Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Strange. Odd. Peculiar. Abnormal. Freak.

Terms that Harry Potter all knew applied to him, courtesy of his aunt and uncle. All meaning he was not right, not normal.

Harry knew he was not normal, but he did not know why. Nor did his aunt or uncle ever explain. Not fully, anyways. In the seven years he had been living with them, the most he’s ever gotten was Aunt Petunia spitting out, “your good-for-nothing parents must have passed some freak on to you!”

Harry sighed, looking up at the ceiling of his cupboard. How he wished he could have met his parents. Aunt Petunia never spoke kindly of them and seemed to hate the very thought of them, but maybe, if they were freaks like Harry, they would have understood him.

It wasn’t easy, living with the Dursleys, who detested any kind of freak. Harry included, despite being blood-related. Or, maybe because he was blood-related, and they hated the thought of being in any way associated with freaks.

Harry wished he wasn’t a freak. Maybe it would make Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon like him more. Maybe it would give cousin Dudley less of a reason to torment him.

A small dot moved in the periphery of his vision. Harry turned, and saw a spider scuttle into some nook in the wall. The cupboard was dark, with it still being early morning. Harry would have gone back to sleep, but the strange flashes of green light that often accompanied his nightmares forced his eyes open. He’d rather not see that again.

It was the first week of summer vacation. Harry and Dudley just finished third grade. Dudley received a heapful of presents from his parents as congratulations for another great year- if barely passing could be defined as great. Harry received a piece of slightly buttered toast and a one way trip to the cupboard.

He had heard whispers of an outing to celebrate the end of the school year. For Dudley, obviously, not for Harry. He would have to stay with Mrs. Figg, whose company was only slightly preferable to the Dursleys.

Harry heard footsteps overhead. Too light to be Uncle Vernon or Dudley. Aunt Petunia must’ve been coming down to-

Tap, tap, tap!

There it was.

“Get up,” she said from the other side of the door. Harry shuffled, smoothing out his shirt and crawling between the blankets.

Of course, it fell to him to make breakfast, so he stood on his tip-toes to crack the eggs over the simmering skillet. Aunt Petunia sat at the coffee table, sipping from her mug. Her eyes narrowed as she read over something in the newspaper, but Harry couldn’t turn around to look.

“We’re going out today,” Aunt Petunia said. “We’re leaving at ten.”

“Okay,” Harry said, knowing this would mean being subjected to at least six hours with Mrs. Figg.

“You’re coming with us.”

Harry could hardly believe his ears. One of the yolks broke, bleeding yellow over the rest of the skillet. Harry mentally marked that egg as his own, and made sure to be extra careful with the others.

“Mrs. Figg came down with some sort of illness last night, so she can’t take you,” Aunt Petunia explained. Harry took his eyes off the stove for a second to see his aunt glaring at him. Her nostrils flared. “You will be on your best behavior. No funny business, no shenanigans, no freakiness. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

If Harry could control the strangeness that seemed to follow him everywhere, he would. But it appeared to be entirely out of his control. How was it his fault that things went missing sometimes, or that people waved to him on the streets?

Soon enough, Uncle Vernon and Dudley came down for breakfast, all prepped for the promised trip to an amusement park a couple hours drive away. Uncle Vernon repeated his wife’s earlier speech about avoiding funny business, though with an added layer of venom. Harry repeated the song and dance, though he was sure they’d still find some reason to get mad at him.

The amusement park was fun enough. Harry had never been to one before, and was thrilled to have the opportunity to ride all the age-appropriate attractions. Though Dudley shoved him out of line multiple times, and kicked him on the swings, Harry was able to ignore him for today. Even though he did not get any of the carnival food that Uncle Vernon bought for Dudley, he didn’t care. Best of all, there were no strange, odd, peculiar, abnormal, or freaky occurrences all day.

Uncle Vernon threatened one of the carneys into giving Dudley the giant stuffed lion he hadn’t won, and his cousin held it tight as they drove back home. Harry had won a smaller plush with the two pounds Aunt Petunia reluctantly gave him. It resembled a coiled serpent, plush and cuddly. He stuffed it in his pocket, intent on hiding it underneath his pillow beneath the stairs the second they were home.

“Dad, I’m hungry!” Dudley complained.

“We had lunch at the park,” Uncle Vernon huffed.

“But I’m hungry again!”

“We’ll make meat and potatoes for dinner when we get home,” Aunt Petunia tried to appease him.

“But I want to eat now!”

Harry hadn’t eaten anything but the one egg for breakfast all day, and he honestly felt hungry, too. But, he didn’t let his own complaints be known. Instead, he just leaned against the car window as they entered the bounds of Little Whinging.

Uncle Vernon sighed, unable to say no to his son’s complaints. “Look, up ahead. It looks like a meat and sandwich shop. Will that do?”

Dudley dried his crocodile tears and nodded.

Uncle Vernon parked the car across from the store of interest. The signage out front read “Curtis Meats” with scratchy paint. It appeared to be a small, quaint, family business, looking more like a house than a store, complete with a side yard and a fence. A place that could almost be home.

Uncle Vernon opened the door to the shop and led the way inside. Harry looked around in awe. A large assortment of meats hung from the back walls, with a space that seemed to extend further into the complex. Before the counter was a small dining area for customers to eat. A menu written in chalk hung above the register, detailing various sandwich combos made with the meat the shop specialized in, alongside spices, drinks, and package deals.

Harry saw two boys sitting at one of the tables. Both had golden colored hair, and their plates were lined with only crumbs as they hunched over some sort of book.

“So that gives us 10.6 kilograms of ammonia and 12.8 kilograms of nitric acid left over after the conversion,” one of them said, marking something in the book.

“Enough for a good chunk of dynamite,” the other responded with a mischievous grin.

The first boy frowned. “We’re only doing the theoretical. Please don’t actually make dynamite.”

“Well, we can’t exactly make dynamite, we don’t have-” the second boy cut himself off, having noticed the presence of the new guests.

Harry and the older of the boys locked eyes, while Uncle Vernon pretended he didn’t hear anything and marched his way to the front counter. He pressed on the silver bell by the register, a ringing piercing the air. Aunt Petunia stood by his side, while Dudley eyed the menu.

Harry knew to expect only a small salad, if the Dursleys were to order anything for him at all, so he didn’t bother with the menu. He kept sparing glances at the two boys, who now spoke in quieter whispers. He wondered what they were studying. Ammonia and nitric acid sounded like something he’d learn about in a chemistry class, but the talk about conversion and making dynamite left the impression that the topic was at a higher level of understanding. The two boys looked like they could be brothers, but there was no one around who looked like they could be their parents. Maybe the parents were just in the bathroom.

The curtain that shielded the back of the store from customers’ eyes drew to the side, and a well-built man stepped out. He far surpassed Uncle Vernon in height, and Harry almost chuckled at how clearly intimidated his uncle was.

“Welcome to Curtis Meats,” the man said, the deep baritone of his voice matching his appearance uncannily well. “What can we get for you today?”

Uncle Vernon shook himself from his stupor with a cough and straightened out his back, trying - and failing - to match the build of who Harry could only assume to be Mr. Curtis. “A pork-beef combo special. And one coffee, black.”

“Another coffee, make it a latte with extra cream,” Petunia said. “And I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”

“I want the pork-beef combo special, too!” Dudley whined, as if there was any chance that Uncle Vernon would deny him.

“Anything to drink?” Uncle Vernon asked him.

“A root beer float!”

“We don’t sell root bear floats,” Mr. Curtis said, already calculating the price on what appeared to be a simple calculator.

Dudley looked ready to bawl until he got his way, but Aunt Petunia stepped in. “He’ll take an orange juice.” She spared a quick glance at Harry, her gaze narrow. “And the garden salad and water for the other one.”

Mr. Curtis’s eyes finally landed on Harry, and Harry wanted to shrink into himself. The man had a thin, barely noticeable scar above his left eyebrow, and Harry ran his hand through his hair, hoping to hide his own scar from view.

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

Mr. Curtis announced the price. Uncle Vernon clicked his tongue in disapproval, but forked over the cash, anyways. Mr. Curtis directed them to a small booth while they waited for their food.

The two boys were sitting across the room from them. The older of the two was still looking through his book, while the younger looked torn, like he didn’t know if he should return to studying or spark up a conversation with the newcomers.

“Did your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Aunt Petunia snapped when she saw the boy looking their way. Harry cringed, especially when the boy looked taken aback by her voice. This got the other’s attention, who glared at them.

The younger one paused for a second, then, looking Aunt Petunia right in the eye, said almost in a whisper, “Did yours teach you to not choose favorites?”

Harry ground his teeth together to avoid snorting in laughter, as that would surely result in an indefinite stay in the cupboard. Despite the humor of the straightforward quip, he still felt a redness in his cheeks. Was it really that obvious to everyone that his aunt and uncle far preferred their blood son to him? Aunt Petunia looked like she smelled something particularly foul, and Uncle Vernon’s veins seemed ready to burst through his skin. Dudley looked almost confused, but he mirrored his parents’ anger.

“Watch your tongue, brat,” Aunt Petunia hissed. “When your parents come back-”

The swish of the back curtain cut them off. Aunt Petunia clearly didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the shop owner. A woman who looked around Aunt Petunia’s age stepped out with a platter of drinks, setting them at the Dursley’s table. Harry saw her eyes pass over him for a second, and again he shrunk against the booth cushion.

This woman, who he assumed to be Mrs. Curtis, if the ring on her finger was anything to go by, seemed almost scarier than her presumed husband.

She marched over to the table occupied by the two boys, snatching away their book and snapping the cover shut. Harry got a glimpse of the title before her fingers covered the letter.

Advanced Chemistry and Its Applications

“Ed,” Mrs. Curtis said, “What’s the chemical composition of a standard kitchen knife?”

The older of the boys scrunched up his face, thinking. “Most kitchen knives are made of stainless steel, so you’re likely to find a combination of carbon, chromium, nickel, manganese, silicon, iron, and copper in them.”

Mrs. Curtis nodded, turning her attention to the other boy. “Al, give me three properties of carboxylic acids.”

“Strong sour odor, strong hydrogen bonding between the molecules, and a higher than average boiling point compared to other substances of similar molar mass.”

Harry didn’t understand anything they said, but Mrs. Curtis nodded in approval once again. “Good, go back to training.”

Joint grins came over the boys’ faces as they raced for the side door into the yard. The screen door slammed behind them. Mrs. Curtis returned to the back, likely to resume preparing the food.

Uncle Vernon was still a bit red in the face, and directed his ire to who else but Harry. “Listen here, boy,” he breathed heavily, “we treat you exactly as you deserve. Do you understand that?”

Harry felt the redness in his cheeks. Of course, his aunt and uncle treated him like this because he was a freak. Dudley wasn’t. “I understand.”

With the strange boys out of sight and out of mind, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon saw no need to confront Mrs. Curtis with their earlier misbehavior when she returned with their sandwiches and salad. Harry picked at the leaves of his salad, which was admittedly delicious, while sparing glances out the window opposite the booth. He could see brief glimpses of the boys through the window, appearing for short bursts before running past.

He wanted to see more. The boys looked around his and Dudley’s age. Maybe they were new in town and would start attending their school in the upcoming term. Maybe, if Harry spoke to them first, he could get them on his side instead of on Dudley’s. Maybe he could have an actual friend, a whole two at that.

Still, a gut feeling told him that Aunt Petunia would not approve of him spending time with them. He needed to be sneaky.

“I need to use the toilet,” he told his aunt.

“Make it quick,” she snapped, still eating her sandwich.

Harry shimmied out of the booth and looked around. There was a small corridor by the right side of the register that extended into the building. Harry assumed that the bathroom, if the store had one, would be there. From there, he just needed to find a way into the yard.

He stepped out of view of the Dursleys, looking down the corridor. There were three doors. The one straight ahead was labeled with a bathroom sign. The one on the right led into what he assumed to be the kitchen area. And the one on the left was on the same wall as the entrance to the yard.

The kitchen door opened, and Harry saw Mrs. Curtis emerge again. She didn’t look any less intimidating on second viewing. Her hair was tied up in box braids, and she had an intricate-looking tattoo on her chest. She looked over Harry again, and he again felt the sharpness of her eyes.

“Bathroom’s this way,” she said, pointing at the middle door. As she stepped past him to return to the main dining area, she pressed something into his hands, and Harry had no choice but to take it. It took him a second to register that it was a sandwich. Harry peeled back the top layer of bread and saw the filling consisted of roast beef, a leaf of lettuce, a tomato slice, and some sort of spread.

Harry closed the sandwich and held it close. It was clearly meant to be his and Mrs. Curtis’s secret. Did her husband tell her that he was the only one who didn’t get a sandwich?

“Anything else we can get for you today?” he heard Mrs. Curtis talking in the dining area. As Dudley loudly clamored for dessert, Harry slipped out the side door into the yard.

“Get outta the way!”

Harry barely managed to sidestep as the younger of the brothers almost crashed into him. The boy was barely phased, rushing forward at his brother with a punch. The older one - Ed, Harry believed - parried the blow, ducking and kicking at his brother’s chest. The younger - Al - simply grinned, sweeping the offending leg up and knocking Ed off balance. Ed teetered for a second before falling, catching himself on his elbows.

“Come on!” Ed complained as Al took some deep breaths.

“That’s three to one now,” Al said.

“I got distracted!” Ed said, pushing himself up and brushing away the grass stains.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, feeling sheepish and clutching at his sandwich. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here-

But Ed just waved him off. “It’s nothing, Al usually wins these.” The boy surveyed Harry with a hand on his hip. “So, what’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s Harry. Harry Potter.”

Maybe Harry imagined it, but he thought he saw Ed’s eyebrows go up a bit. “Is that so?” For some strange reason, it reminded Harry of all the odd strangers who seemed to know him, who would bow and stammer around him. He shrunk back. If these boys started doing that, it would be much harder to start a friendship.

“Well, I’m Edward, and that’s my little brother Alphonse,” Ed said. “So, is the other kid your brother or your cousin?”

Harry felt a tinge at relief that the conversation was progressing as normal. He imagined that this is how friendships started. They’d talk about their families, then they could discuss interests, find common ground, and agree to meet up over the summer holidays. Though, in his case, future meetings might have to wait until school started again.

“He’s my cousin.”

“Figured. Cousins tend to be worse than brothers.”

Harry fought off another grin. Finally, someone who agreed that Dudley was horrible. Though, he didn’t have any siblings of his own, so he couldn’t confirm the validity of Ed’s statement.

Al nodded along. “We have seven cousins, six of them are absolutely horrible.”

“And the only half-decent one will rob you blind, then laugh about it,” Ed finished for his brother, shaking his head.

Harry laughed along, wondering how any of these cousins would compare to Dudley. Ed and Al seemed fairly jovial about it, but if the only good cousin was a heartless thief, then how bad were the others?

“So, are you new in town?” he asked, unable to help the glimmer of hope that found its way into his voice. That hope was instantly dashed by the torn looks on Ed and Al’s faces, and he knew the answer before they even spoke up.

“No, sorry,” Al said. “We just visit for a few weeks every summer. Teacher and Dad are old friends.”

“Teacher?”

“Mrs. Curtis,” Ed added.

“Oh, what does she teach?” Harry asked. He could only assume chemistry, based on the pop quiz she gave them.

“Lots of things,” Al said with a grin. “Chemistry, first off. She helps tutor us in a lot of other subjects, too.”

“Not that we need it,” Ed smirked. “We’re top of the class every year. And… she teaches us how to fight!”

So that’s what the scuffle was about. They were just sparring. Harry wouldn’t mind learning that if it meant getting away from Dudley easier.

The door squeaked, and Harry groaned. It seemed like thinking of Dudley summoned him into existence, because there he stood in the doorway, a half-eaten brownie in his hand.

“Dad’s gonna be mad at you,” he sneered. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

Harry watched as both Ed and Al glared at Dudley. He just wanted to vanish into the earth. Dudley was going to tell them that Harry was a freak, and their friendship would go up in smoke.

Dudley spotted the still uneaten sandwich in Harry’s trembling hands, and, before any of them could protest, he snatched it away.

“Hey!” Harry said, belatedly.

“I’m still hungry!” Dudley said. “And, freaks like you don’t get sandwiches! That’s why Mom and Dad didn’t buy you one!”

Quick as a flash, a hand gripped Dudley’s wrist. Ed, despite being a good deal shorter, grabbed the sandwich away and hopped back. Dudley’s brownie fell from his grip and scattered to crumbs in the dirt.

Dudley’s face turned pink in rage, looking very much like a miniature version of Uncle Vernon.

“Give that back! Or I’ll hit you!”

“Just try it!” Ed yelled back, in a fighting stance and the prized sandwich held high overhead. “I’ve beaten guys stronger than you before!”

But Harry already felt nausea building within him. Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, nostrils flared and lips painfully thin.

“We’re going home,” she said, with no room for argument.

Ed dropped out of his fighting stance. Both he and Al looked at him apologetically as Harry followed after Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Ed even reached for him, so Harry walked faster, too ashamed to even say goodbye.

His first time trying to make friends, only for it to end in a fight. He hoped they knew it wasn’t their fault.

Uncle Vernon was already out of the shop, but both Mr. and Mrs. Curtis glared at Aunt Petunia as she marched Harry and Dudley to the exit. Harry could only wonder what transpired to make them so angry.

The second the boys were in the car, the engine roared to life and Uncle Vernon sped away, red in the face about something.

“They’re all so strange!” Dudley said with crossed arms.

“Yes, they are,” Aunt Petunia sniffed, her face a few shades paler than usual. “Well, we know not to go back there anymore.”

“Yes, of course,” Uncle Vernon said. “Best file a complaint, or write a bad review for them. So others know not to give them business.”

Harry just stared out the window. By the time they pulled into the driveway of their house, the Dursleys already found a way to pin all the day’s misfortunes onto Harry, earning him a frog march to the cupboard and a click of the key.

Harry settled into the darkness, wiping at his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was so upset. It had been foolish to get his hopes up at all. Ed and Al would probably forget all about him by tomorrow.

As he shifted, he felt something mushy in his pocket. Gingerly, Harry reached in, retrieving the plush snake that he’d almost forgotten in the wake of everything that happened in the butchery, and, to his surprise, the now slightly matted sandwich. Ed- Ed must have slipped it into his pocket when Harry walked past him.

A waverly smile came over Harry’s face as he chewed the sandwich, careful to not let any crumbs drop. It was a little lumpy and misshappen, but it was more than anything had offered him before.

Maybe, there was hope of meeting Ed and Al again, after all.

Chapter Text

It was strange. For a few weeks following their venture to Curtis Meats, Aunt Petunia became almost… bearable. She wasn’t nice in the slightest, but she no longer made Harry get up at dawn to cook breakfast for the family, and she kept comments about his freakiness tucked behind her teeth. She even bought Harry a few new summer shirts for his birthday instead of giving him Dudley’s hand-me-downs.

Harry didn’t know what to make of it, but he accepted it. It was better than what came before. Even if Uncle Vernon and Dudley almost seemed to be nastier to him to even out the score.

Of course, it was too good to last, as on the last day of summer vacation, a teacup had somehow exploded when Harry and Dudley got into a fight. Dudley got cut by the china and needed to be taken to the hospital. That evaporated whatever good will Aunt Petunia had been trying to force into their relationship, and she personally locked him in the cupboard for the night, and it was clear that the only reason he was let out the following morning was because people would get suspicious if he didn’t show up for the first day of fourth grade.

Oh, well. Business as usual.

Harry managed to find the address of Curtis Meats during a computer class later in the year. It was located in Little Whinging, a little over two miles from Number 4 Privet Drive. It was practically walking distance.

Part of him wanted to sneak away to the shop once or twice, but something told him that whatever punishment the Dursleys imbued for that would be too much to manage. Besides, Ed and Al said that they were only there for a few weeks in the summer, so he wasn’t likely to run into them again. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had been decent enough, but they weren’t who he wanted to see.

Maybe that could be a last-resort escape plan if things ever got too bad at the Dursleys.

The same song and dance continued for the next few years. Harry had gotten better at running from Dudley and his gang, though more than anything, he wished he had Ed and Al’s training to actually fight back. It would land him in trouble with his Aunt and Uncle, but sometimes he just wanted Dudley to have a taste of his own medicine.

More strange incidents seemed to follow him wherever he went. On Dudley’s eleventh birthday, the Dursley took him, Harry, and one of Dudley’s friends to the zoo. After Dudley shoved Harry to the ground, the glass around the enclosure of the rather friendly boa constrictor vanished, letting the snake loose.

Then, came a torrent of letters, all for Harry, the address specified down to the room he was sleeping in. These letters gave Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon a particular fear that Harry couldn’t understand, so much so that they packed up the family and moved them to various motels multiple times. Still, the letters continued to find them.

Finally, Uncle Vernon had them spend the night at an old shack on an isolated island. And there, in the raging storm, Harry had the first truly decent - great, even - birthday in his life.

Because he met Hagrid, and finally learned why he was so strange.

Hagrid showed up with another letter and the first birthday cake Harry ever got to eat, and Hagrid told him everything that the Dursleys had kept from him all these years. He was a wizard, he could do magic. He was going to attend a special school called Hogwarts to learn all about witchcraft and wizardry.

Hagrid told him other things, too. His parents were wizards, just like him. And it was no car crash that killed them. They had been murdered by a Dark Wizard. The Dark Wizard, Voldemort- though Hagrid told him not to say the name.

Harry was furious that his aunt and uncle had kept this from him, that they had led him to believe he was a freak for years, when his world had been locked away. There were other people like him. People who could understand. Part of him couldn’t understand why they were so vehemently against him attending Hogwarts when they hated him so much, he’d be out of their hair for the better part of the year.

Hagrid wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Harry wouldn’t give up on the glimpse of freedom when offered. So, there they were, the morning light shining through now that the storm had passed. The boat Uncle Vernon brought them to the alcove on was still tethered to the wooden port, the bottom laden with water.

“How did you get here last night?” Harry asked when he didn’t see a second boat.

“Flew,” Hagrid said simply. “We’ll take the boat back, I’m not supposed to use magic now that I’ve got you.” Still, he looked over the boat with some disdain. “Would be a shame to row, though. Don’t suppose you’d tell anyone if I… sped up the journey a bit?” He tapped his clearly magical pink umbrella.

Harry was still starstruck by the idea of Hagrid flying to the island, and was overjoyed to see more magic, so he gave his word. They clambered into the boat, Harry not caring that this would leave the still sleeping Dursleys stranded away from the mainland. With a tap of Hagrid’s umbrella, the boat sputtered to life and began speeding towards the opposite shore as if pushed by an invisible propeller.

With his hands free, Hagrid turned to his owl-delivered newspaper. Harry spotted the title, The Daily Prophet, as Hagrid flipped through the pages. The pictures moved before his eyes, captivating his attention.

“Ministry of Magic’s messing things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered under his breath.

“There’s a Ministry of Magic?” Harry asked, a million questions still plaguing him.

“Of course there is,” Hagrid said. “They wanted Dumbledore for the job, but he’d never leave Hogwarts. So we got old Cornelius Fudge instead. He pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, asking for advice.”

“What does the Ministry of Magic do?”

“Mostly, keeping witches and wizards a secret from Muggles. Best for the two to be separate.”

Harry wondered how most Muggles would react to learning about magic. He knew his aunt and uncle were a bit of an extreme case, but very few adults still believed in magic. They all outgrew it in the way they outgrew Santa Claus- though Harry was now questioning if Santa could be a secret wizard. They probably wouldn’t take kindly to being told that the world did not operate the way they imagined it did.

Hagrid flipped to the next page in the paper, his bushy eyebrows going up a bit. “The son of China’s Minister for Magic confirmed to be attending Hogwarts for his magical education. Exclusive interview with the Yao family,” he read from the article.

“China has its own Ministry?” Harry asked.

“Hmm, yes,” Hagrid said. “Of course. Don’t ask me about their rules, don’t know them. There’s the International Statute of Secrecy, but besides that it’s everyone for themselves.” He looked back down at the paper, muttering to himself, “wants to help build international connections… already fluent in English… sounds like a smart kid. Must have taken some negotiating to get him to Hogwarts, we usually only take kids from Britain and Ireland- oh, here we are.”

The boat had hit the wall of the harbor, and the two of them clambered out.

“Anyhow,” Hagrid said, rolling up his newspaper and tucking it away in one of his many pockets. “First thing, we need to go to Gringotts to get your money. Then we’ll get all the stuff you need for school.”

Harry didn’t have the faintest idea of how they were supposed to do any of that, but he followed after Hagrid as he made his way to the train station. It was easy to keep him in his sights, though Hagrid had Harry talk to the clerk about getting two tickets to London.

“Don’t know the first thing about Muggle money,” he admitted when Harry handed him one of the tickets and the change.

One cramped train ride later, and Harry was taking his first steps in London. The vast city was almost overwhelming, and Harry didn’t know how to fathom the idea of magic coexisting alongside it.

Hagrid parted the crowds as he walked, and Harry walked at a half-run to keep pace. He fished his Hogwarts acceptance letter from his pocket and kept a tight grip on it, skimming the list of required materials and books with one eye, tracking Hagrid with the other.

“Can we really get all of this in London?” he asked. He was sure that all sorts of things were sold in London, but he couldn’t picture any shops selling copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them or pewter cauldrons, let alone pet owls and personal flying broomsticks.

“If you know where to look,” Hagrid replied sagely. He was looking up and down the street, as if trying to find some particular storefront. Harry guessed he was probably looking for the entrance to Gringotts, though Harry couldn’t fathom how the entrance to a magical underground bank could be in the middle of London.

“Ah, here we are!” Hagrid exclaimed, coming to a stop. Harry bumped right into him. “The Leaky Cauldron. Famous spot!”

Harry looked around, eventually spotting a sign for the Leaky Cauldron, depicting a bubbling-over cauldron on a rusting iron plating. It appeared to be some sort of pub, but Harry couldn’t see how this was a famous spot at all. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always frowned upon “hole-in-the-wall” establishments, and the Leaky Cauldron seemed particularly underwhelming. But, before he could say anything, Hagrid led him inside by the hand.

The interior of the Leaky Cauldron looked even shabbier than the exterior. It was dimly lit with a few lanterns, and various patrons sat around the tables and bar, sipping out of tankards.

“The usual, Hagrid?” the barkeep asked as he saw them enter.

“Not today, Tom,” Hagrid waved him off. “On official Hogwarts business.”

The barkeep looked them over once more. Then, his mouth dropped open.

“Good Lord,” Tom muttered, “Is that-  It can’t be… Harry Potter, what an honor!”

His proclamation got the attention of the entire pub, and before Harry knew it, he was surrounded on all sides by wonder-eyed witches and wizards, all eager to greet him and shake his hand. It happened far too fast for Harry to process why everyone was so excited to meet him. Was it custom for all new witches and wizards to be welcomed into the community like this? Did the grownups know everyone? Hagrid did say he’d be famous in the wizarding world for - unintentionally - defeating Voldemort, but this was a bit much.

“Ah, Professor Quirrell,” Hagrid greeted one particular high-strung man who came forward. “Harry, he’ll be one of your professors at Hogwarts.”

Each of Quirrell’s fingers seemed to tremble as he shook Harry’s hand, voice a pained stutter, “H-Harry P-Potter, what an h-honor to meet you at l-last.”

“What do you teach?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

“D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts,” Quirrell said, an uneasy smile coming over his lip-sealed mouth. “N-Not that you would n-need it, right?”

With that, Quirrell quickly excused himself, murmuring something about needing a new book on vampires.

“Is he always that nervous?” Harry asked Hagrid as they began maneuvering their way towards the back exit of the pub.

“Didn’t used to be,” Hagrid said. “He used to teach Muggle Studies- that’s an elective class all about Muggle culture. Then he switched to Defense Against the Dark Arts, took a year off to get hands-on experience, and didn’t come back the same.”

They reached a closed off alleyway, the way forward blocked by a brick wall. Hagrid was not to be deterred, simply retrieving his umbrella and counting out the bricks. When he reached the one three up and two across from the overflowing trash can, he tapped the umbrella against it, and the wall rumbled to life, the bricks shifting until the wall became an archway, revealing an entirely new world behind it.

“Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley!”

Harry didn’t have enough eyes to fully take in the breathtaking view. Especially with Hagrid practically dragging him along so that they could get to Gringotts before he became too mesmerized to move. The Alley had everything, from a cauldron shop to an Apothecary selling potion ingredients. Harry wanted to see it all.

Finally, they arrived at a building made of pure white marble, far taller than all the other shops. So this was Gringotts. Hagrid led the way inside, Harry turning his head left and right to take it all in. The inscription in the entrance lobby, a warning for thieves to not trifle with the Gringotts security, left a shiver running up his spine.

Hagrid met with one of the goblins at the till, showing off the key to Harry’s vault. Then, in a whisper, he handed the goblin a letter from Professor Dumbledore about something in “Vault 713.” The goblin inspected it, nodded, and sent for one of his colleagues to take them to their vaults.

