire.

Family.

That’s what his desire was for. Not his parents and what it could have been, not the past and the grief. He could still have that family he had been longing for, but it was one for the future. As embarrassing as it was to have his heart’s desire laid bare out in the open, it was comforting to know that he didn’t have to look to the past. That he could have everything he wanted and not have to mourn for something that couldn’t be.

Harry could have a family.

“Is that such an unappealing desire?” Snape asked curiously as he handed Harry a tissue.

“What? Oh, no.” Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s something else.”

“Potter—Harry. You can talk to me. As your head of house it is my responsibility to care for my students.”

Harry licked his lips, wincing a bit. “You’re going to think I’m barmy.”

“I already do.”

Harry laughed, but it came out a bit wet. He wrung his hands together as he considered his options. He could remain quiet and save face, or he could be honest and see if Snape had ever heard about his abilities.

“I, well, I—” he took a deep breath. “I can see things that others can’t.”

When both of Snape’s brows arched, Harry winced and explained everything the best that he could. There were times when he stuttered and tripped over his words or got choked up when he explained how he saw Draco’s dents get bigger and more tears form. He tried to gloss over how even Snape himself had a large light, but he could tell by the tightening of Snape’s knuckles that he didn’t do a good job at it.

“What did you see in your reflection?” Snape asked softly, eyes equally soft and it threw him for a loop. Since when did Snape know how to be soft?

Harry closed his eyes. “I saw my light for the first time. I’ve seen my reflection before, but I’ve never seen the light or the holes before. I stupidly thought that I was immune to it or something, but I’m not.”

“How bad?”

Hands clenching into fists, he whispered, “Just as bad as Draco’s, if not worse.” It was hard to say, really. There hadn’t been enough time to look closer. He didn’t like comparing one light to another. Not after realizing what it meant. There was no comparing the way someone was treated, not when people coped with it in different ways. There wasn’t a monopoly on mistreatment.

Silence, a very uncomfortable one before Snape swore, he actually swore—Draco wasn’t going to believe it.

“Harry, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Heart sinking, mind already going to places that he didn’t want to think about—

“The Muggles you live with, how do they treat you?”

A shuddering gasp as Harry shook his head rapidly, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Snape’s eyes closed. “I know you don’t, but this is important.”

Snape had been the first adult that he had trusted. His teachers before Hogwarts, while nice, didn’t want to believe him when he talked about the Dursleys. The neighbors knew something was wrong when he was forced to work outside for hours and hours with no rest, but they said nothing. His entire life was filled with adults looking the other way.

With shaky words and tear-filled sentences, Harry told Snape everything. From the hatred of Magic, to the lies the Dursleys told him about his parents. From the cupboard under the stairs to the lack of food. From the chores to the insults. From the punishments to the screaming. From the lack of a name—only ever being referred to as boy—to the constant fear.

When he was finished, it was with wet cheeks and a strained voice. He couldn’t look up, refused to see what Snape thought of him. He knew it wasn’t his fault, had read enough books on abuse to understand that, but it didn’t stop his emotions. He didn’t look up when he heard rustling robes. He didn’t look up when he could hear Snape crouch in front of him.

He didn’t look up.

“Harry, listen to me.”

Snape grabbed hold of his hands, forcing him to look up. Black eyes were wet but not filled with pity. He didn’t think he could handle pity. He didn’t think he could handle too much kindness either. He was one hug away from cracking into a million pieces.

“You are never going to have to go back there.”

“I—what?” Harry croaked, hope filling him despite his best efforts to repress it.

There was a seriousness to Snape that had the hope rising. “I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that.”

“How?” They were his family. “I have nowhere else to go. No other family.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Snape said, face souring a bit. “You have a godfather.”

Harry froze, breath coming out in a whoosh. “I do? Then how come I was raised with the Dursleys? Why didn’t my godfather take me in?”

“Hard to raise a child in Azkaban.”

“Pardon?”

Harry had to have heard him wrong. He just had to.

Snape took a deep breath, letting himself move from a crouched position to a sitting one. Draco wasn’t going to believe that Snape willingly sat on the floor.

“Let me make this clear. I don’t like your godfather, Sirius Black—”

Black? His father was a Black? That was a name he recognized. The Black family was just as old as the Malfoy family and went back generations upon generations.

“Him and your father made my school years unpleasant—”

Harry could read between the lines. Wondered how many of Snape’s tears were because of them. Made him reflect on his own. How many of his craters were from Dudley and his gang of friends?

“But I’ve never believed your godfather of having betrayed your parents.”

“What?” Harry was missing information. A lot of information.

It took over an hour and several angry outbursts and many tears later for him to be mostly caught up. He wasn’t sure what to think of Snape having been a Death Eater, wasn’t sure what to think of Sirius being convicted on mass murder, wasn’t sure what to think of his father being a bully—whether fights were reciprocated or not.

Harry wasn’t sure what to think of any of it. It was a lot of information in a very limited time frame.

“There is a lot that I could say about Black, none of it good, but I don’t think there is a single universe where he would betray your father. I might not have known every Death Eater, but I would have known if Black had been one.”

It shouldn’t be comforting, but it was. The bar was so low that it was pathetic.

“What of the murders? Do you really think he is innocent?”

“I do. I never cared enough to intervene before; it wasn’t my place. I detest Black, some might even say it was karma. If Dumbledore wasn’t going to do anything about it then why should I?”

