How Fate Intended

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27799261.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M, M/M, F/F
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter,
Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Luna
Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy
& Theodore Nott & Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis &
Daphne Greengrass, Luna Lovegood & Theodore Nott, Daphne
Greengrass/Blaise Zabini
Character: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Death (Harry Potter), Albus
Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Other
Character Tags to Be Added, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy,
Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Daphne
Greengrass, Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Luna Lovegood
Additional Tags: Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Powerful Harry Potter, Harry is a Little
Shit, Top Harry, Bottom Draco Malfoy, (not for a while they're babies),
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Harry Potter
is a Horcrux, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore Bashing,
Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley Bashing, Hermione
Granger Bashing, Molly Weasley Bashing, Good Dursley Family (Harry
Potter), Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Somewhat Good Voldemort
(Harry Potter), Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sane Voldemort (Harry
Potter), Master of Death Harry Potter, Grey Harry, Other Additional
Tags to Be Added, Necromancer Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley Bashing,
Necromancy, Creature Inheritance, Soulmates, Soul Bond,
Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Horror, Body Horror, Seer Luna
Lovegood, Creature Harry Potter, Creature Draco Malfoy, Creature Fic,
Slytherin Harry Potter, need to rewrite the earlier chapters to fit in with
the rest of the fic, seems like crack for a while before getting better (I
promise), in this house we are aggressively anti-mpreg, if you even hint
at wanting mpreg, I will yeet you into the sun
Collections: Harry Potter Fanfiction Favorites, The Good Kush, Time Travel fics for
Sol to read on her Interdimensional Travels, Legacy's Interest
Stats: Published: 2020-11-30 Updated: 2021-02-27 Chapters: 69/? Words:
230608

How Fate Intended

by hoboheartache

Summary

The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number 4 Privet Drive, pressing
desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead.

or
 In which Harry Potter is unceremoniously thrust back in time and forced to deal with
Voldemort whining inside his head, at least Death had the decency to apologize.

Notes

I've been wanting to do a fic like this for ages, because mixing bad cliches with witty
characters and a fun plot has been on my bucket list.
 Prologue

A man sat in front of a small bundle on a doorstep.

Inside of the bundle was a boy, breathing softly as his tiny hands clutched the warm blanket he was
swaddled in. The boy was just a little over a year old, and had a fresh wound of what appeared to
be a lightning bolt ripping through his skin, starting at his hairline and branching off and down
through his eyes, the longest bolt tapering off on the crest of his nose. Despite the painful injury,
the child was sleeping softly.

The man had his pointer finger resting firmly at the beginning of the lightning bolt scar, putting
slight pressure on the tender flesh. Pressing into it, the man shuddered, and appeared to flicker as if
not fully there. Pressing his finger in further, the man gave a deep breath, before flickering again.

The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number 4 Privet Drive, pressing
desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead.
 I Open at the Close
Chapter Summary

In which harry is processing things, Death is a punk rock slut, and Fate thinks the
whole thing is hilarious.

Chapter Notes

Italics=thoughts

Harry Potter was about to die.

He knew this, logically, and was prepared for it. Well no, actually, he was rather unprepared, but
considering how many times he'd almost died in his short life, he was more prepared than one
would initially expect.

I Open at the Close

Dumbledore was a right bastard for not telling him.

“Don't speak ill of the dead,” he chided himself, looking with trepidation at the resurrection stone
lying quietly in his palm. He was half convinced that the thing was watching him back, testing
him… mocking him.

I Open at the Close

It was definitely mocking him.

Harry Potter stood in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, trying to find a reason to use the bloody
thing, and pulling a blank.

“It's not that I don't want to see my parents, Sirius, and Remus… everyone.” he stopped, thinking,
trying to find the right words, “It's just that since I’m about to die and all that, I'll be seeing them
awfully soon anyway, so what's really the point, yea?”

The stone seemed annoyed with him.

He was annoyed with himself too, really. His entire life spent wishing he could talk to his parents,
and the first chance he actually has to do it and he's about to die anyway so there's really no point.

While Harry Potter weighed the pros and cons of a impromptu family reunion right before some
good ol’ Voldemort induced suicide, the resurrection stone started to heat up. Just barely mind you,
and going completely unnoticed by the boy currently holding it. He also didn't notice when the
invisibility cloak draped over his head and shoulders started to heat up as well. Nor could he notice
that somewhere in an old man's grave, a wand made of elder followed the stone's example, and
began to pulse with heat, three brothers requested counsel with Death, and an ancient deity cursed
old promises.

Apparently, Harry Potter had come to a decision while this was all happening. Dropping the stone
to the forest floor, he continued on the path towards the Death Eaters, towards Voldemort. Harry
Potter dropped the invisibility cloak into the dirt several minutes after he dropped the stone, and
faced down a killing curse to save his world.

Harry woke up in what appeared to be a never ending expanse of white.

“If this is the afterlife it's awfully unimaginative,” he grunted, picking himself off the cold floor.
Looking around, he found that it was, strangely enough, a very bleached out version of Kings Cross
Station.

“Yea well, you can't blame anyone but yourself for that one.”

Harry turned quickly, finding himself face to chest with a very tall man. Stumbling back several
feet with a muffled curse, he looked up at the towering figure, who was observing him with a
grimace.

The man was tall, almost awkwardly so, and was wearing what appeared to be a very high quality
black silk shirt that had the first three buttons undone, showing off a muscular but slender build,
and black slacks with what appeared to be a metal chain attached to the belt. He wore dress shoes
that were also black, and appeared to have been shined to the point of becoming reflective.
Looking back up to the man's face, Harry observed that with a strong jaw and unnaturally attractive
features, the man was very intimidating, but his face made Harry think that he was actually quite
young, maybe his early 20’s. Cementing this idea was the leather jacket thrown over his shoulder,
several aggressive-looking piercings on his ears, and a punk-ish haircut. Wild hair on top, much
like Harry's own, but with a tight fade on the sides. Harry realized, startled, that the man's eyes
were a gold color around the outer edges, with a bright green around the pupil. He had the general
appearance of a punk kid that was told to dress formally, and decided to throw a little something
extra in the mix to piss off his parents.

“Sorry?” He finally managed.

“Well it's your purgatory, so you made it look this way, not really my fault.”

“Right.” Harry blinked, the American man (apparently, going off his accent) was still there,
looking for all the world like he really didn't want to be.

“Look, can we get this over with?” he said, shifting from one foot to the other, “Fate’s really happy
that we get to do this, and I don't wanna sleep on the couch for the next few centuries because
things don't go the way she wants, so if you could process this a bit faster I'd really appreciate it.”

“Right.” Harry wasn't processing any faster than he was before, and the man across from him got
more and more uncomfortable as the silence stretched on.

“Uhm…” he tried again, “uhhh so I’m dead?”

He got a very tired look for his troubles.

“Yeah, no shit”

The man (boy? How old is this guy?) sighed before shrugging on the leather jacket, pulling a pack
of cigarettes out of one of the pockets as he did so.
“Look, I don't like this any more than you do kid, but the timeline’s been in the shitter since that
first Halloween and fate really wants me to fix it.” He lit one, and went back to watching Harry
with those weird eyes of his.

Harry's brain was starting to catch up with the conversation, “I'm sorry, did you just say fate? Like
the concept of fate?”

“No like the deity Fate, ya know, that sadistic bitch that writes out everyone's lives?”

Harry needed to process some more.

“So who are you then?”

“Death, obviously.”

“Right.”

At this rate Harry was going to be processing things the rest of his afterlife. “Why do I feel like you
don't do this for everyone?”

The newly dubbed Death snorted, “I don't do this, ever, but a once in eternity opportunity arose and
I've gotta take it.”

“That isn't comforting.”

“Isn't s’posed to be.” Death put out his cig on the bottom of his shoe, and motioned Harry over to a
bench. Sitting down, he got comfortable, throwing his arms across the backrest and looking up
with a sigh. Harry, much less relaxed and still desperately processing all his new information, sat
on the edge of the bench, with his elbows on his knees. They sat quietly for a while, somehow it
wasn't awkward at all, but had an air of finality to it that Harry attributed to this being the end of
the road for him.

“I'm sending you back in time.”

Or maybe fucking not.

“I'm sorry?”

“I'm going to send you back in time to fix the timeline.”

‘I open at the close’

“And may I ask why the everloving fuck you would do that?”

Death, to his credit, looked just as enthusiastic about the idea as Harry was feeling, “look kid,
things need to go a certain way, and Dumbledore really fucked you up, you've blown so far off
course that if I let this opportunity go, Fate would be rewriting things for centuries to try and get
history back to how it's supposed to be.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. Dumbledore? What the hell is he talking about?

“Sorry, what has Dumbledore got to do with this? Like, I know that he didn't tell me about the
prophecy and kept a lot of other things to himself but that was because Voldemort could see into
my head and-”

Death cut him off there, “look kid, you were never supposed to fight ol’ Riddle, he was supposed
to help you.”

Harry’s brain went catatonic.

Death, probably realizing that Harry was cycling through the 5 stages of grief in an endless loop
while his brain rebooted, continued on with his explanation,

“Fate originally wanted Riddle’s wrath to follow you to Privet Drive and attempt to possess you as
an infant-” Harry choked on his saliva, "-but he was going to fail, instead becoming trapped in your
mind where all he could really do was talk to you, eventually helping you throughout your
Hogwarts career like some sort of fatherly schizophrenic demon.” Harry was starting to question if
this original timeline was all that better in comparison to how his life ended up going, Death
continued, “Fate explained to me that eventually she was planning on you hunting the rest of his
horcruxes down and reuniting them with some sort of ritual that would let Riddle finally die in
peace or some sappy shit like that, and then you’d go on with your life, becoming a powerful
enchanter or something and die of old age or whatever. It was supposed to be a little weird and
kinda traumatic, but overall a nice life, and there definitely wasn't going to be some sort of 2nd
wizarding war or whatever that pile of hot garbage ended up being.”

Harry and Death sat in silence for a while after that, Death lit another cig and waited for Harry to
be able to form sentences.

“I don't understand where it went wrong,” he finally said, running his hands through his hair, “if
Voldemort was supposed to come and try to possess me, what stopped him?”

Death let out an annoyed breath, and Harry realized that he looked kinda like him.

“Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, decided to be a big bag of dicks and take control of your life.
He took you from Godric's Hollow and brought you to Hogwarts, instead of going straight to the
Dursleys like he was supposed to. He noticed the horcrux as well as the, frankly quite impressive,
amount of magic you have, and decided that to kill Riddle once and for all he needed to have
complete control over you. You've been so strung up on loyalty and compulsion potions that I was
half convinced you’d get brain damage. That's not even mentioning the blocks he put on your
magic, and the love potions.”

Harry didn't know what to think about that. Dumbledore was obviously manipulative, he knew that
years before he died, but he never realized that Dumbledore would go that far to be sure that Harry
was in his pocket. Suddenly very angry, he jumped up and began to pace.

“So what am I supposed to do? Go back in time to grab my younger self out of the wreckage at
Godric's Hollow? That plan has a lot of bloody holes in it if you hadn't noticed.”

“Yeaaahhh... No, I'm sending your mind as it is now, back into your body from a certain period
before you got your Hogwarts letter, I haven't really decided when that's going to be but having two
Harry Potters running around is impossible, considering that your body is dead.”

“That's even worse!” Harry was yelling now, “how do you expect me to do anything in the body of
a baby?”

“Calm your tits man I'm getting to that.” Death, infuriatingly unaffected by the temper tantrum,
took a drag from his cigarette, “I'm sending you back with a few handy abilities that will make all
those blocks, compulsions, and potions slide riiight off.” Death seemed very proud of himself. If
Harry thought he could get away with it he would slap that smug smile right of the bastards face.
“So everything will work out all fine and dandy?”

“That's the hope.”

“Well that's just bloody brilliant now isn't it,” he was slowly starting to calm down.

“ah” Harry suddenly remembered something that Death had mentioned, “what did you mean by
love potions?”

Death took another long drag, “Ginevra Weasley” was all he said. It was enough of an explanation
that Harry needed. He slumped, defeated, back onto the bench.

“Is anyone in my life genuinely on my side? Or do I need to start worrying about my friends
manipulating me too?” There was a beat of silence, before Death sucked in a breath and looked at
him pityingly.

“Oh for fucks sakes-” Harry put his head in his hands.

“Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom were genuine, as well as most of your roommates,”
Death started, quickly realizing that by the time this wrapped up Fate was going to realize how
long it was taking and come meet the thrice damned boy-who-lived herself, “-but Hermione
Granger never cared much about you, and was happy to report your movements back to
Dumbledore, most of the Weasley family were being paid hand over fist to keep you on the Light
side of the-war-that-never-should-have-happened. Draco Malfoy was more acting up because of
politics, but I’m also like 86% sure he had a crush on you, I'm not positive though, love isn't really
my area of expertise.”

Harry started to laugh then, trying to come to terms with everything that had just been unloaded
onto him in such a short amount of time. Death let him laugh himself hoarse, being a quiet
companion while Harry lost his shit.

“Things are going wonderfully I see?” a mischievous voice spoke up from in front of them. Harry
looked up, only to see a woman that had to be the polar opposite of Death. She was very short,
curvy and on the plump side, with very curly red hair, her hair was a very light red though, and had
blondish highlights. She had a frankly obnoxious amount of freckles, making it look like she had a
bunch of weird birthmarks spread across her face, rather than individual dots. She wore a loose
white blouse with poofy sleeves that were tied with thin ribbon on different parts of her arms,
adding to the poof, that then tapered off around her forearms. She had the blouse tucked into a
brown floor length skirt that looked like it was good for twirling, and had no shoes on.

“I've got it handled babe, just lettin’ him process things.” Death spoke up.

Babe? Processing? What?” Harry was definitely still processing things, but still could understand
that the woman in front of him was probably Fate, even though she looked more like what he
expected Life to look like.

She smiled at Death in a way that made Harry suddenly feel like a third wheel.

“Well, regardless I still wanted to see him! It was so nice of the Peverell brothers to accept him, ya
know?”

Harry stopped understanding what was going on 20 minutes ago, but decided he might as well ask.

“Sorry, what do you mean? The Peverell Brothers as in the Deathly Hallows Peverell Brothers?” he
spoke up, wondering if this was related to the ‘once in an eternity opportunity’ that Death had been
talking about.

“Yep! See their souls are still semi-connected to those fancy little trinkets, when you were
accepted by all of them they got together and called up Death over here and said they'd be sending
you on over! Funny that huh?” Fate had an American accent as well, but sounded more southern
and peppy in comparison to Death.

...wait what?

“Hold on what ?”

“Mmhmm! Gave you the Master of Death shabang and everything! I was surprised of course and
Death was a grumpy-puss and got all pissy about it but I managed to convince him to work with me
on this one! Right honeybear?”

“Yea doll.”

While she was explaining this, Fate all but bounced over to the bench and plopped down on
Death's lap like she owned it.

Deciding to sort Fate and Death’s apparent relationship in the ‘earth shattering but unimportant
compared to everything else’ file in his brain, Harry decided to cut to the chase.

“Soooo this Master of Death thing makes it possible for me to come here, and then be sent back to
some other point in time?”

Death managed to pull his attention away from one of Fates curls that he was playing with enough
to answer affirmative.

“Ok so that means that whatever you do to me besides that is your own deal, right?”

Another yes.

“Alright…” Those answers didn't really answer anything, “-so when are you sending me exactly?”

“Oh OH!” Fate suddenly got excited, “we should send you back to either the day your parents were
viciously murdered or to the month before that! To give you enough time to get to know who they
were before they are ripped away from you! That’ll be fun!”

Harry was starting to understand what Death meant when he said Fate was a sadist.

“Orrrrr you could send me to a time where I don't have to live the worst decade of my life out
again?” He tried, if he had to live with the Dursleys again he was going to kill them once he had
functioning hands.

Death spoke up this time.

“We’ll send you back to when Riddle was supposed to get trapped in your mind, so you can talk to
him and explain what the situation is, all that jazz. I don't doubt that Dumbledore isn't going to be a
manipulative old bitch still but at least you'll have Riddle as an ally this go round.”

That's worse! Harry thought, I don't want to have to deal with Voldemort in my head for another
10 years damnit!

“Yeah... I guess that's the best option.” Fate sighed, looking very put out, “welp, let's get to it!”
“Can we talk about this a bit more?” he started.

“Nope!”

“Wait-”

“Hold on, Babe-”

“Bye bye now!”

"Sorry about this kid."

Harry Potter was then thrust unceremoniously into his infant body, and proceeded to pass out.

“You really jumped the gun on that one babe.” Death was annoyed, Fate thought it was funny.

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn't know what being the Master of Death even means.”

“...oh.”

“Yea”

They sat there, Fate was trying not to laugh, Death was smoking another cigarette.

“Can't you just go to him and explain it?”

“He needs to summon me.”

“Oh… Whoops?”
 The Beginning (?)
Chapter Summary

In which Harry discovers the extent of Dumbledore's manipulations, and Voldemort is

an annoying little horcrux.

Chapter Notes

I'm convinced that the Dursleys are horrible people, but I want to cut Harry some
slack, since things are going to go tits up pretty fast, so lets give him a good childhood
for once.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A man sat in front of a small bundle on a doorstep.

Inside of the bundle was a boy, breathing softly as his tiny hands clutched the warm blanket he was
swaddled in. The boy was just a little over a year old, and had a fresh wound of what appeared to
be a lightning bolt ripping through his skin, starting at his hairline and branching off and down
through his eyes, the longest bolt tapering off on the crest of his nose. Despite the painful injury,
the child was sleeping softly.

The man had his pointer finger resting firmly at the beginning of the lightning bolt scar, putting
slight pressure on the tender flesh. Pressing into it, the man shuddered, and appeared to flicker as if
not fully there. Pressing his finger in further, the man gave a deep breath, before flickering again.

The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number 4 Privet Drive, pressing
desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead. He didn't know how he got to this
point, trying to possess a baby. It was pathetic for the dark lord to fall so low so quickly. He
shuddered again, and flickered, slowly starting to become more and more transparent. He was
running out of time. Tom Riddle pressed his hand desperately into the horcrux, trying to take over
the small body.

It shouldn't be so difficult to do this, he thought despairing, flickering more aggressively as another

shudder distorted his form. He started to waver, and his hand sank further into Harry Potter’s
forehead. There was a gap in time where nothing moved… and then Tom Riddle gave out and
collapsed into the curse scar, unraveling and slipping through the gaping wound, sinking into the
boy's skull, and finding a small part of his subconscious to settle into, falling asleep. It was quiet
for a time, before the baby appeared to flash gold for a moment, shudder, and settle down again.
This time however, 17 year old Harry Potter’s mind had taken residence in the babe as well.

Baby Harry Potter stayed that way for a long time, till the morning in fact, when a woman opened
the door to get the morning paper and proceeded to fall backwards in shock. Snatching the letter
nestled in the folds of the blanket, she quickly read it. Mumbling curses, she picked the basket up
and brought it inside, shutting the door behind her.
No one was out on the street to witness the blood red wards flicker into existence, or the web of
light that criss crossed the red wards inside and out, or to see them all suddenly flicker out of sight.
One person felt it though, and woke with a start. Tom Riddle, upon realizing that he did not in fact
succeed in possessing Harry Potter, quickly tried to figure out what options he had. He felt for the
wards that had woken him up, and finding that the exceptionally strong blood wards had been
overlaid by someone with various negative wards, ones pertaining to aggression and hatred, he
snarled with disgust. He had no way of taking them down, and in the wrong situation those sorts of
behavior changing wards could be deadly to his vessel and by extension him. Not knowing what
else to do, he tried to wake the infant.

Maybe I can possess the brat for a period and get rid of those blasted things.

17 year old Harry Potter woke up on a very familiar kitchen table to Petunia and Vernon Dursley
arguing loudly, and what seemed like a very pissed off Voldemort screaming in his head.

Oh bloody buggering FUCK!

Voldemort went quiet, in what Harry correctly assumed to be shock. Taking advantage of the
moderate amount of quiet, Harry quickly tried to assess his situation. Unfortunately, Voldemort got
over his shock and quickly started hissing in his ear.

Listen child, you must allow me to take control of your body. They will only become more agitated
as time goes on.

Harry scoffed, at least as well as a baby could, right, because you're such a people person, they've
always been like that, pretending to be the perfect baby or whatever wont change that. He shot
back.

No you moronic child! There are aggression wards around the house, I need to take control to
remove them.

Harry thought a very impolite sentence that made the Dark Lord go quiet in shock for a second
time. Alright what do I need to do.

Voldemort, still reeling, told him. C-close your eyes and reach out to me with your magic, I'll grab
a hold of it and pull myself to the surface.

How do I know you wont take over permanently?

You won't, just do it you pathetic little leach.

Deciding to ignore the irony, Harry did as he was told. The dark lord, now a shard of soul
inhabiting a surprisingly intelligent 1 year old, opened his green eyes and got to work. It took
several minutes of deep meditation and fumbling on the dark lords part to figure out how to
untangle the aggression wards around the property, luckily they were fresh and had been banking
on Petunia dursley accepting the child, since she hasn't officially done so, they were still quite
weak. Once he got them completely unraveled, Voldemort passed out a second time that day.