Harry felt disoriented by the exhilarating ride through the underground mines. The tracks seemed to stretch for miles, and the cold rushing air blew against his face and fogged up his glasses.

“Your vault first, Mister Potter,” the goblin, who Harry believed was named Griphook, said, as the minecart stopped. Hagrid looked green in the face and had to lean against the wall for a minute to compose himself as Griphook opened the vault door.

Harry could hardly believe his eyes at the literal mountain of gold sitting before him. If the Dursleys knew he had this sort of money…

“Here, this should be enough for a few terms,” Hagrid said gruffly, scooping a couple handfuls of coins into a small pouch. He handed it to Harry, who was now the richest he’s ever been.

“Where did my parents get all this money…” he breathed out.

“Was your father’s parents,” Hagrid said. “Your grandad invented… what was it- Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Quite popular with the youngins even today.”

Harry wondered if this hair potion could even tame his hair.

The ride to Vault 713 took them even deeper, and Hagrid looked even sicker as he took out the small, brown-wrapped parcel from the confines of the vault. Harry tried to gleam what was within the wrapping, but Hagrid deposited it in one of his pockets before he could get a good look.

“Official Hogwarts business,” he said when Harry shot him a curious look. “Sorry, can’t talk about it.”

Harry decided not to press it further, especially with the tumultuous escape from the mine still ahead of them. When they finally breached the surface, Hagrid was shaking and shivering all over.

“Listen, Harry, would you mind if I got a little pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron? Those Gringotts minecarts do no favors for me.”

Harry didn’t want his new friend to get sick, especially with how much he’d been helping him today, so he nodded. “Of course. I’ll- uh-” he glanced back at his shopping list. “I guess I can start with robes.”

Hagrid hummed. “You’ll want to go to Madam Malkin’s for that. Little ways up the street. I’ll pick you up in a bit.” And with that, Hagrid staggered away, still parting the crowds.

Harry scanned the street signs for anything that could indicate a robe shop, but everything was far too much. For a second, Harry thought of abandoning the idea of getting his robes and instead buying something cool. He had spending money for the first time in his life, and there was so much here he wanted to buy. He forced himself to stay focused, or he was sure he could blow through his parents’ entire fortune in just a few hours.

“Oof!”

Harry, in his distraction, had walked right into someone, and stumbled back. He had bumped into a young girl who looked about his age, though she was nearly a full head taller, and she looked just as out of place as Harry felt. Her long blond hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she straightened out her skirt.

“Sorry,” Harry quickly apologized.

“It’s fine,” the girl said, looking him over. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

So Harry was right, the girl was also new here. It was a bit of cold comfort that he wasn’t entirely alone in the experience.

The girl held out her hand. “I’m Winry Rockbell. And you are…”

“Oh, Harry Potter,” Harry said, accepting the handshake. He had almost forgotten to introduce himself. After everyone was able to recognize him on sight, it was almost stranger that the girl didn’t know him.

Winry nodded and tried to act like it was new information, but Harry could instantly tell that she had, in fact, heard his name before. “Sorry,” she said, “I did know who you were, but I didn’t want to make it awkward for you.” A part of Harry appreciated the discreteness. He wanted to just be Harry, not someone famous.

Winry released his hand. “Besides,” she said with a quip on her lips, “fame gets to boys’ heads too easily.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Winry?”

That voice- Definitely a bit older than it had been two years ago, but similar enough for Harry to recognize in an instant. A second later, a familiar face matched the voice, as Harry saw a boy with golden hair and golden eyes come up behind Winry.

“Ed!”

The boy blinked, then, in a moment of mutual recognition, grinned back. “It’s you!”

“You two know each other?” Winry asked.

“We met once when Al and I were at Teacher’s place,” Ed said. “Why’d you never come back, by the way?”

Harry groaned. “You saw how my Aunt and Uncle were. As if they’d ever let me go back.”

“Well, sneak away next time,” Ed said. “Teacher would be more than willing to have you over. And if your aunt and uncle give you trouble for that, they’d have her to answer to. She’s-” he shuddered, “not to be trifled with when she’s mad.”

Harry briefly recalled the furious glare Mrs. Curtis sent the Dursleys, and wondered if that had been her anger at its mildest.

A strangely muted realization came to him as he came to fully appreciate that Ed, the strange boy he’d seen once in a butcher shop, was standing here with him in Diagon Alley.

“You’re a wizard, too?” Harry asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“I mean, yeah,” Ed said, vaguely waving around the alley. “I guess I am. When did you find out? It didn’t seem like you knew you were a wizard back then.”

“This morning, technically,” Harry said. “Someone who works at Hogwarts gave me my letter and explained everything.”

“Is he here with you?”

“He went to the Leaky Cauldron. The Gringotts minecarts make him sick.”

Winry winced. “Are they really that bad? Ed tells me they’re a nightmare. I guess I’m lucky I just have to exchange pounds for Galleons at the front desk.”

“The less we talk about the minecarts, the better,” Ed said.

“Is anyone here with you?” Harry asked. He looked around, but he didn’t see Al, or anyone who could resemble either of their parents.

“My dad and Winry’s granny are also at the Cauldron. Granny insisted that Dad show her the ‘Wizard booze,’” Ed said, rolling his eyes. “I told them to stay there and we’d manage on our own. I think I’d die of embarrassment if my dad followed me all around the alley.”

Harry blinked at the sudden stinging in his eyes. He would want nothing more than for his mom and dad to show him all the nooks and crannies of Diagon, to help him purchase all his books and let him ogle at the racing brooms.

Winry narrowed her eyes, and lightly smacked Ed upside the head. “He can be an insensitive moron sometimes,” she said, glaring at Ed as he rubbed his head.

Ed winced, sucking in a breath. “Sorry,” he said under his breath.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied, looking down at his feet.

“Hey, why don’t we shop together?” Winry offered. “Ed’s been in the alley before, he knows the layout.”

Company did sound nice. “I was going to get my robes,” Harry said.

“Right this way,” Ed said, leading the group a bit further up the street. Harry could already make out the sign for Madam Malkin’s, emboldened with a giant pair of scissors on the sign.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Harry asked the pair.

“We’re neighbors,” Ed said. “Known each other since we were babies.”

That was the only question Harry had time to ask, as they reached the front door of Madam Malkin’s and entered, the bell jingling lightly with the movement of the door.

“You all for Hogwarts, dears?” a squat witch dressed in mauve asked them. All three of them nodded. “Well, we only have space for one of you to get fitted right now, so decide amongst yourselves.”

“You can go first,” Ed waved to Harry. “We’ll wait.”

Harry didn’t know how long it would take Hagrid to come back, but it was probably for the best if Harry wrapped up his fitting as fast as possible.

The witch introduced herself as the Madam Malkin, and she guided Harry onto a stepstool, next to a pale, blond boy with an upturned nose, who was getting fitted by a younger witch, probably some sort of intern. Ed and Winry sat in the waiting area and picked through some sort of magic magazines.

“Hello,” the pale boy said in a drawl, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied as Madam Malkin slipped a robe over his head and began pinning it in place.

“Mother’s looking at wands, and Father’s buying my books,” the boy said. “Then, I think I’ll have them take me to look at the racing brooms. It’s a travesty that first-years can’t bring their own brooms, but I can bully Father into getting me one and then I’ll find some way to smuggle it in.”

Harry was starting to strongly dislike the boy.

“Do you have your own broom?”

“No.”

“Play any Quidditch at all?”

“No.” Harry wished he could contribute something more interesting to the conversation.

“I play. Father says it’d be a crime if I’m not picked for my House team. Do you know what House you’ll be in yet?”

“No.”

“Well, no one truly knows until they get there, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. My whole family has been. Imagine being put into Hufflepuff. I’d just up and leave, wouldn’t you?”

Harry didn’t have the faintest idea of what to say, and silently glanced towards the door. Ed and Winry were still sitting in the waiting area, and both of them were glaring at the boy overtop their magazines. At least Harry wasn’t alone in his feelings of contempt.

“Should be an interesting year,” the boy said, though he didn’t sound very interested. “Did you see the paper? The son of China’s Minister for Magic is coming to Hogwarts. Why he picked Hogwarts of all places I cannot understand. Father did always say Durmstrang is the superior school. Do you reckon we’ll meet him? He’s a good connection to have.”

Connection, as if the existence of the relationship mattered far more than the nature of the relationship or the person himself.

Across the shop, Ed snorted. “I doubt it,” he announced loudly, catching the boy’s attention. “He’s probably not anything special. I mean, he’s only the son of China’s Minister for Magic, it’s not like he’s a prince or anything.”

The pale boy narrowed his eyes. “You should be careful, talking like that,” he said. “Status is important here, in case you don’t know. Can’t tell if you’re our kind or not.”

All at once, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Harry heard the intern witch fixing up the boy’s robe squeak, and Madam Malkin took a long inhale through her nose to calm herself. Winry stiffened, and Ed practically growled, setting his magazine down. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just don’t think the other sort should be let in,” the boy said like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I mean, they know nothing about our world, some of them have never even heard of magic before they got the letter. They should just keep it in the old wizarding families.”

The elitism in his voice strongly reminded Harry of the Dursleys, who always showed open disdain for anyone and anything out of the ordinary. Harry was utterly relieved when Madam Malkin finished with his robes. He eagerly hopped off the stool and paid for the bagged purchases up front. Madam Malkin began to beckon for Winry to come forward, but she and Ed were quick to follow Harry to the door.

“We’ll come back after he’s gone,” Ed seethed, and Madam Malkin nodded her head feverishly in understanding.

“What a jerk,” Winry huffed, clenching her fists.

“I didn’t even know half of what he was talking about,” Harry admitted, though that did not decrease his dislike of his new acquaintance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ed waved him off, glaring at some distant spot across the alley. “People like him aren’t worth the time of day.”

“Ah, Harry! There you are-”

Harry grinned. Hagrid was walking their way, hoisting two large ice cream cones overhead.

“Got your robes, perfect. And you made some friends!”

Harry nodded. “This is Ed and Winry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Winry said with a nod of her head.

“Ah, well a friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine!” Hagrid said. “Where are your parents, though? Is anyone with you?”

“At the Leaky Cauldron,” Ed said with a nonchalant wave. “We’re fine.”

“Well…” Harry said thoughtfully. “I still need to buy everything else. We can go get books and wands, and then circle back for your robes?”

Though, just as he said this, the blond boy strode out of the robe shop with his own purchases. He looked over Harry’s entourage with the faintest smirk before walking away, looking at them like they were all beneath him.

“I guess Winry and I will go get our robes now,” Ed said. “I imagine that takes the longest. Hey, we’ll catch up on the Hogwarts Express if we don’t see each other again today, alright?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry said, a bit saddened but understanding. Ed held out his fist, and Harry bumped his own against it.

It wasn’t goodbye, like last time. This time, he knew for a fact that he’d see Ed again.

Chapter Text

Harry supposed it was a lucky break he stumbled upon the family of gingers, trailing them at a distance after overhearing them mention Muggles. His aunt and uncle completely abandoned him at the station, and he didn’t have the slightest clue of how to get to platform 9 ¾. But, if this was a family of wizards, as he suspected, then maybe he could learn through observation.

“Now, what’s the platform number again?” the family matriarch muttered.

“Nine and three quarters!” the youngest and only girl piped up, looking quite pleased to have reached the right answer.

The family stood between the barrier separating platforms nine and ten, which Harry had previously observed and found nothing. Harry watched carefully, unwilling to miss any clues. But, as the oldest of the boys, who appeared to be a full-fledged teenager, ran at the barrier, he simply vanished from sight.

The twins were next, with them playing a name-changing prank on their mother. One after the other, they ran at the barrier and disappeared.

At this rate, the entire family would pass through, and Harry would be no closer to figuring out the mystery. If Ed or Winry were here, they’d help, but for all he knew they’d already reached the platform. He swallowed his fear and stepped forward. His luggage carriage crossed paths with the last and youngest boy, a light clattering of metal coming from the minor collision.

“Excuse me,” he said, stumbling over his words. “But, I don’t know- don’t know how-”

“How to get onto the platform,” the mother finished him with an understanding smile. Harry nodded gratefully. “First time to Hogwarts? It’s Ron’s first time, too. You just need to run at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t feel afraid, and don’t hesitate, or it won’t work. Put a little bit of speed into it if it helps.”

Harry looked at the very solid stone wall. Running at it seemed like a recipe for disaster. Then again, that was what it looked like the older boys did. He spared a glance at the family one more time. The boy gave a thumbs up, and the girl whispered “good luck.” So, Harry swallowed the last drops of his fear and pushed away from the ground, forcing his trolley ahead of him. He just hoped that when they crashed, Hedwig wouldn’t be too mad at him.

No crash came. When he reached the barrier, darkness encompassed him, and he just kept running. A second later, light hit his eyes again, and Harry felt his legs slow.

He looked around. A scarlet engine labelled Hogwarts Express occupied the station, and the signage clearly read “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.”

He had made it.

Harry quickly moved his trolley out of the way, sure that the rest of the redhead family would be following after him, and he had no intention of forming a blockage at the entrance. He scanned the train as he walked its length, searching for an empty window. All around him, families were milling around the platform, saying final goodbyes to their children for the year. He caught snippets of conversation as he passed them by, drowned out by the chaos and cacophony of the surrounding chatter. A young boy claimed he lost his toad, an older boy was showing something coveted hidden inside a box to curious onlookers.

His journey took him to the very end of the train, still struggling to find an empty compartment. Harry didn’t entirely like the idea of sharing a compartment with strangers, especially if they were guaranteed to be staring at him.

“Hey! Harry!” Like a life ring in the ocean, Harry grinned at Ed’s voice. Ed was leaning out one of the last windows, waving him down. Harry pushed his trunk to the closest door and tried to drag it up the steps, only to drop it painfully on his foot. Ed disappeared from the window, but before his friend could reappear, a familiar flock of red hair stood by his side. It was one of the twins.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

“Fred, get over here and help out!”

The other twin was at their side in an instant. The twins lifted Harry’s trunk between them and lugged it up the steps, leaving Harry to carry Hedwig’s cage.

Ed and Winry were waiting in the hallway, waving them down towards the right compartment. It already had Ed and Winry’s baggage in it. The twins heaved Harry’s trunk into the overhead compartment, and let out joint sighs.

“Is that everything?” the first twin - George if Harry remembered right - asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Fred and George stared at him, and Harry belatedly realized that he had revealed his scar.

“Blimey, are you really him?”

“Who?”

“Harry Potter!”

“I mean, yes-”

Fred and George shared ecstatic grins, and Harry could sense that he was going to dread the gawking more than anything.

Ed must have picked up on his discomfort, because he began shoving the twins out of the compartment. “Alright, thanks for the help, you should go now-”

Still, Fred and George waved on their way out, their smiles now more friendly than mischievous. “See you around. I’m Fred, and that’s George, by the way.”

Harry already knew that, but he waved back, anyway. With the compartment now ginger-free, Harry took a seat across from Ed and Winry, who settled back into their seats.

“Welcome to fame,” Ed joked.

“I hate it,” Harry murmured.

“I’m sure it’ll get better,” Winry offered. “Get a cease and desist if people bother you too much.”

“Won’t work,” Ed fired back. “Just hire a body double, and always have at least one backup escape route secured.”

Harry stared at them, appalled. Was this really going to be the rest of his life?

“It was a joke,” Ed said, assuring him. “But seriously, don’t be afraid to tell people to lay off. Some people just can’t mind their own business.”

Harry nodded, looking out the window. The redheaded family seemed to be having a last minute reunion. One of the twins gestured towards the compartment Harry was in, and Harry instinctively ducked back, making sure he was out of sight.

“So, did you all find the platform okay?” he asked Ed and Winry, who both nodded.

“My dad went to Hogwarts before,” Ed handwaved the explanation. “So, he told us what to do.”

“I can’t believe wizards can just walk through walls,” Harry said, still a bit amazed by the entire sequence of events.

“Well, it’s honestly not the craziest thing I’ve seen,” Winry said with a sigh. “I don’t think much of anything can surprise me anymore.”

A loud whistle echoed through the compartments. Ed pulled out an antique-looking pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s eleven. We’ll be off any second.”

True to form, the train began to move, slowly inching away from the platform. The more it moved, the more speed it picked up, until the people waving on the platform were nothing but specks. Ed leaned out the window and waved, a big grin on his face. Harry saw the youngest of the gingers chasing the train, and imagined he saw a familiar flash of gold running alongside her, but soon they too were just dots on the horizon. The train rounded the corner and the platform vanished from view entirely.

“Well, no turning back now,” Ed said, leaning against his seat. “Dad’s told me that the ride takes until well into the evening, it’ll probably be dark by the time we reach Hogwarts.”

Harry pondered those words. He hadn’t had breakfast, nor did the Dursleys pack a lunch for him. He could manage the hunger, but he didn’t really want to face his first day as a true wizard on an empty stomach.

“Do you know if they give out food on the train?” he asked, imagining the various snacks and meals offered on Muggle trains and airplanes for long trips.

“Should be a sweets cart coming around at some point,” Ed said. He got to his feet, reaching up towards his trunk. “Teacher also made some sandwiches, and Mom made a quiche. So, we have plenty of food for the road. Will still probably need to buy some sweets, though…”

As he murmured to himself, the compartment door slid open. Harry and Winry turned towards the sound and saw the youngest redhead boy, who was like a deer caught in headlights.

“Can I sit here?” he asked, already backing away. “Everywhere else is full.”

“Yes,” Harry said before the boy could bolt. He looked so nervous, and regardless of the rumors the twins started, Harry didn’t want the boy to feel isolated.

He quickly entered the compartment and took a seat next to Harry. “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter,” though the look on Ron’s face confirmed he already knew that.

“Edward Elric,” Ed said, taking some of the attention off of Harry. He had settled back in his seat, a small basket in his lap. “Call me Ed.”

“Winry Rockbell.”

Ron wiped at a speck of dirt on his nose, trying to settle into the group. “Is it true that you have- uh- that you have the scar?”

Harry lifted his bangs, showing the lightning mark on his forehead. Ron paled a bit, his freckles standing out all the more. “Wow,” he murmured. “So is it true that you lived with Muggles?”

“Yeah, they’re horrible-” Harry cut off when he saw the cross expression on Winry’s face, course correcting, “mine are, at least.”

“Yeah, I met his folks once,” Ed chimed in. “Nasty lot.”

“They didn’t even tell me about magic,” Harry said. “My mum was Aunt Petunia’s sister, so she already knew all about it. I’m going to be so behind. I wish I could have grown up with wizards.”

Now it was Ron’s turn to make a face. “You’ll be fine. Plenty of muggleborns come to Hogwarts every year, and they didn’t know about magic before. And they all do fine. Some-” Again, he scowled, “say that muggleborns don’t belong at Hogwarts, but that’s a load of rubbish.”

Harry’s mind immediately went to the snobby blond boy in Madam Malkin’s.

“But, growing up with five older wizard brothers,” Ron sighed. “That’s not exactly peachy, either. Bill and Charlie have already finished Hogwarts. Bill’s a cursebreaker in Egypt and Charlie’s a dragontamer in Romania. Percy was made a Prefect, and everyone loves Fred and George. A lot to live up to.”

He shook his head, trying to throw off the glum mood he inadvertently created. Harry turned back to Ed and Winry.

“What about your families?” he asked. “Ed, you said your dad is a wizard, too?”

“Yeah, just my dad,” Ed replied. “He researches Alchemy.”

Ron gaped. “My brother Bill took Alchemy. He said that’s one of the hardest subjects offered.”

Ed smirked in pride a little. “Yep. It’s all about the structure and composition of magic. The science of magic, so to say. And I’m gonna study it, too.”

“And what about you?” Ron asked Winry.

“My parents are Muggles,” she said, proud. “They’re doctors, surgeons to be specific. And my granny makes prosthetics.”

“Cool,” Ron said, grinning. “My dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in the Ministry. It’s considered a pretty boring department, but he loves working with Muggle artifacts. I bet he’d love to hear about… prosthetics, was it? Those are fake limbs, right?”

Winry nodded. “I was going to go into the medical field myself before I got the letter. Maybe I can still apply it in some way. Do they not have prosthetics in the wizarding world?”

“They do,” Ron replied, “but Dad always says that they’re not as sophisticated as the Muggle ones. If there’s one thing Muggles are better at, it’s innovation.”

The compartment door slid open again, revealing an older woman with a trolley piled sky high with sweets of all kinds. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Ron’s face went distinctly pink, and he muttered something about sandwiches. Harry had already decided to buy some sweets, but they all looked completely unfamiliar to the Muggle ones he knew by brand. He ended up buying a little of everything. Ed also bought a fair share, though he showed preferential treatment to the candies he clearly favored.

Harry was sure that between him and Ed, they bought half of the sweets on the entire trolley. Not that it mattered, Harry watched in awe as the emptied candy slots replenished themselves, the trolley lady heading for the next compartment.

Ron gaped at all of the sweets. “We’ll be full to bursting,” he said, then stuttered as his face blushed again, “if- if I can have any, that is-”

“I’ll trade you for one of your sandwiches,” Harry said, tossing one of the Cauldron Cakes he purchased towards Ron, and taking a sandwich that looked like corn beef.

“Just eat it fast before it’s gone,” Ed warned him. “I’ve got sandwiches and a quiche, too, if you want some.”

They had themselves a bonafide picnic, more than enough to assuage the hunger for the entire journey. Harry started a small collection of Chocolate Frog cards, while Ed and Winry engrossed themselves with a game of “guess the flavor of the Bertie Bott’s bean.”

The sound of a knock echoed throughout the cabin. Strange, Harry didn’t think it came from the compartment door. But where else-

“AAAHHHH!” Ron screamed, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the window. There was a face pressed against it. On closer look, it appeared to be a boy, hanging upside down outside the window, grinning at them.

Ed groaned and opened the latch, allowing the boy to come tumbling in. Another figure followed, a girl their age.

“You know, doors are a thing that exist!” Ed said, agitated.

“But this method’s more fun!” the boy said with an impish grin, settling into a cross legged position on the floor. He had long black hair tied in a ponytail, and he wore a yellow coat with white detailing on the trim. His eyes were half closed, and a singular black glove covered his left hand, standing out against the rest of his comparatively colorful outfit. His companion was dressed in all black, and her hair was tied up in a bun.

Harry glanced around. Winry seemed just as exasperated as Ed, but Ron was gaping, open mouthed. “I saw your picture in the Daily Prophet,” he said in disbelief. “You’re the son of China’s Minister for Magic!”

Harry remembered the newspaper headline Hagrid read out that day, and the blond boy’s vague interest. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the son of a Minister, if he expected anything at all, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The boy grinned again. “That’s right. Name’s Ling Yao. And this,” he waved towards the girl, “is Lan Fan. She’s my fr-”

“Bodyguard,” Lan Fan cut him off. “I’m his bodyguard.”

Ling looked vaguely upset at the term of address, but said nothing, just getting to his feet. “So, can the rest of you introduce yourselves?”

One by one, everyone in the group said their names. Ling clapped his hands together, pleased. “Happy to be amongst such a friendly group,” he said, making himself right at home between Ed and Winry. “May I?”

Before Ed could confirm or deny, Ling popped a Pumpkin Pasty into his mouth. “Hmm, different from the types of sweets back home, but it’ll do.”

Lan Fan remained standing, but accepted the Licorice Wand that Winry extended out to her. Harry was shocked at how quickly they integrated themselves into the group, and Ron looked equally confused.

“So, uh- Ling,” Harry said, trying to learn more about the newcomer. “Why’d you choose to study here? Doesn’t China have its own magic schools?”

“We have several,” Ling confirmed. “But attending a local school wouldn’t help foster international relationships. If I’m going to govern my country one day, better to build those connections early.”

Ron sputtered, choking on a particularly nasty Bertie Bott bean. “You want to be China’s Minister for Magic?!”

“Of course,” Ling said, like it was obvious. “I’m aiming high. We’re in need of major reform.”

Harry didn’t know how an eleven year old knew the first thing about politics. He knew nothing of the British Ministry of Magic, and his knowledge of the Muggle government was shaky, at best. Maybe being the son of a Minister for Magic came with insider knowledge.

“Anyways, tell me about yourselves,” Ling said, grabbing two Chocolate Frogs at once. “I should know more about the people I’m building relations with.”

Ron started telling Ling about his father’s job at the Ministry and the cases he’s recently worked on, from biting tea sets to enchanted books. Ling listened with an easy smile, his hands never free of the now quickly dwindling sweets.

“Hey,” Ed cut Ron’s story off, glaring at Ling. “I’m okay with sharing but I didn’t say you can eat all of it.”

“Sorry, Ed,” Ling said, and he almost did sound apologetic, “but I’m eating for two.”

“Huh?” Ed looked just about as confused as Harry felt. “What do you mean by that?”

Ling flashed a full-toothed smile. Harry swore it was a trick of the light, but his eyes almost appeared purple for a second. “You know what I mean,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his gloved hand.

Ed stared, as did Winry. Lan Fan shifted in her stance. Finally, Ed backed off, his hand dropping back to his side.

“Greedy bastard,” he murmured under his breath. Victorious, Ling grabbed a slice of the quiche Ed brought and ate half of it in one bite.

Harry did not understand in the slightest what that all meant, but chose not to question it. If Ed wasn’t going to complain about it, then he wouldn’t, either. Maybe being the son of the Minister for Magic meant they were supposed to give Ling more food, though that hardly seemed fair. He looked up at Lan Fan, who had remained standing with her arms crossed.

“You can sit, if you want,” he offered, clearing away some of the discarded wrappers to make more room for her. Lan Fan looked him and Ron over for a minute, then relented, taking a seat between Ron and the compartment door.

Talk continued as the train passed by fields and forests and the sun drew closer to the horizon. Winry told Harry and Ron all about the prosthetics her granny made, at one point retrieving a book of schematics she brought with her. Lan Fan seemed to slowly grow more comfortable with the group dynamic, eventually asking if any of them would be open to sparring once they arrived at Hogwarts, saying she needed to maintain her skills. Ed was more than happy to oblige, and Harry recalled the training session he witnessed back at the butchery. Was Lan Fan cut from the same fighting cloth?

The compartment door slid open, and they came face to face with a teary eyed boy and a bushy haired girl. The girl was already wearing her school robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad?” she asked the group. “Neville lost his.” The boy nodded, hiccuping.

“Sorry, no,” Harry said, mentally making a note to keep an eye out for any missing toads.

Ed, Winry, Ling, and Lan Fan all also shook their heads. “All I’ve got is this rat,” Ron said, pulling a thin, balding rat from his pocket. Harry noticed Lan Fan narrowing her eyes at the creature from the corner of his eye.

The girl huffed. “Well, let us know if you see one,” she said, moving to presumably continue her search elsewhere. “You should all get changed, anyways. We’ll probably be there soon. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way.” She was gone before they could share their names in return.

“What’s with the rat?” Ling asked, holding his head up with his fist.

“Oh, this,” Ron said, almost sounding embarrassed. “This is Scabbers. He’s an old thing, pretty much useless, he was Percy’s rat before I got him-”

“It gives me bad vibes.”

Ed sent Ling a confused sideways glance. Ron, despite insulting Scabbers mere seconds before, held the rat close and glared at Ling. “There’s nothing wrong with Scabbers!”

“It has a foul aura,” Lan Fan agreed with Ling, still glaring at the rat.

Confused, Ron held Scabbers to his nose and sniffed. “He doesn’t smell that bad-”

“That’s not what I mea-”

“So, it’s true!”

A new voice came from the still open compartment door. Harry turned and saw the boy from Madam Malkin’s standing in the doorway, now flanked by two others. He appeared triumphant, instantly confirming all the negative feelings Harry had about him in the robes shop.

“The son of China’s Minister for Magic, and the famous Harry Potter. Both really are attending Hogwarts this year,” the boy smirked.

“What’s it to you?” Harry asked, wishing he would just leave.

“It’s important to build connections,” the boy said, gesturing to the two boys behind him. “That’s Crabbe, and that’s Goyle. And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Ron snorted, instantly directing Malfoy’s ire to him. “I don’t need to ask who you are. Red hair, freckles, hand-me-down robes, clear signs of a Weasley. So your parents are still having more kids than they can afford?”

Ron went pink at the nose. Harry glared up at Malfoy, and he could see Ed baring his teeth.

“Anyways,” Malfoy looked between Harry and Ling. “Potter, and… Yao, was it? I’m sure you know some wizarding families are better than others. I can help you find the right sort.” He extended out a hand.

Ling smirked. “I see, you’re one of those types. No thanks, I know how to choose my allies.”

Harry felt relieved. For a second, he had been worried that Ling would accept Malfoy’s offer, and that his desire to build international cooperation only extended to the rich and well-off. Malfoy sputtered a bit, then turned expectantly to Harry.