“What does Dumbledore have to do with anything?”

An uneasy feeling took root in the pit of his stomach.

“He was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”

A pause.

“And Sirius was in his play group?”

Snape snorted. “I would not classify the Order of the Phoenix as a play group, but yes, Black was part of the Order.”

“Then why wouldn’t he dig deeper?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know all of the details, but Lupin would. I can reach out to him and see what can be done about getting Black released.”

“Thank you.”

“Even if it doesn’t pan out, and Black isn’t a viable option, I will not allow you to step a single foot inside that house again.”

Harry lost all composure and decorum that Snape and Draco tried to instill into him and launched himself forward, hugging Snape tightly.

“Thank you, thank you. Oh, thank you!”

A single pat on his back was most that Snape returned the hug, but for him it might as well have been a full embrace.

“Do you think there’s anything we can do about Draco?” Harry asked as he pulled away.

“Not without proof, his word or his memories.”

Yeah, Harry didn’t think Draco was going to offer any of that. His friend didn’t like to talk about it, not that Harry blamed him. Snape sighed when he turned pleading eyes on him.

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“You are the best head of house ever.”

Draco wasn’t going to believe it, but Snape smiled.

Dear Harry,

I am delighted to hear from you and beyond emotional. I have thought about sending you letters over the years but wasn’t sure how to explain who I am. I assumed that you would be happy with your family and wouldn’t appreciate a reminder of the past. After speaking with Severus, I have realized how wrong I was.

Harry, I am so sorry that I wasn ’t there for you. I am so sorry that I allowed my grief to overshadow the time we could have spent together. I might not be your godfather, like Sirius, but you are just as important to me as you are to him.

Your father was one of my best friends, always there for me whenever I needed it. He cared for me in ways that I never had before. And in time your mother became one of my closest confidants. I am thrilled that you got to hear what kind of person your mother was from Severus. He had a relationship with her that I didn ’t, he knew her in ways that I didn’t get. Just as the relationship I had with Lily is not one that he had. I will gladly tell you anything that you want to know about either of your parents.

I would love to be your friend, Harry. It would mean the world to me, more than you could ever realize.

I am fascinated to know what flaws you found in my work. It ’s been too many years since that essay, and I only have a vague memory of writing it. I am flattered that Flitwick thought so highly of it to post it in his classroom. Perhaps I should come see it for myself.

Just in your one letter alone I can see so much of your mother in you. I am touched that you are willing to help our movement. I have attached several petition sheets that if any students would like to sign for the hearing, we would greatly appreciate it. It ’s hard to remain optimistic when faced with so many closed doors and unsuccessful hearings, but to know that there are those like you, who believe in our movement makes me feel hope again. Thank you for that.

You are wrong, I am interested in everything you have to say. I might have embarrassed myself when speaking with Severus as I asked for more and more information about you. I fear my greed for knowledge on you has left me gluttonous. I am utterly fascinated that you have been sorted into Slytherin and that your best friend is a Malfoy. It ’s so far removed from what I thought or even from what your parents would have thought, but I am learning that I adore that. I adore how different you are, and it makes it easier to come to grips with my grief.

Congratulations on being chosen for the Quidditch team. I had not realized the school changed the rules to allow first years to join. Regardless, to beat out talented students older than you is a great accomplishment. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I myself never understood the hype surrounding Quidditch. I, too, would rather read a book than get on a broom and chase balls.

I am glad that you have found a confidant in Severus, however surprising that is. I had feared that he would be cruel to you and am relieved that my fears were unfounded. There are a lot of regrets that I have when it comes to Severus, and we might never be friends after everything, but perhaps he and I can be acquaintances—that is up to him, but I will hold on to that renewed hope you gave me.

With Severus’ help I do think that something can be done about Sirius. I don’t want to write too much on the off chance that nothing comes of it. I would hate to give you hope just for the world to be cruel and take it away. I know what that is like and if I can save you from that, I will. If the worst should happen, I do have a contingency plan in place.

Severus was right. You will not ever step foot inside that house again. It has taken everything inside me to not go over there myself and enact revenge, but it’s not my place, it’s not my injustice. I will leave that up to you.

I would like to continue to talk to you and if you are up to it, perhaps a meeting? You are too young to go to Hogsmeade but if Severus can be swayed, maybe a meeting in his office. I fear that it would go over better if the suggestion came from you and not me. He has a very high opinion of you and believe me, it’s very hard to crack his exterior in the way that you have.

You are very special Harry, and not because of your name. I would like to get to know you, not the famous you, not the scar on your forehead or even because of your parents. I want to get to know the cheeky kid that critiques my homework from sixteen years ago. I want to get to know the brilliant child that answered all of Severus’ unfair questions on the first day of school. I want to get to know the kid that helps tutor other students who don’t understand the lesson when you think Severus isn’t looking. I want to get to know the unlucky child who can’t be around any Herbology plant without being attacked.

I want to get to know you, Harry, and it would be the greatest honor you could bestow me.

I hope you are well and that your Christmas is enjoyable. I have enclosed a picture book that I hope is a sufficient enough gift. It can’t make up for all of the absent years, but it’s a start. Or at least I hope it is.

With so much love,

Remus Lupin

The door to their dorm burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud, startling Harry who had been about to settle in for bed. He had been hoping by ending the day earlier that he’d quit staying up so late in preparation for when the holiday would end, and school would resume.