Harry Potter woke up to his aunt warming up a baby bottle. He watched, gobsmacked, as she shook
the bottle, and gently (gently!!) pushed it past his lips and held him while he greedly drank the
milk. He then watched, almost unbelieving, as Petunia burped him, and brought him upstairs to a
shared nursery with baby Dudley. He sat there trying to comprehend what in the fresh hell
Voldemort had to have done to make his Aunt a decent human being for several minutes.
He was cut off, quite rudely, by the dark lord. Idiot child, the aggression wards made her negative
feelings towards you heightened, my question is, how exactly are you having coherent thoughts?
You are an infant, even a child of prophecy could not possibly be this advanced.

Thinking quickly, Harry started to explain. Alright listen here Voldefart this is the situation:
Dumbledore apparently fucked up the timeline so heavily that Death and Fate incarnate had to
step in and send my mind back in time to fix everything. Death said that you wouldn't be a massive
bag of dicks about it but I'm not convinced.

You infernal child, do you expect me to believe that with no proof?

I'm sure you can figure out where my memories are and shuffle through them if you don't believe
me.

He attempted just that, but realized very quickly that if this boy was telling the truth, he certainly
never practiced occlumency, his mind was a wreck of thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

Blasted child, I can't get anywhere in this mess of a mind, you'll need to build up occlumency
barriers and sort through everything.

Harry nearly blushed in embarrassment, but it quickly led to indignation, y our favorite potions
master said that I'm a lost cause in occlumency.

Severus? The Dark lord questioned, that is of no matter, if I am truly stuck in your mind, I might as
well attempt to do it myself.

Harry Potter was a quiet baby, as observed by the Dursleys, and exceptionally well behaved. He
had an impressive appetite though, and whenever it was mealtime, Harry would eat twice as much
as little Dudley would. They could already tell that Harry would be tall, he was growing at an
incredible rate, the same height as Dudley, who was older, though thinner than him. Petunia had
some initial disgust at seeing her horrid sisters spawn, but then she looked into those big green eyes
and remembered sweet little Lily, before she was swept away to Hogwarts.

If Lily couldn't save her son from a life as an orphan, I'll give him the next best thing. She thought,
warming up a bottle of milk for the babe. He drank it with what she almost thought was wonder in
his eyes, and she decided then and there that Lily Evans’ boy would grow up right and proper.
Wizard kind be damned.

Harry Potter was coming to some conclusions. The first being that Voldemort had to be the most
melodramatic little monster that ever lived. In his process of building up occlumency walls for
Harry, he continuously complained about absolutely everything. Doing this while also insulting
Harry in every way imaginable. It was easier to handle than a murderous dark lord trying to kill
him, but still bloody annoying. The second being that a Petunia Dursley that isn't under the effects
of aggression and hate wards was possibly the most doting mother on the planet. He really should
have seen it coming considering how she treated Dudley in his first timeline, but really the woman
was giving him everything he asked for! His baby body required an almost inhuman amount of
food and she just cooed about how he was going to be ‘ such a big strong lad’. Vernon was just as
bad, boasting about how cute he was and how the neighbors would be incredibly jealous that their
nephew was ‘ such a looker Pet, him and Dudley will be lady killers once they grow’. Hell, Petunia
even cleaned and disinfected his scar, gently apologizing if the disinfectant stung.

“You poor dear, once this thing is all healed up I'll look into getting some scar ointment to make it
 fade faster, such a brave little thing,” she would coo at him, all the while Harry was cursing
Dumbledore and what those hate wards could have created.

Regardless of his new experience in a functional, not abusive household, life went on. Voldemort
was mostly quiet after the first few months, now just making sarcastic quips here and there, mostly
just working on perfecting Harry’s occlumency shields before going onto organizing his mind into
a perfect recreation of Hogwarts grounds and castle.

I have constructed the chamber of secrets. He boasted one day while Harry was busy mushing up
his peas. Anyone who manages to find it will have to know parseltongue, which I know you can
speak… yes I did find that memory boy and I don't appreciate you destroying my diary… stop
laughing you menace!

Harry had to admit, it was an ingenious idea, the chamber in his mind was created to house
Voldemort's memories, and his consciousness when he didn't feel like watching a toddler go about
his daily activities. Harry wasn't skilled enough to enter his mind through meditation quite yet, so
he couldn't see it, but Voldemort waxed poetic about the grand library that housed all his
memories, and the adjacent study for… plotting or something, the bedroom that would be almost
never used, but was just as grand as the rest of it. He heard about it all… several times… it was
getting annoying really.

Harry’s 3rd birthday came and went, and the one thing that upset the waters of his happy little
family was his apparent inability to talk. Not that he couldn't, just that he was worried he would
slip and say something that a 3 year old shouldn't.

Just pretend to be a prodigy or something you fool.

That is what I'm trying to avoid you idiot!

He eventually just decided to find a happy medium. It was rocky at first sure, but him finally
talking, albeit with a very impressive vocabulary for a toddler, quelled his Aunt’s fears about his
intelligence, and everything was right as rain again.

Until he accidentally summoned Death, of course.

Chapter End Notes

I haven't decided what house Harry is going to be in, leave your fav in the comments if
you please!
 O' Death
Chapter Summary

Death finally gets to explain the whole MoD business, and Voldemort plots to fix his
amnesia.

Chapter Notes

I'm going to try and get all the pre-Hogwarts chapters out today, since its my easy day
in school I've got the time to do it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It had been a complete accident in hindsight, but at the time it seemed like it was all Voldemort’s
fault.

Harry had been playing with a toy car, while having a mental cat fight with Voldemort. Voldemort
had been getting better about insulting him, and instead had been settling for sarcasm and heated
arguments about the first timeline.

It's not my fault you turned into that snake faced monster Voldemort.

Of course it is you menace, your blood was faulty.

Where's your proof?

Your face is my proof!

Oh reeeal mature!

So on and so forth.

Harry still couldn't go and talk to the bastard in his head face to face yet so they settled for this.
Dudley was in the room as well, eating a crayon. Harry was starting to feel the effects of having a
moody dark lord in his head and a stupid toddler as his only companion.

“I'm the smartest bloody person in this room!” he finally yelled out, sending Voldemort into loud
peals of laughter that rattled his skull.

“Nuh-uh” and Dudley was still a bloody toddler.

“This is all Death's fault, I wish I could get my hands on that bastard.”

Harry, almost immediately regretted his words, as there was a painfully loud screech that made
him fall to the floor and cover his ears in pain, and an impossibly bright flash of light. The world
went still.
“Fucking finally.”

Harry looked to the rocking chair in the corner to see Death lounging in it, looking for all the world
like he didn't just rip apart the very fabric of reality. He was wearing the same general outfit as
before, except this time the silk shirt was deep Slytherin green. Voldemort made a noise of
appreciation in his head. That's Death, dumbass. A squeak of fear echoed in his skull. Wuss.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Death took out a cig and started smoking. Is that all he does? Looking around, Harry realized that
Dudley had gone still, with his hand up in the air and seemed to be in the process of tipping
backwards, he was frozen in place. Cool.

“You finally decided to summon me, so here I am.”

“Summon you?”

“You said my title, which is as good as summoning me, all things considered.”

Right, Master of Death and all that. “What do you mean by title? Death isn't your name?”

“Nope, I am a god after all, not a personification.”

Harry took a moment to digest this, he was getting better with huge revelations.

“So what's your name then? What's Fate’s?”

“My name is Athimus, and Fate’s is Genevieve.”

What? “Why is her name so common compared to yours? I've never heard the name Athimus
before.”

Death took a few puffs before responding, “we are created with a name that is given to us by the
universe, I've never felt like changing mine with the times, while Genevieve changes her’s every
few centuries, to mix things up.”

That makes some sort of sense. Switching gears towards more pressing concerns, he continued,
“soooo what do I do with you now that you're here and time is… indisposed.”

Death snorted, and took another drag, “Well, Fate jumped the gun the last time we talked, and I
didn't get the chance to explain what being the Master of Death actually entails.”

Harry thought back to that conversation and realized the death god was right, he didn't have a
bloody clue about his new title. “Can you explain it to me then?”

“Yea duh,'' the newly dubbed Athimus put his cigarette out on the rocking chairs arm rest and
started explaining, “as the Master of Death, you have a lot of power over... you guessed it! Death.
You're a natural necromancer, which isn't a thing that just happens, mind you, so be grateful. You
can also summon me to do little things here and there. For instance, if someone's death wouldn't
affect the timeline too horribly, I'll kill them for you. Not all the time though, in some instances my
fear of being in the dog house is going to come before my duty as your servant.” Harry found it
really funny how much control fate had over death, though in hindsight it wasn't that surprising.
Death continued, “you also have two choices after dying, submitting to me and joining the dead in
the afterlife, or going on the be reincarnated with your memories intact. Part of being my master is
that you can't be controlled, which is why the compulsions and such aren't working anymore, even
though they're still technically on you.”

“I'm sorry what ?!” “excuse me??” Harry and Voldemort said at the same time, though it was
unknown if Athimus could hear the dark lord in Harry's head.

Regardless, the death god rolled his eyes, “I can't control the world of the living by myself, ya
know, you have to request my counsel first, so I couldn't just take them off. But! They're
completely ineffective, and the blocks were obliterated by your magic when you were sent back.”

“How can I get them removed?” Even if they weren't doing anything, Harry and Voldemort both
agreed that they didn't want those things on him.

“You could go to the goblins at Gringotts to get a purge, but I don't recommend it.”

“I don't trust this so-called god of death.” “Why the bloody hell not?”

Death seemed to be secretly laughing at both of them, “Dumbledore can tell if they've been
removed, idiot, he did place them after all. He’ll get suspicious of you if you waltz into Hogwarts
with no compulsions or loyalty potions or… whatever on you. Don't be a brash idiot and try to
actively antagonize him in his own damn school.”

That made a certain amount of sense, and Harry (and Voldemort, though he wouldn't have admitted
it) felt sufficiently cowed. “So it's fine to just leave them there?”

“Yep, though I do recommend going to the goblins anyway, you'll need an inheritance test to see
what sort of titles you have, as well as what other shit Fate decided to give you.”

Harry felt dread pool in his chest, if the goddess of fate decided to saddle him with something, who
knows what it'll be. Voldemort, having found and watched the memory of the encounter, was also
growing nervous.

Putting his trepidation aside for another day, Harry pressed on, “is there anything else?”

“Well, I guess you can't be killed.” Death said, as if it wasn't a huge bloody deal.

“Sorry?”

“You can't be killed, you'll only ever die of old age.”

“Oh”

“Mhm.”

Death left shortly after that, with the parting words of no, he wasn't going to kill Dolores Umbridge,
and yes, he couldn't, because Fate absolutely loves the woman.

After the thrice be damned god of death had finally left, Voldemort felt himself relax into his chair.
It wasn't that he was afraid of the god, just that he was afraid of what he could do, and that was
perfectly reasonable, all things considered.

Riddle sighed, taking another sip of his scotch. He was trapped in his mindscape. What's left of it
anyway , he thought glumly. A downside of making horcruxes, he had found years ago, is that his
mind separated from the rest of itself along with his soul. This meaning that he couldn't recall over
half of his life, about 5-10 years per horcrux, depending on how big the soul piece was. His
memories of those times were fuzzy at best, he knew what he had learned in those years of course,
 but couldn't remember how or when or why.

I'll need to find a way to contact the others. He had realized a few years back, that as he was now a
horcrux, and didn’t have any soul left that wasn't inhabiting an object (or a toddler). And that, since
he was the main soul, he could likely speak to the other horcruxes and request (read steal) their
memories to put in his library.

It was risky, of course. He knew himself well, and he wasn't very trusting, especially of himself. If
he was even able to convince the horcruxes to talk to him, it was doubtful that would just hand over
the memories.

Might as well start with the biggest and youngest, he thought with a smirk, getting up from his seat
to walk towards the western wall of the library. His library was long, starting at the southern wall
was his earliest memories in shelves, and each library shelf got progressively newer, going forward
to the northern end with the most recent. Most of the first 50 or so shelves were embarrassingly
bare, with only his knowledge/ what he learned about during those years filling them. The
northernmost wall had a seating area and a fireplace smack in the middle of the wall, with two
doors or either side, the left one being to his study, and the right to his bedroom. On the eastern
side was a door, it was huge and circular, with 7 snakes coiled around the large circular handle in
the middle. Voldemort knew that the other side was the exact same. That was the door out into
Harry Potter's mind, and was at the current moment, sealed tight. On the western side was 5 doors,
each one with a label. Diary, Ring, Locket, Cup, Diadem. He stood in front of the door labeled
Diary. Knocking back the rest of his scotch, he banished the glass, and threw open the door.

It was a hallway, long and grand, with old stone and suits of armor lining the walls. Hogwarts.

Perfect .

He smirked once more, before strolling through the door into his teenage self’s mind.

The door shut firmly behind him.

Chapter End Notes

Uh oh! What sarcastic conversations will Voldemort have with the sassy teen tom
riddle? Only time will tell.
 Everyone is Plotting
Chapter Summary

Life for harry potter is settling down, but the powers that be are shifting, people plot
from the shadows of the mind and benevolent protectors of the light plan far in the
future.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry Potter was a very smart child by most standards. Petunia Dursley was momentarily stunned
when he waddled up to her on his chubby legs and yelled indignantly, “Dudley is chewing
crayons!” She then quickly ran to the nursery to stop her son.

Vernon Dursley had come to a similar conclusion about his nephew, and took it upon himself to
boast about how smart and strong his son and nephew were to everyone at Grunnings, “the boys
are already showing talents at three! Dudley, the good Dursley he is, is a good strong boy,
definitely a boxer, and sweet Harry is already speaking in full sentences! It's nurture over nature I
tell ya!”

And indeed it was, Harry Potter was flourishing under the loving care of his relatives, and
Dumbledore was none the wiser, in fact, the man was already making plans for Harry's school
years.

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, sat in his office and plotted. No, plotting is a negative
term, he was planning. Making contingency plans. Fighting passively for the good of the wizarding
world.

He had many people to help him in his plans, the Weaselys were a good, light family that would be
happy to take Harry under their wing, Ronald was a good contender for a best friend, and Ginevera
had the making of a phenomenal Lady Potter. He was hoping to find another friend for the Potter
spawn, having two is better than one after all. Besides, it was difficult to tell how Ronald will turn
out at the current time, the boy was awfully young still. Nothing that a few compulsions wouldn’t
fix but alas, it was best to not throw around personality altering spells like lemon drops.

Sirius Black was a wild card, Dumbledore frowned, he wasn't sure what the man would do if he
ever escaped Azkaban, but nothing good. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth, nothing that
couldn't be planned for, he was sure.

Severus was also a worry, it was no telling if the hatred compulsion on the man would hold if
Harry didn't rise to the bait and hate the potions professor back. Perhaps he would deliver the boys
Hogwarts letter himself and see to adding a few compulsions? Ah well. There was time to plan,
years to get everything sorted and all the wrinkles ironed out.

Headmaster Dumbledore sat back and smiled, assured that all was well.

In another part of the castle, one Minerva Mcgonagall was also planning, she had initially been
worried about sweet Harry Potter going to live with those muggles, and against her better judgment
she had gone to check on the lad. Being pleasantly surprised when she found a happy, healthy
family with Harry Potter smack dab in the middle of it, she went on her way. The transfiguration
professor of Hogwarts had no illusions that the boy’s reintegration into the wizarding world would
be difficult, but for now, all was well.

All was not well with Tom Riddle.

Things were rather horrible actually. His older self had just waltzed through a door that came out of
nowhere and proceeded to tell him his fate, and what a fate it was.

He wasn't moping, future (past?) dark lords don't mope, and they certainly don't allow their future
selves to make off with all their memories, so why was Voldemort running off to the Hogwarts
library...

“HEY!” Tom Riddle raced after his older self, he may be a horcrux but so was this bastard, why
should he let that failure of a dark lord get away with stealing his memories!?”

“I am your better, child!” the dark lord yelled over his shoulder, “submit to my authority!”

“You were killed by an infant! Any authority you hold is nil!” Tom Riddle screamed back, now
very cross with his current predicament.

Quite suddenly, the older Tom Riddle stopped and turned to face him, slowing to a stop, they both
took a moment to catch their breath, glaring at each other all the while.

“I have a proposition for you, child,” the dark lord started, “combine with me, so we can grow
stronger in the Potter spawns mind. The damned death god insisted that we could not remove
ourselves from his person until his death, but if more of our soul is inside him, we will be able to
take control of his body for longer periods than a few minutes. Combine with me.”

The boy considered that for a moment. From what the failure had said about their current
predicament, the Potter brat had let them take control at nights, but they had only been able to go a
few minutes at a time, and was kicked back into their mindscape when the boy woke.

“I suppose that is the best outcome for you, is it not?’ he finally replied, “but what do I get in
return?”

The other dark lord mumbled something about try-hard Slytherins before replying, “you are me
and i am you, we both know that combining is the best outcome for both of us.”

Teenager Tom Riddle smirked, “very well then, I will combine with you, but the others won't be so
willing.”

“ ~I don't need anything from the others besides their memories, child.~ ” the dark lord hissed out
in parseltongue, becoming agitated with the little brat.

“ ~fine fine, shall we then, failure?~ ”

“ ~stop calling me that, you pathetic little welt~”

The future and past dark lord returned to Harry Potter’s mind as one, and began plotting Albus
Dumbledore's downfall, now with book shelves that were slightly more full.
 Harry Potter had a feeling that people were plotting. Sure, this was unsurprising to him, he had a
megalomaniac in his head and a controlling old goat on the horizon after all. But he couldn't do
much in his current predicament, he was three damnit! What was he supposed to do besides play
with blocks and eat an unholy amount of food?

At least I can be sure I'll be tall this go round, he t hought glumly, he had been rather short as men
go in his first life, and he was going to make sure that this time he’ll be as healthy as possible.

I wonder how old I'll have to be to get Aunt Petunia to take me to Gringotts. I'll have to convince
her one way or another, pretty sure she still hates magic.

Would you think quietly brat, I'm trying to plot, Voldemort hissed in his ear. Rolling his eyes,
Harry settled down further into his Aunt's lap, twitching his nose as he felt the beginning of a
sneeze.

Wait a bloody moment, H arry realized something, V oldemort, you could teach me about politics
and dark magic right?

Obviously. The dark lord drawled, but I refuse to teach you anything this way, figure out how to
come in here first.

Harry started to pout, bastard.

Leach.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter is going to be a summary of the next 8 years, and then the one after
that picks back up to harry at 11, so you know what that means! (it means if you have
an opinion about what house Harry should be in, you should let it be known soon)
 Life Goes On
Chapter Summary

A summary of Harry Potter's life leading up to his 11th birthday, as well as a few other
developments.

Chapter Notes

This was a lot of fun to churn out, mostly because sometimes you have a lot of ideas
and not enough time to put them all down in detail.
I glossed over Tom bullying the other horcruxes into giving up their memories, mostly
because it isn't all that important to the plot.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry Potter did eventually figure out how to reach into his mindscape, he succeeded in it on his
fifth birthday, nearly falling out of bed when it happened. After getting the hang of it though, the
first thing Harry did was cuss out Tom Riddle face to face. The bastard just laughed at him, and
gave him a tour.

Harry had admitted, very quietly, that the mindscape and occlumency barriers were very
impressive, which did absolutely no good for the dark lord's ego, mind you.

They were though, impressive that is. With a quidditch pitch that held all Harry's memories about
the sport, as well as the Castle recreated perfectly to Harry and Tom’s memories of the place, with
sprawling hallways filled with paintings of past memories, as well as a cozy Gryffindor common
room, with more personal but still pleasant memories. Harry found it quite funny how the
Headmasters office had all his most hated memories, and the Slytherin common rooms held all his
secrets.

The only thing that was different really, was the forbidden forest, which sprawled in all directions,
filled to the brim with all manner of creatures that had never before been in residence.

“It's called a barrier for a reason, leach. It’s supposed to be impenetrable,” is what Tom had told
him when he asked, “and someone has to first get past the mile wide canyon surrounding the
perimeter if they even want to get to the forest.”

There was a lot of boasting on Tom's part that day, but once it was all said and done, he held to his
promise and started the difficult (his words) task of teaching Harry pureblood politics and the
darkest of magic.

It was surprisingly easy to do dark magic for Harry, and he wasn't sure why till he was seven, when
he managed to meditate long enough to see his core for the first time. Death had not been lying
when he said it was impressively big, but it was also perfectly gray. Harry eventually called up
Death to ask about that detail, and got a crash course in necromancy magic.
Apparently, his core had actually been on the darker side his first life, “due to the trauma and
Riddle, mostly” is how the death god put it.

“So you would have thought that your core would be lighter this go round, but due to you being the
Master of Death, and death being a constant moderator, your core is always going to be perfectly in
the middle, same with your morals, most likely.”

“That's why true necromancers are so rare (read nonexistent), it's because you have to be perfectly
balanced with your magic to even begin on the path towards learning it.”

Athimus ended the conversation by handing him an old book and telling him to read it. The book,
Harry soon found, was A Beginner's Guide to Necromancy (yes, that was literally the title, who
knew Death was so to the point).

Thus started Harry’s descent into the wonderful world of necromancy. He started small, with birds
and squirrels, but by the time he turned 10 he was killing and bringing back to life several of Mrs.
Figg's kneazles.

It's payback! He insisted to Tom one day, as he mixed up some kneazle blood to save for later. She
was in kahoots with Dumbledore my entire childhood in the last life, she had obviously seen the
abuse.

“I'm not saying it isn't warranted, leach,” Tom replied, the nickname having stuck after so many
years, turning from an insult to something more endearing. Considering the boy's newer taste for
blood, it was more accurate than it used to be. Really, thought Tom Riddle, the child had started
out angry and confused, and has turned into a bloodthirsty little monster .