“I think I can find the right and wrong sort by myself, thanks.”

Malfoy was going pinker by the second, flustered that the conversation didn’t go his way. He snarled. “If you keep going this way, you’ll end up like your parents.” That one stung, and Harry was sure it showed on his face. “They also didn’t know what was good for them-”

“Oh that does it!” Ed yelled, fists clenched. “I’ve been wanting to beat your face in since Diagon Alley!”

Malfoy glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare-”

But they were cut off by loud, nearly barking laughter. Ling pushed himself to his feet. “If you want to separate us it’s going to take more than that,” he said, walking towards the compartment door. He was a good deal taller than Malfoy, nearly towering over him. “I’ve already decided that they’re mine.”

To Harry’s complete delight, Ling slammed the door shut right in Malfoy’s face. They could hear angry sputters from the other side, but it seemed that Malfoy decided it wasn’t worth it to try again. The voices retreated.

Ling sighed. “Well, he sure is an interesting character.” As if nothing happened, he plopped back down in his seat. “So, does anyone want the last sandwich or can I have it?”

Before any of them could fight over the sandwich, a disembodied voice sounded through the compartment. “We will be reaching Hogwarts in fifteen minutes' time. Please change into your robes and prepare for departure. Leave all of your luggage in the compartment. It will be taken to the school separately.”

A deep pit settled in Harry’s stomach. It was suddenly all way too real.

“And that’s our cue to leave,” Ling announced, snatching the last sandwich. Lan Fan tucked a few sweets into her pockets and balanced a slice of quiche between her teeth. Then, all they could do was watch as Ling unlatched the window and climbed back out, Lan Fan on his heels.

“See you in a bit!” Ling’s voice came from beyond the compartment, already fading into the distance.

Ed groaned. “This is gonna be a long year.”

Harry, Ron, Ed, and Winry removed their outercoats, donning the black robes in their stead. They split the remaining sweets between them. Harry had developed a fondness for Chocolate Frogs, so he got most of those. Ron favored the Cauldron Cakes, while Ed and Winry got an even split of Licorice Wands and Pumpkin Pasties.

The train grew slower, and slower, and slower, before coming to a complete stop.

They had arrived.

Chapter Text

“First years! First years this way!”

Hagrid’s familiar voice was a welcome sound as Harry escaped the confines of the train. A minor stampede impeded further progress, but he could see the bobbing lanternlight illuminating the bushy ends of Hagrid’s beard. The air was already cold with the nighttime chill, he saw Winry shivering under her robes.

Finally, the group managed to gather around Hagrid. The older students proceeded down a different path, Harry spotted the Weasley twins chatting with one of their presumed friends as they walked past.

Finally, when the forty-odd first years were all accounted for, Hagrid led them away from the platform and the still gleaming train. They were descending, and the darkness made it hard to see, only the glow of Hagrid’s lantern at the front providing any sort of guide to follow.

Finally, they reached their destination. The air felt somehow even colder, and Harry gasped at the sight of the massive black lake before them. And, past the lake…

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” Hagrid declared, and Harry could only stare in awe at the massive castle on the other side of the lake. “Now, no more than four to a boat, let’s go!”

Harry noticed the small fleet of boats where the land met the water. He took a step towards the closest boat, trying to beckon for Ron, Ed, and Winry to join him. But, when he looked back, only Ron was still there. He saw Ling dragging Ed and Winry into the neighboring boat, where Lan Fan was already sitting. Ed gave him an apologetic little wave, and Harry nodded back.

Harry and Ron claimed one of the boats, with Hermione and Neville taking the two remaining spots. Once everyone was situated, the boats began gliding across the surface of the lake towards the castle.

Harry couldn’t begin to describe the sights. Hermione was whispering about the history of the castle under her breath, like reciting from a textbook, and Ron kept shooting her increasingly annoyed looks.

They reached their final destination at the opposite harbor. The first years all clambered out one by one. Ron was the first out of their boat, and he extended a hand to Harry. Hermione did not accept the offered hand as she followed, instead scrambling out on her own. Ron scowled, and nearly slipped when Neville took his hand unexpectedly.

After a brief scan of the boats for any lost items - which reunited Neville with Trevor the toad - Hagrid led them up large stone steps. They were tall, Harry had to push himself up with all his might. Finally, they arrived at a large, oaken door.

Hagrid wrapped his hand against the knocker, letting it hit the door three times.

The door swung open from the inside, revealing a stern-looking witch dressed in emerald-emblazed robes.

“The first years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.

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

With that, the first years dutifully followed McGonagall into the hall. She did not lead them into what Harry assumed to be the main hall, where he could already hear a symphony of voices, instead directing them to a smaller room on the side.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” McGonagall greeted them once they settled, her stoic presence respecting silence. “Before you join your upperclassmen for the start-of-term feast, you will be sorted into your Houses. These Houses will be like your second family here at Hogwarts. We have Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Throughout the year, triumphs and exceptional feats will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup.”

She looked over all of them again, and Harry felt a sudden sense of dread. He couldn’t help but think that he’d be a detriment to whatever House he was placed in.

“The Sorting will begin momentarily. I will collect you when we are ready for you.”

With that, McGonagall left the room, and the first years could do nothing but wait.

“What do you think the Sorting will be like?” Harry asked, nervous.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, and Harry’s stomach sank. If someone with five older brothers didn’t know what the sorting entailed, then what hope did Harry have? “Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking. I- I don’t think I’m up for wrestling a troll.”

“They wouldn’t make us wrestle a troll,” Hermione shot back, but she also looked frantic. “It’s probably just a test on everything we should have read over the summer, to see how prepared we really are.”

A written test didn’t feel any less daunting than a fight with a troll to Harry, as he felt all of the summer reading he managed to get done drip out of his head like candle wax.

“What do you think, Ed?” he turned to the blond, who managed to link back up with them. “Did your dad ever tell you?”

Ed shook his head. “I don’t think it’s possible to tell someone who hasn’t been sorted yet how it’s done,” he hypothesized. “I mean, think about it. With how many people we have here, odds are that a good chunk of us have parents or siblings who’ve been to Hogwarts before. And not a single one of those parents or siblings wanted to tell them about the ceremony? I don’t think there’s any point in speculating on it. We just gotta face whatever comes our way.”

Those words did little to assure Harry of anything, and his feet felt like lead by the time McGonagall returned for them. He followed the professor on autopilot, trying to calm his nerves by focusing on the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall, showing the nighttime stars as if the roof did not exist.

Five long tables stood within the hall. Four of them, representing the Houses, stood parallel, while the fifth, reserved for staff members, was positioned atop a small incline at the very back of the hall. McGonagall stepped up towards the incline, directing the first years to gather closer. She placed a stool and a tattered hat before them.

Before Harry could think of anything else, a seam opened up on the hat, resembling a wrinkled mouth, and a song emerged from its fabric lips.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me.

“You can keep your bowlers black, your top hates sleek and tall, for I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all.

“There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see, so try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be.

“You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart;

“You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;

“Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind;

“Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends, those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends.

“So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) for I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Thunderous applause came from the staff and the upperclassmen as the song ran its course. Harry didn’t know if the prospect of having the hat publicly judge his fate made him any calmer. It didn’t help that he didn’t think that he was a good fit for any of the Houses.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a piece of parchment, peering down at it through her spectacles. “When I call your name, step forward. You will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted.”

She cleared her throat, and began reading off the names.

“Abbott, Hannah.”

One of the girls closest to the front stumbled forward, her blond pigtails bobbing as she walked. The Sorting Hat completely covered her eyes when she placed it on her head, and she gripped the edges of the stool in nervous anticipation. For a moment, there was only silence. Then…

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

A grin came over Hannah’s face as she tugged off the hat, running towards the table that erupted in applause, welcoming her with open arms.

“Bones, Susan.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Susan took a seat next to Hannah, the two girls turning to watch the rest of the Sorting.

Unlike the two before him, Terry Boot was made a Ravenclaw, as was Mandy Brocklehurst.

“Brown, Lavender.”

The fervor of the Sorting was getting to everyone, as Lavender was much more bold as she approached that hat. She was rewarded for her daring by being placed in Gryffindor. Harry saw Fred and George Weasley hollering loudest of all as Lavender squeezed in to find a spot at the table.

“Bullstrode, Millicent.”

Millicent was the tallest of all sorted so far, so the hat only barely fell past her eyes. She sat with arms crossed as she waited for the verdict.

“SLYTHERIN!”

This time, applause wasn’t the only sound. Sure, the table that Harry assumed to be Slytherin cheered as Millicent made her way over, but Harry heard a few boos, as well. The Weasley twins again appeared to be the loudest culprits.

Was Slytherin truly that bad?

Michael Corner was next, and another Ravenclaw. Vincent Crabbe, one of Malfoy’s friends from the train, was made an instant Slytherin. Harry could see where the house got its reputation now. Crabbe looked downright mean, and Bullstrode wasn’t the most pleasant, either. This became further solidified in his mind when Tracey Davis also joined Slytherin, and she had looked down at the hat in disgust before donning it.

“Elric, Edward.”

Harry perked up. Ed was the first of his friends to be sorted. He stepped up to the stool, and he almost looked like he was ready to challenge the Sorting Hat to a duel. As by far the shortest of those sorted so far, the hat went far past the tip of his nose when he put it on.

Harry waited for the verdict, but the hat remained silent on Ed’s head. Thirty seconds turned to a minute, then two, then three.

“Looks like we might get a hatstall,” he heard one of the older Ravenclaws whispered on the side.

“What’s that?” Terry asked his upperclassman.

“When the Sorting Hat can’t pick between two or more houses,” the older Ravenclaw explained. “True hatstalls are rare, that’s when it takes longer than five minutes, and those only come around every few decades.”

The three minutes turned to four. The seconds ticked past. Harry waited with baited breath. It was clear that Ed himself was starting to get impatient, tapping his foot against the floor.

And finally, after spending five minutes and twenty three seconds on Edward’s head, the Sorting Hat passionately declared, “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Finally!” Ed exhaled, tugging the hat off in one fluid motion and wiping away the accumulated sweat. McGonagall cleared her throat once more and picked up where she left off.

Kevin Entwhistle was made a Ravenclaw. And just like that, it was Lan Fan’s turn. Her sorting went much faster than Ed’s, as it only took the Sorting Hat eight seconds to declare her a Hufflepuff. Less than a minute later, she was joined by Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Finnigan, Seamus.”

The boy right next to Harry had to wriggle his way forward to get through the still dwindling crowd of first years. After a minute on the stool, the hat sent him to Gryffindor.

“Goldstein, Anthony.”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Goyle, Gregory.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Granger, Hermione.”

Hermione was practically a nervous wreck as she made her way to the stool. She placed the hat over head, and Harry could see her force down deep, calming breaths.

Again, the hat remained silent for a while. Whispers of a second hatstall began to proliferate some of the nearby students. But, it didn’t get to that point, as after four minutes, the hat yelled out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

After Hermione departed for her table, Daphne Greengrass took her place on the stool, only to be sent to Slytherin less than thirty seconds later. Wayne Hopkins was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff, as was Megan Jones. Sue Li joined Ravenclaw.

“Longbottom, Neville.”

Neville nearly tripped and face-planted as he stumbled towards the stool. He looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor. The hat was silent, and the longer the silence prevailed the more uncomfortable Neville looked.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Neville bolted from the chair, stumbling towards the Gryffindor table.

“Longbottom, the hat-” McGonagall called after him. Neville’s face went red as the entire hall roared with laughter. He almost tripped again as he went to return to the hat. Professor McGonagall gave no further reprimands, simply reading off, “Macdougal, Morag.”

“RAVENCLAW!”

After Morag was Ernie Macmillan, who became an almost instant Hufflepuff.

“Malfoy, Draco.”

Malfoy smirked as he lifted the hat to his head. It barely grazed the top of his hair before shouting out, “SLYTHERIN!”

“Moon, Lily.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Nott, Theodore.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Parkinson, Pansy.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Patil, Padma.”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Patil, Parvati.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Perks, Sally-Anne.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Potter, Harry.”

Harry forced his legs forward. At least the crowd of still-to-be-sorted first years had thinned out enough that he didn’t need to shove his way past anyone. Still, the onset of whispers made him want to run out of the hall before he even reached the hat. He let himself collapse onto the stool, and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

Darkness enveloped him as the brim of the hat obscured his vision. He expected muted silence to be his sole companion as he waited for the verdict, but the Sorting Hat’s song-like tones greeted him, its whisper in his ear just for him to hear.

“Hmmm… Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, too, and the nice thirst to prove yourself… Where to put you…”

“Not Slytherin,” he begged the hat.

“Not Slytherin, eh,” the hat whispered back. “But Slytherin can help you on your way to greatness.”

“Not Slytherin. Please, not Slytherin.”

“Are you sure? Very well, in that case… GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry realized the Sorting Hat had shouted out the last word, his sorting finalized. He grinned as a cheering louder than all the previous echoed around, reverberating through the hall.

“We got Potter! We got Potter!” The Weasley twins hollered.

Harry placed the Sorting Hat back on the stool and weaved his way to the Gryffindor table as an Oliver Rivers stepped up behind him.

“Here!” Ed called out, gently nudging Seamus to move over to make room for Harry to sit next to him. Percy Weasley reached across the table to shake Harry’s hand in vigor, and various other students clapped him on the back.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Oliver Rivers departed for his table, and Winry Rockbell stepped up to be sorted.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Sally Smith was sent to Hufflepuff. Dean Thomas joined Gryffindor. Lisa Turpin was accepted as a Ravenclaw.

Only three were left. A dark-skinned student Harry didn’t know, Ling, who looked completely at ease, and Ron, who turned a sickly shade of green as he stepped up to the stool.

The Sorting Hat was quick with him. “GRYFFINDOR!”

This time, Harry nudged Ed to make space, and Ron all but collapsed into his seat.

“Was there ever any doubt, little brother?” Fred teased him.

“Think you’re too good for the family house, Ronnikins?” George heckled.

“Shut up,” Ron murmured, trying to tune out Percy’s congratulatory statements.

“Yao, Ling,” McGonagall’s voice undercut the conversation.

Harry heard a few whispers floating through the hall as Ling approached the Sorting Hat. He supposed rumors about the son of China’s Minister for Magic had made their way around the train and entered the rest of the student body.

Harry watched the hat get lowered onto Ling’s head. All of the Sortings had made sense to what he knew of his new friends. Ed had tried to fight a much larger Dudley when he was eight. Lan Fan seemed utterly devoted to Ling. Winry was practically a mechanics expert. Ron’s entire family had been Gryffindor.

He expected Ling to join them in Gryffindor, with how he stood up to Malfoy. Or maybe Hufflepuff, with Lan Fan.

The hat was silent for one second, then for two.

“SLYTHERIN! SLYTHERIN!”

Only a small scattering of applause came forth this time. Everyone looked more confused than anything, from the first years to the returning students. Even Professor McGonagall had a perturbed expression on her face, however much she tried to hide it. Ling alone seemed unbothered, handing back the hat with his usual easy grin and skipping over to the Slytherin table.

“Does- does the Sorting Hat usually announce your House twice?” Harry asked, trying to determine if he was hearing things right.

“No, it doesn’t,” Percy said, his eyebrows furrowed. “That’s odd.”

“Never heard it do that before,” Fred confirmed.

Ed simply shrugged. “Who cares? Maybe the hat just thought he was extra Slytherin.”

Blaise Zabini’s singular “SLYTHERIN!” was almost a lackluster finish to the ceremony. McGonagall rolled up her scroll and carried the stool and Sorting Hat from the hall.

Harry looked over to the Slytherin table. He could see Ling animatedly chatting with one of the older students. A twisting formed in his gut.

Ling was a Slytherin, cut from the same cloth as the likes of Malfoy. Slytherin, the House known for producing Dark wizards. Slytherin, the House Voldemort came from.

He turned to Ed, who was impatiently staring down at his empty plate. “What do you think it means, with Ling being in Slytherin and all?”

“Huh? What of it?”

“I mean, I just- I didn’t think he’d go there.”

Ed snorted so hard he started coughing. “Really? You didn’t think ‘Mr. I Decided I Will Rule My Country As An Eleven Year Old’ could go anywhere but Slytherin, did you? The greedy bastard’s nothing but untapered ambition and underhanded tactics.”

“But… people told me that Slytherin’s the House of Dark wizards…”

Ed sighed. “Look, Ling was sorted into Slytherin because he’s cunning, ambitious, and looks out for his own. Those aren’t bad things in a vacuum. He turned down Malfoy’s offer on the train, remember? I wouldn’t worry about him.”

Harry stuttered, eyes fluttering over to Ling one more time. Ling appeared entirely at ease amongst the rest of the snakes, with some of them looking at him with curiosity as he talked.

Harry wanted to believe that Ed was right, if only for the sake of his own sanity.

Movement at the High Table caught his attention. The figure that he recognized as Albus Dumbledore from his Chocolate Frog cards got to his feet, throwing his arms out wide in welcome.

“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

The entire hall burst into applause as Dumbledore returned to his seat, and Harry didn’t know if he was supposed to laugh or not.

“Is he a bit mad?” he asked Percy, the person of highest authority present nearby.

“Mad? He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world. But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”

Harry hadn’t even noticed that the previously empty plates were now full to the brim with all sorts of lavish meals he had only seen in dreams before. He didn’t even know where to start. Ed had already piled his plate high with potatoes and gravy. He sent Harry a mischievous grin.

“Think of it this way, at least Ling will ensure the rest of the Slytherins will starve.”

Harry spared another glance at the Slytherin table. True to Ed’s prediction, Ling was inhaling food at a comically fast pace, with his closest tablemates leaning far away to not get knocked in the face by his elbows. Harry couldn’t help the light chuckle at the scene, before turning back to his own banquet.

He listened in on the side chatter that filtered through the rest of the table. Hermione pestered Percy about the upcoming curriculum, but he was more than happy to indulge her questions. Ed occasionally pitched in with a few inquiries of his own, citing that it’s been a quarter century since his dad finished and that the curriculum has surely been updated. Ron got into an argument with the Gryffindor House ghost, and Seamus and Neville discussed their family histories.

Just when Harry thought he could not eat anymore, the food vanished right off their plates, only to be replaced by dessert. He had to try at least a little bit of everything, even though sleep was starting to take over. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, so that he could start his fantastical new life off fresh tomorrow.

Harry glanced at the High Table again. Dumbledore and McGonagall were discussing something, and Hagrid sat at the end of the table with a larger-than-average goblet. Harry saw another familiar face in Professor Quirrell, though he was now wearing a strange purple turban. Quirrell was speaking to a professor that Harry did not recognize, though his hair looked like it hadn’t seen conditioner in at least a decade.

Harry looked past Quirrell, and suddenly felt a flash of pain across his scar as he made eye contact with the unfamiliar professor. He winced and turned away. The pain faded.

“Everything alright?” Percy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said, though he didn’t really feel alright. “Who’s the professor talking to Professor Quirrell?”

“Ah, that would be Professor Snape. He’s the potionsmaster, but everyone knows he’s been after Quirrell’s job for years.”

Harry had the sinking feeling that Snape didn’t like him at all, though he supposed he wouldn’t know for sure until his first Potions lesson.

And at least, even the dessert had become too much, and the plates were clean and empty once more. Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The start of term announcements all seemed pretty standard. Stay out of the forest. No magic in the corridors between lessons. Quidditch trials in the second week. An entire section of the third floor corridor being out of bounds seemed to disconcert even Percy, but Harry was too tired to truly pay attention.

The feast concluded with the Hogwarts school anthem, which was equal parts hilarious and aggravating as Fred and George made it last far longer with their march-tempo. When they finally wrapped up, Dumbledore clapped loudest of all.

“Now then, Prefects, show your first-years to their dormitories, and off to bed for everyone!”

Percy hopped to his feet, straightening out his Prefect badge. “Alright, then. First year Gryffindors, with me! Come this way!”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ed, and the rest of their cohort trailed after him. They encountered a minor traffic jam right outside the Great Hall, and it became immediately clear why. Both the first year Hufflepuffs and the first year Slytherins were stuck at an impasse, and at the center were Ling and Lan Fan. Harry could just make out that they were talking in a foreign language, with Lan Fan frantic and Ling trying to reassure her.

“Lan Fan probably doesn’t like that Ling will be in a completely different part of the castle,” Ed said. Percy frowned, making eye contact with one of the Hufflepuff Prefects from across the crowd. His peer nodded, wading in through the throng of students.

“Alright, let’s get moving,” the Hufflepuff Prefect said, putting a hand on Lan Fan’s shoulder. She flinched and nearly elbowed her upperclassman in the chest. “Everyone stays with their House at night. It’s Hogwarts policy.”

“Lan Fan, we’ll be fine,” Ling said, switching back to English. “Seriously, we’re fine! Just go with your House.”

Some of the Slytherins had already broken off to follow one of their Prefects while the other waited for Ling.

Lan Fan looked down, then with a quick, “Alright, but meet me outside the Hall first thing before breakfast,” she stepped aside, joining the rest of the Hufflepuffs. It gave enough room for the Gryffindors to pass through.

The first years continued to trail Percy up multiple flights of stairs and through a few secret passageways, until they arrived at one of the highest towers at a portrait of a woman in a silken dress.

“Password?” the portrait asked.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy said, and the portrait hung open, revealing another passageway.

Beyond the passageway was a beautiful room decorated entirely in red and gold, a cracking fireplace warming the many armchairs and cushions placed around the perimeters.

Percy directed Harry and the other new Gryffindor boys to their dormitory, and Harry was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

“Wake up, Harry!”

Harry groaned, blinking away the lights in his eyes. The red canopy overhead filled his vision, and the events of the previous night came rushing back. It wasn’t a dream. He was really at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor, and today would be the first day of classes!

“Oof!” Harry rolled away as Ron’s pillow came down again. The redhead looked a bit disheveled, like he himself was also in disbelief about the reality of their situation.

“Everyone’s already left,” Ron said. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss breakfast!”

Harry sat up, stretching his arms overhead. He had the faintest memories of a strange dream the night before, though the details escaped him. Still, he didn’t want to miss breakfast or be late for his very first day of class, so he pulled out a clean set of robes. To his amusement, the previously all-black tie had magically turned red and gold, the stripes symbolizing his Gryffindor allegiance.

Now dressed and his hair roughly finger-combed, Harry and Ron clambered out of the portrait hole and beyond the Gryffindor threshold. He stared out into the hallway.

“Which way was it to the Great Hall again?” Harry murmured. He had been following Percy last night, but he didn’t have the route memorized.

“Uh…” Ron looked equally unsure. “We came in from the left- no, from the right… Right?” He spun in place, trying to determine which corridor was the correct choice.

The longer they waited, the colder breakfast got. Harry, with a spark of determination, pulled Ron to the left hallway, reasoning that as long as they kept going down they’d reach the Great Hall eventually.

It was easier said than done. The various staircases shifted and moved, sometimes taking Harry and Ron to the opposite landing from the one they were aiming for. Some of the moving portraits helpfully pointed them the right way, while others merely laughed at their lack of orientation.

“We went through this door, right?” Harry said, looking at a doorway that he was sure housed one of the secret routes Percy led them through last night.

“Looks familiar,” Ron said, pushing against the door. It didn’t budge, so he shoved his whole weight against it. When it again didn’t move, Harry joined him, pressing himself into the door, and-

“What are you boys doing?!”

They startled and jolted away from the door. A man that Harry vaguely recognized as Mr. Filch, the caretaker, was glaring at them, his ashy cat Mrs. Norris cuddled in his arms.

“Trying to get to breakfast,” Harry explained, hoping the caretaker could point them in the right direction.

“A likely story!” Mr. Filch hissed. “First day and you’re already breaking the rules! This is the forbidden corridor!”

Harry’s stomach sank. He remembered Professor Dumbledore marking an area of the castle as off-limits, but he hadn’t realized that it was the section behind this door. He hadn’t even realized that they’d reached the third floor.

“We’re sorry,” he said, putting his hands out. “We didn’t know. We just got lost-”

“I ought to take you to the dungeon and hang you by the ankles-”

“M-Mr. Filch, th-that’s a tad e-ex-execessive, don’t you think?”

Harry let out a relieved sigh as Professor Quirrell, stuttering mess that he was, made his way towards them. He wrung his hands, looking between Harry and Ron, Mr. Filch, and the immovable door.

“I’m sure Mister Potter and his friend simply got l-lost. Is- is that so?”

“Yes!” Ron exclaimed. “We’re just trying to find the Great Hall!”

“Ah- first day woes,” Quirrell said with a look of pained sympathy. “F-follow me.”

Harry and Ron were more than happy to tail Quirrell for the rest of their descent, though Mr. Filch never did stop glaring at them. The eventual sight of the Great Hall was a welcome one, and the two Gryffindors raced to find good seats.

“There you are!” Ed exclaimed, waving them down. Harry squeezed in on his left, and Ron on his right. Ed was polishing off a bowl of oats, seasoned with berries, nuts, and a helping of honey.

“You left before us,” Ron accused.

“I anticipated getting lost,” Ed responded. “So I left early. I tried to wake you both, but you sleep like the dead.”

“How long did it take you to find the Great Hall?” Harry asked, helping himself to a serving of toast and jam.

“Twenty minutes,” Ed said. “The castle is too damn big. By the way, Professor McGonagall passed out schedules a few minutes ago, I snagged your papers for you.”

He passed their copies to them before taking a sip of his orange juice. “Since we’re first years and just taking the foundation classes, we should all have the same schedule. Shame, no Alchemy yet.”

“My brother Bill told me that Alchemy is only a sixth-year elective,” Ron said with a bit of sausage in his mouth. “And you need to get top grades in a bunch of fifth year exams to even qualify. Didn’t your dad tell you that?”

“I put in a petition to start early,” Ed sighed. “Looks like my request was denied.”

Harry looked over the schedule. It appeared that two Houses took every subject together. Today, they were starting with Defense Against the Dark Arts with Slytherin, followed by Transfiguration with Ravenclaw. After lunch, they had Herbology with Hufflepuff.

He grinned. He liked Professor Quirrell already, and Defense Against the Dark Arts sounded like a fun class. Professor McGonagall was strict, but the little he recalled from the Transfiguration textbook had been interesting. He had no expectations for Herbology or its professor, but he’d give it his all.

“Let’s see…” Ron muttered. “The Defense classroom should be… somewhere over there.”

“Well, let’s leave early and arrive on time,” Ed said, already pushing away from the table. As they walked towards the giant entry doorways, Harry picked up on the whispered mutterings cascading after them.

“Is that him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see the scar?”

Harry put his head down, brushed his hair over his forehead, and hunched his shoulders.

“They’re all whispering about me,” Harry groaned.

“You’re famous, mate,” Ron said, wincing, “Kinda unavoidable.”

“Invest in the body double idea,” Ed said once again.

They had a full twenty minutes to find the classroom, an endeavor that took them fifteen. To none of their surprise, Hermione was already waiting outside the classroom, textbook in hand and doing some last minute revision.

“Door’s still locked,” Hermione said without looking up. “We’re the first ones here.”

“Well, that gives us some time to relax,” Ed said, leaning against the wall.

“What do you reckon Quirrell’s like?” Ron asked. “He seemed nice enough this morning.”

“I met him in the Leaky Cauldron when I was getting supplies,” Harry said. “He’s nice, but always nervous.”

“I’d be too if Snape was after my job. Fred and George told me about him, they say he always favors the Slytherins and looks for any excuse to get Gryffindors in trouble.”

Harry quickly checked the schedule. They only had Potions once a week, Friday mornings for a double period with Slytherins. He was looking forward to it less and less.

A new set of voices joined from a little ways down the hall. Harry turned to look, seeing Ling and - to his surprise - Lan Fan, approaching the Defense classroom. Lan Fan definitely had a different class at this time, but she still flitted by Ling’s side, exchanging words in Chinese with him.

“She’s like his shadow,” Ron murmured.

Ling’s voice, though Harry couldn’t understand the content, sounded relaxed, as usual. Perhaps he was reassuring Lan Fan of something, who by contrast seemed much more agitated. Harry wondered if that was their usual dynamic. Lan Fan claimed to be his bodyguard, but he seemed much more content to see her as a friend. He would run ahead recklessly, and leave poor Lan Fan to chase after him. The picture was becoming clearer and clearer.

“Relax, Lan Fan,” Ling said with a sharp-toothed grin, suddenly switching to English. “If worst comes to worst, we’ve got the Ultimate Shield. Besides, this is a school of magic, not Amestris.”

At Harry’s side, Ed jolted up like struck by lightning. Ling and Lan Fan finally noticed they weren’t alone in the corridor and stood stock still, silently observing the group.

“What’s Amestris?” Hermione broke the silence, closing her book. She looked at the pair with curiosity. “I’ve never heard of that before, and I’ve been doing all this reading. It’s some obscure Wizarding term, isn’t it?”