“What the—” Harry squinted. Without his glasses all he could see was a blob and a very large light.

“Put your glasses on before you hurt yourself.”

Warmth and excitement filled him at the sound of Draco’s voice. He had missed him so much. There had been so many points during the holiday where he had wished that an experience he had gone through had been a shared experience. Harry liked spending time with his best friend. Didn’t want to be apart.

Was it codependent? Probably. Did he care? Not really.

When he slid his glasses on, Harry wished he hadn’t bothered. Heart sinking and trembling fingers, he beckoned Draco closer.

“What happened?”

Draco didn’t move, stared at the ground instead. “I’ve come back early.”

“I can see that,” Harry said, hoping that his voice wasn’t as shaky as it sounded to him. He didn’t want to scare Draco, who looked one wrong word away from bolting. “Do you want to tell me why?”

When Draco looked up, eyes wet but not quite spilling over, Harry opened his arms wide in invitation. Clenching his own eyes tightly when Draco rushed forward and launched himself into Harry’s arms.

“How bad does it look?” Draco whispered, shuddering when Harry gently ran his fingers through blond hair.

“Horrible.”

It was blunt, but honest. Draco’s light had grown during the holiday, some of the holes had turned into craters, some of the tears were gashes and the scratches had increased tenfold.

“Matches how I feel then.”

Harry held on tighter, eyes stinging. “What happened?”

“He found our letters.”

Oh.

“I take it he doesn’t approve.”

A wet humorless laugh. “Understatement of the century.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Draco scolded, lifting his head enough to wipe at Harry’s eyes despite his own tears spilling down pale cheeks. “Your friendship is the only thing I have. I would do anything to keep you.”

“Not that,” Harry shook his head. “I’m not worth—”

“Everything,” argued Draco, eyes hard. “You are worth everything. You are my best friend. You have helped me be a better person.”

“I didn’t do all that. All I did was get you to think about things differently.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

Harry knew that Draco was right, but it didn’t make it easier to hear. They were mature for their age and no amount of intelligence could ignore that they were still children. Something that Remus made a point of calling him several times. Something that Snape never let him forget it.

Children.

They were children going through something that no child or person should ever have to face. It wasn’t okay, it wasn’t right.

“I’m not going to stop being your friend,” Draco said hoarsely, letting him know what had started the punishment. “I’m not going to give up what we have just to please my father who I will only see three months out of the year.”

“You’ve been thinking of the future,” Harry said, tone a touch accusatory.

Draco nodded, sniffling as he wiped his nose on Harry’s sleeve. “It’s not like before, where I had to spend every single day with him. I’m no longer allowed the privilege of going home for any holiday during the school year. That was his punishment for me requesting that Dobby bring me back early. Summer holiday is it, that’s the only time I’ll ever have to see him. There’s nothing he can do to me while I’m here, there’s nothing stopping me from being your friend.”

Harry still didn’t think he was worth the trouble. But he tried to put himself in Draco’s shoes. If the Dursleys tried to stop him from being friends with Draco, he’d fight back too. Nothing would stop him from keeping Draco in his life.

They were best friends and always would be.

Always.

When Harry told Draco as much, leaning away to gauge his expression but he froze when he saw three scratches fill into a barely raised line. It all rushed through him as his head grew fuzzy.

Of course.

He was so stupid. If he could see the way people could shape someone else’s life, why did he think that only went one way? Of course it would reflect in the opposite manner too.

“You’re my best friend,” Harry whispered, testing out his theory. “I love you.”

One crater filled until it was a medium sized hole.

Harry smiled, eyes closing as he pulled Draco with him as he laid down. His mind was whirling with the possibilities. He was frustrated with himself that he hadn’t picked up on it before. How many other tears had mended? How many holes had been filled? How many scratches had been buffed out?

How long had Harry helped Draco heal?

He wasn’t naive enough to think that one friendship could heal a lifetime of abuse, but it was something; a start. With time and maybe with talking to an adult, they both could heal their dents and scratches.

Maybe one day their light would be small and barely there.

“What do you mean? Harry, what do you mean? Snape laughed?”

“How is it that I’m gone for less than a week and you lose all critical thought and go into a room where the door opened by itself?”

“An invisibility cloak? An actual invisibility cloak? Let me see! Do you know how many books we can read without getting caught?”

“What were you thinking?”

“Now I know you’re taking the mickey. There’s no way Snape swore. That’s so unbecoming of him, he’s like my father. They think they are above such common language—it isn’t proper.”

“Only you would befriend the librarian.”

“Snape smiled? Do you have proof? Ow, okay, okay, I was just kidding. Don’t have to hex me, you know my skin is sensitive.”

“Wait, Weasley and Longbottom were reading? Voluntarily?”

“Erised? That mirror? No way. I’ve read about that in—”

“Lupin? The name sounds familiar. Harry, I’m so happy for you. You’ll never have to go back there again and when I get my hands on those blasted Muggles I’ll—”

“A letter? Can I read it? Why are you looking at me like that? If he’s going to be in your life I need to vet him first.”

“Your mother sounds lovely. I’ll dig around and see who else might have known her, okay? We’re not going to rest until we’ve harassed anyone who so much as said a word to her.”