“Don't you think that the squib might catch on at some point? You're quite literally killing and
drinking the blood of her pets.”

Harry had to admit that his new taste for blood was a little odd, but Death assured him that it was
just a side effect of his necromancy training.

I know how to be subtle, Tommy.

“Stop calling me that, child.”

Petunia Dursley did in fact still hate magic, but it was more of a wary, my-little-sister-was-killed-
by-magic-and-I-don't-want-the-same-for-her-son sort of hate, and when he had shyly asked her
why weird things happened around him, she sat him down and explained everything that she knew.
Naturally, the second step was to convince her to take him to Diagon Alley, which was also
surprisingly easy. They just wandered around for a while, but she had refused to take him into the
wizarding bank after she saw the goblins.

“If you need to go in there to get money for school things that's just fine love, but I won't be going
anywhere near those little beasts till then.”

Harry submitted himself to the knowledge that he would just have to wait till his letter came.

At least Dudley is intelligent enough this go round.

Dudley Dursley was in fact, quite a bit nicer this time as well, without his parents feeling
compelled to spoil him, he grew up to be a strong but gentle hearted boy. Harry thought that he was
still a bit slow, but being a himbo is better than being a bully, he reasoned.
 Harry also grew up different than the first time, he was healthy, and had a fair bit of muscle on his
arms from carving up various animals. He had realized that he and Death looked quite a bit alike,
and asked his Aunt if he could get a similar haircut done, liking the look. After describing what he
wanted, she adamantly refused to get him a fade, but was happy to get the sides shaved closer to
the head, which actually helped make the untamable mess appear more stylish than unkempt.

By the time Harry was 11, he was a tall, strong child, with piercing green eyes, and an odd scar that
raced down his forehead, branching off across his eyes, the longest bolt ending at the tip of his
nose. Some things never changed, he reasoned, but he was still quite happy with how he looked,
even though (despite his aunt's best efforts) his lightning bolt scar was still as prominent as ever.
Though Vernon had assured him (and Petunia) that it looked more like a birthmark.

As Harry grew up in his happy little home, Dumbledore and his pawns grew as well. Ronald
Weasely had grown up with a drive to prove himself, something that the Headmaster happily
exploited. The boy wasn't subtle by any means, but Dumbledore had found a smart young
muggleborn girl that would do well to reign him and Harry in, if they were ever to go off the rails.
Hermione Granger was a ravenclaw through and through, though her lack of friends during
childhood made her become quite blunt and stubborn.

It would be difficult to convince the hat of Gryffindor for that one, he fretted over it all week after
the girl turned 10, and finally decided that he would try and convince her first.

If she wants it enough, the hat will oblige, he reasoned.

Ginevra Weasely was also growing up to be exactly what he wanted, she had an obsession over the
boy-who-lived, and was convinced that once she met him they would live happily ever after. Molly
was over the moon, and begged Dumbledore to create a marriage contract for the two. It worried
him a tad, both of the children had to be present to give blood for a true marriage contract, but he
reasoned that the boy wouldn't know the difference between a legal and a forged one. By the time
Hogwarts letters were being sent out for the class of 1998, Dumbledore was fully prepared for the
boy-who-lived to arrive at Hogwarts.

At least, that's what he thought.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter will take a while longer than the others to complete, because it is
going to go in depth about the trip to Diagon Alley for his school supplies, and many
more fun things. Draco will also be introduced next chapter.
(it will also be the last chance for people to put in their votes for a house, we have
slytherin and hufflepuff in the lead right now, funny enough.)
 A Letter and Revelations
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter receives an owl from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and
meets a new friend(?). Going shopping in Diagon Alley, Harry clarifies some things
and Tom has a few revelations. What is in store for the boy-who-lived once he goes to
Hogwarts? Only time will tell.

Chapter Notes

Ooohhh boy was this one a handful, I stayed up till 2 am last night to finish it, and
edited it in the middle of my algebra lecture this morning. I really wanted to get it out
early today so I could finish up the first Hogwarts chapter with enough time to post it
tonight. Hope you like it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was a nice Wednesday afternoon, and Harry Potter was lounging on the bottom bunk of his bunk
bed in the room he shared with his cousin, Dudley. At first he would have been nervous about the
bunk beds, but considering the weight that Dudley has fortunately not put on in this timeline, him
being on the top bunk was no longer that big of an issue.

Today was a very special day for Harry, that being that today was the day his Hogwarts letter was
set to arrive.

Harry remembered what had happened last time and was thankful again for Tom's interference in
the aggression wards.

Please, you couldn't go a day without my interference in anything.

Well at least I don't have to piggyback on someone else.

Leech.

Hypocrite.

Yeah, nothing had changed much since that first day in the new timeline. Tom calmed down a tad,
and seemed less murderous or indignant. Well… he was always indignant about something, Harry
usually just left him to his plotting.

“Harry? Lunch is ready love.”

“Coming Aunt Petunia!”

Harry meandered down the stairs, jumping over the one at the bottom that creaks out of habit.
Walking into the kitchen, he gave his aunt a kiss on the cheek and tucked in.
“Today is the day that letter comes in, isn't it boy?” Vernon still called him that, but it was more
affectionate this time. Sure, the first few times he said it Harry broke out in cold sweats, but he's
used to it now.

“Yea it's s’posed to, when should we go shop for supplies?”

Vernon leaned back and thought for a moment, “well... I've got a meeting tomorrow, so it'll have to
be the day after.” he nodded, already decided it seemed.

“Sounds alright to me.”

They ate in silence for a while before Harry got up with his empty plate, setting it down in the sink.
On his way out the back door he grabbed the bush trimmers, planning on working on the garden
(read torment Mrs. Figg’s cats).

“Harry, use the gloves dear, you got a nasty scratch the last time you trimmed the roses.”

“Oh! Ok, thank you auntie,” that scratch was from one of the cats. It had put up a bit of a fight, the
little shit.

“It's alright love.”

The Dursleys still didn't like magic much, but they didn't see the harm in letting Harry go to the
school, Lily had gone on and on about how amazing it was, and Petunia didn't have the heart to
refuse him the experience.

Do you think we’ll find a snake today, Tom?

It's a good day for them to be out, lots of sunny spots.

You’d know that, of course, because you're a snake yourself.

Quiet, leech.

Harry stuck his tongue out at the rose bush, it didn't have the desired effect. Sighing, he decided to
prune the rose bushes for a while before sneaking around the house and nabbing a cat.

“~small two leg, scaring away my food, shoo!~”

He looked down to see an extremely colorful snake slithering through the grass, it looked like the
floor of an 80’s themed bowling alley, with a neon blue stripe across its back, and neon pink dots
on the sides and an equally pink head.

What is a California garter snake doing in Surrey? Tom questioned.

Of course you would know the exact species.

“~Hey, what are you doing in Surrey?~” he asked the newly dubbed California Garter, crouching
down and holding his hand out to the snake.

“Oh! Small two legs is a speaker, how quaint.~” the snake reached out and started coiling up
Harry’s arm, “~stupid big two legs took me from mother, long journey brought me here.~”

“~Ah, that's unfortunate for you, I'm sure.~” Harry surmised that the snake must have broken out
of the nearby zoo.
Forgot your empathy at the dinner table, Harry? Tom quipped dryly.

Like you're one to talk, snake face.

Over the years, Harry started to develop a different perspective on life, it was difficult for him to
really sympathize with others, and generally felt more like an observer than a player in the game.
After re-assessing his first conversation with Death and Fate, he realized that the stunted emotions
he was feeling had to be an emotional side-effect of being the Master of Death, since Death acted
much the same way. He didn't find himself all that upset about it though. Tom just thought it was
funny, but Tom’s a megalomaniac and a sadist, so maybe that wasn't a good thing.

The sound of flapping wings broke him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw an owl swoop
down and land on his shoulder. The garter snake hissed at it and slithered off him, disappearing
into the bushes.

“Are you here with my letter?” Harry questioned, ignoring Tom moping about the snake running
off.

The owl gave him a critical look before holding its leg out. Taking the letter, Harry told the owl to
stay there and went inside with the letter.

“Aunt Petunia! The letters here!”

Looking down at it, he tore it open and looked at the two papers inside…

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Harry Potter

#4 Privet Drive, Little

Whinging, Surrey

The Second Bedroom

Dear Mr. Potter

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Handing the letter to his aunt to read, Harry looked over the list, suddenly nostalgic.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

By Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

By Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

By Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration

By Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

By Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

By Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

By Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

By Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, and owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Harry looked up to see his aunt bustling around the kitchen for some paper and an envelope.

“Alright dear, would you like me to write it?”

“Yes please auntie.”

Ten minutes later, Harry was seeing the owl off.

Stop moping about the snake Tom, she was awfully gaudy anyway.

Tom huffed, before saying something very rude about Harry’s mother.

Oh so that's how you wanna play, eh Riddle?

“~Is the little two legs speaker still there?~”

Harry sighed, and crouched down to look in the bushes, “~hello again, did you decide to come
back?~” The snake peered at him for a moment, before slithering up his arm and into his shirt
collar, settling around his midsection, “~little two legs speaker smells like death, you shall be mine
now, death smelling little two legs speaker~”

Did wizards get the idea for obnoxiously long titles from snakes by chance? He cheekily asked
Tom.

Quiet leech, let me talk to her.

Nah.

“~so what's your name, fashion disaster?~”

“~I am called Thamnophis Sirtalis infernalis, thank you for asking, death smelling little two legs
speaker.~”

Harry was getting sick of this snake's weird nicknaming habits, “~my name is Harry, you do know
that Thamnophis Sirtalis infernalis is your scientific name, right?~”

The snake slithered back up his chest and poked her head out of his shirt , “~what is science,
Harry?~”

“~Don't worry about it, can I call you Thasin? It's a mix of all your names and is faster to say.~”

The snake seemed to consider it for a moment, before making a nodding motion and curling around
his middle.

Harrrrrryyy, you demon spawn, let me speak to her!

Stop lusting after snakes, you weirdo.

It was a hot Friday morning that the Dursleys (minus Dudley, as he had boxing practice) and Harry
all piled into the car to drive across town to the Leaky Cauldron. Vernon wasn't planning on going
with them to the wizarding world, instead deciding to get some groceries.

Petunia had been kind enough to help Harry cover up his scar with some foundation to make him
less recognizable. He itched at the powder, how women caked that stuff on their faces every day
was beyond him.

Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron, though, he was glad she did. There were more people there than
usual, and he would likely have been mobbed, but with the sunglasses and neat muggle clothing he
was wearing, no one would have seen him as Harry Potter.

Walking through the crowd, the barkeep Tom was kind enough to let them through the wall.

You two share more than just a name eh? He looks just like you!

I'll skin you alive, leech.

Walking down the streets of Diagon Alley for the first time in over a decade, Harry felt…
detached. This place was familiar, sure, but there was very little of the wonder and happiness that
he had felt in all his past times going.

Awww, is the wittle baby sociopath analyzing his emotions again? Tom mocked in a baby voice.

If you don't stop being a dick, I'll convince the hat to put me in Hufflepuff.

A sharp, almost unbearable pain went through his scar. Good, let the bastard throw a temper
tantrum.

Arriving at the steps of Gringotts, Harry and his aunt went up and into the bank. Harry could tell
that she was nervous about the whole thing, and decided to save them both from some trouble.

“Auntie? I can go talk to the goblins by myself if you like. There's benches over on that wall you
can sit on.”

After getting rid of the dead weight, Harry marched up to the nearest teller, “I'd like to speak to the
Potter accounts manager sir.”
The goblin sneered at him, “do you have your key?”

Fuck . “I’m afraid not sir, is there any way to prove my identity?”

The goblin huffed and got off his chair, “follow me.” He led Harry down a side door into a
hallway of offices, reaching the door labeled “Griphook”.

“Inside.” He walked in, sitting down on one of the provided chairs in front of the desk. The door
slammed shut with a thud , looking around, he saw various weapons adorning the walls, some still
had dried blood on them.

These are my kind of people.

Tom was still sulking, and didn’t respond.

After several minutes of taking in the décor, the door slammed open again with another thud ,
looking up, Harry took in his account manager, who was indistinguishable from the other goblins
except for some very sharp looking meat hooks hanging from his belt.

Do you reckon he got his name for carrying those things around, or he just decided to wear them
because of it.

Tom continued to be a brat and sulk.

“You are the one pretending to be heir Potter?”

Off to a great start . “No sir, I am Harry Potter.”

The goblin glanced at his head.

Oh .

“I'm wearing muggle cosmetics to cover up my scar, you know, so I don't get mobbed...sir.”

The goblin hummed, and pulled out a nasty looking dagger and a sheet of paper, “we’ll see about
that, whoever you are, this is an inheritance test, it'll tell us exactly who you are. Three drops of
blood on the parchment.”

Shrugging, Harry grabbed the dagger- oh look at her Tom, isn't she a beauty? - before making a
small incision on his pointer finger and squeezing three drops of blood onto the parchment.
Waiting a few moments, words started to appear.

Hadrian James Potter

Age: 10

DOB: 31 July, 1980

Core: Gray (50% light, 50% dark)

Mother: Lily Elenore Potter nee. Evans (deceased)

Father: James Fleamont Potter (deceased)

Godfather: Sirius Orion Black (detained)

Godmother: Alice Longbottom nee. Fortescue (incapacitated)

Magical Guardian: Albus Dumbledore

Titles:

Heir Potter (by blood) Votes on Wizengamot: 2

Heir Slytherin (by conquest) Votes on Wizengamot: 12

Heir Gaunt (by conquest) Votes on Wizengamot: N/A

Heir Riddle (by conquest) Votes on Wizengamot: N/A

Second in line for black heirship. Votes on Wizengamot: 9

Master of Death (by abnormal, once in an eternity circumstances) Votes on Wizengamot:

N/A

Total possible votes: 23

Vaults:

Harry Potter Trust vault: 10,348 galleons, 36 sickles, 64 knutts

Potter Main Vault: 275,967 galleons, 5,990 sickles, 42 knutts, 39 assorted family heirlooms,
12 family portraits, 59 pieces of family jewelry, 408 tomes

Various Gifted Vaults: 2,390,054 galleons, 298 sickles, 10,032 knutts, 3 portraits, 12 pieces of
jewelry, 28 tomes

Black Vault (unable to access as second in line): 6,349,843 galleons, 2,497 sickles, 2 knutts, 48
assorted family heirlooms, 18 portraits, 74 pieces of family jewelry, 37 tomes

Potions and spells in effect:

Dragon Pox vaccine: administered by Lily Potter on 1 June, 1980 (still in effect)

Compulsion to trust Albus Dumbledore: administered by Poppy Pomfrey, 1 November, 1981

(ineffective)

Compulsion to trust Weasley Family: administered by Poppy Pomfrey, 1 November, 1981

(ineffective)

Compulsion to stay with Dursley family: administered by Poppy Pomfrey, 1 November, 1981
(ineffective)

Compulsion to mistrust Slytherin house: administered via enchanted parchment, 24 July,

1991 (ineffective)

Compulsion to hate Severus Tobias Snape: administered via enchanted parchment, 24 July,
1991 (ineffective)

Magical Blocks:

Magical core blocked by 60%: by Albus Dumbledore (100% broken)

Intelligence blocked by 30%: by Albus Dumbledore (100% broken)

Natural Abilities:

Necromancy

Animagus Transformation

ETC:

Unknown Creature inheritance, awakens on 13th birthday

Soul Bond: unknown other half, fully in effect on 13th birthday

Harry was unsurprised by most of the things on the parchment, the Master of Death title made him
chuckle, Athimus probably put that in somehow. It was unsurprising that there was no vault for
Slytherin and Gaunt, the Gaunt family had been piss poor after all, and as descendants of Slytherin
they had used up that vault a long time ago. Heir Riddle was thrown in there was well, which made
Tom grumble, but was also unsurprising. Seeing (ineffective) down the list of compulsions was a
wonderful thing, and he didn't see anything too shocking about the blocks and natural abilities.
He’d been practicing necromancy since he was 7 after all, and his dad was an animagus. The
unknown creature inheritance made him stop though, definitely Fate’s doing, I’m sure.

The soul bond also made him, and apparently Tom, pause.

Soul bonds are dangerous for monsters like us, Leech, Tom spoke quietly, you'll get very
possessive very quickly.

Let's put that on the backburner for now, snake face.

Handing the parchment to Griphook to look over, Harry started thinking about what he needed to
do with the knowledge he now had.

I guess Slytherin is out.

I beg your pardon?

Let's be realistic, Tom, me in Slytherin is going to get a lot of negative attention, and I'm supposed
to mistrust the house, right?

Idiot boy, you're Slytherin to your bones, the hat wouldn't let you go anywhere else.

You mean you'll throw the hissy fit of the century if I don’t go to your old house?

You're going to Slytherin and that's final.

“Heir Potter, it appears that you have a rather peculiar title,” he pointed to the line: Master of
Death (by abnormal, once in an eternity circumstances) Votes on Wizengamot: N/A, and sent
Harry a confused look.
Ah. “Its a personal matter that doesn't really need to be discussed.”

Excellent Bullshitting, leech.

Griphook, deciding that whatever was going on was absolutely above his pay grade, moved on,
“Heir Potter, you have several heir rings you can take up today, though I am sorry to say that
Gringotts doesn't hold muggle heirship/lordship rings, and the Gaunt/Slytherin lordship ring
currently needs to be recalled.”

Well that makes things easier, eh snake face? “That's fine, which rings can I take today?”

Griphook looked at some files before answering, “the Slytherin and Gaunt rings are one in the
same, and while the lordship ring needs to be recalled the heirship one does not, you can also take
on the Potter heirship. You'll have to wait for the current heir Black to either die or pass his title
onto you, and considering he is currently rotting in Azkaban, the likelihood of the latter is next to
nothing.”

Pity, I wonder if I should bother helping Sirius? There doesn't seem to be much of a point to it
now… eh, I'll leave it up to Fate.

“Thank you Griphook.”

The goblin grunted, before handing him two ring boxes, opening the first one, he found the Potter
ring, which was a gold band with a medium sized ruby as the focal point, with smaller ones
branching off on either side in an infinity shape. It was intricate, with knots of gold making
elaborate patterns along the band. He put it on his right ring finger, and it shrunk to fit. Opening
the second box, he found a simple silver band that, on closer inspection, had small carvings of
snakes weaving along it. He put it on his right pointer finger, and it also shrunk to fit.

“I would like to take 1,000 galleons from my trust vault.” he finally said, still admiring his new
rings.

“You still do not have your key.” the goblin replied

“Well can I have one made and the other one recalled or something?”

Oh yes, because that's a perfect way of staying off Dumbledore’s radar.

I need money snake face.

“Yes, we can have that done.” Bringing a plain silver key out from a cabinet, he handed the dagger
to Harry again with the instruction that it requires 5 drops of blood this time. After getting that
sorted and the old key re-called, Harry was led down to the carts to get his money. Once he finally
re entered the lobby, his aunt was nearly catatonic with worry. Grabbing his hand firmly, she all
but sprinted out of the bank.

“Alright love where are we going first?”

“To get a trunk Auntie.”

Upon entering the store ‘Trunks for all occasions,’ an uncomfortably friendly salesman walked
them over to some high end school trunks.

Get the basic four compartment one, Tom fell into lecturer mode, that way you can have one for
clothes, one for books, another for anything else, and the last to enchant into a studio apartment so
you can quite literally live out of your trunk. The idea was ingenious, and Tom obviously knew
how to do the enchantments necessary, so Harry happily paid for a black dragon leather trunk with
steel brackets, four compartments, and even paid a little extra to have his name embossed into the
leather. Hadrian was a nice name, he was going to show it off.

After buying the trunk he gave his aunt some money to go get a coffee at Florean Fortescue’s Ice-
Cream Parlour and relax, while he got his books and stationary. After spending far too much on
fancy quills, inkwells, and parchment in the stationary store Scribbulus Writing Instruments, he
waltzed over to Flourish and Blotts for books. Browsing the shelves after getting the first-year
book bundle, Harry lazily listened to Tom whisper book recommendations in his ear.

That one is an excellent resource for transfiguration, grab it. Oh, and that red one on the fourth
shelf delves deeper into potion ingredient preparation than the required book does, grab it as well.
Turn the corner, I remember the history of magic section always being stocked with a small but
delightful encyclopedia of history books at Hogwarts, it’s self updating. There! The little black
book on the bottom shelf.

And so on.

Once Harry (and more importantly, Tom) felt that he was adequately prepared for the school year,
he went to pay for all his books. Leaving Flourish and Blotts, Harry decided to do a very sneaky
thing and waltzed into Twilfitt and Tatting’s for some high quality robes.

I don't have any robes, and if you're really so convinced that I'm going to be in Slytherin, you
should help me get a wardrobe that the purebloods will accept.

Tom begrudgingly agreed, and after getting fitted, talked him through a catalogue of men's robes.
They decided on 4 slacks, in black, dark brown, beige, and deep green. 5 silk shirts that Harry felt
were uncomfortably similar to the ones that Death: man-whore extraordinaire wore on the daily,
but Tom was adamant, these ones were in various shades of black and green. He got warm socks
and some very nice dragon leather combat boots, as well as some dress shoes of a similar material.
He got several robes, all in deep greens and purples, and convinced Tom that he should get one last
one in a very deep, almost maroon red. He got two scarves, one all black and one in deep blue. A
long, warm winter cloak that was all black, with gold trim, and two pairs of gloves. Feeling
satisfied with his purchases, he had a quick jaunt over to Madam Malkins, where he got fitted
(again), but this time for school robes. Standing on the platform, Harry listened, detached, as the
door opened and shut, and a familiar head of blonde hair took up this peripheral vision.