Ling didn’t answer, and neither did Lan Fan. Frustrated at the silence, Hermione turned to the others for answers.

“You two have wizarding families, right?” she asked Ron and Ed. “So-”

But Ron looked just as confused as Harry felt. And Ed… Ed’s eyes were locked on Ling’s, and it looked like they were having a silent, telepathic argument.

Amestris… what in the world did that mean? If Hermione hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t have given the exchange another thought, but now… something about it bugged him.

But any further inquiries were cut off by the sound of a chime echoing through the halls, indicating the countdown to reach the first class of the day, and more students making their way through the halls. Harry spotted Malfoy and his own pseudo-bodyguards coming from the far end of the hall, Malfoy gesturing with his hands in an overly dramatic fashion. Lan Fan hissed something at Ling, and for the first time, her expression towards him seemed cross. Then, she vanished, moving down the hallway so fast Harry couldn’t track her.

The classroom door squeaked open, and Professor Quirrell greeted them with a stutter, beckoning for them to take their seats. Ling quickly saddled up next to Ed to dodge more of Hermione’s questions. She wrinkled her nose, taking a seat next to Neville. Harry got a pair of desks for himself and Ron in the second row.

“We-welcome, st-st-students,” Quirrell greeted them once everyone was settled. He smiled at them in the same manner that prey tried to appease predators. “Sh-should be an easy start today, we’ll just cover the syllabus, and- and… uh, roll call, let’s start with roll call!”

Harry’s interest in the subject was quickly dwindling as Quirrell stuttered over each and every name. Quirrell was nice, but it definitely didn’t feel like he was equipped to teach.

“H-Harry P-Potter?” Harry flushed as he raised his hand, an air of whispers already cropping up. He saw Malfoy rolling his eyes from across the room.

“Uh- Ling Yao?” Quirrell said, nearing the end of his list. But Ling didn’t raise his hand like everyone preceding him. Harry looked his way, to where the Slytherin and Ed were sitting a few rows behind them.

Ling was glaring at the Professor with venom in his half-lidded gaze. His hands were curled in fists on top of the desk, and Harry could practically see him shaking.

Quirrell squeaked. “Ah- there you are. Ah- well… Blaise Z-Zabini, perfect that’s everyone!”

Quirrell turned his back to the class to begin writing out an introductory message on the blackboard. Harry saw Ed learn over and whisper something to Ling, but the other boy hardly reacted, not taking his eyes off the professor once.

Harry felt the onset of a headache and looked away. Ed had told him not to worry about Ling, but here he was, clearly targeting the meekest and nicest professor in the entire school.

Ling had been fine on the train, but now… Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about him anymore.

Quirrell stumbled through the curriculum, giving them a walkthrough of the course and the subjects they would be tackling in their first year. They were starting small, with a theoretical introduction to some Dark creatures and spells, and some basic counterspells that they would then build upon in upcoming years.

Harry made notes of some of the more interesting points. He did want to learn how to fight against Dark magic. He imagined it would come in handy later down the line, though he didn’t know if Quirrell could truly do the topic justice, since he was clearly terrified of his own subject. Ron held his face in his hands and stared ahead, clearly daydreaming about something or other. In the seat in front of them, Hermione was furiously scribbling out notes, clearly writing everything word for word. Neville scooted over in his chair to give her more space.

Harry spared a glance behind him. Ed was also taking notes, though Harry saw him elbowing Ling under the desk. Ling was still glaring at Professor Quirrell.

“Well, any- any questions?” Quirrell asked, clasping his hands together nervously.

A Gryffindor girl, who Harry vaguely recognized as Lavender Brown, raised her hand.

“Y-yes, Miss Brown?”

“Uh, if you don’t mind telling us, why do you have that turban?” Lavender asked, scrunching her shoulders and lowering her hand.

“Ah- well, it’s a long story, b-but… during my travels, I helped an African prince deal with a very tr-troublesome z-z-zombie,” Quirrell stuttered. “He gave me the turban as th-thanks.”

“Oh! How’d you get rid of the zombie?” Seamus Finnigan called out without raising his hand. A murmur went through the class, and Harry instantly sat at attention. A live retelling of how their professor vanquished a Dark creature could be just the thing this class needed.

“Ah- uh- cold’s coming on strong this year,” Quirrell stammered. “Oh- look at the time, you should all be going to your next class. Ah, for homework, review the first chapter of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and write a six inch reflection. That’s all-”

He trailed off, grazing them all with that now familiar uneasy smile. Some of the students groaned and complained about him dodging the story about the zombie. Harry himself was disappointed, but simply packed up his schoolbag, stuffing the textbook and parchment back into it.

“I bet he didn’t really beat a zombie,” Ron muttered as they passed beyond the threshold of the door. “Did you notice? The whole room had a funny smell.”

Harry had noticed, though he had done his best to ignore it. “It smelled like garlic. That is used to get rid of vampires, right? Or did Muggles make that up?”

Before Ron could answer, Ed and Ling passed through the door.

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with him,” Ling insisted.

“Just like you think there’s something wrong with Scabbers?” Ron accused him, glaring. It was clear that Ron didn’t have the highest opinion of Quirrell, but he liked Ling even less.

“Yes, exactly,” Ling said, completely serious.

Ron scoffed, turning and walking fast down the hall. Harry saw he was tailing Hermione at a distance, who was clearly hurrying off to Transfiguration. Something told Harry that following Hermione was a surefire way to find the classroom on time, so he matched his friend’s pace.

“That guy is mental,” Ron seethed. “There’s nothing wrong with Scabbers.”

It took the entire passing period to get to the Transfiguration classroom with how winding the corridors were, but the classroom door was open, and a quick glance inside showed the Ravenclaws already taking up desks. The Gyffindors filed in, and Harry took in the sight of Professor McGonagall at the front of the classroom, eyeing all of them through her spectacles with a serious, stoic expression.

Ed was the last one in, taking up a seat as Hermione’s desk partner in the row behind Winry and Mandy Brocklehurst.

“How was Potions?” Ed asked Winry as they settled in.

Winry sighed. “Terrible. If all magic is like this, I think I’d rather stick to machines.”

Harry was dreaded Friday’s Potions class more by the second.

Another chime echoed out, and the second the last of the sound dwindled out, McGonagall adjusted her spectacles and called out, “Terry Boot!” The Ravenclaw student quickly raised his hand. Unlike Quirrell, McGonagall did not stutter or stumble over her students’ names. By the time she ended with Ron Weasley, Harry was sure he had been correct in his assumption that Professor McGonagall was not to be crossed.

“Attention, now,” McGonagall announced. “Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you’ll learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Harry saw a few of the students pale at the grim words, and Neville nearly fell out of his chair.

McGonagall did not cover a class syllabus, going into an immediate demonstration. A flourish of her wand and an utter of an incantation, and her table had suddenly taken the form of a pig. Harry gasped, leaning forward. The pig was oinking, and its tail twitched, it was definitely a real pig.

Another wave of McGonagall’s wand, and the pig returned to its original form.

“This is just one of the many transfigurations you will learn eventually, after you have built up the fundamentals- yes, Mister Elric?”

Harry looked to the side, to see Ed with his hand raised high.

“Professor, does Transfiguration account for conservation of mass?”

A few of the surrounding students whispered in confusion. Winry rolled her eyes and covered her face with her hand. Hermione alone seemed intrigued in the inquiry.

“I mean, a pig and the table are roughly the same size, but would you, theoretically, be able to transfigure the table into an elephant?” Ed expanded on the question.

Even McGonagall seemed surprised by the question. “That is a very advanced question, Mister Elric, one normally covered in-depth in N.E.W.T. classes. To put in simpler terms, conservation of mass makes Transfiguration easier, since transfiguring the subject into something larger or smaller also involves some degree of summoning or vanishment. You can break the bounds of conservation of mass with enough concentration and practice, but I do not recommend attempting it at your current level.”

Ed nodded, jotting down some sort of note for himself as McGonagall continued her lecture. “Transfiguration is a branch of magic that requires intense concentration and vision. If you cannot follow through on your intent, the subject may get stuck in an in-between state, making it rather impractical- what now, Mister Elric?”

Ed had again raised his hand sky high, a more concerned expression replacing the previous curiosity. “Professor, are there any ethical considerations in Transfiguration?”

“Please elaborate, Mister Elric.”

Ed’s eyes skitted to the side, and he chewed the inside of his mouth. “I mean- with the transfiguration of organic matter into inorganic matter, or vice versa, does that not involve bringing something sentient into existence and then effectively killing it when the spell is reversed? And do animals involved in that in-between state feel pain or discomfort? It’s just- that needs to be considered-”

“Mister Elric,” McGonagall cut him off, her expression cross. “I am pleasantly surprised that you’re already considering some more high-level concepts that will be covered in later years. I am quite sure I know where your career interests lie, but I need you to remember that this is Transfiguration, not Alchemy.”

Ed’s arm dropped to his side as some of the other students chuckled, and he fell quiet. Winry looked at him with an expression Harry could only describe as sorrow, her earlier embarrassment now gone. Hermione had made a few notes on Ed’s questions under a section Harry gleamed as “Topics for later.”

With no further interruptions, McGonagall showed off the incantation and wand movement for the basic transfiguration spell that served as the foundation of all future branches of the subject. She had them practice the movement a few times before pulling out a matchbox and handing each of them a match. For the remainder of the lesson, they attempted to turn their matches into needles.

Harry waved his wand in the exact way McGonagall did, and said the incantation properly, yet his match remained the same. No matter how many times he tried, or any minute adjustments he made, the change did not occur. Ron appeared to be having even less luck, accidentally flicking his match across the room. McGonagall caught it between her fingers and returned it to Ron, looking thoroughly unamused.

With only a few minutes left in class, McGonagall circled between the desks, checking on everyone’s progress. “Add more flourish to the movement, Mister Potter,” she said as she observed another unsuccessful incantation. “And make sure to focus on the change you’re trying to bring about.”

She reached Hermione and Ed’s desk. “Ah, if I may, Miss Granger-” she picked up Hermione’s match and held it up for everyone to see. Harry squinted. The match had become rather shiny, and the rounded tip had turned into a point.

“Good progress,” McGonagall said, and she smiled, something Harry hadn’t considered possible. “And let’s see, Mister Elric…”

She froze as Ed slowly held up a small, metallic, fully Transfigured needle.

“Like you said, Professor,” Ed said with half a grin. “Just needed to reel it back in a bit. I guess I need a solid Transfiguration basis before I can even attempt Alchemy.”

McGonagall, though taken aback, smiled again. “I appreciate you taking that lesson to heart. Miss Granger, one point to Gryffindor, for demonstrating exceptional application of the course material. And Mister Elric, five points to Gryffindor, for quick adaptation and thorough understanding of the subject.”

Hermione, who had been smiling ear to ear when McGonagall praised her, turned an embarrassed pink, burying her head between her shoulders.

McGonagall turned to address the whole class. “We will resume this practice during our next session. For homework, write a reflection on what areas your attempts may improve in. I expect more success stories next time. Class dismissed.”

The students packed up. Hermione was one of the first out the door. Harry thought she looked upset, though he couldn’t fathom what for. She had done well, McGonagall had praised her, and she even earned Gryffindor a point.

The answer came as he and Ron followed Ed and Winry to the Great Hall for lunch.

“Why’d you have to go and upstage her?” Winry scolded her childhood friend, who almost looked sheepish now.

“I wasn’t trying to upstage her,” he insisted. “I was doing the same as anyone else-”

“Well, girls can be sensitive about that!”

“Look, I did well because this is kinda my bread and butter,” Ed shot back. “That doesn’t mean she’s not good at it. She may even surpass me once we start working with animals, because I’m not doing that until McGonagall gives us the ethics crash course.”

Winry huffed, but said nothing more. “At least Ed’s not a know-it-all like her,” Ron mumbled under his breath.

It was much easier to find the Great Hall this time around. Harry hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the tantalizing smells hit him in force. He scanned the Gryffindor table, spotting the double ginger heads of the Weasley twins. They had some free space by them, so he made his way over, Ron trailing after him.

“So, how was your first taste of Hogwarts?” George asked with a grin as Harry and Ron squeezed in next to them.

“What classes did you have?” Fred added.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts, then Transfiguration,” Ron said, reaching for a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“First impressions?”

“Defense was a bit of a joke, but Transfiguration was cool,” Ed said, stepping over the bench to force in some space. Fred and George looked behind him, locking eyes on Winry as she tried to  find space for herself.

“What’s one of the eagles doing in the lion’s den?” Fred asked. “Your table’s that way.”

Winry straightened out her shoulders, as if to challenge him. “Is it against the rules to eat at the other House tables?”

This gave Harry pause. He hadn’t really considered that. Their table, as expected, was a sea of red and gold. Each of the four House tables stood in uniform.

Fred and George exchanged looks. George shrugged. “Maybe not against the rules, but definitely not common.”

“Well, we can’t be having that, can we?”

Harry startled and Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. Neither of them had even noticed Ling approaching. The Slytherin had a full plate of food balanced in one hand, and he slung his free arm over Ed’s shoulder. Ed yelled in protest and lurched free.

“As if I can have lunch without some of my favorite people in the world,” Ling said with a sharp grin. “Come on, both of you. I found a good spot.”

Both of you clearly referred to just Ed and Winry, as Ling clapped Ed on the back and winked towards Winry as he backed away.

“He’s not gonna take no for an answer, is he?” Winry said in defeat.

“Doubt it,” Ed said. He took one of the empty plates and handed it to Winry before fetching another for himself. They both filled their plates with potatoes, gravy, and fried vegetables.

“You’re seriously going to go eat lunch with him?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, don’t see why not,” Ed replied. “I’ll see you guys in Herbology in a bit.”

“Okay, see you later,” Harry said with a half-hearted wave. He followed Ed and Winry with his eyes as they walked towards the entrance doors. Ling and Lan Fan were both waiting for them. Harry looked back down at his own plate, unable to fully explain the sudden wave of sadness that passed over him.

He had been happy to reunite with Ed in Diagon Alley, to see his first ever friend. And yet… it seemed like Ed was choosing other people over him.

“Hey, cheer up, mate,” Ron poked him in the side. “Don’t mind them.”

Harry tried to smile. If nothing else, Ron was more than willing to sit by him and complain about the difficulty of the Transfiguration assignment.

As lunch came to a close, they once again employed the strategy of tailing Hermione Granger to their next class, this one taking them out the front gates and towards the greenhouses. As they walked, they saw their yearmates, a mishmash of colored ties, sitting in the grass as they shared in their communal meal. Winry took a serving of beans from Lan Fan’s plate. Ed groaned and rolled his eyes at one of Ling’s jokes, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Ling sat cross-legged, clearly in the middle of some dramatic tale. Lan Fan was actually smiling, and readily accepted Ed’s offer of roasted asparagus.

“It’s weird,” Ron said as they passed by. “They only met on the train, but from the way they act, you’d think they are lifelong friends.”

Chapter Text

The more the first week of classes continued, the more convinced Harry became that Hogwarts was exactly where he needed to be. Everything about the school was wondrous, he could never get enough. Every morning, he would eat a grand breakfast in the Great Hall as the ceiling above reflected the day’s weather. Owls would fly in with letters in their beaks and packages in their talons, delivering mail to their owners. Malfoy’s owl supplied a constant stream of sweets and delicacies from home, and Ed regularly exchanged letters with his little brother back home.

Even the confusing corridors were becoming more manageable, locking themselves into Harry’s muscle memory. He had been worried that he’d never get the hang of navigating the castle, that he would risk tardiness to every class, but by Friday morning, he and Ron were able to get to the Great Hall from their common room without getting lost. It was only a matter of time before he became a natural.

The various castle residents made the place feel truly, really alive. It sometimes felt like Hogwarts was a living entity all its own, between the ghosts and moving portraits and Peeves the poltergeist.

But it was the people around him that made the castle a home.

On their first day of Herbology class, Harry and Ron had partnered up with Ed and Lan Fan for the lesson and the introduction to the greenhouses. Ed and Lan Fan tended to have quick back-and-forth banter as they worked, very clearly operating on similar wavelengths. Around everyone else, Lan Fan was much more guarded, a coldness that extended even to Harry and Ron despite their efforts.

Hermione had evidently forgiven Ed for upstaging her in Transfiguration day one, because by the next morning, she was badgering him with questions about transfigurative theory and the application of the transfiguration alphabet that he was more than happy to debate her on. They were the only two who seemed at all invested in History of Magic, with them at least trying to ask Professor Binns questions, though their raised hands often went ignored by the specter professor.

Harry also observed a forming friendship between Hermione and Winry. They had sat next to each other during their first Charms class, and Harry overheard Winry and Hermione discuss their families. Both came from Muggle families in the medical field, with Winry’s parents being surgeons, and Hermione’s being dentists. While Hermione was just as enthusiastic about this world of magic as Harry, Winry displayed a healthy degree of skepticism and caution, seemingly preferring to lean on her mechanical roots whenever possible.

Their first Astronomy class came Wednesday at midnight. It was the only time they were allowed out past curfew, though they were instructed to carry their schedules with them as proof, in case Filch tried to give them trouble. It was also the only class all forty first years had together. Harry tracked the stars through his telescope and made notes of the locations in his star chart. On his right, he saw Winry help Lan Fan adjust her telescope, while Ling pointed out a specific constellation to Ed as they compared charts. Those four really took any opportunity to work together.

And now, it was Friday morning, and Harry had the much anticipated - and the much dreaded - double Potions with Slytherins and Professor Snape to look forward to. All week, whenever their paths intersected in the Great Hall, Snape was sure to fix Harry with a mean, calculating look, one that only further convinced Harry that the potionsmaster did not like him.

“The more you dread it, the more likely it is to turn out badly,” Ed warned him as they ate. While Ed usually skipped out on lunch in the Great Hall, instead preferring to eat in the courtyard with Ling, Winry, and Lan Fan, he remained at the Gryffindor table for breakfast and dinner. Harry was happy that Ed hadn’t completely forgotten about their friendship, because Ed and Ron were his strongest pillars in the wizarding world, providing him with knowledge that his upbringing did not provide.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, glaring up at Professor Snape’s seat at the Head Table. “I’ve heard only nightmare stories about Snape.”

“You’re gonna manifest the bad lesson into existence,” Ed said with a shrug, neatly slicing his egg in two. “Let’s at least try to make it good.”

Just as breakfast was nearing its conclusion, Hedwig swooped in, gracefully landing right in front of Harry’s plate. She passed him a letter. It was from Hagrid, inviting him for tea after Potions. They had what could be considered an early start to the weekend since they didn’t have any Friday afternoon classes, so Harry was more than eager to accept, grabbing one of Ron’s spare quills and jotting out a response for Hedwig to carry back.

“Schedule says that the Potions class is in the dungeons,” Ron noted, taking one final slice of toast with him as they departed from the table. Harry nodded. Having dreaded Potions class all week, and with the gut feeling that Snape was the one professor they really shouldn’t anger with tardiness, he had sought out the exact dungeon classroom the evening before, so he led the way.

They descended into the lower levels of the castle until they arrived at the most spacious dungeon of them all, specifically reserved for Potions. It was surprisingly cold down there, enough for Harry to feel a slight shiver even with his cloak.

Several students were already down in the dungeon, occupying the desks that almost seemed out of place with the decor. Harry took in the scenery, the various pickled animal parts and jars of unknown substances sending a prickling down his skin. Ed turned his nose up at them.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were sitting in one corner. “I’ve been looking forward to this class,” Malfoy said in a drawl. “My father and Professor Snape are old friends, you see, so everything will come easy to me.”

Ron scowled. “Bet he expects to cheat the whole course,” he whispered to Harry and Ed.

Ling was also already in the dungeon, finishing off a few breakfast rolls as he sat distinctly apart from the rest of the Slytherins. Ed took a seat across the center aisle from him and snatched one of the rolls.

“Hey-”

“You take half my food, it’s about time I repay the favor,” Ed said, biting into the bread. Harry and Ron cautiously sat beside Ed. Hermione was a few rows ahead, the sound of furiously turning pages filling the dungeon air.

Slowly, the rest of their peers filed in. It appeared everyone was of the same mind as Harry, and believed that Professor Snape would not respond well to them being late, because they were all seated and at attention at least one minute before the final chime for class to start.

Professor Snape entered the classroom with his long black robes billowing out behind him, his mere appearance commanding immediate silence and attention.

“Lavender Brown!” he called out, immediately starting with the roll call. The Gryffindor girl squeaked and raised her hand. “Millicent Bullstrode.” The Slytherin girl, in stark contrast, did not cower. The dynamic was clear, they were on the Slytherin home turf in the dungeons.

Snape went through each name, only to pause after reading out Sally-Anne Perks. “Ah… Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.” Harry merely put his hand up, but the drawl of Snape’s voice made his skin crawl. Despite Ed’s suggestion to keep an open mind about the class, it was becoming increasingly clear that Snape had singled him out.

With attendance finished, Snape stood tall at the front of the classroom, his mere presence drawing their attention. “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began the lecture, and Harry tried to jot down a few notes as Snape gave examples of potions they would learn to brew.

“Potter!” Harry startled and looked up from his parchment. All attention was suddenly on him as Snape glared daggers. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

The terms themselves sounded vaguely familiar, Harry was sure they had come up in the summer reading he had done in his final month with the Dursleys, but… it all escaped him now that he had been put on the spot. Hermione’s hand was sky-high, and she looked desperate to answer, but Snape was pointedly ignoring her.

“I- I don’t know, sir.”

Snape clicked his tongue. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything.” This made a wave of chuckles echo out from the Slytherin side of the room, with Malfoy loudest of all. “Tell me, Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione’s hand was still raised, and she looked ready to leap from her desk. Harry racked his brains as hard as he could. He turned his head to the side. Ed was trying to subtly mouth something to him, but Harry couldn’t make out the distinctions.

When enough silence had passed for the pressure to overcome him, Harry again said, “I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter? Tell me, what is the difference between monkwood and wolfsbane?”

This time, Ed’s hand joined Hermione’s, clearly trying to give some sort of out from the unexpected pop quiz. Maybe Snape could ignore one hand, but he wouldn’t ignore two. His efforts were in vain, because Snape’s cold, vacant eyes were still fixed solely on Harry.

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry said for the third time. “But, Hermione and Ed seem to know. Maybe you can ask one of them.”

That was the wrong answer to give. “Sit down!” Snape barked at Ed and Hermione. Hermione startled and shifted back in her chair, but Ed fixed Snape with the fiercest glare before complying.

The potionsmaster answered all his own questions and yelled at the students to write down the responses. Harry hurried to do so, sure they’d come up on some other unassuming pop quiz come next week.

“And, Potter, that will be a point from Gryffindor, for your cheek.”

Harry’s face burned. Ron and Ed looked equally disgusted by the injustice, but Harry had nothing to say. His fears had been proven completely right.

Snape, for whatever reason, hated him.

“Now, if you’ve all finished wasting time,” Snape said with a flick of his wand. A stick of white chalk floated up and began scrawling out something on the blackboard behind him. “Today, we will be making a cure for boils. It is a simple brew, even the most clueless members of this cohort should be able to get it within the hour. Adjust the desks so they are against the walls, you will be using them to cut and measure out ingredients. Retrieve your cauldrons from the back. You’ll be working in teams of two. Finnigan, Longbottom, you’re together. Granger and Patil. Elric and-”

Whoever Snape planned to partner Ed with, Harry never found out, because Ed had jumped the gun and retrieved his cauldron, setting it between himself and Ling. Snape looked over them with a rather odd expression.

“Elric and Yao,” he continued without another hitch. “Potter and Weasley. Brown and Perks. Malfoy and Nott. Zabini and Goyle. Parkinson and Davis. Greengrass and Bullstrode. Thomas and Crabbe. Get to work, now!”

Dean Thomas did not look at all pleased at the prospect of having to work with a Slytherin and shot Ed a disparaging look as he went to get his cauldron, since Crabbe looked to be in no hurry to move.

Harry himself looked over Ed and Ling as he finished setting up his cauldron. The Gryffindor-Slytherin duo was already hard at work, with Ed retrieving the snake fangs for grinding as Ling got a fire going under the cauldron.

It still didn’t sit quite right with him, just how fast Ed and Ling became thick as thieves. He knew that Ed and Winry were childhood friends, so them being so close at least made sense. He could reason the same applied for Ling and Lan Fan, if Lan Fan chose to attend Hogwarts at Ling’s side. But for Ed and Ling, or Ling and Winry, or Winry and Lan Fan, or Lan Fan and Ed…

Then again, he hadn’t had a true, proper friend before he got to Hogwarts. Ed and Al had been friendly at the butchery, but that was a one-off conversation. And, hadn’t he stuck with Ron since the train? Maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill, and this wasn’t unusual at all.

Soon enough, the chill of the dungeon had evaporated as potion steam filled the room. Harry had to take off the top layer of his cloak before scraping the crushed snake fangs into the now boiling cauldron, and Ron had to wipe the sweat from his brow as he fumbled with the dried nettles.

As they worked, Snape swept through the dungeon, making disparaging comments towards the Gryffindors as he passed by.

“Passable,” he said as he peered into Ed and Ling’s cauldron, and it looked like the bare minimum of praise physically pained him. “Next time, Elric, pull your weight and don’t leave all the work to your peers.”

Ed looked downright offended, and Harry felt the same as he looked over to his friend’s station. While Ling wasn’t necessarily slacking, it was clear that Ed had done the lion’s share of the work. Ed drew his teeth back, as if to prepare a biting remark, but Ling elbowed him in the side, helping him keep his head.

Snape then circled closer to where the Slytherins - and a very unhappy Dean Thomas - were working. Harry could hear from across the room that, while he wasn’t necessarily singing high praises to the Slytherins, he wasn’t tearing them down, either. That is, until he got to one particular Slytherin.

“Servicable,” he said, and Malfoy grinned right at Harry, as if to challenge him. Snape held up a pair of the horned slugs they needed to prepare for the potion. “Notice how the slugs have retained their moisture from Mister Malfoy’s stewing technique. The rest of you need to redo your slugs, because not a single one of you has done it properly.”

Malfoy’s slugs didn’t look particularly better than Hermione or Ed’s, Harry thought as he sent a cursory glance at the people around him. Still, other than the pairings of Ed and Ling, and Hermione and Parvati, whose cauldrons were now emitting the expected pink smoke of a successful brew, the rest of them were clearly struggling. Across the room, Dean sat hunched over his cauldron as Crabbe flicked bits of slug at him. Lavender and Sally-Anne were still trying to measure out the ginger root. And Seamus and Neville-

“AAAHHHH!”

A wall of thick, green smoke came from Seamus’s cauldron, a foul smell hitting Harry’s nose. A bubbling hole had formed on the side of the cauldron, a wave of the ruined potion passing over Neville, who screamed in pain as it slashed against his legs and arms. Seamus, quick as a jackrabbit, jumped on top of his desk, escaping with only a hole in his shoes.

“Idiot boy!” Snape yelled, storming over and vanishing the sludge of a potion with a wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered and curled in fear. Harry could see blistering boils forming on his skin.

“Take him to the Hospital Wing!” Snape barked at Seamus. Seamus sent the Professor a withering glare, but clambered off his desk and slung Neville’s arm over his shoulder, leading him from the classroom.

“Potter!” Harry froze. What now? “Why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point from Gryffindor.”

Harry wanted to yell. He wasn’t trying to make Neville look bad at all, and he hated to see how much pain the failed potion had caused him. He hadn’t noticed Neville adding the quills early because he was simply too busy with his own brew. He opened his mouth to argue, but felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Ron whispered. “Or he’ll be even nastier to you.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for Snape to get nastier, but he held his tongue. His mood for the lesson, and Potions as a whole, was officially ruined. He and Ron submitted a vial of their completed potion for grading at the end of the period, though Harry was convinced Snape would fail them on principle.

“I can’t believe I lost two points in the first week,” he lamented as they exited the dungeons.

“Cheer up,” Ron said. “Fred and George have lost tons of points over the years, and everyone still loves them.”

“Yeah,” Ed added. “Besides, Snape was on one hell of a power trip. Don’t take anything he says as meaningful.”

That didn’t do much to cheer Harry up. How had he managed to get on Snape’s hitlist day one? It wasn’t even just preferential treatment for Slytherins. Snape had a clear, obvious vendetta against Harry.

“Don’t think he’s of the mindset to be a teacher,” Ling said, looking behind him. It was a bit surprising to hear the blunt critique coming from a Slytherin, but Harry would agree with Ling on that front. “So, Ed, lunch in the courtyard?”

“Ah, I think-” Ed startled. “I think I’ll stay with these two today. You guys were going to visit Hagrid, right? Mind if I tag along?”

Harry nearly leapt for joy. He had nearly forgotten about the plan to meet with Hagrid after classes, and that could very well be the distraction that he needed. “Sure,” he said, almost too eagerly.