“Snape laughed? Have you gone mad? How many fingers am I holding up? What’s my middle name? Do you know my dreams and aspirations? What do you mean I’m doing it wrong; I’m supposed to ask you hard questions!”

Draco’s reaction to everything that had happened while he had been gone was predictable but no less enjoyable. God, had Harry missed him.

“Oh, oh, you saw that? That was your heart’s desire?”

They were still laying side by side in Harry’s bed, it was well into the night—so much for not staying up late.

“Yes,” Harry said nervously, cheeks warm. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Draco placed three fingers over Harry’s mouth as he smiled fondly. “The future is unknown; I don’t care what Divination has to say about it. I don’t know what will happen years from now, but I do know that we’ll always be together. Whether as best friends or something else, who knows. There’s plenty of time.”

Draco was right. They had time.

They had all the time in the world.

“Did you hear about the troublesome trio?”

“The what?” Harry asked, peering over the top of his book on Advanced Spells of the Dark and Dangerous. They were supposed to be reading the next three chapters of their Defense Against the Dark Arts text, but Harry had read that long before he arrived at Hogwarts. For theoretical knowledge it was decent but in terms of relating it to practical defensive spells it was dismal. He hoped that next year they got a professor that actually knew what they were doing.

“That’s what Blaise calls them,” Draco said, smirking a bit as he finished his Charms essay that wasn’t due for another two weeks. “He’s got an obsession with Weasley, it’s startlingly creepy.”

Draco wasn’t wrong. Blaise seemed to split his time between schoolwork and following Ron around, who looked equally vexed by it.

“What happened this time?”

Draco looked around the room before he lowered his voice. “Blaise followed Weasley, Granger and Longbottom—”

“Stalked. It’s okay to call it what it really is. He stalked them.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Okay, he stalked them to Hagrid’s hut last night after curfew—”

“What?” Harry hissed, eyes wide. “Snape is going to murder him and use all of his organs as potions.”

“Quit interrupting me.”

Harry huffed but raised his hands in surrender. Honestly, there was no winning when it came to Draco.

“Hagrid has been keeping a baby dragon.”

Harry blinked rapidly. Of all the things he might have suspected, that wasn’t one of them. “That’s illegal. Harboring a Dragon outside of a sanctuary violates the Dragon Protection Act of 1427.” 

“I know,” Draco breathed, hands clapping in excitement. Honestly, Draco got too much enjoyment out of gossiping. “McGonagall was on patrol duty last night when Blaise went and got her—”

“Why?” Harry shook his head, tone exasperated. “Why would he do something so stupid? If he had gone to Snape then the punishment would have been minimal at best.”

“I don’t think he thought it through,” Draco shrugged. “Because McGonagall took fifty points each from all four of them. Blaise said he’s got detention in the Forbidden Forest from McGonagall and two week’s detention from Snape for embarrassing Slytherin.”

Forbidden Forest? McGonagall must have been fuming to assign students to enter somewhere that was prohibited.

“I think that’s Granger’s first ever detention,” Harry mused, mind only half focusing as he tried to understand why anyone would risk their school year on helping Hagrid raise a baby dragon.

“Her parents must be so proud,” Draco cooed, hiding a snicker when Quirrell paused by to inspect their work. He did a double take at Harry’s choice in literature but awarded them twenty points a piece for being done with the lesson already and being so diligent in his class.

“At least we made up most of what Blaise lost us in house points already,” Draco said, sneering at Finnigan, whose head lolled in his sleep and a loud snore had the whole class laughing. Gryffindor ethic sure was something else.

“I’m just glad that I wasn’t there when Snape found out.”

“You and me both. Can you imagine the look on his face when McGonagall called for him? Had to be worse than when Longbottom melted his tenth cauldron and the Hair Raising Potion spilled all over Snape’s shoes.”

Harry had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. That had been one of the better moments of the year. He had never seen Snape so hostile before. Maybe if McGonagall was as strict as Snape then there would be less students breaking the rules.

He was forever grateful that Snape was their head of house. McGonagall could learn a thing or two from him.

“Alright team, horrible practice but it could have gone worse,” Flint said, voice barely audible over the wind.

“You could work on your motivation skills, you know,” Richmond said, panting against her broom. Harry didn’t envy her position as Keeper, too much work.

“Would you rather I lied to you? Tell you that all of you played to the best of your abilities and that we will crush Ravenclaw in the final match?”

Several voices chorused, “Yes.”

“Well too fucking bad. Richmond, you still scream when a Quaffle is thrown at you. Tuttle, my great Nan could out fly you on her worst days and she’s dead. Davis, you keep trying to score in the wrong goalpost. Murton, for the last damn time, you don’t hit the Quaffle, you catch it. And you two—”

Flint rounded on Harry and Draco who had been inching away toward the changing rooms.

“If I have to watch the two of you throw a bludger back and forth instead of, I don’t know, bloody practicing like you are supposed to, I am going to catch the damn snitch myself.”

“Oh, could you?” Draco asked innocently, eyes fluttering. “It would save me a lot of effort that could be used on messing around with Harry instead.”

Harry covered his mouth when Flint’s face darkened dangerously. He grabbed hold of Draco’s hand and rushed straight back to the castle, forgoing the changing rooms entirely.

Sometimes, Draco liked to live a little too dangerously. One of these days his mouth was going to get them both in trouble. But that was to be expected when one was best friends with Draco bloody Malfoy.

Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I don’t think Professor Snape is going to be happy to see me.”

“Why?” Harry frowned, looping his arm through Draco’s as they walked the very familiar path to Snape’s office. “The note didn’t say I couldn’t invite you.”

“It also didn’t say that you could,” Draco countered with a little laugh. “It’s not like Professor Snape to collect students by note. I don’t think he’s going to be as welcoming as you think.”

“So what? I’m his favorite student.”

Draco grumbled something but it was too low to hear, and Harry wasn’t too keen on figuring it out. He knocked twice when they arrived, and he waited impatiently for the door to open.

“Will you stop that?” Draco hissed, holding onto Harry’s trembling hand. “There is no need to shift your feet like that. It’s just Snape, he’s as tame as—”

“I wouldn’t finish that statement if I were you, Mister Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t bother to hide his snicker at the way Draco froze, horror plainly written on his face.

“I should have expected you to invite Malfoy, it’s my own fault for thinking otherwise.”

“That’s okay,” Harry reassured as he patted Snape on the arm once. “We all make mistakes.”

He expected Draco to laugh, he expected Snape to sneer, he expected to get points removed for insolence, but what he didn’t expect was for someone else to laugh further in the room.

Snape ushered them inside and Harry nodded politely at a man standing near the fireplace. It was obvious the guy was nervous, he kept fidgeting and pulling at his robes—robes that had clearly seen better days, but it was obvious that they had been ironed by Muggle means, the guy was hoping to impress and it had Harry nervous.

Who was he?

“Hello Harry.”

Harry blinked a few times at the familiarity the guy showed. He did a double take when he realized that the only person it could be was—

“Are you Remus?”

Draco gasped beside him, squeezing Harry’s hand tightly.

Harry waited until there was the beginnings of a nod before he rushed forward and threw himself at Remus, arms wrapping around his stomach.

“I have waited ten years to see you again.”

Eyes were clenched tightly to prevent any tears, but he couldn’t stop the little whimper that escaped. He hadn’t given it any thought that Remus would have known him as a baby. Probably held him, played with him, maybe even babysat.

“As a baby you had your mother’s eyes and your father’s hair.”

“What about now?” Harry asked, head tilted back so that he could peer up at him.

Remus smiled softly, rustling Harry’s hair. “I think you look like you.”

Warmth spread throughout him at that. He had looked through the pictures Remus had sent him of his parents, and he could see the similarities to his parents. His eyes weren’t the exact same shade as his mother’s, but it was close. His hair wasn’t as unkempt as his father’s, but it was close. He liked being able to pinpoint his mother’s nose or his father’s smile when he looked at his reflection, but to be seen as his own person was even better.

He didn’t want to be a reminder of the past. A reminder of what had been lost. He just wanted to be Harry. Just Harry. Draco and Professor Snape were the only people that allowed him the chance to do that. To be just himself.

It was nice to include Remus in that too.

Snape transfigured another chair for Draco to sit in and that prompted Harry and Remus to move as well.

“Severus has shown me some of your assignments, and I must admit how impressed I am. You have a way with words that I would have envied at your age.”

Harry flushed bright red as he glared at Snape who seemed to be amused at the whole situation. He had his originals that had been handed back graded, what did Snape need to keep a copy for?

It was an awkward start in the beginning, with too many pauses as they tried to think of things to discuss. Remus wanted to know more about Harry but there wasn’t anything to say.

“I’m pretty boring. I don’t really do anything.”

Draco scoffed. “Don’t listen to him. You name it and I can tell you whatever you want to know.”

Harry squinted at Draco; head titled. “I don’t think—”

“His favorite food?”

“Dessert or main course?”

Remus hummed. “Main course.”

“Steak and kidney pie.”

“I already know his favorite class is Potions, but what’s his second favorite?”

“Charms.”

“Charms, really? Not Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Not with Quirrell as a teacher.”

“He’s not wrong,” Snape said, looked between Draco and Remus rapidly as Harry tried to understand just what was happening. “Quirrell is dismal.”

“Favorite place in the castle?”

“Library.”

“Least liked classmate?”

“Terry Boot. A Ravenclaw with absolutely no decorum.”

“No,” Harry said, bemused at the question in general. “I dislike Boot, but I wouldn’t say he’s my least liked.”

Draco frowned, turning to him. “But Boot called you—”

“I know what he called me,” Harry said, not meeting Snape’s narrowed eyes. “But I dislike Macmillan the most.”

“Macmillan?” Draco asked, tone flabbergasted. “That spineless Hufflepuff that can’t say his insults with his full chest and resorts to talking behind people’s backs?”

“He made fun of you.”

“Yeah, but—oh.” Draco flushed.

Snape scoffed. “You two are sickening.”

“I think it’s cute,” Remus smiled softly. “Reminds me of Sirius and I when we were that age.”

“My point exactly.”

Remus’ smile grew as he turned to Snape. “You do realize—”

“I would rather remain ignorant.”

“You? Ignorant? I don’t think that’s ever been a descriptor for you.”

“Why Lupin, that might have been a compliment if I’m not mistaken.”

“When have you ever been mistaken?”

Harry shared a look with Draco when the two of them continued to bicker or tease or flirt or whatever the hell they were doing. It was like Harry and Draco weren’t even there as the conversation continued without them.