Malfoy?

Harry looked to his right, sure enough, the prince of Slytherin himself stood on the adjacent
platform. Harry suddenly got a flash of fire, and a scared boy clinging to him on a broom, flying
out of the room of requirement.

Could you lay off with the psychological torture Tom? We both know it never works.

Malfoy glanced over to him, “ello there, are you off to Hogwarts too?”

Bloody hell he sounds young

“Yea, I'm a first year, name’s Harry Potter, how goes?”

Malfoy glanced up at his forehead, questioning, “Oh! I'm wearing a… uh…. glamour over it.”

He seemed to accept this answer, and help out his hand, “Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet
you.”

Harry met his hand, and felt prickles race from his fingers up his arm. He could sense that Tom
was paying attention. Hmmm... how strange.

Deciding to ignore whatever Tom had going on, knowing it was likely plotting-world-domination
related, Harry chatted with Malfoy for the rest of the fitting, oddly enough, the blonde didn't bring
up Harry’s heirships or the boy-who-lived title.

Once he was done getting fitted and received his new school robes, Harry bid Malfoy goodbye.
After putting all his new clothes away in his equally new trunk, he meandered over to the ice
cream parlor to pick up his aunt. She seemed much calmer now and was able to trail behind him as
he bought a cauldron, crystal phials, a collapsible telescope, and a set of brass scales.

“All we have left is my wand auntie.” Harry crossed brass scales of the list and thought, looking up
at her, “do you want to wait outside? I overheard from some other kids say that Olivander is really
weird, and sometimes the wands try to blow up the shop.”

Petunia suddenly looked rather white, and settled down on a bench outside the wand shop, “I'll just
stay here till you're finished love.”

Entering the store, Harry rang the bell with trepidation.

You realize I might have to kill him if he somehow realizes you're in my head.

I'll applaud your ability to think quickly if you manage it.

Very helpful, thank you Tom.

“Harry Potter… yes I was wondering when I would be seeing you.” Ollivander was just as creepy
as ever, and proceeded to give the same speech he did during Harry’s first life, though Harry was
noticeably less interested in it.

“I see you've covered up your scar, very clever. I'm afraid to say I sold the wand that did it.”

Blah Blah Blah, I'm an evil murderer, yes we know. Get on with it you great lump.

Harry was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Which arm is your wand arm?” Harry raised his right. The tape measure went tits up and started
measuring everything under the sun, and some things covered from the sun by several layers of
clothing, Harry blushed.

“Hmm... let's try this one, maple, springy, with a dragon heartstring core.”

And so it went, Harry trying wand after wand with no luck, and Ollivander getting closer and
closer to his emotional orgasm. Finally, he pulled out the holly and phoenix feather wand. Excited,
Harry grabbed it, only to feel… nothing. Literally nothing.

Tom was cackling.

“Oh no that won't do, hmmm.”

Ollivander tottered off to find another wand, as if it was no big deal that Harry's wand didn't
bloody work!
“Death, this is your fault isn't it.”

A screech and a bang, a flash of light and the death god himself sat on the counter, looking very
pleased. Not for the first time did Harry want to slap that smug smile off the bastard's face.

“How's it going?”

“Eat a dick, you piece of shite. What the bloody budgering fuck happened to my wand?”

Death casually grabbed the cigarette box from his pocket and lit one, unsurprisingly. What was
surprising, was when he reached back in again and pulled out the elder wand.

“It's the only wand that'll work for you, hate to say it. If you're worried about Dumbledore
recognizing it, don't be.” he put it on the counter and vanished, like an absolute tool.

Harry didn't even bother waiting around for Ollivander to come back, he grabbed the elder wand,
and after feeling it heat up and pulse in his hands, ran out of the store.

Petunia was on her last leg, but Harry was hungry, so they went back to the ice cream parlor and
got him some plain vanilla to hold him over. Looking out of the window, Harry suddenly caught
sight of a gaggle of redheads coming out of the second hand robe shop. Glairing, Harry observed as
the twin terrors themselves bouncing around the perimeter of the group, being nuisances. Harry
reflected on an old conversation.

Two years previous…

“Not all of the Weasleys were being paid off to control you, the older three brothers were mostly
out of school and Dumbledore didn't really care about them.” Death had visited to observe Harry's
necromancy progress, and eventually started revealing all his potential betrayers, “those twins
though… well, Chaos really loves them. So, being a menace herself, she gifted them with an urge
to be absolutely neutral...chaotic neutral, that is.”

“Meaning they don't care who you are, as long as they can prank you.” Harry surmised, leaning
his cheek on his hand as he contemplated the potential behind an alliance with them.

“Yep, those twins live only to cause problems. If you want to trust any of the Weasleys, trust them.”

Present day…

Harry did, in fact, decide to trust the twins. Though he wasn't going to touch them with a ten foot
pole until they were away from the other Weasleys. Leaning forward in his chair, Harry quickly
finished his ice cream.

Once we get home, I need to read all the course books and store them in my mindscape, with you
help with the organization?

He could hear Tom sigh, I might as well, I doubt you'll be able to organize in a coherent manner
without me.

Bastard.

Leech.
Chapter End Notes

The next chapter is off to Hogwarts! I'm so excited about writing the Hogwarts years,
mostly because of how different it will all be since Tom is vibing in Harry's skull
plotting world domination instead of in Quirrell's head.... plotting... world
domination............ ANYWAY its going to be fun
 Off To Hogwarts pt.1
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter is 100% prepared for departure on the Hogwarts express, and quite ready
to settle into a warm bed in his desired house: Hufflepuff. Tom Riddle, however, is
fully against Harry's house of choice, and other forces at play might very well agree
with him.

Chapter Notes

Beginning of Year One: On Unsteady Feet

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Year One: On Unsteady Feet

Harry Potter strolled the halls of Hogwarts, glancing up at the moving paintings, he smiled at the
people inside of them. Reaching the library, he walked up to a shelf labeled Defense Against the
Dark Arts. Taking a book out of the bag slung over his shoulder, he placed it in an empty space.

“Is that the last one?”

“I think so.”

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle stood in his mind, they had been sorting through his new knowledge
for the past few hours. The process involved a lot of walking though, apparently it was a metaphor
for processing information, which made some sort of sense. He enjoyed walking through the halls,
though considering that in a few hours he would be on the Hogwarts express headed towards the
real deal, it felt a little redundant.

Harry closed his eyes in his mindscape, opening them again in the real world. Time to get ready .

He hummed a happy tune while he buttoned up his shirt, throwing a beige jumper over it. Looking
at himself in the mirror, he grinned.

Harry Potter was quite tall for his age, standing at 5’3. He was obviously muggle-raised, just going
off of the tan pants and sneakers, but the lightning bolt scar branching out from his hairline down
to the tip of his nose told a different story.

“You ready for Pigpimples, Harry?” Dudley had thought the name Hogwarts was far too ridiculous
to not make fun of.

“Pimples are different from warts Dudders.”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”
So on and so forth.

Eventually the boys were called down by Vernon. Grabbing his trunk, Harry raced down the stairs,
nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to the car. He liked the Durselys now sure, but there
was no place like home.

Everyone piled in the car, and after a short drive, Harry was being hugged by a teary eyed Petunia.

“Do you remember how to get through to the platform, love?”

“Yes aunt Petunia.”

“Good good, we’ll see you at Christmas, dear.”

Harry waved goodbye to the Dursleys, and once he was far enough away, shifted his shirt and
peered down the collar.

“~Hey Thasin, you ok in there?~” He questioned the brightly colored snake wrapped loosely
around his middle.

“ ~I am well Harry, are we going to the castle of many mice?~ ” Harry rolled his eyes, Thasin had
adamantly refused to go to Hogwarts till Harry explained that it was full of mice, she had warmed
up to the idea quickly after that.

“ ~Yes, we are, stay quiet in there ok? I don't feel like explaining to anyone why I have a snake on
me.~ ”

Harry walked briskly towards the wall between platforms nine and ten. Not pausing in the
slightest, he walked right through the wall into platform 9 ¾.

It's good to be back.

Not wanting to dally and risk get caught by the Weasleys, Harry made his way through the crowds
onto the bright red steam engine. Walking towards the back of the train, Harry searched for an
empty compartment.

The last one on the left was my compartment, go there.

Deciding to humor him, Harry followed Tom's instructions. Looking into the compartment and
finding it empty, Harry went in, setting his trunk down onto the floor and locking the door, he shut
the curtains for privacy.

Ready Tommy?

Just do it, Leech.

Harry closed his eyes and centered himself, they had gotten a lot better at switching after so many
years of practice. Reaching out with his magic, he felt Tom grab hold and pull himself to the
surface.

Opening his eyes, Tom got to work. Replenishing the notice-me-not wards he had placed long ago,
he got on his knees to start enchanting the fourth compartment of Harry’s trunk. They hadn't been
able to do this at the Dursleys because of the trace, but being on the train made it more difficult for
the ministry to figure out who was casting the spells.

That was how Tom spent the first several hours of the train ride, enchanting a compartment of a
trunk to be bigger was easy, sure, but then he had to alter the walls and transfigure furniture, a
kitchenette, and other accessories. It wouldn't have taken as long if the furniture was a normal
transfiguration, meaning it would eventually go back to its original shape, but Tom didn't want to
bother finding real furniture, and put in the extra effort (and magic) to make the transfigurations
permanent. He could distantly feel the train start to move at one point, but other than that kept his
attention on the elaborate web of enchantments he was weaving.

Three hours into the trip, he sat back and sighed, letting Harry take back over.

I've exhausted my reserves, wake me up when we get to Hogwarts.

It was interesting to Harry how Tom still had his own magical core. Whenever they shifted, their
magical core shifted as well. Tom had credited it to one's soul being interconnected with their core,
which made some sort of sense. Giving credence to this idea was Tom's core, which was way less
than half the size of Harry’s (whose core was already quite large and still growing), and looked
like it had several bites taken out of it. Harry had though that Toms magic would have diminished
as he made more horcruxes by the same logic, but apparently the main soul, being the one with its
own personal body, could easily draw on the magic placed in its horcruxes. Since Tom himself was
now a horcrux, he was stuck with the amount of magic he had on hand. This made Tom’s magic
reserves quite shallow, and by extension the amount of magic he could use at a time was also quite
low in comparison to what he was able to do at his prime. That amount was still quite high mind
you, proof that Tom had been obnoxiously powerful at one point in time, rivaling Harry and even
Dumbledore.

After putting his newly enchanted trunk on the overhead, Harry settled down on the plush seat and
fell into a meditative state.

Opening his eyes in the great hall, he made his way down to the chamber of secrets, passing
paintings of memories on the way there, Harry reflected on his first time getting sorted.

Stopping at a painting frame, the paint inside swirled, before clearing to show the memory. Harry
looked at himself, the smallest boy in the year, practically trembling on the stool.

He had never been brave.

In his first life he showed up to Hogwarts desperate to prove himself, a boney little boy that wished
that he was brave, that he was strong.

The hat shouted out Gryffindor.

Harry could admit now that what he had really been asking for was stability... acceptance.
Slytherin would have tested him yes, but the first Harry Potter was Dumbledore's pawn before he
even stepped foot into Hogwarts, if he had gone off the predestined path, he wouldn't have
survived his first year, simple as that.

Never again.

Harry wasn't going to be brave anymore, he wasn't going to be a pawn. He was going to be a
monster. Monsters aren't a part of the game, they aren't forced to play either. Monsters chew up the
game pieces and spit them out in the players faces.

He turned from the memory right as the hat shouted ‘Gryffindor!’, and started back on the path to
the Chamber of Secrets. Tom was asleep, he wouldn't notice a few books missing if Harry put them
back before he woke.
Harry opened his eyes on the Hogwarts express, looking out the window, he noticed that it was
dark out and the train was starting to slow down. Getting up, he grabbed his school robes out of the
clothing compartment of his trunk and started to get dressed.

Peering out the door, he glanced around before hissing to Thasin to stay as still as possible.
Walking down with the other students, he slunk through the crowd towards Hagrid.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years o’er here!”

He managed to keep his head down and go unnoticed by the half giant. Hagrid meant well, but he
was Dumbledore’s man through and through.

Sitting down in a boat with three other people, he observed who he thought might be Neville
Longbottom across from him. Neville had grown a lot over the years, and his 11 year old self was
almost unrecognizable in comparison to him at 17.

“Hi there.”

“Oh! Uh.. hi.” Neville also had gotten a whole lot braver over the years, mostly through constant
teasing and self loathing.

“What house do you want to get into?” Harry never thought Gryffindor suited Neville, the boy
would be much happier in Hufflepuff.

“Uh… my gran wants me to be in Gryffindor like my parents, I don't know if I'll make it though.”

“Sure, of course... but what about what you want?”

“Huh?”

Harry made a conservative effort to not roll his eyes, “what house do you want to be in?”

Neville seemed to be thinking very hard about that, Harry left him to it.

Turning to the other two people in the boat, he got a good look at a very young Hannah Abbott
next to Neville, and Susan Bones across from her.

I don't like all the Hufflepuffs you’ve surrounded yourself with, Leech.

Why? Afraid they'll tempt me to the house of badgers?

A sharp pain through his scar was the only reply.

He considered talking to the two girls, but thought better of it, Suzan Bones’ aunt was a formidable
woman, and a good potential ally, but he was trying to fly under Dumbledore’s radar. Making allies
too soon would make the old goat suspicious, best to focus on learning as much magic as possible
for now. Tom’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

There it is.

Harry stared at the castle longingly. More magic sensitive than he was in his last life, he could
practically taste Hogwarts’ distinct aura in the air. Harry felt like he was coming home.

As the boats came gently to shore, the first years stumbled out one at a time, and started to make
their way up the path. Hagrid pounded on the large wooden door, and led them into the castle
proper.
Going up several flights of stairs, the group met Professor McGonagall, who then had a quiet
conversation with Hagrid. All Harry could pick up was a few muffled sentences.

“I didn’t see ‘im Pro’fessor, but he might ‘ave slipped past.”

“That's fine Hagrid, I'll take a closer look.”

The professor not so subtly searched the crowd for him. He entertained the idea of hiding, but
decided against it. He could tell the moment her eyes locked onto his scar that the wheels in her
head started turning. He could admit that he didn't look much like his father anymore, his face
shape was different, with a stronger jaw. It was probably Death's fault, making Harry look more
like him was absolutely something that bastard would do, but it wasn't a bad look, so… whatever.

McGonagall led them into a side chamber and told them to smarten up. Once she left whispers
broke out among the first years, and he could hear Hermione mumbling spells under her breath
from across the room.

“Oi! Are you Harry Potter?”

With Tom cackling in his head, Harry turned to his left to see Ronald Weasley staring at him.
Taking a moment to reflect fondly on his life 20 seconds prior, Harry nodded affirmative and
decided to play mute.

The cowards way out.

Oh? Would you prefer I strike up a civil conversation?

It doesn't seem like you get a choice in the matter.

“Wicked! My name is Ron. Ron Weasley-” thus began the most painful thirty seconds of Harry's
young life. Ronald talked his ear off about everything under the sun, “-Quidditch is the best, I
know you grew up with muggles and all that, but i'd be happy to show you how to play-” so it
seemed Dumbledore told the Weasleys about his family. Sad, but unsurprising, “I'm gonna be in
Gryffindor, its the best house, Ravenclaw is alright, but its full of a bunch of nerds, Hufflepuff-”
Harry was getting uncomfortably close to committing his first murder when Draco Malfoy, always
the reliable one, decided to butt into the conversation and stir the pot.

“Oh shut up Wesley, you'll be lucky if even Hufflepuff accepted you.”

“Sod off, Malfoy! You're one to talk, being a shoe-in for Slytherin.”

Harry stood passively while the two argued, wondering if this moment was indicative of the rest of
his life. The light and dark fighting over him in a constant, never ending tug-of-war.

Stop being so dramatic.

At some point a few ghosts breezed through a wall, right on time. What was different from the first
go round however, is they took one look at him and hightailed it out of there.

Weird.

Right on time, McGonagall reentered the room and led them out into the great hall. Malfoy,
seemingly having won whatever posturing battle he and Ronald had fought, was on his left,
following along like a lost puppy.
“The ceilings enchanted, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” and there went Hermione
Granger, ever the walking encyclopedia.

Malfoy leaned up, whispering in his ear, “Hey, Pottah. What house do you want to be in?”

“I'm not sure, whichever’s best for me, I s’pose,” he whispered back, finding himself enjoying the
blonde much more this time than he had in his last life.

“Well, I hope you're in Slytherin with me. I've heard the common room is brilliant.” They stopped
in a group at the front of the hall, waiting patiently as McGonagall brought over the hat and stool,
setting the hat gently on the seat. One of the seams ripped open and the hat started to sing...

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There’s nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can’t see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You 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 folk use any means,

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

A round of applause from all four houses as the first years looked on in trepidation. McGonagall
stepped forward with a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she explained,
“Abbott, Hannah!”

“Hufflepuff!”

She seems like a sweet girl.

“Bones, Susan!”

“Hufflepuff!”

It would be smart to get on her good side.

Harry could feel Tom prowling around his mind, hissing promises of pain and suffering if he dared
follow them to Hufflepuff.

“Boot, Terry!”

“Ravenclaw!”

She continued down the line for a ways, eventually calling out,

“Granger, Hermione!”

This was the first to take a while, and it was obvious that Hermione was attempting to argue with
the hat. Eventually, a very disgruntled hat yelled out for Gryffindor, and she ran off to the
respective table. Harry noticed Dumbledore smile happily.

“Hopkins, Wayne!”

“Hufflepuff!”
And so it continued, once the list rounded on ‘Longbottom, Neville’ the pudgy boy nervously
walked up to the stool, and after a brief moment the hat called ‘Hufflepuff!’

Good for him.

“MacDougal, Morag!”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Malfoy, Draco!”

“Wish me luck?” Malfoy asked him, cheekily.

“Get up there already.” he replied instead. Malfoy seemed to take it in stride though, and the hat,
once again, barely needed to touch his head before it was shouting out ‘Slytherin!’.

I was like that. Tom seemed to have found a kindred spirit.

Of course you were.

As they neared the P’s, excited whispers started to break out among the crowd behind them.

“Potter, Harry!”

He climbed the steps and sat firmly on the stool, the hat obscuring his view of the curious faces as
it plopped down on his head.

“Hufflepuff, if you please.” “Slytherin. Now. “

Well! Isn't this fascinating. Mr. Potter, however did you end up with the dark lord in your head…?
Ah! That's how. Hmmm… I see, I see, what an interesting life you've lived, Master of Death
hmmm?”

Harry didn't have the patience for enchanted hats today, “ Hufflepuff. Now. Chop chop.”

The hat laughed humorously while Tom raged in his mindscape, Harry was 96% sure he heard a
chair breaking.

Now now Mr. Riddle don't you worry, there's no conceivable way I could place Mr. Potter in
Hufflepuff.

Well why the hell not?

The hat tutted at him, dear Mr. Potter, you are quite hard working yes, but only to achieve your
own ends. That is not to mention your loyalty, which is non-existent. I'm afraid to say that if I went
against all I stood for to place you there, the castle would be up in flames within the week.

Harry supposed that was fair.

That being said, I quite agree with Mr. Riddle, Slytherin suits you even more in this life than it did
in your last.

The smugness radiating from Tom was infuriating.

Mr. Hat, I am trying very hard to fly under the radar, would you at the very least consider
Ravenclaw?
 The hat tutted again, you are indeed quite witty Mr. Potter, but no, I'm afraid I have to decline your
request for the house of Ravens as well.

Why?? Harry was getting increasingly agitated, Slytherin was the last place Dumbledore wanted
him, and a Harry wearing a green tie was a Harry that knew no peace from the man.

Mr. Potter, you cannot go to Gryffindor because you are not truly brave, not anymore, you've
figured that for yourself. You can not go to Hufflepuff because you are loyal to no one and never
will be, and you are certainly not kind. You cannot go to Ravenclaw because your intelligence is a
means to an end, used as a sword against your foes, you pursue it for power, nothing more. You
must go to Slytherin, dear boy, because you embody the house to the letter. Ambition drums in your
ears child, you wish to topple an empire! Not only that, but you drip cunning to the floor like
blood, sneaking around right under the Headmaster's nose. You are resourceful, determined, and
refuse to be used. Utterly self reliant. Yes I'm afraid that any trait you have that may lend you to
one of the other houses is a byproduct of your Slytherin characteristics. It is the only place for you.

Tom was never going to let him live this down.

Fine, but if Dumbledore catches on to the plot because of this, I'm going to tear you apart seam by
bloody seam.

“Slytherin!”

Chapter End Notes

What's this? Is that... No! A cliff hanger! I did say I would get the sorting out today,
but I have a lot of homework, and doubt my ability to finish the entire chapter in the
allotted time without cutting corners. Don't worry, if I end up having enough time ill
post the pt. 2 today as well, but at the moment I expect it to be out tomorrow morning!
 Off to Hogwarts pt.2
Chapter Summary

Harry's start in the house of snakes is better than anticipated, all things considered. His
budding friendship with one Draco Malfoy likely has something to do with it.
As children settle in for the night, an old man reassesses some plans, and a
transfiguration professor worries over some unforeseen changes.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Previously:

Yes I'm afraid that any trait you have that may lend you to one of the other houses is a
byproduct of your slytherin characteristics. It is the only place for you.