Ling shrugged. “Alright. See you later.” He broke away from the group as Harry, Ron, and Ed headed for the wooden cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“Honestly, even without Snape, I don’t think I get the first thing about Potions,” Ron said. “Percy always made it sound simple enough.”

Ed shrugged. “It’s like chemistry. The devil’s in the details.” Harry recalled the book he had seen Ed and Al studying from all the way back at the butchery. That had been chemistry, hadn’t it? Ed’s expertise at Potions suddenly made a lot more sense.

They reached the door. Harry stepped up first to knock. From the other side, they heard loud barking and heavy steps.

“No, Fang! Back!”

But Hagrid’s protests were not enough, as the door burst open and a massive, black shape leapt out. Ed screamed as the dog tackled him into the grass, pinning him in place.

“Fang! That’s not how we greet our guests!”

“Get your dog off of me!”

Hagrid lumbered out of the door, taking the boarhound by the collar and dragging him off.

“Sorry about that,” he said, reaching out a hand to pull Ed to his feet. Ed’s yells subsided, and Harry spotted a glimpse of… what he could only call nostalgic pain on his friend’s face.

“It’s fine,” Ed said, dusting off his cloak.

“Well, come on in,” Hagrid said, beckoning them inside. “Harry, Ed, and…”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Ah, another Weasley,” Hagrid mused. “Been chasing your twin brothers away from the forest past couple years.”

They settled inside the cabin. It was a single room, but it felt like home. Hagrid served them so inedible looking cakes and set up a kettle to boil tea.

“So, tell me all about your first week. How’s Hogwarts treating you all?”

The mood from Potions hadn’t entirely evaporated, and Harry spent a few minutes venting about Professor Snape and his obvious hatred of him. Hagrid tried to assure Harry that Snape didn’t hate him, but it was clear that he wasn’t being entirely truthful, especially when he plainly shifted the topic away from Professor Snape.

“How’s your brother Charlie?” Hagrid turned to Ron. “I’ve always liked him, he’s good with animals.”

“He’s in Romania now,” Ron said, taking a cautious bite of the rock cake and nearly breaking his jaw. “Ow- works at a dragon reserve.”

“Ah, dragons. Marvelous creatures. I’ve always wanted one, but… you know, hard to come by.”

“Well, you’ll love my brother when he starts next year,” Ed chimed in. “He’s also an animal lover, turns our house into a cat sanctuary every rainy season.”

“And what about the rest of your family?”

“We live in a pretty rural place,” Ed explained. “Mom helps with the sheep, and my old man’s an Alchemy researcher.”

Hagrid hummed. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of the Elric family before. I’ve been on these grounds for the past fifty years, but you’re the first Elric I’ve ever run into.”

Ed shrugged. “I wouldn’t imagine you’ve known an Elric before. Elric is my mother’s last name.”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry said in surprise. He’d heard of some women who didn’t take their husband’s surname after marriage - something that Aunt Petunia openly frowned upon - but a kid taking their mother’s name over their father’s…

“It’s easier for us this way,” Ed said with a groan. “Imagine being addressed as Edward Hohenheim. Ugh, I think I’d just die.”

“Hohenheim,” Ron chimed in. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Mum must’ve brought it up.”

“Now that rings a bell,” Hagrid agreed. “Yeah, I remember Van Hohenheim now. You know, Alchemy’s a pretty rare field, almost considered extinct. But, there’s been a real uptick in popularity these past few decades. More students taking Alchemy at Hogwarts than ever. That all really started with your dad.”

Ed took a sip of the still piping hot tea. “So I’ve heard.”

“And you? Looking to follow in his footsteps?”

“It’s not because of him,” Ed said, rolling his eyes. “But, yes. I’m aiming to study Alchemy, too.”

As they talked, Harry took in the scenery. Some of the nerves from Potions had begun to work their way out of his system. Snape was horrible, but Harry wasn’t going to let him ruin Hogwarts.

Harry’s eyes drifted to one of the newspapers lying on Hagrid’s table. A recent edition of the Daily Prophet. A glance showed a moving photo of Gringotts bank on the cover article. Harry skimmed it, absorbing the information about an attempted break-in on July 31st.

A lightbulb went off in his head.

“Hagrid- this Gringotts break-in, it happened on the day we were there.”

This time, it was even more obvious that Hagrid was dodging the question, offering Harry another rock cake and very unsubtly sweeping the newspaper off the table. It was all Harry could think about now.

Hagrid had emptied Vault 713 on official Hogwarts business. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but Harry couldn’t help but think that the thief had attempted to enter that very vault.

Chapter Text

Ever since Ron and Ed told Harry all about Quidditch during their train ride, Harry had been looking forward towards the promised flying lessons that were meant to start in their second week. Even though they weren’t learning how to play the wizarding world’s most popular sport outright, broomsticks were a stable and reliable source of transportation, one they’d be well to master.

Something about the vision of being up in the air, completely untethered, just felt so… freeing. Harry dreamed of himself on a broom, entering a freefall only to pull away at the last second, uncontrolled and free of anyone’s expectations.

But, those hopes of freedom were dashed when the notice on the common room billboard went up. Gryffindor first years would have their flying lessons on Thursday afternoons. Slytherin first years would also have their flying lessons on Thursday afternoons.

“Great,” Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Exactly what I need. To make a fool out of myself on a broom in front of Malfoy.”

“You’ll be fine,” Ron assured him. “Malfoy talks a big game about his flying skills, but I bet that’s all it is. All talk.”

While Ron singled out Malfoy, the truth was that everyone who had a wizarding parent to speak of had regaled their peers with tales of dauntless flight at least once. Ron himself spent the next few minutes assuring them that he had once nearly collided with a hang glider while taking Charlie’s old broom for a joyride. Dean Thomas and Harry, both of whom had grown up without the knowledge of magic, listened in amusement.

“Lucky,” Neville murmured, who looked downright queasy at the prospect of the next day’s flying lesson. “Gran never let me on a broom. Says I’d only get in trouble.”

“Not even the baby toy ones?” Seamus raised his brows, and his mouth dropped agape when Neville feverishly nodded. “Those float barely six inches off the ground!”

“Still too high for Gran,” Neville said with a resigned sigh. “What about you, Ed?”

Ed was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of his canopy. “Same old, learned the basics at home. Dad’s not much of a flier, so Al and I are pretty much self-taught,” he said nonchalantly. “Flying’s fine and all, but not the most amazing thing in the world.”

“How could you say that?” Ron asked, more shocked than hurt. “I mean, it’s literally flying! And there’s Quidditch, too-”

“I still don’t get Quidditch,” Dean cut in, shaking his head. “The rules all sound so convoluted.”

“Better than football or soccer, or whatever you call it,” Ron argued back. “How could you play a sport with just one ball? Doesn’t that get boring?”

“At least scoring has an actual point.”

Harry tuned out the rest of the bickering, just getting ready for bed. Regardless of if Malfoy was truthfully as good as flying as he claimed, Harry wasn’t about to fall behind in the subject he’d been most looking forward to.

Breakfast that morning was an ordeal in itself. From across the hall, he witnessed Malfoy receive what could only be the tenth care package this term, filled to the brim with various sweets and goodies.

“Of course, not all of us are so fortunate to have caring parents to send us stuff,” he said loudly, like he wanted Harry to hear. Harry put his head down, glowering at his porridge.

“Ignore him,” Ron and Hermione said in unison. While Hermione wasn’t exactly their friend, they were united in their dislike of Draco Malfoy.

Much to Ron’s amusement, flying appeared to be the one class that Hermione was genuinely nervous for. There was only so much good a textbook could do for the most practical subject, and no special hints on page 17 of Quidditch Through the Ages could help arrest an uncontrolled freefall. Still, it wasn’t like Hermione didn’t give it her all, her copy of the book propped up against a tray of jam. Neville looked over her shoulder, sweating profusely.

Harry spotted a barn owl slowly circling overhead before landing in front of Neville. It extended out a small, square package. Neville fumbled with the wrapping, eventually unveiling a glass orb filled with smoke. Neville broke out in a grin.

“It’s a Remembrall,” he explained upon seeing Harry’s puzzled expression. “I’ve been asking Gran to get me one for ages. When the smoke turns red, it lets you know that you’ve forgotten something, and-”

Neville’s face fell as a scarlet color began to overtake the orb. “Problem is, I’m not quite sure what I’ve forgotten…”

Neville scrunched his brows, but right at that second, the Remembrall was snatched away by a passing Malfoy.

“Hey!” Ed yelled from a few spots over, leaping to his feet. Malfoy paid him no mind.

“Longbottom, don’t tell me you’re so stupid you need something used by six year olds to remind them to brush their teeth,” he chided, and Neville flushed pink.

“Give it back,” Harry said, getting to his feet, as did Ron. Ed already looked ready to throw himself on Malfoy, but McGonagall’s swift approach quelled them all.

“What’s the issue here?” she asked, making it perfectly clear that there should not be any issues.

“Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor,” Neville said meekly.

McGonagall glowered at Malfoy, who handed the orb back in disinterest. “I was only looking,” he mumbled, stalking away. Seeing the situation as resolved, McGonagall retreated to the High Table.

“I swear, one day he’s gonna give me a solid reason to beat his face in, and I’m gonna relish in it,” Ed said, glaring at Malfoy’s retreating form. “Stuck up jerks like him need to get knocked down a peg early, before their heads get too big to fit through doorways.”

“He never gives you as much trouble as the rest of us,” Ron grumbled, slathering some butter onto his toast. “He bugs Harry about living with Muggles, and me for my family being well- uh-” his voice tapered off. “But he never tells you a thing. I think he hates Ling more than he hates you.”

Ed shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll find something to latch onto eventually.”

Morning classes served only to make Harry a mess of nerves. He spent the entirety of History of Magic leaning against the window, trying to catch glimpses of the Quidditch Pitch from through the glass. By the time lunch rolled around, he could hardly stomach anything, afraid he’d spill it all over the field later that day.

The flying lesson was scheduled to begin at three thirty, so at three fifteen, Harry, Ron, and Ed escaped the confines of the castle and began making their way to the Quidditch Pitch. Autumn was still settling in, but Harry could feel a slight uptake in the cold.

“The Chudley Cannons will win this season, for sure!” Ron declared. He and Ed had, at some point, gotten to discussing their favorite Quidditch teams, a conversation Harry felt thoroughly left out of.

“Their playstyle has been mediocre for decades now,” Ed snarked. “The Ballycastle Bats are where it’s at!”

“You just like them because they’re second-best in the league,” Ron scowled.

“I like them because they have good game strategy, which is why they’re second-best in the league,” Ed countered. “Not to mention, their robes are cool as hell.”

They finally reached the Quidditch Field. The Slytherins were already there, as were some of the Gryffindors. A set of twenty ragged brooms were laid out on the grass, looking worse for wear compared to the brooms Harry had seen on sale in Diagon Alley. These clearly weren’t the highest quality. Malfoy in particular looked at them in distaste.

Ling stood distinctly apart from the other Slytherins, and happily waved to Ed when he saw them approaching. Harry noticed a couple Slytherins - he believed their names were Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini - wrinkled their noses at this. Ron’s breakfast observation came back to the forefront of Harry’s mind. Malfoy seemed to dislike Ling almost as much as he disliked Harry, for much the same reasons. Ling was someone famous who rejected his offer on the train, and Malfoy was someone clearly not used to not getting what he wanted.

Ed had him and Ron. Winry got on fine with her fellow Ravenclaws from the start, and even Lan Fan seemed to have started opening up to her housemates, as she had spent much of that morning’s History of Magic class talking to Susan Bones. Ling, who appeared to be the most charismatic and charming of them all, was the only one struggling to make friends within his House. Harry wondered just how much Malfoy’s influence had to do with that.

His musings were cut off by a sharp whistle. Madam Hooch had made her way onto the pitch, her amber eyes flashing like a hawk’s.

“What are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broom!”

The students scrambled to get in line, and Harry ended up sandwiched between Ron and Seamus.

“Put out your right hand, palm facing down,” Hooch instructed. “Say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” A chorus of eleven year olds shouted.

Harry almost recoiled at the sensation of the broom leaping into his hand, the wooden handle settling against his fingers. He marveled. It was the first time he ever got something magical right on his first try. And, to his surprise, he was the only one who got it on the first attempt. From across the row, Malfoy spent a few solid seconds looking at him in shock, before glaring at his broom and yelling “up!” again.

A few more successes came in the form of Ed, Ron, and Ling. Harry watched in bewilderment as Ling clearly dropped the broom on purpose and spent a few more seconds getting it back up. Malfoy looked quite flustered by how long it took him to get his broom off the ground. The last two came in the form of - to Harry’s surprise - Hermione, who had to stop the command for a few seconds to compose herself, and Neville, who gave up on summoning the broom altogether and simply bent over to pick it up.

“Everyone has their brooms?” Madam Hooch inspected them. “Alright, now mount them.”

Harry swung his left leg overtop the broom. He settled in the way that felt most natural, and watched as the rest of his peers stumbled and tripped. It was as if he had stepped into a parallel universe, one where everyone else was new to magic, and he had many years of experience under his belt.

The euphoria quickly died, though, as Madam Hooch began the countdown for them to actually take off. Neville, in his nervousness, became airborne a count too early, and could not stop his ascent. Like in slow motion, Harry could only watch in horror as Neville slipped off the end and plummeted. Madam Hooch had drawn her wand and shouted out some sort of spell to cushion his fall, but it didn’t come nearly fast enough, the sound of bones cracking like an auditory whip to Harry’s ears.

Madam Hooch hurried to Neville’s side, as did the Gryffindor students. Neville whimpered and sniffled as Madam Hooch examined his arm, gently pressing her fingers to his skin.

“Broken wrist,” she determined, snapping back into her strict professor persona as she glared at the students. “I will be taking Mister Longbottom to the hospital wing. I expect all of you to keep both feet on the ground. If I see a single one of you up in the air, you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch!”

With that, she helped hoist Neville to his feet and led him back towards the castle doors.

Malfoy erupted in laughter as soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot, with the other Slytherins joining in. “Did you see him, the great lump!”

Ling glowered at them in distaste, taking a few steps closer to the Gryffindors as Parvati Patil and Pansy Parkinson got in a verbal spitting match. He squatted, picking up something from the grass where Neville fell. Harry recognized the Remembrall. It must have gotten dislodged from Neville’s pocket during the scuffle.

“Here,” Harry said, holding his hand out to Ling. “I’ll give it back to him when we get to the common room.”

Ling got to his feet and began extending the Remembrall to Harry, but once again, Malfoy snatched it away.

“Hey! Give that back!” Ed yelled.

Malfoy simply smirked. “Hey, I’m helping Longbottom here. If he wants this thing back so bad, he’ll have to really learn how to fly!”

Malfoy raced back to his broom, effortlessly mounting it and taking to the skies. The Slytherins hollered and cheered for his display. “What do you think, should I leave it on the roof?”

Harry had enough. He lunged for his own broom, ignoring Hermione’s cry of warning. He pushed his feet against the ground and felt gravity become irrelevant, because he was flying.

It felt like second nature, and Harry almost smirked at how suddenly nervous Malfoy looked. “Give it here, Malfoy, or I’ll knock you off your broom!”

Malfoy looked towards the ground, where Crabbe and Goyle, his ever-present bodyguards, remained firmly off their brooms. His face hardened. “Catch it if you can, then!” He tossed the Remembrall upwards.

Harry saw the arch, he could follow it with his eyes as it reached its peak and began to descend. It was second nature, pure instinct, telling him what to do next. Harry dived, one hand extended out. A mere foot from the ground, his fingers closed on the Remembrall, just enough time to pull out of the dive and safely dismount.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Harry’s stomach dropped into his knees, seeing Professor McGonagall storming towards them with her robes billowing out behind her. She looked positively furious, her nostrils flaring, ranting about how reckless he’d been…

It was over. He could kiss Hogwarts goodbye, he thought, as McGonagall summoned him away, completely disregarding Parvati and Ron’s attempts to defend him. Ling had to hold Ed back from physically intervening, and while Harry was touched by the support, he didn’t want any of his friends to suffer with him. So, he kept his head down, Remembrall still in hand, as McGonagall marched through the halls.

McGonagall stopped outside the Charms classroom. She tapped her knuckles against the door and pulled it open. “Excuse me, Professor Flitwick. Could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

A second later, a fifth year Gryffindor stepped out, looking between the stoic McGonagall and terrified Harry in confusion. “Follow me, both of you,” McGonagall said, this time leading them to an abandoned classroom- or rather, empty once McGonagall forced Peeves out of it.

“What’s going on, Professor,” Wood asked, again looking down at Harry with a perturbed expression. “I know studying isn’t my field of expertise, but I need to do well on my O.W.L.s to maintain captainship-”

“Wood,” McGonagall cut him off. “I’ve found you a Seeker.”

The rest of it was a bit of a blur. Instead of the punishment Harry had been expecting, McGonagall praised him like he’d never been praised before. Like he was actually good at something. She wanted him to play Quidditch for the Gryffindor team, and Oliver Wood was more than happy to defer to her opinion. They even talked about getting him a personal broom.

But, what made his heart stutter and ache, was when McGonagall told him, “your father would be proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself.”

His father would be proud.

Needless to say, Harry was ecstatic when he returned to the Great Hall for dinner. He quickly spotted Ron and Ed and all but ran to them. They were worried beyond belief, but when he told them what really happened in his meeting with McGonagall, they broke out into joint grins.

“You must be the youngest Seeker in-”

“A century,” Harry finished for Ron. “At least, that’s what Wood told me.”

“Quite a catch!” Harry nearly fell from the bench as he whirled around. Ling stood behind him, grinning. “I knew there was something special about you!” There was almost something… possessive in the way his half-lidded eyes glinted. It left Harry feeling disconcerted, which turned into open confusion when Ling leaned down and… ruffled his hair.

“He’s not a collectible, greedy bastard,” Ed warned him, pushing Ling away. To his credit, Ling just flashed another grin and went back to his table, leaving Ed to turn back to Harry. “But, still, Seeker at eleven. That’s no small feat.”

“No small feat, indeed,” Fred pitched in.

“Wood told us all about it,” George added, leaning in closer. “We’re the Gryffindor Beaters. See you on the pitch.”

Harry, for once, was enjoying the positive attention. So, who else to come along and ruin it but Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle on his heels.

“Enjoying your last magical meal, Potter?” he asked with a victorious smirk. So the rumor mill hadn’t made it to him yet.

“A lot braver with your lackeys now,” Harry noted.

This wiped the smirk from Malfoy’s face. “I can take you on one-on-one whenever I want. How about… tonight? Wizard’s duel? Or have you never heard of a wizard’s duel before?”

“Of course he has,” Ron jumped in for Harry, covering for his lack of knowledge. “I’ll be his second, who’s yours?”

“Crabbe. Let’s meet at midnight in the trophy room. It’s always unlocked.”

With that, Malfoy departed, and Harry felt like he’d just made a deal with the devil.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Ed questioned them. “I mean, I’m all in favor of beating the crap out of him, but I bet that was a setup.” Hermione was quick to agree with him, swearing up and down that Harry and Ron were going to cost Gryffindor points when they got caught.

“Mind your own business,” Ron snapped at Hermione, who turned up her nose and walked away.

“This is not a risk worth taking,” Ed warned them again. “Malfoy’s trying to set you up.”

“No, he’s too proud for that,” Harry countered. “I bet he wants to beat me as much as I want to beat him.”

Ed didn’t look convinced. He spent the rest of the evening shooting them concerned glances. Harry couldn’t lie, the fact that Ed wasn’t on board despite his vehement hatred of Malfoy gave him some pause, but… he wasn’t going to back down now.

At eleven-thirty, Harry and Ron tip-toed from their dormitory, careful to not wake their bunkmates.

“You remember the way to the trophy room, right?” Ron asked. Harry nodded, he’d walked past it a few times.

“Hang on,” a whisper came from behind. Harry spun around to see Ed descending after them. His wand was sticking out of his pocket.

“I thought you said this was a bad idea,” Ron said.

“I did, and I still think it is,” Ed said, frowning. “So that’s why I’m coming with you. As backup.”

“Really, Ed?” Harry almost groaned as Hermione emerged from one of the common room armchairs. “I’m less shocked that Harry and Ron are going through with this, but I really expected better of you. You’re supposed to be smarter than this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron glowered, and Harry felt similarly insulted.

“Intelligence has nothing to do with this,” Ed said. “I’m just not about to let my friends walk into trouble without someone who can get them out of it.”

“So Gryffindor can lose even more points when all three of you are caught?” Hermione nearly shrieked. Harry was done listening, making his way to the portrait hole with Ron on his heels. Ed and Hermione followed, Hermione still trying to dissuade them.

“Would you leave it?” Ron hissed at her. “You’re not our mom. Go away now.”

Hermione scowled. “Fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re taking the train home tomorrow-”

She froze, and Harry grimaced. The Fat Lady’s portrait was empty, none of them had a way back into the common room until she returned.

“Oh, that does it!” Hermione threw her hands up in frustration. She looked ready to tug her hair out. With her hands on her hips. “I’m coming with you lot, so that when Filch catches us, you can tell him exactly what happened-”

“No, you will not-”

“What’s going on? Do you have the password to get back in?”

First Ed, then Hermione, and now Neville with his newly healed wrist. Their group had swelled to a party of five, and they were running out of time.

“All of you, keep quiet,” Harry hissed. “I’m doing this duel, but if you insist, you may stick with me. Malfoy will show up, or he won’t. If he’s not there fifteen minutes past midnight we’ll all go back. The Fat Lady should be back by then. Happy?”

Judging by Hermione’s only deepening scowl, she wasn’t, but Harry was done wasting time.

He led the way to the trophy room, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. They reached their destination with five minutes to spare. Harry took to standing in one of the corners to wait for Malfoy and Crabbe’s arrival. While Ron stood steadfast at his side, the others spread out across the room, looking over the various trophies and awards.

“What’d he do to get an award?” Ed said with disgust towards one particular shield.

“A list of all the previous Head Boys and Girls,” Hermione, despite herself, cooed over a massive silver plate.

Harry ignored them all, his nerves starting to rise. “You reckon Malfoy chickened out?”

“Maybe-” but Ron cut himself off as they all heard the sound of approaching footsteps and a hushed voice.

“Said they’ll be in the trophy room… Sniff around, my love, we’ll find them.”

The blood drained from Harry’s face. It was Filch and Mrs. Norris. All of his companions looked pale in the face. Ed reacted first, beckoning them all down the far door, away from Filch’s voice. He had Neville, then Hermione, then Ron, then Harry go through before ushering them further down.

“I told you, I told you,” Hermione squeaked as they hurried. Harry didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being right. Right now, they all just needed to make it back to the common room-

Up ahead, Neville tripped and fell right into a suit of armor. The route of stealth was no longer an option.

“Run!” Harry yelled, taking off in a sprint in the direction he hoped would lead to Gryffindor tower. Ed quickly overtook them, leading them down another passage. He could hear sprinting footsteps after them, and he could only hope it belonged to his friends and not Filch.

Ed ran right into a door. He yanked on it, but it wouldn’t budge. He shoved his shoulder against it, but it still didn’t move.

“That’s it, we’re done for!” Ron moaned as he joined Ed in his futile efforts.

“Move over!” Hermione called out, brandishing her wand. She pointed it at the lock. “Alohamora!”

The door swung open as the lock unlatched. The group shoved Neville through first to make sure he wouldn’t be forgotten, then quickly followed after and held the door closed behind them. Harry pressed his ear to the door, listening to the sound of Filch’s pursuit getting further and further away.

Neville frantically yanked on Harry’s robe, dragging his face away from the door. What he saw made his heart drop.

“Chimera…” he could barely process Ed’s terrified muttering, all attention focused on the massive three headed dog in front of them. Its presence came with a sickening realization. They were on the third floor, in what was more than likely the forbidden corridor.

Without another thought, Harry threw the door open, and the Gryffindors piled out. He and Ron slammed the door shut, and Hermione uttered the locking incantation. Filch was nowhere in sight, but the group took no chances, once more running from danger.

This time, they took the correct path, and within minutes they were back at Gryffindor Tower, shouting over each other to give the Fat Lady the password. She let them in, looking more than a little disgruntled, and it took them all their energy to collapse into the fireside armchairs.

Neville was shaking like a leaf, and Ed had a faraway look in his eyes.

“What are they thinking, keeping that thing locked up in a school?” Ron ranted, yelling into the air.

“Do any of you use your eyes?” Hermione glared at them. “What was the dog standing on?”

“The floor,” Harry guessed.

“A trapdoor,” Ed said simultaneously.

“Well, at least one of you was paying attention,” Hermione scoffed. “That dog is obviously guarding something. I hope you’re all pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed, or worse, expelled.”

With that, she stormed off to her dormitory, and Neville scurried up to his own.

“You’d think we dragged her along,” Ron groaned. “How’d you know to look for a trapdoor, anyways?”

“Helps to pay attention in a life-or-death situation,” Ed said, still looking a bit shaken. “Well, there goes the idea of a normal school year, I suppose.”

The exhilaration of the chase was dying down, and Harry had a chance to collect his thoughts. Ed claimed the three-headed dog was standing on a trapdoor, and Hermione hypothesized that it was guarding something.

Perhaps, the very thing that once lay within the depths of Vault 713.

Chapter Text

“What do you reckon it could be?”

Ron shrugged while Ed chewed on one of his quills. Come the next morning, Harry had filled in his friends on his theories regarding the three headed dog and Vault 713. The thought hadn’t left his head for the rest of the night. It felt like he had stumbled upon some grand conspiracy, and he felt a subtle duty to unravel it.

“Must be either really valuable or really dangerous,” Ron concluded.

“Or both,” Ed added on.

“Any idea on what it could be, though?”

“How big did you say it was?”

Harry vaguely gestured out the dimensions of the package he’d glimpsed in Vault 713, though that gave them little in ways of clues.

When the three of them ran the well of ideas dry, Harry tried to loop Neville and Hermione in. However, Neville was petrified of the mere thought of the three headed dog and shook his head vigorously. Hermione, though willing to curtly engage in classroom discussions with Ed, had started ignoring Harry and Ron on principle.

“Nevermind the package,” Ron said as they headed down for breakfast a week later. “Did you come up with any new ways to get back at Malfoy for setting us up?”

This time, it was Harry’s turn to shake his head. The only bit of satisfaction over Malfoy came in the form of Ed’s ever-growing expertise at Potions, to the point that even Snape struggled to justify the Malfoy favoritism in their previous class. Not that he didn’t try, but everyone in the class could see that Ed’s brew outclassed Malfoy’s in every regard.

Still, it didn’t feel right that Malfoy got off scot-free for his ploy, while Harry and Ron skirted the possibility of expulsion. If anything, seeing that his plan failed made Malfoy be even nastier to them, and heckling over the Weasley financial status and Harry’s lack of parents began to happen at every meal and at every Gryffindor-Slytherin joint class. It only worked to stoke the flames of vengeance.

In the Great Hall, as Harry and Ron pondered the logistics of looping Fred and George in on their scheme to get back at Malfoy, a team of no less than six owls descended over the Gryffindor table, lowering a long, thin package in front of Harry. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and a subtle glance at McGonagall at the High Table, who had the thinnest, almost unnoticeable smile, confirmed it.

In the midst of the not-duel with Malfoy and their run-in with the three headed dog, Harry had almost forgotten about Quidditch.

“Is that-” Ron whispered, looking down at the package in a mixture of delight and envy.

Harry tore open the note that came with the package, recognizing the scrawl of McGonagall’s handwriting.

“It says not to open it here,” Harry whispered back. That much made sense. He was sure that it would cause an uproar. His eyes scanned the note further. “It says… it’s a Nimbus Two-Thousand.”

Ron’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “That’s the best broom on the market!” Harry vaguely remembered seeing a model of the Nimbus Two-Thousand on display in Diagon Alley, and how every wizarding kid in the vicinity salivated over it. It felt like he was holding a genuine treasure in his hands, only some wrapping paper and a box separating them.

“Come on,” Harry said, carefully lifting up the package to avoid knocking over the syrup and milk jugs. From across the table, he saw Ed’s fascinated expression, and Hermione’s cross one. “If we hurry, we can unwrap it in the common room before the first class.”

Ron grabbed a final slice of toast and the two of them hurried from the Great Hall, with Harry - rather unsuccessfully - trying to hide the package against his body. The rumor mill had already started doing its job, as the whispers followed them all the way out.

“We won’t be able to hide it for long,” Ron said.

“Wood wants to keep it a secret for as long as we can,” Harry replied. “I’m supposed to be the new secret weapon for Gryffindor.”

“What do you have there, Potter?”

Harry suppressed a groan, their route upstairs blocked by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy stood at the front, and snatched away the package from Harry’s grasp.