But that was okay, Harry was content with watching Remus talk. There would be time to get to know him better, and maybe next time it wouldn’t be as awkward, maybe the conversation would flow better and there would be less nerves. He was still going to make sure Draco was there for it too.

They did everything together and nothing was going to change that.

Nothing.

“Did you hear?”

Harry for once, didn’t have to ask what Draco was talking about. It was impossible to move down the hallway without hearing six different versions of the same story.

“You mean that Professor Quirrell is a Dark Wizard and that the troublesome trio tried to get through a maze of defenses in an attempt to stop him from doing whatever the hell he was trying to do?”

Draco leaned forward after checking to make sure that no one in the library was trying to listen in. “I heard that Quirrell was possessed by whatever is left of You-Know-Who.”

“What?” Harry shook his head rapidly, hair falling in his face. “Who is your source?”

“Someone who would like to remain anonymous.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know, you’re not actually a reporter, you just pretend to be one.”

“No, don’t look at me like that. They were in the hospital wing when the troublesome trio was brought in! Dumbledore even visited them when my source pretended to be asleep.”

“Theodore is a horrible anonymous source,” Harry said, snorting when Draco’s eyes widened. “Did you forget that I was there when his Disarming Charm backfired and hit him in the head? We both took him to the hospital wing. I held up his heavy arse head! Nearly pulled a muscle.”

Draco laughed, pinching the same arm Harry had held out in emphasis. “Okay, so Theo is my source.”

“Thank you for the confirmation, but that still doesn’t mean I believe the theory.”

“It’s not a theory, it’s fact,” Draco argued. “Dumbledore himself told the three of them. Not that I think they comprehended much of it. What with Weasley being knocked out again but this time from McGonagall’s chess pieces, Longbottom from his own head injury from fainting at the sight of Quirrell. I think the only one that might have been able to listen to him was Granger and even she was out of it from whatever Confusing Solution Snape put in his potion riddles.”

Harry didn’t want to believe what Draco was saying, but if Theodore actually heard that, then it was concerning. Was Voldemort trying to come back? If so, was he going to target Harry again? He wasn’t entirely sold on that idea. If Voldemort wanted to harm him, and if he really had been inside of Quirrell, why didn’t he take the opportunity to harm Harry throughout the year? It would have been so easy to attack a first year.

Unless that wasn’t Voldemort’s goal.

The whole thing didn’t sit well with him, and he wanted answers, but he wasn’t willing to go to Dumbledore to find them. Not when he held a grudge against Dumbledore for Sirius. After everything that Remus filled him in on, how Dumbledore wouldn’t even talk to Sirius before he was taken away without a trial. How could Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot be okay with allowing a life sentence to be handed down without even getting a witness statement let alone a trial?

No, Harry wanted to steer clear of Dumbledore at all costs.

That left going to Snape, as he always did when he ran into a dead end. If Voldemort was trying to get his body back, Harry was confident that Snape would know about it. As a past Death Eater, he’d have to know things about him—he’d just have to. At the very least, he’d be able to offer solutions on what to do next.

So that’s what he did. Harry went to Snape—hand in hand with Draco—to get clarification.

He had hoped that Snape would tell them that Theodore had exaggerated or lied in general. Had hoped that the rumor mill was just that, rumors. Except that wasn’t what happened.

“I am only telling you this because I think it would be unwise to keep it from you. Knowledge is power and when people feel that they are kept in the dark is when they make mistakes. It would be foolish to allow you to come to the wrong conclusions or look for answers in the wrong places. Yes, what you heard is correct. Dumbledore believes that Quirrell was being possessed by the Dark Lord.”

Harry’s heart sunk and he leaned on Draco for comfort. If Voldemort could possess people, what was to stop him from possessing Harry? What was to stop him from possessing those that Harry knew or were close to? Where did it start and where did it end?

“Was?” Draco asked pointedly, and Harry was grateful for his calm demeanor. Harry’s mind and emotions were all over the place, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to articulate the mess of thoughts running through his head.

“Dumbledore dueled Quirrell last night and when the Dark Lord fled, it killed the host.”

Quirrell was dead. Harry shuddered, hands trembling, and it caused Draco to reach over and hold his hand. Who had Quirrell been? Had the professor who had taught him during the year been an act? Did he willingly allow Voldemort to possess his body? Why? What was the end result? What did Quirrell think was going to happen?

“What’s his plan now?” Harry asked, leaning further into Draco until an arm wrapped around him.

“That, I don’t know,” Snape said regretfully. “Dumbledore has theories, ones that he’s not keen on sharing. I have my own, but without anything concrete it’s nothing but fanciful notions that have no weight to them.”

 Lovely.

“Is there anything that I should be doing? Can I help?”

Snape sat up straighter, eyes hardening as he stared directly into Harry’s eyes.

“Listen to me, Harry. I don’t say this to be cruel. However, you are a child. Soon to be twelve years old. This fight is not your fight. I don’t care what Dumbledore says, this is not something that should ever or will ever reside on your shoulders. Be a child for as long as you can. Don’t let your youth be overshadowed by two adults that have been warring longer than either you or I have been alive. This is between them.”

Harry bit his lip at the implications. He wanted to believe Snape, wanted to let the words soothe and reassure him, but he couldn’t stop the niggling in the back of his mind.

“What if they don’t let me? What if I’m targeted again?”