Tom was never going to let him live this down.

Fine, but if Dumbledore catches on to the plot because of this, I'm going to tear you apart seam
by bloody seam.

“Slytherin!”

The Slytherins in attendance appeared very flummoxed, Ravenclaw was curious, and Hufflepuff
felt strangely relieved. There was some angry muttering from Gryffindor, Ron Weasley had gone
stark white, and Harry could feel Dumbledore’s gaze burning a hole in his back.

So everything was just peachy.

Getting up, Harry could hear the distinct sound of Tom popping open a bottle of champagne.

Yea yea laugh it up, you ponce. How did you even get food in my head?

Handing the hat back to McGonagall, who was impressively unfazed, all things considered, he
meandered over to a very happy Draco sitting at the Slytherin table. Plopping down, Harry
continued to watch the sorting. There weren't any more surprises after that, fortunately, as still pale
Ronald Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, and the sorting wrapped up with Blaise Zabini for
Slytherin.

After the hat had been sent back to the headmasters office for another year, Dumbledore got up to
say his most anticipated speech. Harry wasn't paying attention to him though, too focused on a
group of older Slytherins farther down the table, who were watching him in thinly-veiled hatred.

It'll be hilarious when they find out just where their darling dark lord ended up.

Don't antagonize my followers, leech.

Why not? That's all you've ever done.

Touché .

Harry didn't actually feel like terrorizing anybody, at least not for a while. He had a good
foundation in Slytherin, somehow befriending Draco Malfoy of all people assured him of that. If
the going got tough he could always flash the Slytherin heir ring and get people to back off, only if
things got really nasty though. Looking away and focusing on Dumbledore in time to hear the
foreboding warning about the third corridor, Harry rolled his eyes.

Wanna go steal it?

From what your memories show, it would be impossible to even get our hands on. That blasted
mirror would foil any plan we could come up with.

Not if I don't plan on using it.

Pardon?

The appearance of food cut the conversation short. Piling a variety of foods on his plate, Harry
tucked in, with impeccable table manners, as aunt Petunia insists.

The table was tense, and looking down, Harry could see the older years were now having hushed
conversations and pointing down the table. He turned back to his food.

Draco was talking loudly to Theodore Nott, who looked much less enthusiastic about the
conversation, and kept trying to inch away from the blonde. Finding all the conversions in his
vicinity boring, Harry turned inward, and resumed his chat with Tom.

Well I don't want to use it, not in the traditional sense. He took a bite of broccoli, I want to use it as
leverage to get a useful ally.

That ally being?

Nicolas Flamel, of course.

“Well Potter, color me impressed. I didn't think it was possible for the hat to be tricked.”

Harry looked up, extremely unimpressed by the insult, to find Pansy Parkinson glaring down her
pug nose at him.

“Are you complimenting me for doing something never seen before, or trying to insinuate that I
don't belong in Slytherin? It's awfully difficult to tell.”

Draco snickered next to him, and all the other first years relaxed a tad, Potter wasn't at all what
they had been expecting, but he sure sounded Slytherin to them.

Parkinson however, wasn't convinced, “Well of course you don't belong here!”

“Give me one good reason why not.” Conversation stopped, politics was a slippery slope in
Slytherin, and considering that the first years had two half-bloods, things could get nasty quickly.
Suddenly wondering what human blood tasted like, harry had the inexplicable urge to tear
Parkinson limb from limb, his eyes narrowed.

Watch yourself, Leech. You don't want to show your hand too soon.

Luckily, he didn't have too, Draco, apparently feeling affronted that his new friend was getting
singled out, turned against Parkinson, “Pansy, Harry is an heir of higher standing than you, hold
your tongue.”

Parkinson went beet read, and turned very quickly back to her dinner. All the other first years let
out a sigh of relief, the look in Potter’s eye had been dangerous.

The rest of dinner passed without incident, and they were soon being sent off to their common
rooms. Harry had been in a mood since the Parkinson incident, as he had now dubbed it, and was
sulking along after Draco, who was still trying to get Nott roped into conversation, and failing
quite spectacularly.

Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked up to see the 5th year prefect, Gemma Farley, looking at him
with a warm smile.

Oh no you don't.

Harry was NOT about to go acting like a sweet innocent little angel for this girl, Petunia made him
do it at dinner parties often enough that he couldn't physically stomach any more older women
cooing at him, especially not at bloody Hogwarts, thank-you-VERY-much.

Play nice, Leech.

Eat my ass, Riddle.

Ignoring Tom as he went off on another of his rants, Harry zoned in on Farley again who had
doubled back, nearing him at a rapid pace. Remember Harry, sweet as sugar. Swallowing his pride,
Harry gave her the most angelic smile he could muster.

She physically cooed at him.

Disgusting.

“Hello there... you're Harry Potter right?” she simpered, in a sugary sweet voice. He nodded,
mentally kicking Tom in the shin, “be sure to tell me if anyone gives you trouble, alright
sweetheart?”

Swallowing the rising bile, he replied with a quiet, “thank you ma'am, I will ma’am.” Which made
her coo at him again, before she flounced back up to the front of the pack.

Repressing the urge to kill himself on principle, Harry turned back to Draco, to find that the blonde
had been watching the entire bloody thing.

Tom, can you make me have a seizure or something? I think I need to start my life over again, I'm
sure Death would be willing to send me back a third time.

Live with the consequences of your actions.

“You didn't see that.” Draco gave him a devilish smirk.

“Really?” he drawled, “because it looked an awful lot like you were kissing up to Farley to get in
with the upper years to me.”

“Oh so that's what you saw?” Harry shot back, his voice ice, “because I'm quite sure she was the
one kissing up to me. Or have you forgotten who you're talking to?”

Draco didn't have much to say to that, and after some indignant sputtering, ok really Tom he even
ACTS like you, he turned back to Nott, who tensed up and started edging away again.

Crisis averted and new ally sufficiently cowed, Harry turned forward just in time, as the prefects
had started to explain how to get into the common room.

“It's quite simple really.” the male prefect that harry had never bothered to learn the name of said,
“The password this week is newt, it changes every fortnight.”

As he said the word ‘newt’ the stone wall behind him slowly opened inward, revealing the
common room.

“Alright you lot, everyone in.” The first years shuffled into the room, taken by the surprisingly
cozy interior. It was in the shape of a long rectangle, with the far wall being entirely made out of
(hopefully) thick glass. All along the side walls were great, big fireplaces with cozy couches and
long shag rugs, “to keep your feet warm during the winter,” explained Farley. There were curved
stairs on either side of them, starting along the walls and curving up to connect in the middle,
leading to a second flood above their heads that appeared to have more seating. Walking further in,
Harry noticed that the paintings and banners along the walls were all snake themed, unsurprisingly.

Gemma turned to them with a dazzling smile, “welcome to Slytherin! For any of you who don't
know, I'm Gemma Farley, and the grump next to me is Jacob dont-talk-to-me-while-I’m-reading
Roiser!” the newly dubbed Jacob glared at her heatedly, she ignored him. “If you need any help
settling in, be sure to come right to one of us, unless Jacob is reading, then you should probably
steer clear.”

Shaking his head, Rosier continued, “there are three rules to Slytherin, one: outside of these walls
we are a house united, there will be no in-fighting where other houses can see. Second: we take
care of our own, walk in groups if possible, and if you see another Slytherin in trouble, no matter
who it is, you help them. And lastly-” he smirked, and Harry rolled his eyes, “never get caught.”
Harry was starting to think that most Slytherins were huge fucking drama queens, Tom being a
perfect example.

“Thank you Mr. Rosier... I can take it from here.”

And him, definitely him.

Is that...?

Hopefully.

Harry and the other Slytherin first years turned to see the bat of the dungeons himself: Severus
Snape, gliding towards them like a menacing Dracula with daddy issues.

“Good evening. I am your head of house and potions professor. If you feel so inclined to discuss
any matter that you believe goes beyond the capabilities of your prefects, then you will report it to
me. Any acting up, pranks, loss of decorum or… bullying...” he glanced at Harry, “that I find out
about will be reprimanded heavily. Mr. Potter, a word.”

The other first years were led up the stairs, Harry heard distantly that the boys dorm was along the
western wall, but he was too excited for a sarcasm-heavy conversation to pay much attention.
Harry walked purposefully over to the professor.

“Mr. Potter, I hope you are aware that any amount of fame you hold will be nil in this castle, you
will be held to the same standard as all the other children.”
Oh this is just too easy.

“Thank you sir,” he gave a shy smile, his dignity had already been obliterated not twenty minutes
prior, might as well go all in, “I've been very overwhelmed with it all today. Aunt Petunia had me
cover up my scar when we went school shopping, so I never realized how bad it was till I got on
the platform.”

Snape had gone a very worrying shade of white when Harry had remarked that he lived with Lily
Evans’ darling older sister, before progressively getting more and more red. Harry watched,
fascinated, as the potions professor cycled through every color shade imaginable, settling on a
pleasant green color that reminded him of vomit.

“Very good, Mr. Potter. That is all.” he swept from the room.

Snickering, Harry trotted up the stairs on his right, going up to the door labeled Boys Dormitories.
He wandered down the hall for a ways till he found a door with his name, Draco’s, and Blase
Zabini’s on it. Peering in, he found a square room with a large canopy bed on each wall. Observing
further, he found that on the left hand side of each bed was a desk, and a large armoire on the right.
The walls were the same colored stone as the rest of the castle, but the floor was completely
covered with a deep green shag carpet similar to the ones out in the common room. Everything was
in different shades of green and silver, much like the common room.

“What did Snape want?” Looking to the bed on his right, Harry noticed Zabini was currently
lounging across it.

“Just wanted to ask how my aunt was, apparently they grew up together, same with my mum.”

He seemed to accept that answer, and pointed to the bed that was in front of Harry, “Draco took the
bed across from me, so you can have that one.”

Shrugging, Harry walked forward, looking around for his trunk and finally finding it under his bed
of all places, he flipped the third compartment open and started putting his clothes into the armoire.
Distantly, he could hear Draco coming back in from wherever he had run off to, and flop onto his
bed.

Finishing his task, he put his hand up his shirt and groped around for Thasin.

“Oi, Harry, what are you doing-OH SWEET MERLIN IS THAT A SNAKE?!”

Harry turned to Draco with an unimpressed look, holding a very hungry Thasin in his hand.

“No, you moron, she's obviously an owl.”

“ ~Harry I can smell mice! Let me hunt!~”

He almost slipped into parseltongue but thought better of it. Setting her gently on the shag carpet,
she darted quick as a viper out of the room, Draco screaming bloody murder all the while.

“Circe! you're in the house of snakes, Draco, get over it!” Zabini shot off, ignoring the fact that he
had jumped up on his bed and was currently gripping the banister.

“Her name is Thasin, and her venom isn't deadly to anything but mice, so you can stop that now.”

Both boys sheepishly climbed down from their beds.

Albus Dumbledore was very cross. Harry Potter's sorting was extremely unfortunate. Sure, he had
acknowledged the possibility that an abused child would develop traits that would lend them to the
house of snakes, but he had hoped that young Ron Weasley would dissuade the boy from it.
Though, it seemed that the youngest Weasley boy had failed in his assignment to find the Potter
brat on the train, making his job that much harder.

No matter, his house is hardly important, it is the people who he surrounds himself with that are
paramount.

No, Dumbledore was not worried. Yes, it would certainly be more difficult to push the boy and his
pawns together with them in different houses, but he was a resourceful man. Besides, the
compulsions he weaved into the boy's Hogwarts letter assured that Harry would be very miserable
in the house of snakes. Yes, a momentary setback is all, the boy would come running for a resort
within the month, he was certain.

Dumbledore was pretending with great difficulty that he was not furious, he was pretending that
when that wretched, evil little hat had yelled out slytherin, that he had not been heavily considering
killing the child. No, Albus Dumbledore was perfectly fine with this new development, though he
could admit that the next few months needed to be reconsidered. He sat down to plan out the next
year.

Severus Snape was not a good man.

Many would consider him utter filth, in fact, but if Snape knew one thing, it was that Petunia Evans
was one jealous bitch of a woman, and putting Lily’s son in her care was almost guaranteeing
misery.

(Severus hadn't considered, of course, that Harry had been a rather cute baby, and with the blood
wards free from negativity, Petunia was subconsciously forced to love the boy. Lily had been
vicious like that.)

Stomping his way up the stairs to the headmasters office, Snape ran through several different
scenarios that could come of this impromptu bitching match. Worse case scenario he was brushed
off like a child. Best case? He lost his job.

Severus Snape was not a good man. He was a cruel, vindictive bastard, but he certainly hated his
job, and that was something very admirable.

Up in the Headmasters office, a certain old man was plotting away. Feeling the proximity wards
activate, he looked up from his papers in confusion. Searching for the wards, he narrowed in on
Serverus Snape’s distinct magical signature, the man was agitated.

Wonderful! He smiled, it appeared that his beloved potions master was quite annoyed with the
boys sorting as well.

Excited for the confrontation, Albus opened the door earlier than he usually did, Snape stomped in
on a warpath.

“Ah, Severus my boy. What can I help you with?”

The aforementioned potions professor slammed the door shut and proceeded to bitch, as he often
does. “ Headmaster. I would design to know why you would ever place that boy in Petunias care.
That woman despises magic, I doubt the boy is being treated fairly.”
 Oh dear. It appeared that despite his best efforts, Severus was going to care if the boy was
potentially abused or not, what a nuisance.

Settling down and bracing himself for a long night, Albus Dumbledore started on the arduous task
of appeasing his pawn.

Minerva McGonagall sat in her quarters, milking a bottle of fine whiskey. She was overall quite
happy about the nights sorting, everyone seemed oh so very pleased with where they ended up.
Except... Harry Potter.

She had come and gone from the steps of #4 Privet Drive many times over the years, and always
saw the boy in a state of happiness and ease. So when she had glanced at the Slytherin table and
had seen something else in his eyes... Well she felt quite worried is all, James had never looked at
someone like that before... Like he wanted to devour them.

She took a sip of her whiskey.

His physical changes worried her as well, she had hardly recognized the boy. All his young life he
had appeared to be a carbon copy of James Potter, albeit with a more sensible haircut, but when she
caught sight of him for the first time in Hogwarts, he was completely unrecognizable. It made
some sense, she reasoned, she hadn't gone to Privet drive at all in the past three years or so, assured
the boy was doing just fine. Now though, she wished she had. Harry Potter had changed in a very
subtle way. His face shape was different, he had higher cheekbones. His eye shape was different as
well.

Another sip.

It was more than that though, more than what was just on the surface. His gait had also altered, the
boy walked like a predator, like he would reach out and wring your neck at any moment.

There was something else behind those eyes.

When she met his eyes over the sea of other first years she had, for just a brief moment, felt that
there was someone else that was also watching her, something old... deadly.

“There is something unnatural about that boy.”

Minerva McGonagall was wary, and just the smallest bit scared.

Chapter End Notes

Will Serverus Snape ever get over his daddy issues? Find out in the next episode
(spoiler warning: no, he doesn't.)
Note: the next chapter will likely be out sometime this afternoon (I'm on central
standard time for anyone who doesn't know). Todays my easy day in school so I have a
lot of hours to fill with typing!
 First Year Character References
Chapter Notes

I'm going to be separating out the school year's with character references. These are
the main four: Harry, Draco, Blaise and Theo. For those of you who don't know, I'm
an artist before I am a writer, and a lot of people liked the idea of me separating the
years with references for how I see the characters.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Here we are! I always say that Harry is tall as fuck, but I don't think I've ever just come out and said
that he's a good head or so taller than Draco, lol. (Oh god my handwriting, I'm so sorry)

I added in quite a bit of personality traits, and my own general notes on the characters, because
why not, and their specific heights, just so you can visualize all that a bit better. I also drew them
biased on their personalities and general moods, which is why Harry is just kinda *there*, while
Theo is trying to get away from Draco, who is.... like that. Blaise is just a laid-back kinda guy, but
a trouble-maker, so I tried to emulate that with his pose as well. Hope you enjoy!

Ps. feel free to zoom in on the image to try and figure out what I was writing, if I hadn't written it
myself I likely wouldn't really know.¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Chapter End Notes

For those of you who are confused, this chapter was moved forward in the fic for
proper sorting sake, so that people who are reading this after I posted the chapters get
to see the sheet before they read first year.
 No One Can Fight Their Fate.
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter has adapted to his placement in the house of snakes, and is quickly
becoming friends with his two roommates. The first day of school proves difficult
however, as Harry struggles to hide his superior abilities.
Dumbledore is making ripples in the water, and Tom is tying a noose.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry woke the morning of September 2nd to the sound of screaming. He smiled, and nestled
deeper into his duvet.

It appears that Thasin had slithered into the young Malfoy’s bed sometime in the night.

It certainly appears that way.

Harry didn't want to scare Draco, but there was something infinitely hilarious about the shorter
boy's fear of snakes, considering which house he was in.

Immersion therapy will do him some good. Harry reasoned, still listening to Draco’s screams. The
previous night had been uneventful. After Thasin had left to go hunt, the other two boys rounded
on him and demanded answers about her. Apparently, a colorful snake like Thasin wasn't all that
common among wizards, even though they bred magical snakes quite often.

“She's a California Garter snake, I found her in the garden. She probably escaped a zoo
somewhere.”

This prompted a conversation about magical zoos, and their difference from muggle ones. When
the other two boys learned that he had been raised by his muggle relatives, they nearly fell over
themselves offering to explain the nuances in the wizarding world to him. Which had to be
stopped, immediately.

“While I would usually accept the offer, I've grown up knowing about my heritage and visiting the
wizarding world often.” a bit of a white lie, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, “I've
also got an excellent wizarding politics tutor, so I don't need to be caught up to speed.”

The other boys were very impressed by this, for some reason, but decided that knowledge of him
being muggle-raised should be kept under wraps in Slytherin.

“You are heir Potter sure,” Blase said, gesturing to his heir ring, “but a lot of people will latch
onto you living with muggles, and it will be difficult to be taken seriously by the older years if you
campaign for prince.”

Tom had explained the Slytherin hierarchy to him years ago, and the other boys felt assured in his
knowledge on the subject. It went like this: the first three years had a prince and princess (the male
and female leaders of the lower years) as well as their court. Fourth year and up had the king and
queen respectively, who also had their own court. If the king and queen (or prince and princess)
were not dating each other, then they would also have a consort, who was their unofficial second.
There were advisors and such as well, but most of the titles besides the royals and consorts were
usually made up on the fly, not being all that important in the general hierarchy. What was
important, however, was the reason that Harry wanted the prince title in the first place: power.
Something that interested Harry very much. Tom had become prince in his second year and he
became the most feared dark lord in recent history. If Harry played his cards right, tumbling
Dumbledore off his throne was going to be much, much easier if he gets his hands on the prince
title first.

Back to the muggle-raised issue, Harry thought Blase had a good point, but didn't think there
would be too many people arguing against his placement with muggles if he revealed himself as
heir Slytherin. Not that he would do that anytime soon unless force. He wasn't an idiot, word
would spread if he took the glamor off his Slytherin heir ring and started galivanting around with it
in full view. Dumbledore was sure to hear about it and get alarmed, making his plans all the more
difficult. No, Harry was going to keep that particular secret to himself for now, even sharing it with
the other first years was risky, and Harry didn't do risky.

The sound of Thasin’s indignant hisses broke him from his musings. Sighing, he sat up, watching
Draco trying unsuccessfully to pry Thasin off of his arm with amusement.

“~Bird boy is warm. Harry! Tell the bird boy to stop.~” Not for the first time did Harry wonder
about Thasin’s weird nicknames, which one of Draco’s characteristics lended him to being bird-
like?

“Draco, she just wants to sleep on you, leave her be.”

“Sleep on me!?” Draco started pulling on Thasin harder. Rolling his eyes, Harry got out of bed and
walked over to Draco’s languidly, stretching out and yawning. Petting down one of her colorful
sides, he gently tugged Thasin off, she hissed her displeasure, but settled down. Walking back to
his bed and placing her on the warm spot he had just vacated, he threw the covers over her.
Turning back to Draco, he noted that the other boy didn’t appear all that comforted that the snake
was now out of sight.

He sighed. Oh well, immersion therapy takes tim e, “we should start getting ready, breakfast starts
soon.”

He and Draco left the room with their robes, which now had green accents, slung over their arms.
Heading to what Draco called ‘the barbaric communal bath’, Harry got a better look at the male
dorm hall, which started with the seventh years and worked its way down, the first year dorms
being the farthest from the door, at the end of the hall. Separating each year was a larger door
labeled ‘baths’. So that each year group would get their own bathroom.

Finding the first year baths, Harry and Draco went inside. Looking around, Harry observed a long
row of large shower stalls and toilets, and three doors that led to private baths big enough to fit five
people, easily.

Didn't Draco say it was a communal bath?

He grew up in a mansion, leech, this is as communal as it gets for him.

Stepping into one of the open shower stalls, Harry was pleased to note that there were assorted
shampoos, conditioners, and fancily carved bar soaps.

Much nicer than the Gryffindor bathrooms.