“This is a broom,” he observed, a dark shadow passing over his features that quickly morphed into a conniving grin. “You’ll be in for it now. First years aren’t allowed to bring their own. Even the famous Potter isn’t above the rules.” His vague imitation of Professor Snape just made Harry want to punch him more.

“It’s not just any broom,” Ron said, looking down at Malfoy. “That’s a Nimbus Two-Thousand. Reckon it’s better than the Comet Two-Sixty you have at home.”

For a second, Malfoy’s face expressed a mixture of shock and envy. His eyes glistened, like the mere ability to hold a Nimbus, no matter who it belonged to, was a marvel. But, even that was quickly suppressed.

“What would you know about it, Weasley? I hear your family has to save up for brooms twig by twig. At this rate, your family will be lucky to have half a handle for you by the time you try out for the team.”

Ron’s red face began to match his hair, another insult on the tip of his tongue, but the train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Flitwick.

“Professor!” Malfoy turned to him, gleeful at the chance to get Harry in trouble. “Potter got a broomstick.”

To Harry’s delight and Malfoy’s horror, Flitwick merely congratulated Harry in a happy squeak. Harry and Ron could barely contain their joy as they scurried up the stairs, Malfoy glaring daggers into their backs.

“Honestly, it’s thanks to Malfoy that I even got this,” Harry said, still in reverence of the broom. “If he hadn’t taken Neville’s Remembrall, McGonagall wouldn’t have seen me catch it, and I wouldn’t have made the team.”

“So, I suppose you think it’s a reward for breaking the rules?”

Harry and Ron glared as Hermione marched up the stairs behind them, books held to her chest. Ed followed at a distance. Hermione looked at the broomstick package like it was foul.

“Madam Hooch gave us clear instructions to keep both feet on the ground,” she huffed. “And you blatantly broke them.”

“So did Malfoy,” Ron reminded her.

“So, Professor Snape would have disciplined him-”

“Do you honestly believe Snape would ever do anything against Slytherin?” Ed questioned. “Besides, Harry was standing up for Neville. Some rules are made to be broken.”

Harry smirked at Hermione as she glowered. “Well, you shouldn’t be getting special treatment, anyways-”

“Why are you talking to us, again?” Ron cut her off. “I thought you said you wouldn’t speak to us again. Don’t stop now. It’s been doing us so much good.”

“Hey, now you’re taking it too far,” Ed started to say, but Hermione already stormed away with her nose turned up.

“What? She’s being unbearable,” Ron said. “Why is she in Harry’s business? He’ll be helping Gryffindor get points now!”

“Girls can take this sort of thing the wrong way,” Ed said vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. Harry recalled Winry smacking Ed for being insensitive in Diagon Alley, and wondered how long he’d been internalizing that lesson.

The encounters with Malfoy and Hermione only left Harry with enough time to stuff the package under his bed before they had to rush to their morning classes, and his mind remained in the dormitory, unable to truly concentrate. After dinner, he would have his introductory lesson and crash course on Quidditch with Wood, and Harry didn’t want to let him down.

After dinner, Harry and the rest of his dormmates nearly tripped over themselves as they raced back to the dormitory. Even Neville, Dean, and Seamus had gleamed an interest as Harry unwrapped the packaging.

“Woah,” he heard Seamus breathed out as Harry lifted the broom out of the box. The handle was sleek, and the bristles held together to give the apparatus a more aerodynamic build. It was a true beauty compared to the school brooms.

“Gryffindor will definitely win the Quidditch cup this year if you’re on this!” Ron cheered, looking over Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, I guess that depends on my flying skills, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Seamus said with a grin, leaning back. “You’ve got the flying skills part covered.”

They had a few minutes before Harry needed to go down to the Quidditch pitch for his lesson, so he passed the Nimbus around to give everyone a chance to hold it. Even Neville, who’s first flying lesson seemingly scared him away from brooms permanently, held the broom like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

The lesson with Wood went well, only seeking to confirm what they all already knew. Harry was a natural on the broom, and when enlightened with the knowledge of the rules and proper play structure, he became unstoppable.

“Youngest Seeker in a century!” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder upon his return, and the rest of his dormmates cheered. “Maybe in a few years… I’ll get to play with you.”

“Did you want to be on the team?”

“Well, when my brothers and I play at home, I’m usually Keeper,” Ron explained bashfully. “Just, you know, with Wood as Keeper and current captain, the team doesn’t exactly have a place for me now. So… maybe later.”

“What about you, Ed?” Harry asked.

“I prefer freelance flying,” Ed said. “I’d probably have the aim and swing for a Beater if I tried, but I’ve got no interest in playing officially.”

With Quidditch practice now taking up multiple evenings, Harry found himself at a loss for free time. With the fundamentals behind them, many of the professors began assigning more challenging spells. Ed had gotten into another ethics debate with McGonagall when she assigned them to turn ladybugs into thumbtacks, derailing the day’s lesson into a lecture on how transfiguration effects sentience in animals, assuring them that, if the spell was performed correctly, the animal would feel no pain. If anything, that only spurred Ed’s success in the class, as he became determined to do each transfiguration perfectly.

Potions became more dreadful by the week, and Snape didn’t seem to be intent on letting up on his hatred of Harry any time soon. The commute to Herbology was more taxing than the class itself, with its distance from the castle eating up most of the passing period. To Harry’s disappointment, Defense Against the Dark Arts did not improve with time. If anything, Quirrell got progressively more nervous, and Harry was sure the fierce glares from Ling contributed to that. History of Magic, if nothing else, made for a decent study period to catch up on other work.

Soon enough, Halloween was upon them. At the Dursleys, it was the one holiday that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon refused to let Dudley celebrate, no matter how many tantrums he threw. Harry didn’t mourn that loss, and had attributed it to grief. He’d known his parents died on Halloween, and part of him wanted to believe that Aunt Petunia allotted herself that one day to truly feel bad about the loss. Though, now, he was sure they hated it merely because of its association with witchcraft.

Though the subconscious dread still ebbed through him as he and his friends descended to the Great Hall, he was left in complete awe. The decorations were pale in comparison to what the twins had been promising, though Harry was sure more would be up by the time the Halloween Feast came around in the evening. Floating candles and pumpkins hung in the air, accompanied by the flutter of genuine bat wings.

First on the docket was Charms with Ravenclaw. Flitwick announced that the lesson plan for the day was the Levitation Charm. With its close association with flying and the awe-inspiring practical demonstration, Harry was eager to start. To his disappointment, the feather that he and Seamus had been given remained stationary on the desk, as Harry was nowhere near as adept at getting other things to fly as compared to himself. Seamus became so frustrated he made smoke billow from the tip of his wand, and Harry wafted it away before their desk caught fire.

A glance around the classroom showcased a similar lack of success by his yearmates. While Ed had taken to Transfiguration and Potions like a fish to water, he showed significantly more struggle with Charms. His feather hovered a centimeter over the desk before fluttering still once more. Across the row, Winry had no more success than her friend. The failure only seemed to make her more determined as she glared at her feather.

The thwacking of wood on wood from the desk closest to Harry drew his attention. Ron jabbed his wand at the feather, face twisted in a frustrated snarl.

“You’re doing it wrong!” Hermione insisted. “It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-sa!”

“You do it then if you’re so smart!” Ron practically yelled, crossing his arms.

Hermione merely rolled up her sleeves, cleared her throat, and waved her wand with a swish and a flick. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The feather fluttered to life and began soaring upwards, gravity no longer a factor.

“Well done, Miss Granger! Well done!” Professor Flitwick cheered, though the praise only made Ron angrier.

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” he loudly told Harry after class was dismissed and they tried to wade through the decoration-infested hallways. “She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Harry was nearly knocked off his feet as someone barrelled past him, and he just managed to glimpse the tears in Hermione’s eyes as her long, bushy hair vanished around the corner.

Ron yelped as someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, and he found himself face to face with a furious Winry Rockbell.

“Now you’ve done it, you jerk!” she yelled, and Harry could see Ed grimacing behind her. “Do you have zero tact at all?!”

Ron gulped and looked aside. A brief flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. “I mean- it’s true. She must’ve noticed that she’s got no friends-”

Winry pushed him aside, fire in her azure eyes. “With insensitive morons like you running around, I’d guess friends are hard to come by. And for the record, I’m her friend!” With that, she stormed after Hermione.

“I warned you two,” Ed said, matching pace with them. “You don’t have to be best friends or anything, but would it kill you to be a bit nicer?”

Harry looked down. They hadn’t talked to Hermione much since the incident with the not-duel. It had been preferable, since their personalities clashed. But… Harry thought back on it all. Hermione only really talked to Winry, Ed, and occasionally Neville and Percy.

Ron’s words must have cut deeper than he ever intended them to.

Hermione didn’t join them for Herbology next period, and Harry overheard Padma Patil and Morag Macdougal mention that Winry hadn’t been in History of Magic, either. Harry didn’t spot either of them at lunch, and both remained missing for all of their afternoon classes.

“Hermione’s been crying in the bathroom all day,” he heard Parvati whisper to Lavender as the final class for the day ended. “Winry’s with her, but she doesn’t want any other company.” That just made Harry feel worse.

“Seriously, you overstepped,” Ed told Ron off as they headed to the feast. “Go and apologize to her.”

Ron’s guilt had clearly been eating at him, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “Only if she apologizes for lecturing me,” he dug his heels in further. “She made me look like an idiot.”

Ed let out a drawn out sigh. “Man, you’re hopeless.” 

The festive atmosphere of the Great Hall almost made Harry forget all about Hermione, but the nagging bite in his heart never truly left. As he did for every lunch period, instead of sitting with them, Ed piled several plates high with food and headed for the exit.

“Gonna find them and make sure they get something to eat,” he handwaved an explanation as he walked away.

Harry looked down at his baked potato. In the seat beside him, Ron picked at the roasted potatoes.

“After the feast, let’s talk to Hermione in the common room,” Harry offered. “Clear the air.” He was sure Ed would agree to mediate when it came time for that.”

“Alright,” Ron said, though the prospect of it clearly left him queasy.

Harry reached for seconds when the Great Hall doors slammed open with an overwhelming bang. Harry whipped his head around to see Professor Quirrell racing towards the High Table.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeon! Thought you’d… oughta know!”

A panic spread amongst the student body at his words. Harry felt his own heartbeat quicken, and it nearly jumped from his skin when he heard a loud bang from the High Table. Dumbledore had raised his wand and let off several crackling fireworks to draw their attention.

“Prefects! Take your Houses back to the dormitories immediately! Staff, follow me!”

Percy was upon them at once, separating away the most vulnerable Gryffindor first years and herding them out of the Great Hall. But, Harry’s mind was preoccupied with something else.

“They don’t know,” he whispered to Ron. “Ed and Hermione and Winry.”

Ron looked like he was going to be sick, picking up on the implications. “Okay. We’ll go warn them. Can’t let Percy spot us, though.”

They waited until Percy’s view was obscured by a stampede of passing Hufflepuffs and broke away from their House. Harry didn’t have the faintest idea where to look, though.

“Probably the girl’s bathroom closest to the Charms classroom?” Ron offered as a suggestion, so they made that their first destination. Just as they rounded a corner, the sound of fast approaching footsteps echoed behind them, so Harry grabbed Ron by the elbow and dragged him out of sight, just in time as Snape stalked by them.

“Why isn’t he with the rest of the teachers?” Harry questioned, tracking Snape’s retreating form with his eyes. “He’s heading for the third floor-”

Ron tugged sharply on his robe. “Forget Snape, the troll-”

Right, they still had a mission on hand. Harry and Ron proceeded in the direction of the Charms classroom, only for an immensely foul odor to nearly knock them off their feet. Harry squinted, as from the other side of the hallways emerged-

“That’s a troll?!” Harry asked in disbelief at the towering figure. He had seen an illustration of a troll in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but seeing one in the flesh brought about an entirely new terror. The troll lugged a giant club at its side as it lumbered forward, stopping in front of a door. After a long pause, it proceeded through the door.

“We can lock it inside,” Harry said, eyeing the key hanging from the doorknob.

“Good idea,” Ron said, who looked as terrified as Harry felt. But, as they crept forward, a yell and the sound of smashing tiles came from within.

“That’s the girl’s bathroom, isn’t it,” Ron said with a groan, taking off in a sprint and yanking the door open, Harry hot on his heels.

They had never seen Hermione look so terrified, standing with her back pressed to the wall. Winry clung to her arm, trying to drag her towards the door, but Hermione was too stiff to move. And Ed-

“You two! Get the girls outta here and grab some backup!”

Ed had a trickle of blood on his face from the cut tile, but he stood with his fists raised in a fighting stance, glaring fiercely at the troll. The troll swung its club at Ed again, who sidestepped it, the club destroying a toilet, instead. Ed aimed a kick at the back of the troll’s knee, only to recoil in pain.

“Hurry!”

Harry rushed in and took hold of Hermione’s other hand. Together, he and Winry finally managed to get her completely out of range of the club’s swing, but now Ed was on the backfoot, dodging another swipe and wincing in pain.

Harry, thinking quickly, grabbed a piece of broken tile from the ground and threw it against the wall. It left behind a horrible ringing sound that only aggravated the troll, its attention now on Harry.

With the troll distracted, Ed reached for a piece of piping that had been knocked loose and held it up like a baseball bat. Again, he aimed for the back of the knees, and this time, the hit did a lot more, making the troll waver in place as it howled in pain.

“Use its size against it! We need a clean hit to the head to knock it out!”

Harry couldn’t fathom how in the world they were supposed to reach the troll’s head, which was high enough to nearly graze the ceiling. Ed raised the pipe again, but the troll swung its club in retaliation, forcing him to duck. The club caught the pipe and wretched it from Ed’s grip, sending him to the floor from the momentum.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Suddenly, the club escaped the troll’s hand, hovering just over its skull. Ron stood with his wand raised, looking more surprised than anyone at the success of his spell. The effect dissipated, and the club went crashing down on its bearer’s head. The troll howled in pain and toppled, with Ed scrambling to get out of its descending shadow.

Harry could hardly breathe as the five of them stood stock still.

That’s it,” Winry said, her voice thin. “I definitely prefer my old world. This is insane.”

“I’ll say,” Ed forced himself onto his feet, leaning on the half-destroyed wall for support.

“Do you think it’s… dead?” Hermione finally found her voice, staring at the troll’s unmoving form with trepidation.

“Probably just knocked out,” Harry said, but before he could say or do anything else, several sets of running footsteps came from the hallway outside. Just as he realized that their scuffle with the troll probably alerted half the castle, Professors McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape rounded the corner. Quirrell squeaked in fright, while Snape instantly turned to investigate the troll.

“What on earth were you thinking?” McGonagall raised her voice, and Harry winced as he realized it was directed at him and Ron primarily. Harry wanted to sink into the floor. Just what were they supposed to tell her? That they’d made Hermione cry during Charms, putting Winry and Ed in danger when they went to comfort her? Harry saw from the corner of his eye as Ed nudged the shattered ceramic plates behind one of the still standing stalls, while Hermione and Winry exchanged worried glances.

“You’re lucky you weren’t killed! Why aren’t you in your dormitory?!”

“Professor McGonagall,” Winry spoke up, shooting one final glance at Hermione, who swallowed and continued.

“They were looking for us.”

“Miss Granger… Miss Rockbell…” McGonagall said in disbelief. Hermione was her star pupil, and Winry always put full effort in. Harry and Ron stood frozen in shock.

“I- I thought I could take care of the troll on my own,” Hermione falsely confessed, hunching her shoulders in shame. “I’ve read all about them. So, when I heard one got in, I took Winry with me to go look for it.”

Ron’s arm dropped to his side, he looked like he wanted to protest, but Winry shot him a withering glare as Hermione continued with her narrative.

“Ed found us first and tried to help. Then Harry distracted it, and Ron knocked it out with its own club. Please, don’t punish them! They didn’t have time to get a teacher!”

McGonagall took in the scene once more, her eyes narrow. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The two of you were very foolish tonight. Five points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.” Hermione and Winry hung their heads. “If you aren’t injured, return to your common rooms. The feast will continue there for the night.”

With that, Hermione and Winry scuttled from the bathroom, though not before securing a look of understanding with Ron and Harry.

McGonagall turned to the boys. “Well, I suppose not many first years can tell the tale of taking out a fully grown mountain troll and surviving the ordeal. Five points for each of you. Return to your common room.”

Harry forced a smile. The adrenaline had come and gone, and he wanted to do nothing more than collapse into bed. Ed made a move to join them, but stumbled in pain, drawing McGonagall’s attention again.

“What is it, Mister Elric?”

“Kicked the troll. Hurt my leg.”

“... Mister Elric, why on earth would you try to kick a troll?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind!”

McGonagall looked ready to retire early. “I’ll accompany you to the Hospital Wing. Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, return to your common room now.”

Harry and Ron did not want to test her patience further, so they waved goodbye to Ed and hurried from the bathroom, Snape’s eyes not leaving their backs once.

“We deserved more than fifteen points,” Ron murmured.

“Ten, with the five that Hermione lost,” Harry corrected him.

“And Ravenclaw’s five in the hole. I think Winry might actually hate me now,” Ron groaned.

With how loud the party in Gryffindor tower was, with the Weasley twins manning the refreshments tables and handing out the self-refilling glasses of pumpkin juice, Lee Jordan commandeering the radio to play Wizarding rock, and the lively conversations sounding ever grander in the more confined space, they managed to slip in practically unnoticed. Only Hermione saw them enter, and she rushed to their side, a plate of cookies in hand.

“Where’s Ed?” she asked, voice clipped with worry.

“Hospital Wing, for the leg,” Ron said, some of the awkwardness returning. He broke eye contact. “Uh- I just wanted to say… thanks, for… back there.”

“Yeah-” Hermione’s voice was still stilted, but she managed a shaky smile. “You, too.”

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, they’re hiding something from us.”

Harry hummed in non-committal agreement, too focused on Quidditch Through the Ages to truly pay attention to Hermione’s ramblings. His first ever Quidditch match was happening the next day, and to make it all the more nerve-wracking, it was against Slytherin.

Ever since Hermione had officially become their friend, Harry and Ron had felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Having her as a friend was a lot easier than having her as an annoyance. Ed, discharged from the Hospital Wing with not a scratch on him and in heightened spirits, seemed relieved, too, no longer torn between two worlds.

Or, at least, to Harry’s perception. Hermione was fixated on the group across from them in the courtyard. Ed and Lan Fan appeared to have started an arm wrestling contest, with Winry and Ling as their biggest cheerleaders. A small crowd had gathered around them, and the Weasley twins were hosting a betting pool.

Harry leaned against the conjured fire that Hemione created. The weather had been growing steadily colder, and the blue flames provided relief from the biting chill. The three friends sat with their backs to the jar that housed the flame, content with each other’s company. Harry was engrossed in Quidditch Through the Ages to seek refuge from his nerves, Ron had taken Scabbers from his pocket and idly had the rat run circles in the frost. Hermione watched as Lan Fan won the first round, but she didn’t seem overly invested in the arm wrestling itself.

“You’re overthinking it,” Ron finally answered as Scabbers wriggled into the confines of his coat to escape the cold.

“I am not,” Hermione huffed. “There’s something strange about them, I’m sure of it.”

Harry flipped a page in his book. He had long since accepted the peculiarity of the quartet’s friendship, and it had stopped bothering him as much as it had before. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” he said. “So they prefer to eat lunch together, what of it? They’re not the only people with friends outside of their own Houses.”

Harry had observed that while many friendships remained within the students’ own Houses, especially amongst the younger students, some of the elder ones had branched out. He had once witnessed an older Slytherin and Hufflepuff studying together in one of the far library corners, and a small gaggle of Ravenclaw and Gryffindors had claimed a courtyard corner to listen to the radio broadcast of a Quidditch league game, their faces all painted a light blue to represent their preferred team. Even in their year, not counting the almost infamous inter-House quartet, the Patil twins maintained a close bond despite being in different Houses, and some of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years had organized a study group to be held every Sunday afternoon.

“I know, but still,” Hermione fussed. “They’re far too familiar with each other to have only met two months ago.”

Now that observation gave Harry pause. It made some of the memories that he had discarded as unimportant filter back in. Judging by Ron craning his neck to better look at them, those same thoughts were running through his head.

“I mean- Ed and Winry are childhood friends,” Harry offered a weak defense. “Ling and Lan Fan have probably grown up together, too.”

“And what about all the other combinations?” Hermione pressed. “When did they first meet, anyways?”

“On the train,” Ron said. “Ling and Lan Fan came into our compartment through the window.”

Hermione raised her brows, and Harry felt the sudden peculiarity. Ed had purchased a surplus of sweets from the trolley, something that Harry had previously dismissed as meaningless, having done the same thing. Ling had eaten most of them, and his ravenous appetite had become well known at Hogwarts, most Slytherins giving him a wide berth at the table to avoid getting hit by his elbows.

Had Ed known about Ling’s eating habits before? Moreover, had he bought that many sweets in the anticipation that Ling would find their compartment in particular?

Hermione looked triumphant when Harry disclosed his observations. “That lines up with everything I’ve seen,” she said, still keeping half an eye on the arm-wrestling competition. Ed was now up three to two, with Fred and George adjusting the betting table as Ling stepped in to fill Lan Fan’s spot. “From how they act, you’d think they met long before Hogwarts. I bet they have, and they’re just trying to hide it. But… why?”

Harry considered the possibility. Winry said her parents were Muggles, but she may have learned about magic earlier than most in her position with Ed for a childhood friend. But, Ling and Lan Fan grew up a continent away, the distance too great for a casual meetup.

“Ed’s dad is a famous Alchemist,” Ron offered. “Maybe that could grant a meeting with China’s Minister for Magic.”

“That could make sense,” Hermione mused. “I’ve been doing some light reading on international wizarding communities, and Alchemy is pretty popular in China. If Ed and Ling met when they were kids through their fathers, that would explain… some things.”

Across the courtyard, Ed let out a strangled yell as Ling slammed his hand to the table, grinning all the while.

“Still, why hide it? Who cares that they met when they were kids? It’s not like it is that uncommon.”

Harry didn’t have a good answer to Hermione’s question, only offering up a weak shrug. Quidditch Through the Ages had been almost entirely forgotten.

“And there’s the whole Amestris thing Ling brought up.”

Harry tried to shake off the dusty memory. They had been standing outside the Defense classroom, waiting for their very first class at Hogwarts. Ling and Lan Fan had been heading their way, arguing about something or other.

“Relax, Lan Fan. If worst comes to worst, we’ve got the Ultimate Shield. Besides, this is a school of magic, not Amestris.”

“‘This is a school of magic, not Amestris,’” Harry repeated it out loud, subconsciously dropping his voice to a whisper. Ed and Ling had gotten ready for a rematch, with Ed looking more determined to win than ever.

“Ron, are you sure you’ve never heard of Amestris before,” Hermione pressed him, but Ron simply shook his head.

“Completely new to me.”

Hermione huffed. “I was so sure that it’s the term for something magical. I’ve been looking in the library for anything on it, but it’s not showing up in any of the search catalogs. I’ve even checked out a few books specifically on China’s wizarding history, but nothing came up.”

“Maybe it’s code for something,” Harry shot in the dark with his own theory.

“Maybe… but then, how do we break that code…”

Again, Ling came out victorious in his match against Ed, much to the Gryffindor’s growing frustration. Winry leaned in, evidently offering to sub in for him, but Ling waved her off.

“‘If worst comes to worst, we’ve got the Ultimate Shield,’” Hermione said, more to herself than to them. “What in the world is the Ultimate Shield?”

Neither Ron nor Harry had any sort of satisfactory answer. All Harry could picture was Ling holding up a large medieval shield, like the ones he’d seen in picture books and movies. In his mental image, the shield was often encrusted with the image of a coiled serpent.

“There’s one other thing,” Hermione said. “With the troll, don’t you think Ed was a little… too prepared?”

“In what sense?” Ron asked. “He saw you and Winry about to be turned into paste on the bathroom wall and jumped in to protect you. Sounds about right to me.”

“Tha’ts not what I mean,” Hermione said. “I mean, he didn’t even try to use magic, just his fists. He was rattling off all these combat strategies right away.”

Harry pursued the train of thought, though it led to what he deemed to be a sensible conclusion. “I met Ed once when we were younger,” he said. “He and his little brother were staying at this butchery close to where the Dursleys live. They said that one of the butchery owners taught them how to fight. I saw them sparring in the courtyard.”

“See, nothing weird about it,” Ron proclaimed. “He’s just been learning this stuff for a very long time.”

Hermione looked cross. “Learning isn’t the same as doing. I didn’t completely lie to Professor McGonagall. I’ve read about trolls before. I knew, in theory, how to defeat it. But, that doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t act when faced with one. But, Ed… Ed didn’t hesitate. That speaks to more combat experience than just sparring with his brother.”

More combat experience… where in the world could Ed have procured that…

“Quiet,” Ron hissed. “Snape’s prowling.”

True to his warning, Harry saw the billowing black cloak he’d come to associate with their potionsmaster. Though, Harry noticed right away that he was favoring one side. Across the courtyard, Fred and George quickly swept away any signs of the betting table, but the commotion made it obvious that something had been happening.

“Fighting on school grounds, Elric?” Snape drawled out, voice a threatening hiss.

“Just some friendly arm wrestling, sir,” Ling jumped in with an easy smile. Ed didn’t look the faintest bit friendly, and Snape latched onto that.

“Refrain from picking fights in the courtyard, it is unbecoming. And five points from Gryffindor.”

“He didn’t take any points from Ling,” Harry glowered at the obvious favoritism, but shut his mouth as Snape came bearing down on them. They all crowded closer together to obscure the fire in the jar from his sight.

“What do you have there, Potter?” Snape asked, eyes fixed on the book.

“A copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.”

“Library books aren’t allowed outside the castle. Give it here. That’s another five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry begrudgingly handed the book over, and Snape left, still limping.

“He made that rule up,” he said under his breath. “Hermione’s taken loads of books into the courtyard before, and no other teacher said anything about it.”

“Don’t overstress yourself with him,” Hermione warned him. “Just focus on your match.”

That proved to be much harder to do as evening drew nearer. With Hermione not willing to discuss her conspiracies with anyone besides Harry and Ron, and with no Quidditch Through the Ages to occupy his brain, he started spiraling. Fears of falling, letting his team down, they all swirled through his head.

“I’m gonna go get my book back,” Harry announced to the group. Hermione looked up in trepidation from the Charms essay she’d been proofreading for Ron.

“Are you sure? Professor Snape can be… volatile.”

Harry shrugged. “The book’s inside the castle now, he can’t complain about it.” He was sure that Snape would find something to complain about, but if he didn’t try, he was sure his nerves would be fried come morning.

It wasn’t quite curfew yet, so a few other students milled in the corridors as Harry made his way to the teacher’s lounge. Harry heard a few passing comments about the upcoming match. The older Gryffindors gave him subtle thumbs-up, while at least one Slytherin tried to trip him. It just reinforced his current mission, he needed his book back.

Harry reached the staffroom door and knocked, only to receive no answer. Deciding it would be worth it to at least check if Quidditch Through the Ages was there, he cracked the door open a sliver.

“Blasted thing, how are you supposed to keep track of all three heads- Potter!”

Harry flinched as Snape raised his voice to a shout.

“I just wanted to see if I can have my book-”

“Get out! Out!”

Harry scampered away from the door, which shuddered shut with a slam. He had to put several corridors between himself and the staffroom before he could breathe properly, and even then his heart raced and threatened to escape his ribcage.

The image clawed at the corners of his mind, seeping into his vision. Snape with his robes raised over his knees, one of his legs a mangled, bloody mess.

Three heads…

He returned to the Gryffindor common room, the day’s earlier conspiracy replaced by a fading one.

“Did you get it back?” Ed asked as he worked on revisions for his History of Magic essay. Harry looked around, making sure everyone else was occupied with other matters, then took a seat with his three friends, careful to speak in a whisper.

“I saw Snape in the lounge. His leg got bitten, that’s why he’s limping.”

“Bitten? By what?” Hermione asked.

“By the sounds of it, it was that three-headed dog on the third floor,” Harry said, catching a gleam in Ron and Ed’s eyes. Hermione went a bit stiff at the memory of the beast, but confusion soon overpowered the fear.

“What makes you say that?”

Harry looked around again. “When Ron and I were trying to find you and warn you about the troll, we saw Snape going towards the third-floor corridor. That was after Professor Dumbledore told all the staff to gather in the dungeons to find the troll.”

“You don’t think-” Ron murmured. “You think he’s after whatever’s hidden under that trapdoor?”

Again, Harry couldn’t help but think of what could be so valuable for it to be removed from the sanctuary of Gringotts and placed under the protection of Hogwarts. Whatever it was, it had clearly piqued the potionsmaster’s attention.

“I bet he let the troll in, as a diversion!”

Ed raised a brow. “I know he’s an ass-” Hermione prickled at his choice of words. “But is he enough of an ass to put students in actual danger?”