“Then I ask you to let the adults handle it. Please, Harry. You are strong, gifted, intelligent beyond belief, but you are still so young. Let those more experienced protect you.”

“I don’t want to rely on Dumbledore’s protection!”

“Then rely on me,” Snape said, eyes imploring him to understand. “Let me protect you as I have so far.”

That he could do.

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding slightly as he slumped against Draco in relief. “Okay, I can do that.”

There was a lot that Harry didn’t understand, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that Snape had told him everything. But what was disclosed was far more than Dumbledore would have given him.

Harry might not know everything but what he did know was that he was going to put his faith in Severus Snape.

They didn’t win the final match of the season—Ravenclaw won. Not that anyone had actually thought the Slytherin team was going to win. But what was surprising was how close the match had gone.

Harry had known by the halfway mark that there wasn’t a chance in hell that they were going to scrape together a win. Not with the disaster that their team was. So knowing that, he did the best that he could to make it hell for the Ravenclaw team.

“Potter hits a bludger at a fifth broom, breaking it clean in half. At this rate there will be no school supplied brooms left for the Ravenclaw team to use. An unusual tactic for sure, but it is paying off.”

“Potter has strangely knocked a bludger into the goal post, denting one of the rings, taking it out of commission.”

“Potter has thrown his bat at the Ravenclaw Keeper Stretton instead of the bludger—whoa and in a fantastic nose dive, Seeker Malfoy has caught the bat and returned it to Potter.”

“Potter and fellow Beater Flint seamlessly spiral into a combined attack hitting Chaser Burrow head on, knocking him out low to the ground. The Ravenclaw team will have to call in a reserve play—wait, hold on folks—I am being told that there is no reserve player, the Ravenclaw team never selected anyone. Bad move on their part. The match will have to continue with the Ravenclaw team down a player.”

In the end, Draco caught the snitch, but they lost by fifty points. 

That didn’t stop them from celebrating. As soon as he landed on the field, the entire team converged on him, hands pulling him in every direction in an attempt to hold onto any part of him that they could reach.

“I’m so proud of you both,” Flint said, voice full of emotion. “We lost but it wasn’t a total waste of time.”

Draco snorted, shoving Flint enough that he could escape his grasp. “You really do suck at this kind of thing.”

“You were amazing,” Harry told Draco, pulling him into a hug. “We might not have won but we kicked arse.”

“You kicked arse,” Draco countered, a wide grin on his face as his eyes crinkled. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You were brutal.”

“That’s a definitely a word for it,” a new voice said, startling them as they turned around to see Remus and Professor Snape behind them. Remus had a Slytherin button pinned to his robes, he had on a pair of Slytherin gloves, and in his hand was a Slytherin flag.

“You came to see me play,” Harry said unnecessarily, heart in his throat as he fought the urge to hug him.

“I did,” Remus smiled gently, making the choice for them as he pulled Harry into a hug. “I’ve seen my fair share of Quidditch matches and I can honestly say you performed unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.”

His tone held a touch of reproach, and it had Harry laughing. Remus had been a Gryffindor and probably watched the match in horror.

“Well, if you can’t beat them at their own game then rig the match.”

“That’s not—” Remus held up a finger only for it to bend as he shook his head and gave up. 

“Seeing you embrace your inner Slytherin is a proud moment for me as your head of house,” Snape said, eyes lighter than Harry had ever seen. “Well done.”

Harry was on cloud nine as they walked around the field and continued to talk. The loss didn’t feel like a loss at all, not when they performed their best. Their team was still awful, and he wasn’t sure that Flint would let any of them back next season, but they had fun and nothing could take away their accomplishments.

It also helped that despite losing, they were still going to take home the House Cup.

Slytherin had won the year.

“—therefore fifty points will be awarded to Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger for their sheer bravery, understanding and dedication in doing what is right over what is easy.”

The Slytherin flags that had decorated the Great Hall were changed with a wave of Dumbledore’s hand into Gryffindor ones.

“Are you fucking joking?”

Boos radiated from the Slytherin table that were so loud that it drowned out the cheers from the Gryffindors. Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore as he participated in the booing, thumb pointed downward.

Corrupt old man.

As angry as he and the rest of the Slytherins were, Harry knew that it was nothing compared to how angry Snape had to be. One glance upward showed eyes narrowed with malice and pure rage directed toward Dumbledore.

What Harry wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during their next teacher’s meeting.

“We still won,” Draco said, shushing some of the people next to them. “It doesn’t matter what Dumbledore says. They can take their fraud trophy into next year all they want, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that we all worked hard this year, and we are the true winners. Fuck Gryffindor.”

“Yeah!” A sixth year yelled, pumping his hand in the air as he began a chant of, “Fuck Gryffindor!”

Soon the whole table was chanting the same, and they continued to chant even after Dumbledore and McGonagall tried to quiet them. No threat of detention would hold up as the term had already ended. No threat of a loss of points was going to deter them.

“What are you going to do Professor? Take our points away and give them to Gryffindor? Might as well seeing as they can’t get their own fairly,” Harry told McGonagall when she scolded them with her hands on her hips.

The outraged gasp was worth being put on her bad list. What was it Dumbledore said? Doing what was right over doing what was easy. Letting Gryffindor win the house cup unjustly was easy, standing up to the professors was right.

They were just doing what Dumbledore said. McGonagall didn’t appreciate it when he said that either. 