After taking a very luxurious shower, he stepped out of the stall with his uniform on. Making his
way to one of the large mirrors on the adjacent wall, he started lightly styling his hair. He had
gotten better with it, working to his hair’s strengths instead of just trying to force it flat. The end
result was stylishly messy, and barely covering his forehead, leaving his scar more visible than
usual. This was purposeful though, Harry wanted to get the initial boy-who-lived madness out of
the way, and leaving it all out in the open would help with that.

He had to wait another thirty minutes for Draco to finally finish styling his hair, and by that time
the other first year boys had all meandered in to take showers as well. Blase had slunk in at some
point with a wary look towards Draco, “He's got some lungs on ‘im” he muttered to Harry on his
way past, forcing him to cover up his laugh with a cough.

Despite his original worry about being in Slytherin, Harry was feeling rather happy with the dorms,
though his campaign for prince might be met with some difficulty.

You hadn't even wanted to be in Slytherin and suddenly you're planning on taking control?

It's called adapting to your environment, Riddle, ever heard of it?

You're lucky Dumbledore doesn't know about Slytherin politics, or this would be a horrible idea.

Harry couldn't argue with that, the Slytherin hierarchy was an extremely well kept secret among
the house, going back centuries but never brought up around anyone who wasn't a Slytherin. Tom
had done research into the possibility of the subject being under some sort of secrecy ward, but
hasn't found anything that confirms (or denies) the theory.

Walking out of the boys dorms with Draco and Blaise, Harry and his roommates made their way to
the great hall for breakfast. Upon entering the hall, Harry noticed almost automatically that
Dumbledore was absent from the head table. It was early, yes, but all the other teachers had
arrived, and were occasionally glancing at the headmaster's chair, as if they expected him to just
pop into existence at any moment.

Harry decided to keep a watch on the main doors for the headmaster or his many pawns, and
settled down for a hearty breakfast with the other Slytherins.

Ronald Weasely was having a very bad morning. Slouching down further in his seat, he listened
glumly to the headmaster chastise him for his failure. It wasn't his fault the boy-who-lived had hid
somewhere on the train! Why was he being punished for putting the effort in?

“Now, my dear boy, I'm afraid that we have only two options. The first being that you integrate
yourself into the boys friend group to keep an eye on him,” Ronald went green at the thought of
having to play nice to a bunch of Slytherins, “or you can focus on convincing him to request a
resort.”

He liked the second option much more, he had realized that Malfoy must have convinced Potter to
go to Slytherin, there's no way the savior of the wizarding world could be a snake.

“I’ll convince him headmaster, don't worry.'' Ron was sure that this was his in, if he could be the
best friend of the by-who-lived, no one could say that his brothers were better than him!

“Very good, my boy,” the headmaster smiled warmly, “now Miss. Granger, do you know your role
as well?” He asked, turning to the bushy haired girl sitting primly in the seat next to the slouching
Weasley boy.
“Yes headmaster, I am to integrate myself into his group, and study his movements. If I find
anything worrying, I am to report it to you as soon as I am able.” Her words were short and fast, in
the same tone she would use to answer a teacher’s question.

“Wonderful Miss. Granger! I have faith in the both of you, off you trot.”

As the two were leaving, Dumbledore sat at his desk and watched happily. The children didn't fully
understand why they were doing this. He had told them that the purpose of all this spying was to
keep the boy safe, and to insure that he didn't walk the wrong path. Of course, the reality of the
situation was much more nefarious than the two could ever anticipate, but no child would willingly
take part in a decades long murder plot while knowing the outcome. Even Molly Weasley didn't
know the full truth, believing the entire plan to be a plot to drag her family out of poverty,
expecting the boy to live a long life with her daughter as his wife. Speaking of which, it had been
awfully difficult to convince the goblins to misfile the fake marriage contract, but he didn't want it
to be made public till he had the boy under love potions and happy to go along with it.

The burden I carry is immense, but in the end it must be done, fate decrees it. He thought solemnly.

Fate, in fact, did not decree anything of the sort, and was quite pissed that he would think such a
thing. More pissed with him than usual, in fact, and with an absurd amount of glee, she pulled out
an inkwell and started writing. Inspiration can come in many forms, I suppose anger is one of them.

Dumbledore did not, in fact, show up for breakfast, but his dear pawns Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-
dum did, though they were quite late. Hermione Granger was not a very subtle person, and her
constant looks his way made it quite obvious that they had been with the headmaster, plotting.

Harry didn't let it bother him though, he had bigger fish to fry than a couple annoying Gryffindors,
though he did make a mental note to humor them. Who knows what Dumbledore told them to do,
but it would no doubt come back to bite him if he was rude to their faces.

Taking his schedule from Snape with a ‘thank you, professor’, Harry and his two newest friends
started to make their way to their first class: transfiguration with Gryffindor.

Blase’s mother was apparently quite adept in the subject, and on the way to the classroom he
recited a few of her best methods, most of which Tom agreed were good shortcuts.

Stepping into the classroom, Harry’s eyes landed on McGonagall’s cat form lounging across the
large desk at the front of the room. Harry could feel her eyes on him as he and his roommates
settled down at the back of the class, on the Slytherin side.

She suspects something of me?

Possibly, it may be best if you play down your abilities more than we planned, being above
average can wait. Stick to mediocre abilities

Harry agreed, and settled down to listen to Draco go on about his new broom or whatever… ok so
harry wasn't actually paying attention, but he was studying the blonde, which counted for
something, right?

He doesn't look very bird-like to me, what do you think?

A snakes sense of smell picks up on the subtlest of scents, you would have no hope of
understanding the complexities of-
Yea yea you like snakes I get it.

Humph.

The bell finally rang, signaling the start of the period, McGonagall didn't transform though,
waiting for one last person to show up.

Ronald Weasley came sprinting into the class several minutes later, carrying with him his bag and
a blueberry muffin. Looking to the front desk, he sighed with relief when he saw that McGonagall
was not in attendance.

That relief turned to shock when she leapt off her desk and transformed back into her human form,
looking quite cross.

“Mr. Weasley, if you cannot come to class on time, I might delegate to transfigure you into a
watch, 5 points from Gryffindor,” she reprimanded him, pointing to an empty seat as if to say, ‘sit
your ass down’.

All the Slytherins snickered quietly, excluding Harry, who was busy arguing with Tom and wasn't
paying attention.

Snakes are noble, majestic creatures!

They're literally just one long neck, Riddle. I can hardly call that majestic.

A sharp pain in his scar was the final word, apparently.

The professor had taken out her wand and was currently enchanting the chalk to write notes on the
board. Taking out one of his new quills and some parchment, he started copying them down at
Toms request. In his last life his study skills had been horrid, and while he was now quite
experienced in the first year spells, he still wanted to be able to say that he had good notes.

After the (very dull) notes had been completed, the professor handed out matchsticks to turn into
needles. Harry attempted to do a partial transformation, but it was such a simple task in comparison
to what he had been able to do before that his partial transformation was still quite good, appearing
to be a needle with a wooden texture.

Ah shit.

He was about to try and fix it (read mess it up), but he didn't get the chance when Draco leaned
over and said, loudly, “Wow, Harry! How’d you do that?”

I'm going to skin that little brat alive.

Don't you dare , snake face.

The professor had made her way over to their table, and he begrudgingly held up his (almost)
perfect transfiguration. She took it and looked at it closely. “Very good Mr. Potter, it is the right
shape and color, but the material is still wood.” She snapped it in half easily to prove her point,
smiling warmly at him, she awarded 10 points to slytherin before handing him another one to use.

“Harry! How’d you do it?” Draco was still nagging him, so he turned to the blonde and shrugged
noncommittally, “Just followed my tutors instructions, Blase’s mom’s tips were helpful as well.”

Both his desk mates hounded him for specific advice, and he spent the rest of the period
regurgitating his own experiences as if they were teachings from a tutor.

Their next class wasn't till after lunch, so they decided to wander around the grounds with the other
slytherin first years. Harry noticed Granger and Weasley were following them from a distance, and
mostly just ignored it.

After lunch they had Herbology, which was rather uneventful, all things considered. Tom kept
making quips about Neville, who was doing quite well in Hufflepuff.

That boy has a green thumb and nothing else, I can sense it.

He has the wrong wand Tom, you've seen the memories.

I stand by my statement.

Deciding to branch out to Neville, he dragged Draco over to him at the end of class to say hi.

“How's Hufflepuff treating you, mate?” Draco grumbled something about badgers and good-for-
nothings, Harry elbowed him.

“Oh..um. It's alright I guess, the common room is really cozy, but I'm rooming with Earnest
Macmiliian, and he's kinda pretentious.”

“Like Draco here?” An afronted noise from the blonde, “I'm sure you could ask to move if he gets
too annoying.”

“Yea, good point.”

They chatted for a bit longer while Draco sulked. He invited Neville to explore the castle with the
other Slytherin first years, but seeing so many Slytherins in one place made him nervous, for some
reason, and he declined.

Walking back into the castle, Draco rounded on him, sounding insecure, “I'm not really pretentious
am I?”

“It's endearing.”

He beamed.

Tom closed and locked the door to the chamber of secrets, agitated. He was spending more and
more time watching the world outside his pupils mind. Too much in fact, as he had been neglecting
his plans in favor of taking in the life of a student.

“Well, no more of that. Dumbledore is already making ripples.”

Striding over to the western wall, he took in the four doors in front of him. The diary door had
disappeared immediately after the two horcruxes combined, leaving the ring, locket, cup, and
diadem doors without their predecessor. Over the years of Harry’s childhood, Tom had been able
to steal a few of the more important memories from the other horcruxes, but as he had expected,
they didn't trust him in the slightest. The locket had been up for conversation, mostly to complain
that one Regulus Black had stolen it away from the cave, entrusting its care in the insane Black
family house elf, Kreature. Which was unfortunate, really, but the barmy elf was unable to destroy
it, which was a relief.

Tom let out a breath, the other horcruxes might come around eventually, but for now he would
 continue to carefully steal their memories.

“Havin’ trouble?”

“...I am more stubborn than I initially expected, unfortunately.”

Fate nodded behind him, rocking back and forth on her heels. The goddess had been helping him
with the plot, working out the kinks in his plan and filling the holes in his knowledge. He secretly
thought she was just making sure things worked out the way she wanted them too, though.

“You are aware that this will destroy you.” Fate was testing him, he was sure. Tom sighed, he no
longer saw himself as a contender in this game, he was a stepping stone, nothing more. A martyr to
the cause, so to speak. Taking down Dumbledore was more important than him.

“I know.”

She smiled gently, he didn't see it, having his back facing her, “You've still got quite a few years
left, Riddle. Don't rush your own suicide.” and then she was gone.

Chapter End Notes

Here's the first day of classes, I'm obviously not going to have this go day by day, that
would take years to write, but I'm going to have roughly 10-20ish chapters per school
year, depending on how many things happen.
 Harry Likes the Color Red
Chapter Summary

Classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were going quite well, if only
Hermione Granger would stop breathing down his neck.
In the wake of Tom's momentary absence, Harry has a few disturbing revelations
about his future creature inheritance, and a new taste on his tongue.

Chapter Notes

WARNING: this chapter has disturbing images, detailed accounts of cannibalism, and
is generally quite bloody. The worst of it is preceded by a warning similar to this one,
so if you are uncomfortable about that, you can skip over it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next few weeks were quiet, Harry went to classes like normal, and continued to expose Draco
to Thasin at night. At least until the first Monday of the school year, when Blaise had cornered him
in the baths, eyes wild, “if you don't get that blasted snake under control I’m taking it to Professor
Snape, I refuse to keep waking up to screaming each morning!”

After that he had Thasin sneak up Dracos legs or slither across his shoulders in the common room
instead, depending on if he was standing or sitting. The other Slytherins got used to hearing the
blond randomly start screeching, and paid it no mind.

Draco had told him (read yelled, furious) to ‘keep that bloody snake away from me!’, when Harry
pointed out that Draco was getting better around her, and being afraid of snakes in Slytherin was
almost a guarantee to get pranked, and he should be happy no one had snuck anything venomous in
to do just that. This likely didn’t help the poor boys fear, mind you, but no one ever said immersion
therapy was easy.

One thing was strange development that upset the balance was Tom’s leaves of absence. Tom was
taking more time to himself, which is not out of character for him of course, but Harry figured that
he would want to watch Dumbledore closely. Whatever, what Tom did was none of his business
until Tom made it his business.

Harry was sitting in the common room, thinking about his classes. Potions had been the biggest
change compared to his first life. Snape was extremely pleasant to him, meaning that the man
never singled him out but also didn't make an effort to compliment him, which was all Harry could
hope for, really. The first potions class had started and ended without incident, since Snape didn't
feel like acknowledging that he existed and Neville was no longer in Gryffindor, so no one blew up
a cauldron. It was actually one of his favorite classes now, mostly because he was sitting as far
from the Gryffindor spies as possible.

Speaking of which, Hermione Granger was a bloody menace. Harry had begun avoiding the library
like the plague, asking Draco or Blaise to grab the necessary books for his homework and bringing
them to the common room so he didn't have to go near it. Granger seemed to patrol the thrice
damned library every second of the day, and the moment he would sit down at a table she would
suddenly appear with a stack of books and talking a mile a minute. He was polite to her, if a little
distant, but Draco was constantly antagonistic. The first time the blonde had called her a
mudblood, she turned to look at Harry to see what he would do, Harry played dumb.

“No one wants you here, you filthy little mudblood!”

Granger sucked a breath through her teeth, and sent an accusatory look towards Harry, who was
reading a book, not paying attention. “You hang out with people like this?!” she screeched, Draco
shifted, looking like he was about to lunge over the table and strangle her.

“Sorry what?” he looked up, innocently.

Granger huffed, “he just called me a mudblood!”

“Whats a mudblood?” he replied, Draco and Blaise looked at eachother and started snickering,
Harry had chastised them for using the word before, he obviously knew what it meant.

“It's a VERY rude word for muggle-born.” Granger huffed indignantly, puffing up with self-
importance.

“Oh… well, Draco that was awfully rude of you.”

She sputtered.

Harry was hoping that she went straight to Dumbledore after that and complained for thirty
something minutes about him being ignorant or whatever, it would certainly help his image with
the Headmaster. The dumber the better as it goes.

I'm doing far too well in school. He frowned, that was another issue. It was difficult to purposefully
fail at casting spells, and he was doing better in his classes than he wanted. Sadly, it was too late at
this point to change anything, even if he did get better at being bad, the professors would question
a drop in abilities. That wasn't even mentioning his essays, which were way too good for a third
year much less a firstie.

He sighed, closing the book he was pretending to read about the animagus transformation, and
leaned back into the plush couch. Him, Draco, Blaise, and their newest addition: Theodore Nott,
who was more of a shadow than an active participant in conversations, were all sitting around one
of the fireplaces in the common room. Blaise and Draco were playing exploding snap, and Theo
was reading a book.

Stretching languidly, Harry shifted, resting his arm across the back of the couch and leaning onto
it. Glancing lazily at the two playing the card game, Harry thought forward to Halloween. It was
doubtful that Quirrell would be after the stone again, and Harry didn't see anything in the Daily
Prophet about a break-in, meaning that it hadn't happened.

I should check to see if the traps are the same.

He didn't see the harm in stealing the stone, since he wasn’t going to use it. Harry fully accepted
that he'd die one day, he hadn't decided what he would do after the fact but there was time for that.
Stealing the stone to then give back to the Flamels in an act of good will was an opportunity he
couldn't just let pass by.

“I'm turning in for the night.” various and noncommittal good-nights all around. Perfect.
Getting up, Harry grabbed his book and walked back up into the boys dorms. Besides the issues
with Granger, he was feeling all sorts of withdrawal symptoms. He hadn't killed and reanimated a
damn thing for the entire time he had been at Hogwarts, which was almost a month now, and he
was missing the taste of blood.

Placing his book in his trunk, he grabbed a few necessary tools and attached them to his belt.
Leaving the dorm, he went out and into the first-year's bathroom, peaking in and glancing around
to make sure there was no one currently inside. Walking into the third shower stall on the right, he
whispered a quiet “~open~” to the shower head. Standing back, he adjusted the knives attached to
his belt, so they wouldn't clink against each other. And watched and the wall fell away to reveal a
dusty passage into the bowls of Hogwarts.

Lighting his wand with a ‘lumos’,he started walking swiftly down the hall, turning and climbing
stairs with practiced ease, Tom had gifted him the knowledge of several hidden passageways in the
Slytherin dorms and commons, and he planned to use them to their full potential today.

After about 30 minutes, he had been climbing stairs for a long time now, he found that he was
coming up onto his desired exit. Brushing his hand gently against a brick, the wall faded away,
revealing a very familiar room. Peeking inside, he was happy to note that it was completely empty,
except for a fat rat sleeping on one of the beds. Creeping further into the first year Gryffindor boys
dorm, he sent a quick stunner off at Pettigrew with the elder wand. The wand truly was perfect for
him, and amazingly, no one had realized just what it was yet.

He picked up the rat and walked back into the hidden passage, not before stroking a different stone
and watching the wall shimmer back into existence. He started making his way back down.

Harry was walking for another 20 minutes, taking a different route and happening upon just what
he was looking for: a point in the passage that widened enough to be considered a small room.

He poured more power into his lumos and got to work.

Warning: Gore, cannibalism, disturbing imagery. Skip to the other bolded text if you have a
light stomach or don't want to read about any of the above.

Harry used the spell that turned animaguses back to humans on Pettigrew with practiced
familiarity, screwing his nose up in disgust at the man. To make sure he wouldn't move if the
stunner wore off, Harry used a simple cutting curse to sever the rats spinal cord at the base of his
neck.

Turning him over onto his back, and using the lumos to guide him, he unhooked one of his sharper
knives and slowly started cutting. Starting at the man's collarbone, Harry started sawing away at
the man's tissue, struggling at first to cut deep, with the rib cage blocking his way. Once he started
cutting down the man's stomach though, the long knife sank deeper into his fat, and Harry had to
use a sawing motion with the blade to get through it all. Once he was done the man had been
gutted like a fish, and blood had quickly started gushing out of the wound.

Getting a strong whiff of the blood, Harry's pulse started to quicken. He felt his nerves tingle and
for a moment he felt like his fingers were growing longer, this was new . Temporarily losing
control of his wits, he shoved his hand deep into the incision, groping around the slimy guts and
pulling out a long tube of intestine. He looked at it, in the dull light it appeared smooth, and wet,
pulsing faintly. It was warm, and so, so tempting. Something in him snapped, and he leaned
forward and licked some blood off it. Curious, Harry tilted his head slightly, the man tasted a little
like a rat, but there was an overwhelming flavor of… something else.
So that's what human blood tastes like.

He licked his lips. It was good.

Losing all sense of rationality, Harry opened his mouth wide and bit down hard on the unidentified
intestine. It was difficult to chew, he needed something that was good at tearing, and ended up
using one of his knives to saw a portion off, but other than that he found himself enjoying it
immensely...

Something made Harry wish he had a mouth full of sharp, dangerous teeth.

Setting down the long, slippery intestine, Harry started carving out the sides of the incision,
making the whole thing into the shape of a capital ‘i’. Pulling apart the two flaps of skin and fat he
just created, he grimaced as the rat's yellow fatty tissue squelched around his hands unpleasantly.
Finally getting the flaps spread, he wiped his hands on Pettigrew's ratty pants and looked,
delighted, for the next thing to taste test. Taking his time, Harry took at least one bite out of each of
the man's internal organs. He had to shove both hands in, elbows deep in the man's guts as he
groped around for his kidneys. Some tasted better than others, but the heart was definitely his
favorite. He ate the entire thing. It had miraculously still been beating when he first bit into it, and
blood sprayed like a geyser all over his face and jumper.

Harry barely noticed.

The longer he ate the more delirious he became, at one point he was on his hands and knees, with
his face shoved deep in the man's guts, eating glutinously like a savage. He was dazed, hungry,
attacking his food like a starved animal. He blacked out for a time, and when he finally came down
from whatever high he’d been on, his hands, face and jumper were sticky with drying blood. He
didn't know how long he had been kneeling there, with his face pointed skyward. He appeared as
though he had been praying… or howling. Breathing heavily, he looked down at what was left of
Pettigrew, which really wasn't much. The man's stomach was wide open, globs of yellow fat and
leftover innards splayed around him, at some point Harry had gouged out his eyes messily and ate
those too, apparently, he couldn't remember anything past eating the heart.

End of gory bit :)

“Well isn't that just delightfully disgusting.”

Harry whipped around, the animalistic look in his eyes returning and a large butcher's knife in
hand.

“Easy kid.”

Death was looking down at him, emotionless.

“I-,” Harry gulped, “I didn't realize that-” he took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed.

Athimus was quiet, watching him with an unreadable expression. It was hard to tell anything in the
low light, but Harry thought he might have looked pleased.

“Pettigrew is important, I'm afraid, so you'll have to bring him back.”

Harry didn't think he could stand, much less do an entire bloody resurrection ritual, pun not
intended.

“Can’t you do it?”

“I s’pose.”

Harry took a few more gulps of air, the smell of iron overwhelming him still, “Brilliant.”

His vision went black.

Tom was making his way back down the tunnel, wrinkling his nose at the smell and feeling of
drying blood.

“I'm going to go get cleaned up, can I trust you'll place the rat back where it was found?”

Death trailed behind him, crouched, he was too tall for the ceiling.

“Naturally. Thanks for taking over for Harry, it would have been a bother if I had to lug him back.”

“Whatever.” he muttered under his breath. Tom had been annoyed when the death god showed up
in his mindscape, telling him to get out there and help. But he had been really pissed when he
opened his eyes to a bloodbath and himself right in the middle of it. Tom may have been a sadist,
but he didn't want to be the one covered in blood.