“Besides, how can you be sure he was trying to steal the… whatever it is,” Hermione added with a healthy dose of skepticism in her voice. “I mean, he wouldn’t try to steal from Dumbledore, right?”

“Not all teachers are saints, Hermione,” Ron scoffed.

The mystery unravelling before them, if nothing else, provided Harry with enough of a mental distraction to get his head in the game. Though, the relief that came with sleep quickly dissipated come breakfast time. The morning nerves were unbearable, especially with the jeers coming from the green and silver table. Soon enough, Wood and the Weasley twins were marching him from the table, a final slice of toast in hand. The three Chasers - Angelina, Alicia, and Katie - joined them outside the locker room.

Harry could barely listen to Wood’s beginning-of-Quidditch-season speech as he fastened on his protective guards.

“Keep ya head up, Harry,” Fred told him as they lined up to exit the locker room.

“Between your skills and your broom, the game’s practically won already,” George agreed.

Harry forced a nod and followed his teammates out into the cold, November air. Immediately, cheers erupted from the stands, both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Their counterparts had also emerged from their locker room, and matched their pace as they marched. They met in the middle of the field, Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint holding firm glares over Madam Hooch’s shoulders.

“I expect a nice, clean match,” she said, her gaze centering Flint in particular. Harry let his eyes wander up to the stands, and he froze as a fluttering banner caught his eye. It resembled the maroon bedsheets they were offered in Gryffindor, and painted on it in large letters was the message “Potter for President.” A giant lion with its maw half-open in a roar that reminded him of the drawings that Dean had shown them a few weeks ago, was proudly displayed by the message, all flashing in an array of glowing colors.

Had his friends made that for him? Harry tore his eyes away from the banner, instead staring down opposing Seeker Terrence Higgs. He definitely wasn’t going to let his House down, now.

A sharp blow from the whistle signaled the start of the match, and Harry was airborne. The weightless feeling of freedom encompassed him once more, and he soared around the pitch, eyes peeled for any flashes of fluttering gold. Gryffindor took an early lead with Angelina’s scoring and Wood’s defense of their goals, but the Snitch remained elusive. All the while, Lee Jordan’s - only slightly biased - commentary cut through the air, though the speed of Harry’s broom made it hard to catch the specifics.

Harry’s eyes darted to the side, and that was when he spotted it. In an instant, he turned his broom around and zoomed towards the ground, towards the Golden Snitch. Higgs spotted it, too, and tried to match his pace, but Harry was just faster. He started to stretch out his hand, fingertips almost at the Snitch-

A sudden force lurched him to the side. Harry quickly retracted his arm and clung to his broom for dear life as he spun out of control. He caught Flint’s mean sneer as he righted himself. The Slytherin captain had knocked him off course deliberately, and it didn’t even look like he was worried about the penalty shot. In the chaos, the Snitch had vanished, and Harry had little choice but to return to his circling.

The other Slytherins were definitely targeting him now, as the opposing Beaters sent both Bludgers his way. Fred and George matched their energy in fold, with George connecting a Bludger to Puecy’s shoulder.

Just as Harry swerved to avoid the retaliatory Bludger, his broom lurched beneath him once more. Harry tried to course-correct, but the handle just began vibrating.

Something didn’t feel right.

The broom was moving like it was yanked along on puppet strings, no longer responding to Harry’s movements. He tried to force it back under his control, to maneuver towards Wood to alert him of the situation, but he had lost all control. The broom seemed determined to unseat him.

“Harry!” One of the twins yelled to him as he blocked an oncoming Bludger. “What’s the big idea?!”

“Broom’s- not-” Harry couldn’t speak, all of his energy going towards remaining on the broom. It suddenly somersaulted, leaving Harry clinging to it upside down. Blood was pooling in his head. From the corner of his vision, he saw the twin’s - George’s - eyes widen in horror. That confirmed it. This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t some sort of well-meaning prank.

Harry was in danger.

The broom gave a particularly violent shake, and Harry’s left arm lost grip. With only the fingertips on his right hand, he clung to life. Everything was becoming a blur. He was vaguely aware of the Weasley twins circling protectively beneath him, the trio of Chasers looping the edges of the pitch in search of aid. Wood had abandoned the goalposts entirely to contact Madam Hooch, leaving Slytherin free to score on repeat. That all hardly seemed to matter.

Harry was going to die playing Quidditch.

His grip was giving out. The ground was so far below him, with the broom sailing higher and higher over the pitch. Harry tried to remember the spell that Madam Hooch attempted to use to slow Neville’s fall, and distantly wondered if he’d be able to to use it on himself, when-

The vibration stopped, as did the erratic movement. With a final burst of strength, Harry pulled up, and the broom cooperated like an old friend. A feeling of security and triumph washed over him. He was in control again.

And he had a game to win.

The spiraling view of the ground from above had terrified him to his wit’s end, but it also provided a clear image of the Golden Snitch fluttering near the turf, far away from Higgs. With Flint still scoring free goals, Harry dived, the movements completely his own.

The ground was getting closer, the crowd was still screaming, but Harry didn’t let up. The Snitch suddenly jerked upward, and his mouth opened in surprise. Harry could taste metal on his teeth as he tumbled from the broom. He clasped his hands over his mouth, coughing vigorously until he hacked up what he’d nearly swallowed on his descent. It fell into his hands, golden and wings slightly crooked.

“Harry Potter caught the Snitch”! Lee’s voice, amplified by a magical megaphone, rang in his ears. “Gryffindor wins 170-60!”

The screams of terror from Gryffindor were replaced with deafening cheers. The rest of the team descended and caught Harry in a hug.

“Gave us a scare, did you!” Alicia said, her voice caught between relief and anger.

“Now that’s an eventful first game!” Fred hollered.

“Play like this for the rest of the season, and we’re golden!” Wood proclaimed.

Harry’s head was still reeling, eyes focused on a familiar set of shapes descending from the Gryffindor stands. Ron, Hermione, Ed, and Hagrid- Harry hadn’t realized he’d gone up to the stands to watch the game, and part of him was overjoyed that he had.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled as she reached him, hugging him tight as the Quidditch team parted. She looked dreadfully pale. Looking past her, he could see anger on Ron and Ed’s faces. Not at him, but at… someone.

“I’m alright,” Harry tried to reassure him. “It turned out fine-”

“Fine?!” Hagrid nearly roared. “You’re still trembling like a leaf. Come with me, I’ll make some tea.”

That was how Harry found himself being marched off the Quidditch pitch and in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, Fred and George promising him a massive celebration when he felt up for returning to the common room.

“How’d it look from the stands?” he asked as they waited for the water to boil.

“Dreadful,” Ed said, his fists clenched. “At first we thought something happened when Flint collided with you, but…”

“But what?”

“It was Snape,” Ron declared. “We saw it through the binoculars. He was muttering and looking right at you. He jinxed your broom.”

Harry felt his blood turn to ice. Snape… tried to kill him? That would be the only explanation, though now fear gripped him like never before. He knew Snape didn’t like him, and some part of him had already accepted that this would never change, but for the potionsmaster to go as far as to try and kill him…

Was it because of what he saw in the staffroom?

“Nonsense!” Hagrid declared, just as shocked by Ron’s statement as Harry. “Why would Snape try to do something like that?”

Harry looked at his friends, a moment of silent contemplation happening between them. Finally, Harry made the decision to come clean to Hagrid.

“I saw something he didn’t want me to see. He was trying to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him, that’s why he’s limping.”

Hagrid dropped his teapot, shattering it into dozens of shards. “How do you know about Fluffy?”

“Some name for a chimera,” Ed huffed. “It- it is a chimera, right?”

“Cerberus,” Hagrid corrected him. “Got him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub last year.”

“He’s yours,” Ron said incredulously. “What’s he doing at Hogwarts?”

“Gave him to Dumbledore to guard-”

“Yes?”

Hagrid’s mouth pursed beneath his beard, the bristles wavering. “Don’t ask me anything else about it. It’s top secret.”

“But Snape is trying to steal it!”

“Rubbish!” Hagrid declared again. “Snape would do nothing of the sort!”

“Then why’d he try to kill Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice harsh and determined. “I know a jinx when I see one. They require intense eye contact, and Snape didn’t blink once. I swear, it took him nearly a full minute to realize I’d set his robes on fire with how concentrated he was!”

“There’s definitely something off with him,” Ed agreed. “It’s gone beyond just favoring his House, he’s dangerous!”

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong!” Hagrid yelled out. “I don’t know what happened with Harry’s broom, but Snape wouldn’t try to kill a student. Just forget about it, all of it. Don’t meddle in this. Forget about Fluffy, forget about what he’s guarding. That is between Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel-”

“So, someone named Nicolas Flamel is involved?” Harry declared in triumph. That was a big clue. He looked around. Ron and Hermione had also latched onto the hint, but Ed-

Ed had gone dangerously pale and was stiff as a board, a look of horror etched into his eyes.

Hagrid, more angry with himself than with them, sent them away. As they walked, Ed dragged his feet, the shock never leaving his face.

“What’s wrong,” Hermione asked, also noticing the sudden change in demeanor. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That’s not all that uncommon-” but Hermione waved Ron off.

“It’s a figure of speech. Well, Ed?”

“I know what they’re hiding beneath that trapdoor.”

Harry nearly tripped in surprise. Ed didn’t look at all triumphant at his apparent epiphany. No, he looked rather sick, like he had stumbled upon something foul.

“Well, what is it?” Ron pressed. “How’d you figure it out?”

Ed swallowed, gathering his thoughts. For a moment, Harry thought he’d refuse to answer, joining whatever silent pact Hagrid had failed to maintain.

Then, he spoke.

“Nicolas Flamel is a famous figure in the field of Alchemy. He is credited with creating one of the most powerful magical artifacts ever, one that people wouldn’t want to fall into the wrong hands. The sort of thing Professor Dumbledore would want to protect… The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Chapter Text

Ed had them practically living in the library for the remainder of term, digging through every section for any information on the Philosopher’s Stone. It became especially tedious once the festive cheer began to fill the hallways as Christmas approached, but Ed was like a man possessed with his newfound obsession.

Hermione managed to unearth an ancient-looking book from one of the back corners of the library, where she found an entire chapter dedicated to Nicolas Flamel.

“It says he’s the only known creator of the Philosopher’s Stone,” she paraphrased to the group as they sat hunched together by one of the lanterns. “He and his wife Perenelle use the Elixir of Life produced by the Stone to extend their lifespans, and are enjoying a peaceful extended retirement in France. He’s worked with Professor Dumbledore on Alchemical research in the past. The Philosopher’s Stone itself is said to have the ability to turn any metal into gold and create the aforementioned Elixir of Life, which grants immortality if consumed regularly.”

“Well, that explains why Snape would want the Stone for himself,” Harry reasoned. “He’d be rich and immortal.” He wondered, if Snape did achieve his goals, would he still feel the need to teach at Hogwarts, or did he simply enjoy the chance to torment the student population? Maybe Harry would actually let Snape get the Stone if it meant he’d leave him alone.

“But does it say anything about how the Stone is made?” Ed interrupted Harry’s musings, leaning forward and snatching away the book to read through the passage himself.

Hermione frowned. “I didn’t see anything on the creation process.”

“Does it really matter how it’s made?” Ron asked. “I mean- it’s probably some complex ritual with lots of fancy Potions and Transfiguration magic.”

Ed shook his head, pulling at his hair. “I- I need to know,” he said. “If it’s what I think it is, then-” He almost looked sick, slamming the book closed, which earned them all a murderous glare from Madam Pince.

“I bet the Restricted Section has information on how to make the Stone,” Ed glowered in the direction of the courted-off bookshelves.

“We could try to get a permission slip,” Hermione offered. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick would give me permission if they think it’s just theoretical-”

“No, you can’t do it!” Ed yelled, and again Madam Pince glared at them, her expression clearly communicating that another toe out of line would get them all banned. Ed grit his teeth and lowered his voice. “If anyone’s gonna do it, it’ll be me. Though, I doubt Professor McGonagall would give me permission. She knows my interest in Alchemy isn’t just theoretical…”

“How do you think the Philosopher’s Stone is made?” Harry asked. He didn’t know why Ed was so fixated on the idea, or why he seemed so terrified of it. Even if he didn’t know the specifics, it was clear Ed had some sort of theories on the matter.

Ed grimaced and pushed his hair from his eyes. “I can’t tell you…” he murmured. “I think it’s best if I handle it from here. This is the devil’s research. You shouldn’t get tangled up in it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, a look of panic overtaking her. “It can’t be that bad, can it, if Professor Dumbledore is friends with Flamel-”

“I mean it,” Ed said, looking utterly defeated. “Don’t follow me on this path. I’m just in too deep to turn back.”

The cryptic nature of Ed’s warnings left an unsettling pit in the core of Harry’s stomach. His thought experiment of letting Snape steal the Stone and retire to some faraway country was quickly forgotten. By the sounds of it, Ed would prefer if no one used the Stone at all, and Harry would defer to his judgement in the field of Alchemy.

Snow now fell in blankets upon the castle grounds. The lake had frozen into a solid block of ice, and some braver students ventured out on ice skates. Hagrid had brought a small forest of Christmas trees to the Great Hall, where McGonagall and Flitwick decorated them with festive ornaments. The approaching holidays made Harry think back to the fake tree the Dursleys would set up every year- they hated dealing with the mess that genuine pine left behind. Dudley would get a pile of gifts that grew bigger in size and quantity year by year, while Harry would be left with a square of toilet paper or a glove with a hole in the palm.

But, this year, Harry had money, and he had more friends than he could have ever dreamed of. He wanted to get them presents. Fred and George pitched in when they saw him looking through the library resource section, lending him their catalogues to both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade village.

“They have all the best shops,” Fred said, cycling through a few of the pages to show off some examples.

“Just write out the code number, attach the money, and send it by owl,” George said. “Oh, and if you mark that it’s a gift for someone else on the order form, it comes prewrapped!”

Harry spent a few hours that evening picking out the perfect gifts. A Chudley Cannons cape for Ron. A book on French magical history for Hermione. A red leatherbound notebook for Ed. A windup clock for Winry. A faux collectible dragon egg for Hagrid. He sent Hedwig away with a pouch sagging with coins, a smile on his face.

With the holidays nearly upon them, students were given the choice between remaining in the castle or returning to their families. Harry chose the former in a heartbeat, delighted by the prospect of avoiding the Dursleys for an additional six months. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone vacationing in Romania with their second son Charlie, leaving the school-age Weasleys to remain at Hogwarts. Hermione, despite her love for the castle and its magic, had clearly grown homesick, and planned to return home for the holidays.

“I’ll be going home with Winry,” Ed told them the day before the end of term. The obsessed expression hadn’t left his face. “Gotta talk to my old man. I’m sure he knows something about the Stone.”

“We’ll keep looking while we’re here,” Harry offered, with Ron nodding half-heartedly, clearly not excited by the prospect of doing research during the holidays.

By contrast, Ling and Lan Fan decided to stay, with Ling handwaving an explanation that it was too much of a hassle to drag themselves all the way back to China for a few weeks. By the time all the departing students left the castle and boarded the Hogwarts Express, just about two dozen total students remained on school grounds.

Harry woke up on Christmas morning to Ron’s lighthearted pillow to the face. Harry pushed him away as he sat up, only for his eyes to fully open, alert and in awe of the packages littered around the foot of his bed.

“Merry Christmas, Harry!” Ron said.

“I have presents,” Harry mumbled, still trying to process it. He had been more than happy to order presents for his friends, but he truly hadn’t anticipated getting anything in return.

“What did you expect, turnips?” Ron joked. “Come on, let’s open them!”

Harry dragged the packages onto his mattress as Ron did the same with his presents. The first one he opened contained a hand-carved flute from Hagrid. Harry blew into it. It sounded a bit like an off-pitch owl.

“Amazing,” he murmured.

Next was a very small box. Inside was a curt note from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and a fifty-pence piece taped to the lid of the box.

“Might be the most quality gift they’ve ever given me,” Harry remarked as Ron looked over.

“Is that Muggle money?”

“Yeah. You can have it, if you want. Maybe start a coin collection.”

“It looks so weird. If you’re sure you don’t want it… Dad might be interested in examining it,” Ron said, taking the piece from Harry’s extended hand. Ron turned back to his own pile of presents, ripping open the top one. His mouth fell agape.

“Harry…” he unfurled the bright orange cape, the insignia of the Chudley Cannons emblazoned on the back in stitched-on lettering. “Did- did you get this for me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “You did say they’re your favorite team, so-”

“It’s- it’s amazing.” Ron looked a bit pink in the face. He instantly threw the cape over his shoulders. “My- my family tends to send out a collective gift, so- uh, that next package there, you can say it’s from all of us.”

Harry turned his attention to the package that now sat at the top of his pile. Removing the wrapping paper revealed a tray of homemade fudge and a green, hand-knitted sweater, the letter “H” stitched on in golden lettering.

“Mum calls it the Weasley sweater,” Ron said, showcasing his own, matching gift from his mother. His sweater was maroon and adorned with his own initial. “It’s a bit of a family tradition, but I told her you weren’t expecting many presents, so…”

“I love it,” Harry said, pulling the sweater over his head without hesitation. He was more than happy to partake in this family tradition. It was far superior to the Dursley traditions of Dudley getting all of the gifts and showing them off to his many friends, with Harry unable to do anything but watch through the sliver in his cupboard door.

Harry pulled out the next package. It was from Hermione, containing a basketful of Chocolate Frogs, big enough to satiate him for at least a few weeks. Ed’s package was next. He had sent him a bottle of broomstick varnish. Also within the container was a delicious smelling apple pie.

“From Winry, for you and Ron to share,” read the accompanying note.

“That smells good,” Ron said, looking over his shoulder at the note. “Didn’t know that Winry baked.”

“We’ll have to try later,” Harry said, trying to recall the Warming Charms they had learned in one of the last lessons of the term. He didn’t want the pie to get cold. When he finally remembered the incantation, he waved his wand and felt a pleasant warmth surrounding the tin. He placed the pie on his bedside table to enjoy later.

He still had two more packages, so he reached for the more solid one, first. Inside, he found a tray of what could only be magical sweets, but they looked nothing like the ones he bought on the Hogwarts Express. A bit of digging through the box revealed various mooncakes, sesame balls, and egg tarts. Harry looked further in. There was a second package within the box, and unearthing that revealed a glass snowglobe. A miniature broomstick hung in stasis within the globe, though rocking it gently sent it on a trajectory around the interior, weaving between the faux, snow-covered trees.

Harry checked the label. It was from Ling. Harry couldn’t help but feel a touch embarrassed. He hadn’t felt close enough to Ling or Lan Fan to get either of them a gift, while Ling had got him two entirely separate presents. Maybe he could throw something together this evening as thanks.

Finally, Harry reached for the last package, which almost felt like liquid in his hands. The contents of the wrapping shifted in his arms like a fluid, sliding and unable to maintain its form. He tore away the packaging.

Something light and silvery fell away from the paper, fluttering onto the mattress. “I’ve heard of those before,” Ron said in awe, looking at the fabric with wonder in his eyes. “If that’s what I think it is, it’s very rare.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, picking it back up. It looked like a cloak, but it reflected the light in an odd way.

“It’s a Cloak of Invisibility,” Ron gasped. “Go on. Try it!”

Harry jumped from his bed and threw the Cloak over his shoulders. He looked down, and saw nothing but empty space where his chest and legs should have been. He put it over his head, and he vanished entirely.

“Wicked! How’d you get it?”

Harry shrugged the Cloak off and checked the note that came with it. “It doesn’t say who sent it,” he murmured. “No signature, but… it says this was my dad’s Cloak before, and to… use it well.”

A commotion from outside their dormitory drew their attention, and Harry stuffed the Cloak out of sight just as Fred and George burst in, followed closely by Percy. Each of them had their own Weasley sweater. With them as the only Gryffindors still in the castle, they descended to the Great Hall as one big group.

The Christmas feast was absolutely fantastic. With so few people left in the castle, the usual boundaries around House tables felt significantly looser. Ling and Lan Fan siddled up next to Harry and the Weasleys. Ling looked absolutely ridiculous, dressed in a vest with a wide fur collar, circular sunglasses, and leather bracelets on both wrists.

“What’s with the outfit?” Ron asked as he tried to avoid choking on his juice.

“He won a bet,” Lan Fan said, looking thoroughly unamused.

“Come on, Lan Fan,” Ling grinned, posturing at the table like he owned it. “This is the height of fashion!”

“It really isn’t.”

They ate to their hearts’ content, indulging in the roasted turkeys, cranberry sauce, and the dessert puddings. They all received party favors in the form of exploding crackers. Harry’s erupted into a puff of smoke, producing a large admiral’s hat that in no way should have fit inside the initial container.

“Here,” he said, giving it to Ling as a last-second gift. The admiral’s hat didn’t exactly fit with the cohesion of his current, still ridiculous outfit, but Ling grinned like a shark and placed it on his head all the same.

Harry, Ron, and the Weasley twins spent the rest of the day engaged in a snowball fight by the lakeside, Percy taking on the role of the unwilling referee. The twins were vicious in their attacks, not above targeting Percy when he was distracted, or sending snowballs at the back of Professor Quirrell’s head as he walked by. It devolved into chaos when Ling and Lan Fan invited themselves into the game, the combination of Ling’s surprisingly strong defensive charms and Lan Fan’s impeccable aim overpowering even Fred and George. The Gyffindors returned to their common room absolutely soaked from the melted snow, but Harry couldn’t deny that it had been fun. They spent the evening by their fireplace, with Ron destroying them in wizarding chess one by one.

Harry only remembered the Invisibility Cloak when he and Ron had collapsed into bed, laden down by Mrs. Weasley’s fudge and a couple slices of Winry’s apple pie. It was like the lethargy had been drained entirely from his body, he wanted nothing more than to take the Cloak for a test drive. He held it between his hands. The note said it once belonged to his father, and Harry couldn’t help but hope that this Cloak could bring him closer to him.

Harry slipped the Cloak over his head and left the dormitory, only pausing in the hallway outside the Fat Lady’s portrait. He had an entire castle to explore, and despite the multiple months he’s spent here, he was sure he hadn’t even seen half of what Hogwarts had to offer.

Still, his feet pulled him towards the library, towards the Restricted Section. He had promised Ed that he would look into the Philosopher’s Stone some more. Or… maybe, the answer to the Amestris mystery lay in the heart of the Restricted Section.

His venture in the Restricted Section did not last long, as the first book he picked up screamed loud enough to wake half the castle, attracting the attention of Filch. Harry had to run to escape, finding refuge within an abandoned classroom by an old suit of armor.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his beating heart, letting the pursuer pass by. Only when he was sure he was alone again did he examine the room in more detail, his attention instantly settling on the one object that appeared out of place.

It was a massive, ornate mirror, the rim a rusty gold. He could make out writing on the top, though it all looked like gibberish. Harry stepped closer, and nearly screamed.

He was still wearing the Cloak, but the Mirror showed his reflection as if he was perfectly visible. Not only that, he wasn’t alone, with nearly a dozen people standing behind him. Harry spun on a dime, but the room behind him remained empty.

Had he stumbled upon a secret society of invisible people?

Harry felt his eyes get drawn back to the Mirror. The initial terror passed, but the curiosity remained. He examined the figures standing behind him in the reflection of the Mirror. The two closest to him, a man and a woman… they felt strangely, inexplicably familiar.

Harry looked closer, his heart beating in his throat. The woman had his eyes, and the man had his hair.

“Mum? Dad?”

The figures smiled and nodded. The woman’s eyes were wet with tears, the man placed his hand on his reflection’s shoulder, and Harry could almost feel the phantom touch. He pressed his face against the Mirror, trying to see everything. He wanted to see them all, because behind his parents were his grandparents, great-grandparents, great-aunts and uncles. A literal family tree, confined to the surface of the Mirror.

It took him ages to tear away, only broken from his trance by a far-off noise. He stumbled his way out of the room, promising he’d be back.

Harry told Ron the story of his ventures in a hushed tone over breakfast, Harry much too jittery to eat.

“You could have woken me,” Ron grumbled, envy manifesting on his face through the story.

“Come with me tonight,” Harry offered. “I’ll show it to you.”

“Show him what?” Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He was really starting to hate Ling and his habit of sneaking up on people. The Slytherin looked down at them through his new sunglasses, an easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“None of your business,” Ron shot back. “And where’s Lan Fan? You two are usually stuck at the hip.”

“She’ll be here soon enough,” Ling said with a noncommittal shrug, sitting down beside them at the Gryffindor table. “So, where are we going tonight?”

“Harry didn’t invite you,” Ron glowered.

“It’s fine,” Harry interjected. He didn’t want to talk about this out in the open for too long. If Ling was capable of overhearing them, then so was McGonagall, or Filch, or Snape. If letting Ling tag along got him to shut up faster, Harry would allow it.

“There we go!” Ling grinned. “So, what is it?”

Harry leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It’s a magical Mirror that shows your family when you stand in front of it.”

Ling’s eyebrows rose behind the shades. “Is that so? That is very interesting. I wonder…” his voice trailed off as he grew lost in thought. “Who would show up in my Mirror?”

“I guess seeing China’s Minister for Magic might be interesting,” Ron grumbled, though he still sounded displeased. He and Ling had never been on the best of terms, with Ling’s odd fixation on Scabbers, and he was visibly dissatisfied with the arrangement.

“Perfect! In that case, I’ll meet you outside your common room at… let’s say eleven at night!”

Ling got up and walked away before either of them could get another word in. Ron groaned, and Harry tried to tell himself that it was the best choice to avoid any teachers eavesdropping on their plans. For the rest of the day, Harry could think of nothing but the Mirror, and longed for night to come, so he and his family could be reunited.

True to his word, Ling was waiting for Harry and Ron a few paces away from the Fat Lady’s portrait, still dressed in his ridiculous fur vest and shades. Harry tried to stop himself from scowling. He had hoped Ling would forget, or fall asleep. He wished he had the forethought to leave earlier or later than eleven to throw Ling off. It would be hard enough to get there with Ron, and despite Ling sending him two whole gifts, it wasn’t like they were especially close.

“Seriously, how did you get here all the way from the dungeons without getting caught?” Ron asked in a whisper. “Filch and Mrs. Norris surely would’ve seen you.”

“I’ve got my ways,” Ling replied with a coy smile. “Well, lead the way, Harry.”

Harry unraveled the Invisibility Cloak, motioning for Ling to come closer. He didn’t feel particularly keen on letting Ling in on the secret of the Cloak, and his fears were magnified when the revelation brought a gleam to Ling’s eye, but he relented. The faster he got over it, the sooner he could see the Mirror again. It was a challenge to cover all three of them with the Cloak, with both Ron and Ling exceptionally taller than Harry. They grouped together, inching forward as Harry tried to recall the path to the Mirror.

“It’s cold,” Ron complained after fifteen minutes of aimless wandering. “Let’s forget about it.”

“No,” Harry insisted. “I’ll find it. Just give me a minute.”

“Was it east or west?” Ling asked.

“I- I’m not sure. But if I just retrace my steps…”

Harry’s feet were starting to grow numb with cold, but he pressed on, sometimes moving so fast that the edge of the Cloak slipped and revealed Ling’s ankles. Finally, when even Harry had started losing hope, he saw the familiar corridor and suit of armor.

“There!”

He pulled open the classroom door, enchanted by the sight of the Mirror again. The Cloak was quickly discarded as Harry ran the last few steps, the faces of his family quickly floating up from the depths of the Mirror. He stared at it hungrily, unwilling to even blink.

“Do you see?” he asked the other two. “My family, they’re all there.”

“I don’t see anything, mate,” Ron said, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“What? But- my mum and dad, and everyone else-”

“I just see your reflection,” Ling backed up Ron’s verdict.

Harry chewed the inside of his lip. He wasn’t crazy, they really were there! “You aren’t looking hard enough! Here, step closer,” He insisted, taking Ron by the arm and pulling him forward so that he stood front and center.

But, the second he stepped away, Harry could no longer see the faces of his family. Ron, however, smiled in disbelief.

“Look at me!” Ron exclaimed, uncontainable delight in his voice.

“Nice pajamas,” Ling offered sarcastically.

“What- no,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Do you see your family?” Harry asked, craning his neck in the hope of glimpsing a piece of Ron’s vision.

“No, I’m alone, but I’m older,” Ron said, grinning. “I’m- I’m Head Boy. And Quidditch Captain, too! I’ve got the House Cup, and the Quidditch Cup! Blimey, I- I’m brilliant!”

“So… it doesn’t just show family?” Harry asked, perplexed.

“Maybe it shows the future?” Ron said, and Harry could hear the drop of hope. His own heart shriveled.

“Everyone in my family is dead. It can’t be the future.”

“Well, let’s see if my vision reveals any patterns,” Ling offered, taking a step forward. Ron stepped to the side, a dark shadow passing over his face as his vision vanished.