Well, you can’t win them all.

Nervous.

Harry was nervous. He followed the other students off the train, most parents like the Malfoy’s were waiting right next to it. He knew that there were other parents, those that were Muggles, waiting on the other side of the wall. He didn’t want to walk through and see the Dursleys. He didn’t want to ever have to see his family again.

Snape had promised him that he wouldn’t, that he would never have to, and Harry wanted to believe it—wanted to believe that they wouldn’t be there waiting impatiently with a scowl on their faces.

“I’ll write to you when I can,” Draco promised, ducking behind a few carts of luggage to hide him from the viewpoint of his parents. “If for some reason it’s not possible, I’ll send Dobby, okay?”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Harry reassured, ducking behind the luggage with him. “Three months of silence won’t change the fact that you are my best friend. Nothing will ever change that.”

Draco made a strange sound before he threw his arms around Harry and tackled him to the ground.

“This is touching, absolutely heartwarming, right Fred?”

“Right you are George. Why it just makes me want to break out into a song and dance, but can we have our cart back?”

They both startled, eyes wide as they blinked up into two shit eating grins and mischievousness in their expressions.

“Sorry, we were just—”

“Being too cute for words,” one of them said, winking at Harry. “I can’t say I’ve ever dodged behind someone else’s luggage before, but you do you.”

They both flushed, saying their goodbyes before Draco left first. Harry waited until the Malfoys were gone before he stood up and began dusting himself off.

“Thank you for that,” Harry told the two Weasley twins who were watching him with a sense of glee that was instilling bad vibes all around. He had heard and seen some of their pranks and he wanted absolutely no part of that, at all.

“Not a problem,” one of them said as he did a little bow. “We are generous people, aren’t we Fred?”

“Of course, dear brother. However, our generosity doesn’t come cheap.”

Harry crossed his arms as the two of them traded a confident look. “Oh? What are we talking here?”

“Not much,” George reassured, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder who shrugged it off. “Why we just so happen to be in the market—”

“—for someone to test our range of joke products,” Fred finished innocently in a way that he could not pull off.

Harry had heard rumors—from Draco of course—how the Weasley twins liked to invent things and rope gullible students into testing them out.

Harry wasn’t stupid nor was he gullible.

“That’s fascinating and all,” Harry drawled, leaning forward as the twins leaned toward him. “But there’s a problem with your logic.”

“Problem?” They said in unison, eyes also narrowing in unison.

“You see, usually people get payment for services rendered before the transaction is complete. If you want repayment after the fact then you are relying on a good faith measure and that is where you went wrong. You see, us Slytherins don’t work on good faith measures. I am grateful to you but owe you nothing. However, your kindness is notable and worthy of praise if however a bit naïve.”

“Naive.” Fred gritted his teeth.

Harry clasped him on the back, before leaving them with a free lesson. “Next time go with blackmail. It works every time.”

He left them spluttering behind him before he could hear two twin, “Oi! This isn’t over little Slytherin!”

“Perhaps not,” Harry called over his shoulder, turning a bit to wink at them. “Looks like the ball is in your corner and I look forward to your next move.”

Maybe Draco was right. Maybe picking on Gryffindors was fun after all.

Harry was still grinning when he crossed through the wall, his nerves still there but not nearly as high. His worries had been for nothing, as the Dursleys were nowhere to be seen. Remus, however, was there—Slytherin button still pinned to his robes. He rushed forward, not paying the person next to Remus any mind as he threw his arms around him in a tight hug.

“There’s my little Slytherin. Did you run into any trouble on your way out? Most of the other students have left already.”

“Nope,” Harry grinned, stepping away. “The Weasley twins tried to con me into free labor, but I taught them a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson?” Remus asked, eyes narrowing. “It wouldn’t happen to have involved a bludger, would it?”

“No, but that is a good idea,” Harry teased, face straight in an attempt to see if Remus bought into it. “I’ll try that next time.”

A snort drew his attention from Remus to a man who was nervously fidgeting. There was a Slytherin button on his robes too and a little snake charm dangling from one ear. The man crouched in front of Harry and his lips twitched into a very shaky smile.

“Hello, Harry. I’m your godfather.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, looking back at Remus, who nodded gently.

“Severus helped me pay for a solicitor and with the lack of evidence, no trial and no witnesses, we were able to get the sentence overturned.”

“Severus—” Sirius half sneered but it was half heated at best.

“Stop.” Remus’ voice was hard. “I won’t hear of it, Sirius. Severus has been a godsend during this time, and he’s helped Harry more than anyone else.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Hard to let the image of the Snape I knew go.”

“I don’t think your image of him from before did Professor Snape any justice either,” Harry said, eyes narrowing. He didn’t know all the details, only got a limited bit from overheard conversations that Remus had with Snape—but it was enough to piece together a broad idea. It painted a picture that he didn’t like.

Sirius raised his hands in defeat.

“Come on Harry,” Remus held out his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Home.

Home.

Harry covered his face in his elbow when the words hit him full force, unable to hold back the tears. He was quickly engulfed into two strong hugs as he was surrounded with a warmth he had never experienced before.

Home didn’t have to be a place. He didn’t care where Remus and Sirius lived, didn’t care what it looked like. Home to him were the people around him, it was a sense of belonging and safety. Home was being loved for who he was. Home was everything he had ever dreamed about.

Harry was going home.