He spit, and tried to get something stringy out of his teeth.

Harry woke up the next morning, clean of blood and lying in bed.

Don't make that a common occurrence, leech. I don't appreciate the taste of human flesh like you
do.

Harry’s brain was still trying to catch up, and he felt very much like he had in the bleached out
Kings Cross so long ago. Just like then, something huge had happened, he could feel it. Harry felt
strange, in a good way though, like he had been slightly off kilter all his life and had suddenly
shifted into place.

Sorry Tom, I'll try not to pass out again.

Just stop eating people!

Sorry again, but that's not happening.

Getting out of bed, Harry distantly registered Tom grumbling angrily about having to floss
something out of his teeth.

Harry was going through the motions the rest of the day. Sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts,
he stared blankly at the wall behind Quirrell's head. The man had male pattern baldness at 30,
which was unfortunate for him, and no turban. So… definitely not possessed, at least not by
Voldemort.

“Mr. Potter, what is the incantation for the shield charm?”

He also didn't have that stupid stutter.

“Protego, sir.”

“Very good, ten points to Slytherin.”

The man was still a closet Death Eater though, and had an unhealthy obsession with Harry. He was
glad, not for the first time, that Neville was in Hufflepuff. Without the poor boy breaking his wrist
in flying class, the most exciting thing that had happened was Weasley calling him a ‘budding dark
lord’. If Dumbledore was trying to get the brat to be his friend, he was doing a pretty shoddy job of
it.

The rest of the day was a blur, and he barely registered it when Draco challenged Weasley to a duel
in the trophy room.

His first moment of clarity that day was late at night. Draco was boasting about tricking Weasley
into going out in the middle of the night to Theo, who was shoving his nose further and further into
his book, to the point that there was no way he could still read the words.

Harry, tensed, he ground his teeth as an uncomfortable pressure started to build up in his head, and
a loud heartbeat in his ears drowned out all other noise. He felt heat behind his eyes, and the
pressure only got worse. As soon as it came however, it was gone. Looking up, Harry had the
inexplicable urge to stir the drama pot.

“Draco, did you know there's a cerberus on the third floor?”

Conversation stopped. The entire common room went quiet.

“Pardon?”

“I overheard the Weasley twins talking about it,” That wasn't even a lie, apparently the twins had
gone to check out the third floor during the first week of classes. Though, Harry was hardly paying
attention to what was a lie and what wasn't at the moment. His brain was kicked up into overdrive,
the sound of a heartbeat rang in his ears again, and he felt the pressure starting to build up, twice as
intense as before. A plan started fliting through his mind, almost too fast for him to process it. Tell
Slytherin house about the cerberus, they'll complain to their parents, their parents will then
complain to the the ministry, the ministry will send aurors to remove it, they find the stone, Flamel
is called, he gets the stone back, Harry writes a letter to Flamel telling him that he was the one who
started the whole thing, Harry is guilt free and in Flamel’s favor. It wasn't a perfect plan, and was
banking on Flamel not having given Dumbledore his consent to take the stone, but the heat behind
his eyes made him absolutely positive that it would work. It was certainly better than going in and
springing the traps himself, he reasoned later. Harry took a breath, the pressure edging off. The
moment had only been milliseconds long, and it went unnoticed by everyone. Settling himself, he
continued his fear mongering, “It was behind one of the doors. Had nearly bitten one of them in
half, apparently. From what I could tell, it only took an alohmara to get the door open. Just a matter
of time before some spacey idiot gets eaten, really.”

Murmurs spread around the room, Draco looked a sickly shade of white, and Theo had already
brought out some parchment and was writing furiously.

The next day, several Slytherins approached the twins to get details about the confrontation. They
were at first perplexed, using the opportunity to prank a Slytherin in close proximity. Soon though,
they realized the topic of conversation was spread through the entire Slytherin house, and started
over exaggerating their story, only slightly.

…….by the end of the day, it was common knowledge in Slytherin that the third floor corridor was
home to a cerberus, several dementors, a pack of werewolves, and a huge 30 ton slug.

The owls left that afternoon carrying loads of letters to family about it, and all that was left was to
wait.
 Lying in bed that night, Harry reflected on the day previous. Cannibalism wasn't something he had
ever considered, and it had left him spacey for most of the day after. His moment of intense focus
and ingenuity that swiftly followed though… Harry had a feeling that the two were intertwined in
some way. He couldn't forget that feeling of blood behind his eyes, that buildup of pressure. That
heartbeat… he could have sworn he had also heard chanting.

“Death.” he whispered softly to the room, and a large hand landed on his forehead, brushing away
his hair. The smell of smoke wafted under his nose, and Harry settled deeper under the covers.
Harry couldn't recall when the god had stopped appearing with a bang, but he welcomed it
nonetheless.

“Is this a side effect of necromancy too?” he whispered to the shadows.

“I'm afraid necromancy can’t be used as an excuse for this one, kid.” Damn. He had been afraid of
that, necromancy was such an easy out most of the time.

“Is it something to do with my creature inheritance?”

“It could be,” Harry obviously wasn't going to get a clear answer, at least not today, “tell me
something, kid, what kind of magical creature eats humans? One that has a particular taste for
blood?”

Uh… “85% of them?” A deep chuckle resonated through the room, settling deep in his bones and
easing his mind.

“That's the only hint you're getting from me.” and then Death was gone, with nothing but the
whisper of a kiss on Harry’s forehead.

Chapter End Notes

Ohh boy. So here's what's going on if you've missed it:

I hate it in creature inheritance tropes when the inheritance happens completely out of
nowhere. PEUBERTY doesn't work that way, why should some other growth related
thing just come out of nowhere? So lets say that a creature inheritance (in my stories)
is a gradual thing, that can be hinted at in small mannerisms and... *ahem* food
preference's before it really starts up. It will always pick up speed on the 13th birthday,
becoming almost fully realized, this meaning that the person will be able to start to
shift their appearance at will to emulate their creature. But again, its gradual, they
wont suddenly become a fully fledged (enter creature here) till they also finish
puberty. That's where most of this chapter is coming from, I would also like to note
that you can give your guesses on what harry is in the comments if you want, but I
wont confirm or deny it any theories.
 This is Halloween, Everybody Make a Scene
Chapter Summary

The past several months had passed in a blur, and suddenly, Halloween had come.
Harry is becoming increasingly agitated with Tom, and Draco just cant keep his fat
mouth shut.
Dumbledore destroys some important devices, and has a bit of a hissy fit.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry felt shaken for months, waking up early to go into the bathroom when no one was awake. He
would stare for hours at his reflection, unblinking. He felt like he was being stretched, elongated in
some way; it was as if he had an extra bone in each finger, or a few extra rows of ribs. His gums
had been hurting for weeks, as if he was growing another set of teeth to replace his current ones.
The worst thing, though, was what kept making him wake up early to watch his reflection. In the
dark of a dimly lit bathroom, Harry watched his eyes, mesmerized, as something behind them
glowed, faintly. It didn't always happen, and sometimes he was just starting at a normal reflection,
but when he did see it, he was always forced to remember the feeling of blood boiling behind his
eyes.

Harry went to his classes.

Tom was also more absent than usual, which added to his growing nerves. The only thing that
seemed to ease his mind a little was Draco, who had noticed his twitchy behavior and took it upon
himself to chatter in Harry’s ear almost constantly. It helped, actually, and Harry was finally able
to realize what Thasin had meant by ‘bird-boy’.

Draco moved in fast, choppy movements, with his head snapping around in a way very reminiscent
of a bird. His laugh was also veering on the edge of chirps, and his pointed face made him appear
even more bird-like. It was subtle, barely noticeable in a way that only someone who had been
staring at the blonde for hours on end would have been able to point out. Harry wondered distantly
if Draco also had some creature blood in him; if he did, the other boy was having a much better
time with it than he was.

Halloween had arrived.

The owls sent out by the Slytherin house had done their job, and in the months afterwards, angry
and worried parents flocked to the ministry in droves. Lucius Malfoy himself could be seen having
a whispered conversation with Fudge, the pudgy man growing more and more red with anger.

None of this showed up in the papers though, and the young Potter heir was worried that his plan
wasn't going to work. What he did not know, however, was that the ministry was a mess; you
needed to do a lot of political hoop jumping to be able to legally storm Hogwarts, and the ministry
didn't have the primary account of the incident, so it was slow going. It was, at least, until the
Weasley twins also sent their personal story straight to their father while he was at work, which
sent the auror department into a tizzy. The two mischievous Weasley boys did this on the
prompting of an anonymous letter, strangely enough:
Good evening pranksters-

As you may know, the third floor is currently out of bounds and quite dangerous. The
ministry appears to be brushing it aside for now, a pity. It is quite a deplorable thing you
know, letting all those dangerous beasts roam the castle; I wonder what would happen if you
both owled your father about it? While he was at work perhaps? Chaos, most likely.

-Your friend, the Riddler

Harry didn't know about this letter of course, and if Tom had woken up one night to slip it to an
owl? Well he certainly didn’t tell Harry. The ministry had enough proof to storm the castle after
that; Fudge, in all his glory, decided that the perfect time for that would be all Hallows eve.

Harry was eating quietly at the Slytherin table during the Halloween feast. Glancing to his right,
Draco was ranting loudly about the disrespectful decorations, “Samhain is a celebration of the
dead, it is supposed to be a day of quiet remembrance, and the headmaster is dragging our holiday
through the mud with this blasphemy!”

Day of the dead eh? Harry could certainly agree with that. He had been feeling the veil thinning all
day long. It had started with the smell of cigarette smoke at breakfast, which got more and more
prominent as time went on. He saw flashes of gold and green in his peripherals, and felt a large
hand on his shoulder constantly.

Day of the dead indeed.

Without any warning, the doors to the great hall burst open with a loud bang . Looking from the
feast, everyone in the hall watched with confusion as the Minister and Amelia Bones strolled down
the walk to the head table. Upon reaching it, the Headmaster and Minister partook in a very quietly
whispered conversation. Dumbledore appeared upset, and rose from the table, striding out of the
hall with them.

“What do you think that was about?” Blaise whispered from his left.

You're welcome, leech.

Tom? What did you do.

“I'm not sure. Maybe they're finally doing something about the cerberus?” This prompted the entire
Slytherin table to break out into hushed whispers, which slowly spread across the hall. Once the
Gryffindors got wind of this, the Weasley twins started boasting something awful, and Harry had a
gut feeling that it was all Tom’s fault. Harry was quiet through all that, thinking; not only was Tom
plotting something big, but he was sneaking around at night too. He usually left Tom to his own
devices, not wanting to encroach on the mans private time, but at this point he felt like he had a
right to know at least some of what he was plotting.

Later, I promise. I've been very busy is all.

Yea, I noticed.

The deputy Headmistress rose from her chair and quieted the room, “please continue to eat the
feast, I'm sure that whatever is going on is of no concern to any of you.”

Students certainly felt it was when an auror burst in and ran in a dead sprint up to the head table.
She threw herself half over the table to hiss something at Hagrid, who burst to his feet and ran out,
the auror at his heels.

“Ok something is definitely going on with the third floor.” Blaise was practically vibrating with
excitement, he was almost as obsessed with drama as Parkinson was, who was currently sneaking
up to the head table to interrogate Snape.

Whispers broke out again after the half-giant left, and Parkinson looked very smug when she sat
back down at the table, leaning forward and motioning with her hand for everyone else to do the
same, “apparently, the dog is named Fluffy, and Hagrid is his owner,” the other first years gasped,
Harry, who couldn't be bothered to pretend to care about it, was quiet. “Isn't that amazing? I
wonder if he'll get fired!” Parkinson's face twisted up into a nasty smirk, and the other Slytherins
first years started to spread word it down the table.

Within ten minutes the entire Ravenclaw house was also aware of what was going on, and one of
them slipped off to tell the Hufflepuffs, who were overheard by the Gryffindors, who, naturally,
already knew about the dog, since over half of them had been dared to go down the corridor at
some point in the year.

The students were soon corralled and sent back to their common rooms early by a very cross
McGonagall, stifling a sigh, Harry followed quietly behind Draco, who had started his anti-
Halloween rant again.

“Samhain is just that much better too! Honestly this entire thing was a mockery of wix-kind, no
respectable person would ever-”

“What, think you're better than the rest of us, Malfoy?” a very familiar and completely unwanted
voice sounded from behind them, Ronald Weasley had followed the slytherins down to the
dungeons… for a stupid reason, no doubt.

Draco sneered, looking down his nose at the ginger and opening his mouth to say something that
would no doubt make things worse, “I am better than you, Weasel, or do you forget that your
family lives in a barn?” There it is, ever the provoker.

Harry sighed, he really wasn't in the mood for this, he had expected his first year to be quiet, or at
the very least free from strange occurrences, but the cannibalism incident had turned that thought
on its head. He was off his game, and Tom was really not bloody helping with his secretive
BULLSHIT.

Harry was growing agitated as he watched the two verbally claw at each others throats. He was
sure Draco could handle it, but he really didn't like it when the blonde got into confrontations like
this, it made his skin tingle unpleasantly.

“Draco.” he was ignored by the boy in favor of making another rude remark about the Weasley
matriarch.

“ Draco.” Weasley was raising his voice, and could now be considered yelling, Draco met his
pitch with gusto.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, get your sorry ass over here NOW.”

That however, made both of them pause. Turning to look at Harry, who was standing stock stiff,
his arms across his chest and eyes narrowed dangerously. Both of the now quiet boys gulped,
fearful. There was a beat of silence, before Draco slunk meekly over to Harry, who then turned and
walked (because he does not stomp ) over to the other Slytherins, who were watching the
confrontation with wide eyes. Harry could distantly feel Draco grab ahold of his sleeve, but he
wasn't paying attention. Something about that argument made him want to lock Draco away in the
dorms, where he couldn't get out and agitate the enemy. Because that was what was happening,
really. Granger and Weasley may not be much of a threat now, but in a few years they will be.
Draco constantly antagonizing them will paint a very big target on the boy’s back later on. Harry
stormed to the front of the pack, the crowd parting for him quickly. Reaching the front he kept
walking, planning on giving Draco a very firm talking to once they were safely in the dorms.

He didn't see, too caught up in his anger, as the rest of Slytherin followed behind him and Draco,
warry. They had all heard about the opening feast, and the dangerous look in Potter’s eyes during
the confrontation with the Parkinson chit, but most of them had thought the firsties were over
exaggerating. Apparently, it was quite real… and terrifying.

Many of the older years considered, not for the first time, that perhaps Harry Potter was someone
to watch out for. The boy was a genius, that much was obvious, he breezed by in his classes,
almost instantly understanding and casting spells that took his classmates a week to perfect. Some
of the seventh years, who were teachers' aides, had graded a few of his essays too, and had been
shocked by his eloquence and knowledge in the subjects. He was turning in essays that a third year
would be proud of! A few of them had heard he had a private tutor, but that's the only rumor about
his life before Hogwarts that had managed to get out of the boy's close-knit group of friends.

Gemma Farley had known the boy was someone to watch since her first conversation with him. He
was too sweet, too polite, it had unsettled her, and on her way back to the front of the group she
thought it was strange how a boy like that could wind up in Slytherin. That was, at least, till she
had glanced back at him, watching as he verbally tore a hole in Malfoy’s ass.

She smiled as she watched his retreating form, the shorter boy following sullenly behind him. No,
she had known from that moment that the Potter heir was going to be someone great. What she
wanted now, however, was to get in his good graces. Her family wasn't pureblooded or influential
by any means, but they knew how to sniff out power, and that boy was power incarnate. It was
time to make her move.

Headmaster Dumbledore was furious, some fool had gone and told the ministry about Hagrid's pet,
sending Cornelius Fudge on a warpath right to his door. He had been forced to take the minister,
Madam Bones, and twelve aurors through the carefully set traps and reveal to them the stone. This
wasn't the plan at all! Everything had been going so well , Ronald had reported back to him just the
day before that the Potter brat was eating out of his palm (he hadn't taken into account the
possibility that the boy had been lying through his teeth). The granger girl was having trouble
getting through the boy's friends yes, but she was reporting that he was quiet, withdrawn, and (most
importantly) knew next to nothing about wizarding culture or politics. And yet this one thing was
going to ruin the entire year's plans in one foul swoop!

He took a deep breath, sitting down at his desk in the headmasters office, Dumbledore watched
distantly as Amelia Bones and Cornelius argued about what to do with the stone. Since it was
Nicholas Flamel’s property, Bones was insistent on returning it to him, but the minister wanted to
hand it to the unspeakables to study. Neither option appealed to him in any way, so he kept silent,
stewing.

The philosopher's stone and the traps that protected it had two very important purposes: the first
being to draw Tom out of hiding, and the second being a trial run for the god forsaken boy-who-
lived and his friends. Neither were applicable now, as he hadn't seen any signs of Tom, and Harry
Potter was still in the wrong house surrounded by the wrong people . Which was another thing that
was bothering him, the boy and Severus didn't appear to hate each other in the slightest, and he
worried that that could mean that the anti-Slytherin compulsions he had placed on the boys
Hogwarts letter didn't take. Perhaps one of the Dursleys had grabbed it first? What was even more
frustrating was that he couldn't even find a good excuse to get close enough to the boy to tell what
compulsions he had on him! Blast . If the child had done what he was supposed to and gone after
the philosopher's stone, the fallout would have been a perfect excuse to see what all was still in
effect. He was sure the blocks on the boys core had mostly been broken, going off what the
professors say about his casting abilities. The intelligence block was likely also partially unbound,
since he was doing rather well on his homework as well.

I'll have to fix that.

Leaning back, Dumbledore amused the idea of sneaking his way into the boy’s dorm room to
recast the blocks while he was asleep, until he realized a fatal flaw in recasting the blocks at all. If
he renewed the blocks, it would be extremely obvious to the professors that the boy was suddenly
dumber and less adept, even if Dumbldore obliviated them of the knowledge it wouldn't work, they
would still have the grades registered and would be able to see them at any time. Compulsions to
ignore the boy were also out, as many of the professors had devices to pick up on negative spell
work within a certain vicinity.

“Now Cornelius, Nicolas and Pernell will want their stone back I'm sure. It's the right thing to do,
return it to them, that is.” he spoke warmly, smiling as serenely as possible. He’ll have to come up
with some other way to dumb the boy down.

“Yes- uh.. Yes I suppose you have a point, Albus.” The nervous man readjusted his bowler cap and
pat himself down, “-but I can't in good conscience allow just anyone to take it to them, it's a
priceless artifact!.”

“Of course Cornelious, I can return it to them myself. I know them personally, as you well know. It
will be no trouble, I'm sure.” Of course he wouldn't actually be returning it, but they needn't know
that. If he was able to get the ministry out of Hogwarts again, then he could still use the stone for
something else, but he needed to get his hands back on it first.

“Absolutely not, Headmaster.” he frowned, Madam Bones was always going to be an issue, he
should put her down on the list of people that needed to have an unfortunate accident, “you were
the one to toke it from the Flamels in the first place, I'll have Moody deliver it.” Before he could
argue, Cornelius swiftly agreed, “Very good Amelia, I'm sure Alastor is the best one for the job.
Well then, headmaster, I'll see myself out.” Madam Bones grabbed the stone and took her leave as
well, the door shutting behind them.

In a fit of rage, the headmasters office was destroyed by an intense wave of magic. The only things
left untouched were the paintings of old headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts, whose protective
wards could withstand an army’s siege twice over. Sitting in the carnage, Albus Dumbledore
fumed silently, too bothered by his rage to notice that he had completely obliterated all the tracking
and monitoring devices cued to one Harry Potter.

Entering the dorm, Harry practically threw Draco onto his bed, before turning and pacing around
the room like a caged animal. Draco watched, dumbfounded, as the taller boy muttered under his
breath, his fingers twitching, eyes darting around the room. Draco had no illusions about the boy-
who-lived. You had to have a particular amount of darkness in your soul to be able to kill the dark
lord as an infant, after all, and it appears that whatever that darkness was had only gotten stronger
as Harry aged.

“Harry-”
The aforementioned boy swung around and glared at him heatedly. Shutting his mouth with an
audible click, Draco shifted slowly into a crisscross sitting position. Harry returned to his pacing.

Something about the other boy's movements made Draco very nervous.

Shifting again, Draco twitched his head a few times, eyes darting around the room. It was a habit
he seemed to pick up from his father, who said it was a mannerism passed down the Malfoy line.
Draco didn't know how mannerisms of all things could be hereditary, but his ancestors' paintings
did it as well, so it must have just been a Malfoy thing.

He felt a smooth head bump gently against his hand. Looking down, Draco watched as Harry’s
snake smoothly slithered into his lap, curling up and hissing softly. Draco didn't know why he was
afraid of snakes, it had been a constant thing in his life, much like his strange mannerisms.
Although… he stopped, thinking. He had been doing more and more of his fathers twitchy
mannerisms this year, perhaps it was because he missed the man? Shaking his head, he returned his
eyes to the snake, and pet it gently.

Harry was right in saying he needed to get over his fear of them before an older year decided to
throw a cobra at him or something, and he had really been making an effort since that day. It got to
the point where Thasin could slither into his shower stall and hiss at him, and he wouldn't even
flinch. He was still terrified of other snakes, sure, but he knew Thasin was just a harmless, cuddly,
little thing.