Ling stood before the Mirror, observing it through half-lidded eyes, shades obscuring part of his face.

“Well?” Harry asked, more impatiently than he meant to. He wanted to get another turn at the Mirror. “What do you see?”

Ling grinned. “I’m sitting on the imperial throne, and I’m wearing the robes of an emperor!”

Harry felt his heart stutter for a moment. Why was Ling having a vision like that? China had a Ministry of Magic, too, not an empire. So, why did Ling’s vision involve a totally different type of government?

He wasn’t planning to… was he?

Ling took a step forward. “I’ve got my two loyal vassals by my side, and…” he paused. “Let me try something…”

Harry saw his eyes open a touch wider behind the shades. A shudder ran through Ling’s shoulders, and he stood frozen stiff.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, looking over his shoulder. “Hey, what else do you see-”

“It’s the gang,” Ling said, completely transfixed. His voice was thicker, deeper than before. He took another step forward. Harry eyed him warily.

“The gang’s all here. It’s- everyone. They’re- they’re all okay.”

Ling’s voice cracked, and something in Harry’s heart clenched. He sounded like he was about to cry. Ling was standing close enough to the Mirror to reach out and trace the fingers of his gloved hand over the surface.

“They’re all smiling at me, they’re- they’re happy to see me.” No, he was definitely crying now. “Ed and Al, too. And Darius, Heinkel… everyone. They’re all safe and happy and with me.”

“Ling…”

“It’s everything I could want.”

The words that came from his mouth seemed to startle Ling from his trance, because he backed away from the Mirror like it burned. Harry felt his upper and lower teeth press against each other, completely unsure of what to make of the situation. Across the room, Ron looked equally concerned.

Ling looked up, over the Mirror and towards the inscription on the rim. Slowly, he removed his sunglasses, and Harry thought he saw a streak of purple as he turned around, examining the mirror through the reflective lenses.

Harry himself finally directed his attention to the inscription that he had only briefly glanced at last night. It was still gibberish to his eyes, but now he could make out the lettering more clearly.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi”

“Erised, huh?” Ling murmured, voice low. “I see.” Slowly, he wiped at his eyes, adjusted his fur collar, and slipped the shades back on his face. He walked towards the classroom door without looking back.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked. He wanted to run forward and snatch back his Invisibility Cloak, lest Ling decide to nab it on his way out. But Ling simply walked past it without a care.

“Back to my common room, and I suggest you two do the same,” Ling said, raising one arm in farewell. “You can waste away in front of that mirror or you can work for what you want.”

Neither Harry nor Ron could decipher what he meant, and it took a near disastrous encounter with Mrs. Norris to convince them to abandon the Mirror for the night.

Despite skirting disaster for two nights in a row, Harry was determined to return to the Mirror the following night. He simply had to, he could already see his mother’s smile and feel the ghost of his father’s hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t let those things slip away.

Ron wasn’t happy about it. “Come on, let’s just play some chess,” he offered. “You’re getting better.”

“Not right now.”

“We can go visit Hagrid. Maybe he’ll make us some hot chocolate.”

“Not in the mood. You can go.”

“Hey, what do you think Ling meant last night? About being on a throne, and all the people he mentioned. Reckon it has something to do with Amestris?”

“I don’t know. Not really our business, is it?”

“Harry, please, don’t go to the Mirror tonight,” Ron begged. “Something’s not right about it. I don’t know what, but it gives me a bad feeling.”

“You sound like Ling when he complains about Scabbers,” Harry shot back, and the comparison was enough to put a scowl on Ron’s face.

Ling was even less enthusiastic when Harry ran into him after lunch. In fact, he seemed downright offended at the notion of being anywhere near the Mirror again.

“Why would I ever go to the Mirror when I can have the real thing?” he asked before strutting off to find Lan Fan. Harry felt furious. Neither Ling nor Ron really understood. He couldn’t have the real thing. This was his only way to see his family, and nothing was going to tear the opportunity away from him.

That night, he found the Mirror in record time, running into the room and tearing off the Cloak the second he passed through the threshold. His family stood behind him.

“I’m back,” he whispered, sitting right in front of the Mirror, close enough to touch. His parents smiled down at him, and Harry grinned right back. He’d stay here for the entire night, catch up on every second he’s missed, every second he’s been denied-

“So, back again, Harry.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he whipped around. Professor Dumbledore himself sat upon one of the desks of the abandoned classroom.

“I didn’t see you, sir,” Harry mumbled, trying to think of how to justify his obvious rulebreaking. He was out of bed past curfew for the third night in a row, he was expecting some sort of punishment to come down from the headmaster-

“Strange, how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” Dumbledore said, a hint of jovial good nature in his voice. Harry’s shoulders relaxed. It didn’t look like Dumbledore was mad. The headmaster got off the desk, joining Harry in front of the Mirror.

“So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror or Erised.”

“I didn’t know it was called that, sir.”

“But I expect you realize by now what it does?”

Harry thought, trying to decipher the meaning in his, Ron’s, and Ling’s visions upon the glass. “I- I’m not sure,” he said. “I mean, it shows me my family, and Ron as Head Boy…”

“Yes, but what does the Mirror show us all?” Dumbledore gently pressed. “I believe your friend Ling may have already cracked the code.”

“It’s everything I could want.”

“It… it shows us whatever we want?” Harry guessed.

“Very close,” Dumbledore replied. “The Mirror of Erised shows us nothing more or less than our deepest most desperate desire. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself alone and better than all of them. Ling Yao, a boy with equal parts ambition and devotion in his soul, sees himself in a position of power, but surrounded by those he calls his own.”

Harry blinked, trying to process the information. His eyes couldn’t help but flicker back to the Mirror, towards the faces of his mom and dad. How badly he wanted for them to be there with him.

“You can waste away in front of that mirror or you can work for what you want.”

Just how was Harry supposed to do that? How was he supposed to work hard enough to bring his parents back from the grave?

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry mumbled. “I can never have the thing I desire most, can I?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Your friend’s words have struck a chord in you. The unfortunate truth is that we cannot always achieve the things we desire most, as they always remain just out of reach. That is what makes the Mirror of Erised so dangerous, Harry. Do you understand that?”

Harry fought the temptation to look back into the depths of the Mirror, where he knew his parents’ faces awaited him. If Dumbledore hadn’t stepped in, he would have spent the entire night gazing at the Mirror. He would have remained in front of it come morning, and afternoon, and evening. He would have been immovable until someone dragged him away, unaware of starvation or dehydration or sleep deprivation.

“Many men have been driven mad by what they see in the Mirror,” Dumbledore continued, “entranced by the visions it presents. The Mirror shows neither knowledge nor truth. Tomorrow, the Mirror will be moved to a new home. Please, do not go searching for it. If you ever do run across it again, you will be ready. It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Harry.”

Harry took the order to return to bed to heart, though his feet still felt like lead as he stood. The Cloak nearly slipped out of his fingers. It took every ounce of willpower to not get one last eyeful of the Mirror, to see his parents one last time, to say goodbye. He knew if he looked back now, he may not have the strength to look away.

“Professer, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you see in the Mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks.”

Harry had the funny feeling that Dumbledore wasn’t being exactly truthful, but did not tread further. He left the abandoned classroom wrapped up in the Invisibility Cloak, unseen by all but the headmaster.

Chapter Text

“Professor, please!”

“You again?! No! You’ve bothered me enough with letters all break!”

“If you know anythi-”

“If you don’t leave me alone right now I’ll bar you from this class in five years!”

“Professor-”

But the reclusive Alchemy professor slammed the classroom door right in Ed’s face. Harry recoiled at the sound as Ed swore and threw his hands up in frustration.

“You- you didn’t think that would work, did you?” Hermione asked, eyeing the door with trepidation.

“It was worth a shot,” Ed grumbled.

It was the last day of their winter holiday. The Hogwarts Express had returned with all of the students who went home for the holidays, Hermione, Ed, and Winry included. Hermione looked refreshed and was quick to throw Harry and Ron into a hug, telling them all about her vacation and thanking Harry for the book. Ed, by contrast, looked more sleep-deprived than ever, and the first thing he did upon re-entering the castle was track down the Alchemy professor, a stern woman who looked to be close to the same age as Dumbledore. He bombarded her with questions about the Stone until she locked herself inside her classroom.

“Take it you didn’t get anything out of your dad, then?” Ron asked as the four of them began walking in the vague direction of Gryffindor tower.

Ed groaned. “He was absolutely useless! Not only does he not know how the Stone is made, but he also tells me to stop looking into it!”

Harry watched Hermione and Ron catch wary glances. “Maybe… maybe your dad is right,” Hermione ventured to say. “We’re pretty sure we know what Fluffy is guarding now.”

“I mean, even if Snape wants to steal it, what of it?” Ron asked.

Ed shook his head. “The Stone, if it is made the way I think it’s made, should not exist. And, I swear, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

With that, Ed charged course and made a beeline for the library, and his hunched posture served as a clear indicator that he did not wish to be followed.

Hermione sighed. “I want to say I understand,” she said under her breath. “I mean- part of me is curious, too. But…”

“He’s obsessed,” Ron said, an almost dark undertone to his voice. “Just like with that Mirror-” Harry flinched at the mention and elbowed Ron in the side, but it was too late.

“What Mirror?” Hermione asked. With little other choice, the two of them filled her in on their midnight escapades. The more they talked, the paler Hermione became.

“Dumbledore’s right, Harry,” she said, her voice thin yet determined, when they finished. “You shouldn’t dwell on the Mirror.”

“It’s not that simple,” Harry said, and he felt a sting of guilt when his tone made Hermione flinch. “I mean- they’re my parents-”

He didn’t allow himself to speak on it further, just dragging himself to his bed and drawing the curtains closed. Classes were due to start up again tomorrow, and he felt utterly exhausted. It would be helpful to turn in early for the night, get some extra sleep, and be well-rested for the start of term.

But… as Harry closed his eyes, he already knew somewhere deep down that rest would not come easily to him.

High-pitched, cackling laughter… bangs and crashes… a flash of green…

Harry awoke with a gasp, clutching at his sheets. The air being forced into his lungs burned something fierce, and he almost thought his insides were aflame.

Before him were the curtains of his four-poster bed. He was safe, in Gryffindor tower, surrounded by his still-sleeping friends. It should have been comforting, but Harry only felt stifled.

Slowly, cautiously, he drew back the curtains. Ron slept on his stomach, snorting in his sleep. Seamus was sprawled out like a starfish, his snores even louder than Ron’s. Dean slept like a corpse, the outline of his football poster a hazy shape in the corner of his vision. Soft, snuffling sounds came from Neville’s corner of the room.

Ed’s bed was empty, and the curtains undrawn.

Harry pushed his hair from his eyes, hand coming away slick with sweat. He needed a change of scenery, because going back to sleep now meant returning to that nightmare.

As quietly as he could, he crept for the door and descended to the common room. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t completely deserted, though the embers of the fireplace looked close to dead. Ed was the room’s single occupant, curled up in one of the armchairs and furiously scribbling in the notebook Harry had gotten him for Christmas. One of the non-Restricted Section books on Alchemy lay on the table before him.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Harry asked, and Ed startled a bit at being disturbed. “What time is it, anyways?”

Ed checked his pocket watch. “Nearly three. And, I can ask you the same.”

Harry grimaced. “Couldn’t sleep.” He didn’t wait for an invitation, sitting across from Ed. Ed didn’t protest to his presence, though he returned the brunt of his attention to his book.

Harry sighed, the silence settling over them. He could hear the scratch of Ed’s pen - while the blond relented to using quills in class, he preferred a sleek fountain pen for his personal notes - as he continued scrawling out… whatever he was trying to crack with the Stone.

“Sorry,” Harry said after a moment. “For not looking more into the Stone during the holidays.”

Ed waved him off. “It’s fine. Prefer it this way, actually. Like I said, it’s best if you don’t get mixed up in all this.” He had a distant expression on his face as he said this, and it made Harry’s stomach twist. He couldn’t fathom why Ed was so determined to hoist the Philosopher’s Stone debacle on his own. Maybe Harry was no Alchemy expert, and he had no desire to intrude into that domain, but he was sure he could provide some use to his quest.

“Well, if you weren’t at the library, what did you do during the break?” Ed’s question broke the silence. Harry blinked, and had to think for a second.

“Well… I found this Mirror.”

“Hmm?”

Harry squirmed. The memories of the Mirror of Erised were still fresh in his mind. Some small part of him wanted to disobey Dumbledore’s request and dedicate a night to searching the castle top to bottom until the Mirror was before him once more. He tried with all his might to squash out that part, but it always found a way to crawl back.

“You could see them again. You can be with them again. Isn’t that what you want most? Why should you be denied that?”

Maybe sharing this part of his break with Ed could give him the resolve he needed.

“It’s called the Mirror of Erised. It- it shows you what you most desire.”

Ed put his notebook to the side to give more attention to the story. Harry told him of his initial venture into the Restricted Section, of how he came upon the Mirror in his attempt to escape from Filch, taking Ron and Ling there the following night, and Ling’s revelation.

“That makes sense, I guess,” Ed said with a sigh. “Ling figuring it out first, I mean. He- well, he spends a lot of time thinking about what he wants.”

Harry nodded, a thick knot forming somewhere in the back of his throat. “He said, ‘You can waste away before that Mirror or you can work for what you want,’ or something to that point. I went back by myself the next night, and that’s when Dumbledore found me and told me how the Mirror worked. He said it was going to be moved to a new place.”

Ed nodded, looking at him quizzically. “And that bothers you?”

“It- When I looked into the Mirror, I’d see Mum and Dad. I’d see my family. And ever since, I’ve been having these… nightmares. Flashes of green light, and a high-pitched laugh. I had those dreams when I was younger, but they more or less stopped once I got to Hogwarts. Now- now they’re back and worse than ever.”

He gulped, breaking eye contact. “I think- I think it’s Voldemort killing my parents.”

Ever since Dumbledore forced him to accept that the Mirror was nothing but a false vision, Harry couldn’t help but ruminate on the unfairness of it all. Ron wasn’t reprimanded for fantasizing about being the most special in his family, Ling wasn’t punished for dreaming of his throne and whoever this “gang” was. So, why was Harry wishing to have his family back something that should be pushed aside?

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry continued. “Magic could do just about anything. We turn animals into objects, we make stuff float, we’ve got potions for just about anything we could need. So, surely there’s magic that could bring someone back from the dea-”

“There isn’t.”

Ed’s voice was harsh, cold, almost unlike him. Harry startled as Ed clenched his fist. He must have looked scared, because Ed relaxed a moment later and took a deep breath in.

“Harry, I get this this is probably not what you want to hear, but… the dead don’t come back. Not ever. You can’t fixate on that vision, or it’ll drive you to ruin.”

Hearing that stung. “You don’t get it,” Harry said, he hated how small his voice felt, rattling against his vocal chords. “They’re my Mum and Dad. They didn’t deserve to die-”

“I’m not saying they did,” Ed cut him off. “And, believe me, I get it. I get it. There’s- there’s people I would want to bring back, too.”

Harry’s throat tightened again as Ed continued. “But, interfering in death’s domain… it brings more harm than good. If a type of magic that could revive the dead does exist, I doubt whatever toll is required for it is worth it.”

“Dumbledore told me not to dwell on dreams, but dreams of them are all I have,” Harry said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Why- why is me wanting them back a bad thing?”

“It isn’t,” Ed assured him, and Harry believed him. “It- it’s human. Someone I know once told me that everyone wants something they don’t have. Wanting your parents back, in no way, makes you bad. Just-” he paused. “I don’t know your parents personally, but I’d imagine they were pretty good people. And they wouldn’t want their son to spend his days worrying about bringing them back instead of making the most of his life. They’d want you to live, Harry.”

Harry didn’t really get it, but he accepted the severity of his friend’s words. The stinging pain was still there, and Harry doubted it would ever fully, truly leave. He had been deprived of what would bring him most joy, of what would make him happiest. And that would forever remain out of his reach. But… he wasn’t alone and trapped in the cupboard anymore. Ed stood before him, Alchemy textbook tucked under the crook of his arm and hand outstretched to him.

“I’ll try,” he said, taking the offering and following Ed back to the dormitory.

Though, as Harry struggled to fall back asleep to the noise of Ed’s scratching fountain pen, he couldn’t help but think that Ed needed to be better at taking his own advice.

Weeks began to pass by. Between the increased workload of the spring term, and the resumed vigor of Quidditch practice, Harry found he did not actually have the time to dwell on the Mirror. Slowly, but surely, the nightmares lessened, fading into the background of his suddenly more hectic life. Hermione had already begun revisions for exams, which Ron found simply ludicrous.

Ed, meanwhile, seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his search for the secrets of the Stone. Harry saw him finally muster up the courage to ask McGonagall for a pass to the Restricted Section one day after Transfiguration, something she swiftly shut down. Winry would watch him from the corner of her eye with growing worry.

“You don’t think the Philosopher’s Stone could be connected to… Amestris, could it?” Hermione asked in a hushed tone at lunch. Despite Ed’s obsession, he still attended his daily lunches with his inter-House friends, and the general clamour of the Great Hall prevented the rest of their Housemates from overhearing them.

“Doubt it,” Ron said. “It’s an Alchemy thing, right? So it can’t be connected. Alchemy’s not Amestris-exclusive. I think Alchemy is just Ed’s shtick.”

Harry scooped a spoonful of soup to his mouth. Some thoughts of Amestris and whatever mysteries surrounded it had drifted back in now that the Mirror wasn’t occupying his every thought. Still, there wasn’t enough to put together anything concrete, and they were left to grasp at straws.

He looked up, observing the sky through the enchanted ceiling. Clouds had gathered, promising stormy weather come evening. It spelled bad news for Quidditch practice. Wood had them practicing rain or shine in preparation for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff, so they could fly no matter the weather. But even their usually enthusiastic captain was in an aggravated mood at practice, and it wasn’t the weather getting him down.

“There’s been a change in plans,” he told the team gravely at the end of practice. All of them were soaked and covered in mud, and his words made a chill rush through Harry’s bones. “Snape is refereeing the next match.”

An immediate uproar went up.

“Since when does anyone but Madam Hooch referee?” Katie yelled out.

“This should not be allowed!” Angelina backed her up.

“Especially since he’s a Head of House!” Fred clamored.

“He’ll be biased!” George continued.

“I know!” Wood snapped. “I know! Snape has it out for Gryffindor in particular, especially since we’ll take over the House cup if we win this game. So, we need to play quick and clean, before he can favor Hufflepuff too much.”

Harry wanted to sink into the ground. While the rest of the team complained about the unfairness of the situation, chances for victory suddenly stacked against them, a cold sense of finality had settled in him.

Snape was refereeing so he’d have easier access to the Quidditch pitch. So that he’d have an easier time killing Harry.

When Harry returned to the common room, he witnessed Ron and Hermione engaged in a fierce game of chess. Ed sat by them, but he hardly seemed aware of the game as he flipped through the sixth Alchemy book he’d checked out from the library that week.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noticing Harry’s grim expression. Ron put a pause on the timer they’d been using for the game, and Ed looked up from his book.

Harry sat by them and relayed Wood’s message. All three of them had the same reservations as him.

“You can’t play in that game,” Hermione said.

“I have to!” Harry protested. “We don’t have a reserve Seeker. If I don’t play, then no one in Gryffindor plays.”

“Come on, surely there’s got to be some second year who can fill in for you?” Ron said, looking around the common room.

Harry shook his head. “Wood said that no one in tryouts could even fly properly. And with Seeker as the central position, I’d let down the entire team.”

“Your life isn’t worth Quidditch!” Ed protested.

As he proclaimed that, the portrait hole opened, and Neville hobbled in, nearly topping over. His legs were clearly bound together by the invisible ropes of some sort of curse. Laughter erupted around the common room as Neville’s face turned pink at his predicament. Hermione rushed to his side and undid the curse, guiding him to sit by them.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Malfoy,” Neville sniffed. “Ran into him outside the library, he said he’s been looking for someone to practice on.”

“Report him to McGonagall,” Hermione urged him.

“I don’t want any more trouble.”

“You gotta stand up for yourself, Neville!” Ron proclaimed. “Malfoy’s used to walking all over people, no need to lay down and let him!”

Neville tried to fix Ron with a glare, though it looked more resigned than anything. “You don’t need to tell me that I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. I already know that.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Ron tried to protest, but Neville looked to be on the verge of tears.

“You’re worth ten Malfoys,” Harry said. He rifled through his robes and unearthed the final Chocolate Frog from the basket Hermione gifted him for Christmas. “The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason. And where’d Malfoy end up? In stinking Slytherin.”

Neville let out a watery sort of laugh, taking Harry’s offering and holding it like golden treasure. “You’re really something, Harry,” he murmured. “I- I want to be worthy of Gryffindor. I’ll work on it.”

As Neville retreated to the dormitory, Harry caught Ed’s intense expression. His friend was in deep thought, though the Alchemy book lay abandoned.

“Slytherin…” he murmured to himself.

“What of it?” Ron asked.

“I think I might have a solution to our Snape problem,” Ed said with a glint in his eye. “What better way to keep a snake in check than with another snake?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ling, of course! Snape wouldn’t be as suspicious of a Slytherin watching him, and Ling could let us know if he starts anything, or intervene himself.”

Ron’s lips were thin, and Harry couldn’t help the slimmer of trepidation, himself. “Are you sure he’d help? Snape’s his head of House, after all.”

“And what if he tells Snape that we’re onto him?” Hermione added. “That’d get Harry into even more trouble.”

“Ling values his friendship with Harry more than any sort of House loyalty,” Ed assured them. “And, if it’d make you feel better, I can just ask him to keep an eye out on Snape. I won’t tell him anything else.”

“The simplest solution would be for Harry to skip the match,” Hermione insisted. But, Harry’s mind was made up.

“I’m playing,” he said, leaving no room for argument. His mind kept returning to poor Neville with his legs locked together, a painted image of Malfoy gleefully standing over him formulating in his head. “People like Snape and Malfoy, they want us to be afraid. I can’t give them the satisfaction of scaring me away from Quidditch.”

Though Hermione and Ron were clearly unhappy with his decision, they supported him. True to his word, Ed whispered his request to Ling the following day during Defense Against the Dark Arts, a request that Ling evidently accepted if the wink he sent Harry was anything to go by.

The weekend came with thankfully better weather than the days that preceded it, and Harry set off for the locker rooms with the rest of the team in better spirits. Worries about Snape still ebbed in the back of his mind, and the churning in his stomach made him unwilling to eat a full breakfast, but it made Harry more determined than anything to finish the game quickly.

As he pulled on his gloves, Wood took him to the side.

“I meant what I said at practice,” he said quietly. “We can really use a quick victory today. You’re quick, and we don’t have any point disparities to overcome. So, just focus on catching the Snitch as fast as you can.” Harry nodded, as he had no desire to be airborne around Snape for longer than necessary.

“It looks like the whole school’s out here!” Fred said as he peered out of the locker room. “Is that-”

“It is!” George piped up. “Dumbledore’s come to watch!”

For the first time that day, Harry felt elated. Dumbledore was here. Suddenly, Harry’s life no longer hung in the balance of the match. All he had to worry about was victory.

Victory came fifteen minutes later, with Harry catching the Snitch after an exhilarating dive past Snape that nearly sent the potionsmaster into a spiral on his broom. The stands erupted in cheers, and Harry grinned ear to ear. He’d done it, he’d put Gryffindor in the lead. That had felt like such a secondary goal when compared to surviving the match in general, but now, he felt like he was on top of the world.

“Well done,” a gentle voice said in his ear, and Harry nearly spun around, seeing Dumbledore with his hand on his shoulder. “Nice to see that you aren’t brooding over the Mirror. Excellent.”

The Mirror was just about the last thing on Harry’s mind. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly alive.

That elation was why he chose to do a victory lap around the grounds after the rest of the student body departed back to the sanctuary of the castle. And that was why he spotted the cloaked figure departing down the front steps and prowling in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry narrowed his eyes, silently following the figure on his broom while remaining out of sight. The figure clearly didn’t want to be followed, and it made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end.

Through the gaps in the foliage, Harry watched the figure come to a stop in a clearing. Maneuvering as silently as he could, Harry lowered himself into the canopy and rested amongst the trees. The clearing looked like the perfect place for a meeting, and the figure was obviously waiting for someone.

A few minutes later, a second figure joined the first, coming from a different direction of the forest. It was Quirrell, and he looked more nervous than ever.

“W-why did you w-want to meet h-h-here of all places, S-Severus…”

“I thought we’d keep this private,” Snape’s low drawl came from beneath the cloak. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all.”

Harry nearly fell out of the canopy. There it was, the confirmation. The Philosopher’s Stone was hidden in the school, and Snape was interested in it!

“Have you found how to get past Hagrid’s beast yet?” Snape hissed, and Quirrell recoiled.

“S-Severus, I-”

“You don’t want me as an enemy, Quirrell.”

Harry felt his heart beating out of his chest as the dance continued, Quirrell drawing more and more into himself as Snape advanced and hissed out threats.

“We’ll have another chat soon, once you’ve had a chance to think this over and decide where your loyalties lie.”

With that, Snape went back the way he came, cloak covering his face. Harry waited a few seconds, but when it seemed Quirrell was in no hurry to leave, too stunned and frightened to even move, Harry got back onto his broom and flew, keeping close to the trees so Snape wouldn’t spot him soaring overhead.

Harry felt his mind racing a mile a minute. In that moment, so much had clicked together. Snape was definitely after the Stone, and he was becoming more desperate in his quest after failing to get past Fluffy on Halloween. He knew others were aware of this, Ed’s recent obsession hadn’t gone unnoticed. And, he was using Quirrell to neutralize the protections around the Stone.

Harry grit his teeth. He never would have imagined that Snape could be this callous. When his ire had been for Harry alone, it had almost been easier to deal with, with no one else to be caught in the crossfire. But this…

Harry hopped off his broom as he reached the castle entrance. He had moved carefully, making sure Snape got back long before him. He was out of breath as he pulled open the Entrance doors. He needed to talk to Hermione and Ron and Ed-

He nearly yelped as a hand closed around his wrist and yanked him to the side.

“Where have you been?” Ed hissed, pulling him into an empty classroom and slamming the door behind them. Harry saw Ron, his nose bloody, and a fretting Hermione sitting atop two of the desks. Ling looked far more relaxed, and observed them with a level of intrigue.

“We win the game and then you up and vanish!” Ed continued. “We were about to set up a search party-”

“Nevermind that,” Harry cut him off. “I saw something. It concerns…” his voice tapered off, eyes settling on Ling.

Ling didn’t know about the Philosopher’s Stone. They couldn’t speak of this in front of him.

It was almost like Ed read his thoughts, because he said, “It’s fine. He might be able to help. Besides, we owe him an explanation for why we had him watching Snape.”

“Yes, please do tell,” Ling piped up. “I gave up good seats to watch him from inside the bleachers, and nothing came of that. So, why?”

Harry grimaced, but saw little other choice than to continue. “I’ve confirmed it. It is the Philosopher’s Stone they’re guarding here.”

“Are you serious?” Ling’s eyebrows shot up, and an almost hungry glint came over his half-lidded eyes.

Ed slapped a hand to Ling’s face and pushed him back. “Don’t even think about it, greedy bastard.”

“How’d you confirm it, anyways,” Hermione turned their attention back to Harry.

“I saw Snape go to the Forbidden Forest after the match,” Harry said. “He met with Quirrell there. He was trying to get Quirrell to help him steal it!”

Ling frowned. “That I’m not so sure about.”

Ron scowled at him. “And why’s that? All of those bad vibes that Quirrell gives you?”

“I know it sounds unbelievable, but there’s something wrong with Quirrell,” Ling insisted, waving his arms for emphasis.

This only served to make Ron angrier. “Yeah, there’s something wrong with him, because Snape’s scaring him half to death! You’re just trying to defend your head of House!”

“Oh, come on!” Ling’s own voice grew increasingly frustrated. “Didn’t I spend the entire match playing lookout for you? Does that not make it clear where my loyalties lie? Ed-”

He turned to Ed, clearly hoping for backup. But, Ed stood at an obvious crossroads, indecision written on his face.

“Ling,” he finally said, weighing his words carefully. “Just because Quirrell gives you bad vibes doesn’t mean he’s some sort of evil mastermind. You can have those sensations for lots of reasons. And Snape- well, there’s a lot of evidence against him.”

Harry might have imagined it, but Ling almost looked hurt. Betrayed. But, that flicker vanished as soon as it came, an unreadable look coming over Ling’s face in its stead. It looked painfully chipper, an obvious mask.

“Have it your way then. But, expect a million ‘I told you so’s when I turn out to be right.”

Ling left the room with his cloak billowing out behind him, and Harry was left with a sinking feeling in his gut, the feeling that something terrible was hiding around the corner clinging to him long into the night.