He still made an effort to scream every time the snake touched him though, at least when Harry
was around. The taller boy was a bit of a sadist, Draco had found, and every time Draco made a
ruckus about the snake it put Harry in a better mood. Every once in a while the dark haired boy
would even laugh a little at his antics, which made Draco’s week every time it happened. Harry
looked so bored all the time, getting him to show positive emotion was always difficult, but always
worth it.

This though… Draco looked back up to Harry, who was now sitting on his own bed, glaring at one
of Blaise’s dirty socks that was lying on the floor.

“Harry…” he tried again, this time, the other boy looked up at him, a tired expression on his face.

“Harry, what did I do to upset you?”

The boy-who-lived sighed, and rubbed his hand across his cheek a few times, thinking. There was
a beat where Harry seemed to argue with himself, he did that a lot as well, Draco had noticed.

“Weasley and Granger are spying on me for Dumbledore.”

Draco's eyes widened, that made so much sense . The mudblood had harassed them almost
constantly in the library till Harry stopped going, and Weasley seemed insistent on making himself
a big nuisance as often as he could. How Harry figured out about it was something to question, but
it would certainly explain his agitation.

“You don't want the headmaster to know we're friends, do you. Is it because my father was a
suspected Death Eater?” Draco was hurt, unnaturally so. Harry rolled his eyes.

“No you moron, if Weasley and Granger are in Dumbledore's pocket, what do you think is going to
happen in a few years if you keep agitating them?”

Ooohhh… bugger. “...He’ll let them get away with things, and if they hate me they might want to
abuse that power.”
 “Ten points to Slytherin.” Draco laughed. Thank merlin, good ol’ sarcastic Harry was back.

Chapter End Notes

I was excited to play around with Draco POV, which I haven't done yet. He's a sneaky
little bastard, I'll give him that.
If you have any questions about this chapter, just let me know and ill answer them,
unless its a spoiler of course ;)
 Have A Holly Jolly Christmas
Chapter Summary

Harry is returning to Privet Drive for the holidays, and is quickly swept up in the
hustle and bustle of Christmas time. Quite annoyed with Tom still refusing to tell him
anything, Harry looks to Death for answers, and receives familial comfort instead.

Chapter Notes

A Holiday special? Perhaps.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ron Weasley was very excited, he finally had something good to tell Dumbledore! Racing up the
stairs to the headmasters office, Ron reflected on what had happened. He had been trying for
months to make Potter realize that being in Slytherin would make him evil, but it hasn't really been
working the way he wanted. Malfoy was definitely getting in the way, so he had chased after the
Slytherins to confront the prat. The fight ended up getting pretty heated sure, but then Potter had
told Malfoy off! He had looked really mad too.

Ron puffed up with pride, the boy-who-lived had finally realized who the good guys were! He had
to admit, seeing the taller boy mad had been scary, but he knew that Potter had obviously been
defending him, why would he tell Malfoy off he wasn't!

Reaching the door to the headmasters office, he was about to knock when the Minister of Magic
and head of the DMLE stormed out. Ron stood there, floored, as the door swung shut.

Momentarily regaining his bearings, he moved to knock, but recoiled when he heard a huge BANG
come from inside. The sound of things falling and people cursing halted him further.

Standing stock still, Ron waited for any more noise, when he didn't hear another explosion, he
tried to quietly knock on the door. Waiting, now quite nervous, Ron wondered what must have
exploded.

Suddenly curious, he pressed his ear against the door, he could still hear the aftershocks of
whatever had happened, as there was the distinct sound of freshly broken things settling onto the
floor.

Maybe I should come back later

He did come back later, about a week later, in fact. The headmaster was very happy with him, and
said to continue to agitate the Malfoy heir.

“It appears that your machinations are inadvertently guiding Harry back to the light. I'm very proud
of you Ronald, and I'm certain you will succeed.” The headmaster had beamed at him, and after
letting him take as many lemon drops as he pleased, sent him on his way.

Meeting Hermione in the hall, he explained what Dumbledore had said, and she agreed that it was
a good plan. Walking back to the Gryffindor common room, Ron wondered just how Malfoy was
able to convince Potter to go to Slytherin, was it a dark spell or something? He shivered, dark
magic was super scary, and Malfoy was probably trying to corrupt the boy-who-lived with it!

The rest of the term passed in relative peace for Harry, as he had Draco as an almost constant
companion. Blaise was there too as well as Theo, but the young necromancer had most of his focus
on the Malfoy heir. There was something about having the shorter boy nearby that was comforting
to him, and with his strange creature inheritance, he needed all the comfort he could get.

One annoyance was Weasley, who was insistent on fighting with Draco every second he got. Draco
had sassed back a few times, but had mostly kept to his promise and did not engage.

Granger, thankfully, had decided to fuck off, and was practically living in the library. Midterms
were looming ever present on the horizon, and with them was the midyear rankings.

Harry wasn't stressed in the slightest, mostly just annoyed that he would have to deal with the tests
at all. He wasn't going to show off, because he wasn't stupid , but he was still going to put in the
effort to get ranked high. He was still contemplating if he should purposefully do well enough to
knock Granger out of the top spot when he walked into the great hall for breakfast on the first day
of exams.

Glancing to the Gryffindor table, he saw the aforementioned girl pouring over stacks and stacks of
notes, looking half savage and running mostly on adrenaline.

“She does realize midterms aren't like final exams, right? It's just for class rank.” Blaise whispered
to him, earning a chuckle from Harry, who replied, “I don't think she cares. It's not about getting
good grades for her, It's about beating everyone else.”

Harry did, in fact, beat her out of the top spot. Apparently, when the ranks were finally posted,
Granger had attempted to convince the headmaster to fail him for cheating. What's more, was
when he walked into the great hall for breakfast before he got on the train, she had marched right
up to him and demanded that he fess up.

“I didn't see you studying in the library at ALL. There was no way you scored better than me when
I studied for MONTHS!”

He had looked at her with undisguised confusion, truly wondering how the hell she was that dense.
She knew he did well in classes, she complained about it constantly. Where did she get the idea he
was cheating?

After saying this though, she simply huffed and said that he was obviously cheating in his classes
as well, and that he had gotten extra help or a private tutor or something. When he pointed out that
neither of those things were against the rules, or considered cheating, she had stormed off in a huff.

More confused than anything, Harry sat down at the Slytherin table.

What the fuck was up with that? Wild accusations aren't her kind of thing, Harry thought to
himself, wondering if someone had snuck the muggleborn a potion that made her irrational, it was
the only thing that really made any sense.
Hmmm… yes, how strange.

Harry stopped, fork halfway to his mouth. He hasn't heard from Tom in weeks .

Tom?

Yes leech?

...Where the fuck have you been?

I'll tell you once it's safe to do so.

Harry’s mind was reeling. Tom kept secrets yes, and he was obviously plotting something that he
didn't want Harry to know about yet, but this… Tom said that it wasn't safe to discuss the matter
inside Harry's heavily occluded mind, meaning that either they were in deeper shit than he
originally thought, or Harry learning about whatever Tom’s been doing will put the plan in
jeopardy somehow. This thought led him to the possibility that he would really not like whatever it
is that Tom was planning.

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express, a little happy that he was getting away from the castle for a
while. It was really quite funny how Privet Drive had gone from his prison to a simple pleasure. No
Dumbledore, no Granger and Weasley, no classes to hold back in, he was really looking forward to
a fortnight in Surrey and a simple, muggle Christmas.

Good luck with that.

Fuck off Tom.

Harry settled into a compartment with Draco and Theo, who were both going home for Christmas
as well. Blaise, apparently, didn't want to go home to meet his newest step-father, so he was staying
at the castle. Harry thought it was awfully pessimistic of him, this one might end up lasting a few
years after all, from his mothers letters she liked him a little bit more than the others. Besides, he'll
have to live with the poor bloke, and might as well get to know him.

It's not like you know what having a father is like, maybe he's gotten sick of it.

You're one to talk, being the edgelord that killed both of our dads.

Well someone’s in a mood today.

Harry had every right to be in a mood, thank-you-very-much. He had gone almost a month without
a word from Tom who had promised to explain some things the last time they spoke on Halloween,
and hadn't. So when the bastard had just showed up out of nowhere pretending that it was no big
deal.. Well Harry felt that he had a right to be pissed about it!

Hopping off the train, Draco and Theo made their way over to their respective guardians. Saying
goodbye and wishing them a Happy Christmas, Harry walked through the barrier and back into the
muggle world. Greeting his aunt with a hug, Harry quickly found himself carted off to #4 Privet
Drive in a whirlwind that could only be called Petunia Dursley’s Christmas Panic.

Walking in through the front door, Harry was met by Vernon, who clasped his shoulder firmly in a
masculine display of affection, and offered to take his trunk.
Christmas Eve was a chaotic affair, with everyone running to and fro from the kitchen to the dining
room, trying to get the Christmas feast placed before Marge showed up.

“Harry dear, Dudley is upstairs in the bedroom, can you tell him to come down? I need both of you
to help with the pudding.”

His aunt was already off doing something else, barely registering his reply.

Walking up the stairs, Harry reflected on the past week. It was nice, being back at Privet Drive, but
he felt stifled, constrained. He had been having the urge to get out and do it fast . It was making his
enjoyment of the holidays awfully difficult.

To sooth this urge some, Harry had taken to going out on the hiking trails around the
neighborhood, walking through the snow for hours. Aunt Petunia fretted about him getting lost or
kidnapped, he was only 11 after all, but he convinced her he’d be careful. He didn't really make
that much of an effort to watch out for pedophiles though. He felt safe out in the woods, hidden by
the trees and snow, it felt like home.

Harry could admit he had been taking on too much this year, he had originally wanted to hide in
the shadows for his first three years, but ever since the sorting he had been forced into the
limelight. With his creature inheritance slowly making itself known, and Dumbledore’s pawns
licking at his heels, he was desperately looking for an out.

“Aunt Petunia needs help with the pudding.” looking into their shared bedroom, Harry found
Dudley lying across the floor, playing dead, most likely.

He rolled his eyes, even in this life, Dudley was still pretty lazy. Nicer? Of course. Open to the idea
of doing work? Not at all.

“I'll tell auntie you already broke your new Gameboy. You know, the one you were supposed to
unwrap tomorrow?” Dudley darted up, fast as a bullet, out the door and down the stairs before
Harry could blink.

That's better.

After a Christmas feast to end all Christmas feasts, the Dursleys (and Harry) retired to bed. Almost
every resident of the house fell to sleep quickly, bellies full and eyes droopy.

Harry though, was wide awake. The itch to run was worse when he was alone, and in this moment
it was almost unbearable.

I need to get out.

Rocketing up out of bed, Harry didn't even think to put on shoes.

He was out of the house in under thirty seconds, sprinting full force into the woods behind it. The
winter wind was cold on his face, and his lungs stung each time he took a breath of the freezing air.
It was a white Christmas, snow falling gently, blanketing the forest floor. He could feel the biting
snow on his bare feet as they pounded into the earth, his breathing was quick, a heartbeat that
wasn't his own thumping in his ears.

He had to shove both hands in, elbows deep in the man's guts as he groped around for his
kidneys. Some tasted better than others, but the heart was definitely his favorite. He ate the
entire thing. It had miraculously still been beating when he first bit into it, and blood sprayed
like a geyser all over his face and jumper.

A heartbeat that was not his own thumped rhythmically in his ears. He crashed through the
underbrush, fighting against his human instincts that were screaming Stop, just think. Slow down
and THINK.

He pressed on.

-but the heart was definitely his favorite. He ate the entire thing. It had miraculously still
been beating when he first bit into it, and blood sprayed like a geyser all over his face and
jumper.

The heartbeat was getting louder, he could hear the chanting now. It was changing pitches
randomly. Throaty and aggressive, he'd never heard anything like it before. It was beautiful, if
terrifying.

Harry, just slow down and think. You need to get a hold of yourself.

It was strange, that voice sounded a little like Tom.

It had miraculously still been beating when he first bit into it.

Harry crashed out of the brush and into a clearing, stopping jerkily in the middle of it. The chanting
had reached a crescendo, the singing merging together and overwhelming his senses. There wasn't
just a heartbeat anymore, he could hear fast drums, the beat thumping rhythmically, vibrating his
bones, making him shake all over. Was that a flute? He couldn't keep up with the instruments
anymore.

Harry fell to his knees, face turned skyward. Staring, open mouthed at the stars.

The chanting surrounded him, almost screaming now, some of the voices sounded like hyenas
laughing.

Ba-bum... ba-bum... ba-bum... ba-bum

His eyes were burning.

Harry, please listen to me! You need to snap out of it.

That voice definitely sounded like Tom, it was far away.

The chanting got impossibly louder, the drums picking up pace and the flute changing from a
melodic tune to a high pitched screeching.

STOPstopstopstopPleasestopstopimsorrypleasestop.

He was begging now, pleading and crying in pain, overwhelmed and scared.

The chanting and instruments bled together into a horrible screeching, it was animalistic, twisted
and inhuman and oh god PLEASE just STOP.

It felt like his eyes were burning out of his skull.

Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum
He was screaming now, he was sure of it, the burning was unbearable, and oh god that screeching
what is that.

“Harry.”

He couldn't think or feel or hear anything but that god awful noise. He almost wished that the
chanting was back, anything besides this.

“Harry, I'm sorry.”

Pleasestopstopimsorryplease stop .

“I'm going to help. Ok?”

He screamed even louder, fighting to keep his sanity as the horrible screeching raised its pitch as
well.

“Harry. Harry, I'm sorry but you need to eat this, it'll help.”

Pleasepleasestop-oh god is that ME?!

Someone grabbed his face, roughly shoving something warm down his throat. The screeching cut
off as he bit down.

That was me.

His vision went black.

Christmas morning was a bit different this year. Harry, having received magical presents for the
first time, was passing a few of them around to the mesmerized Dursleys. Blaise had sent him a
very expensive looking cloak clasp, it was a snake tangled into knots with the same coloring and
head shape as Thasin, and was enchanted to move lazily in an infinity symbol. Speaking of Thasin,
she had opted to stay at the castle with Blaise, who was very adept at heating charms. Theo had
gotten him an encyclopedia of magical creatures, with a note saying that Draco got a similar one.
There wasn't any explanation past that, so Harry just assumed that Theo was more insightful than
he had originally thought.

Draco had got him a wand holster with the Potter crest on it, which made him smile. Harry was
glad that he had put just as much thought and money into his friends’ gifts as they had into his. He
had got Blaise an extremely expensive new cloak with snake themed trim, funnily enough. Theo
had gotten the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, with a note saying that it was the closest muggles
had gotten to guessing what the magical world was truly like, as well as some glasses that were
enchanted to help you read faster and retain more. Draco had received muggle hair products as a
gag gift, and a pair of cufflinks with the Malfoy crest on them that were enchanted to the gills with
protective magic.

A few of the older years had given him various magical treats, which he shared with the Dursleys.
Vernon had exclaimed that it was the best chocolate he’d ever tasted, Honeydukes really was one
of a kind.

Dudley and him had traded gifts right there, and the other boy had been ecstatic to receive a new
pair of boxing gloves. Harry nearly laughed himself off his chair when he saw his present: a shitty
Halloween witch costume, it seemed Dudley went for a gag gift this year. Harry had gotten a new
bedroom from the Dursleys, which used to be the guest room, but had now been altered to suit the
11 year old boy. They had said that the two boys were getting too old for bunk beds, and it was
time for them to each get their own space. Harry had hugged them both fiercely. This was the first
time in both of his lives that he truly had a space that was just his . His cupboard and bedroom from
the last life had been prisons, and this go round were both used as storage, but this room was all his.
It was simple, and already had all his things moved in. There was a twin sized bed on the far wall,
with a bedside table and a lamp. A dresser on the eastern wall held the muggle clothing he hadn’t
taken with him to Hogwarts, and various knickknacks he had collected in his short life. Across
from the dresser was a large desk that Harry automatically fell in love with. The best thing though,
was one of the walls that was covered floor to ceiling with photos of his life with the Dursleys:
visits to family and a vacation to the Bahamas, birthday parties and theme parks, happy memories
of a happy boy. It was wonderful.

He was lying in his new bed that night, half asleep, when he smelt the cigarette smoke. His eyes
flung open and he nearly sprang forward, looking towards the foot of the bed where a familiar
silhouette was sitting.

“Death?” he breathed, “What are you doing here?”

The god stood, and walked over to Harry, brushing his hand over the boy's forehead, “got you a
Christmas present.”

Turning on the lamp on his night stand, Harry reached for the package being held out to him. It
was a rectangular box, wrapped with black wrapping paper with a pattern of… “are these skulls?”

Athimus smiled cheekily, “gotta stay on theme.”

Snorting softly, Harry peeled the morbid wrapping paper off the box. Putting the now bare box
down in his lap, Harry gingerly lifted the lid off. Looking inside, he stared down at a very familiar
fabric.

“This is my invisibility cloak.”

“Mmhm.” Harry looked up with big eyes, a silent question. “I took it, along with the ender wand,
from Dumbledore, and wiped his memory of them.”

What.

“W-why?”

“Cuz they don't belong to him.”

Harry couldn't argue with that, and they sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes.
Death shifted, and Harry looked up, meeting his eyes. Without prompting, the god reached over to
the nightstand and switched off the light, bathing the room in darkness.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you’re better now.” Harry could only tell the man had leaned forward,
because his glowing gold and green eyes shifted closer in the dark. Athimus looked deep into the
boys eyes, seemingly looking for something.

Harry was confused, “...checking if I'm better?” he half repeated, half questioned.

“Mmhm… I also wanted to apologize again.”

Harry was even more confused, “what are you talking about?”

Embers heated up in the man's cigarette as he took a deep breath in. He was still studying Harry's
eyes. It was quiet for a moment, before the god of death exhaled.

“Harry, do you remember last night?”

STOPstopstopstopPleasestopstopimsorrypleasestop.

He was begging now, pleading and crying in pain, overwhelmed and scared.

The chanting and instruments bled together into a horrible screeching, it was animalistic,
twisted and inhuman and oh god PLEASE just STOP.

It felt like his eyes were burning out of his skull.

Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum

He was screaming now, he was sure of it, the burning was unbearable, and oh god that
screeching what is that.

“Harry.”

He couldn't think or feel or hear anything but that god awful noise. He almost wished that
the chanting was back, anything besides this.

“Harry, I'm sorry.”

Pleasestopstopimsorrypleasestop.

“I'm going to help. Ok?”

He screamed even louder, fighting to keep his sanity as the horrible screeching raised its
pitch as well.

“Harry. Harry, I'm sorry but you need to eat this, it'll help.”

Pleasepleasestop-oh god is that ME?!

Someone grabbed his face, roughly shoving something down his throat. The screeching cut
off as he bit down.

That was me.

Harry grasped his bed sheets tightly, heaving his chest as he took deep breaths of air. How did he
forget about that?

“You were out there with me, in the forest.”

“I was.”

It had miraculously still been beating when he first bit into it.

“Go to sleep, Harry.”

Chapter End Notes

This was an attempt by me to give Harry a break for once... sadly I'm a bit of a sadist
myself so it didn't pan out quite that way. Whoops?
 Harry Likes the Color White
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter is returning to Hogwarts from the Holiday break. On the train ride he has
a conversation with Daphne Greengrass, who is in the running for Slytherin princess.
Draco is upset by this, for some reason.
Theo continues to be uncomfortably insightful.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was standing on platform 9 ¾, bundled up in winter apparel and feeling cross. He had been
forced into roughly twelve layers of clothing by a fretting Petunia, who was worried that he would
get frostbite standing out in the cold for so long. He had been insistent in showing up to the
platform an hour early, mostly so he could assure himself a good compartment in the vicinity of
possible allies.

Harry had decided to shift gears over the holidays. New Year had passed without incident and he
had spent most of it re-thinking the rest of the school year. The current Prince of Slytherin was a
third year named Avery something or other, who had a very unfortunate haircut and even more
unfortunate leadership skills. Harry had surmised that the older boy had gotten the prince title
through an impressive amount of blackmail, which he could grudgingly respect.

Still though, he was a third year, and the prince role would need to be filled next year. Harry was
already the most likely candidate, with the other first year boys either in his corner or too stupid to
bother with (ie. Crabb and Goyle). The second years were also non-threats, only having about three
boys among their ranks and all of them perfectly happy with staying out of his way.

The princess title however, would be much more difficult to steal. The current princess was a
vicious second year named Mariya Vaisey, who had beat out the last princess by somehow
bankrupting her fathers business. The poor girl had been removed from Hogwarts, and her family
had moved to Bulgaria and enrolled her in Dumstrang.

Harry was broken from his musings by someone tapping his shoulder. Turning, Harry was met
with Daphne Greengrass staring at him with an intense look.

“Heir Potter.”

“Heiress Greengrass.”

There was a moment of intense silence, in which Greengrass’ gaze got more and more intense, and
Harry got more and more bored.

“Is there something that you need, Greengrass?”

She looked at him like it was obvious, “I would like to request your assistance in overtaking
Parkinson and Vaisey for the title of Slytherin Princess.”

Well… isn't that convenient.

“I suppose you believe I'll be the Prince?”

She rolled her eyes, “You say that like it isn't obvious.”

He couldn't argue much with that, but he didn't want to discuss Slytherin Politics while people
were milling about. He shared this with her, instead requesting that she wait a bloody moment for
them to get on the train and into a private compartment. She ignored his jab and agreed promptly.
Standing side by side as they waited for the train to arrive, they partook in tense smalltalk. Which
was really just her grilling him for information while he dodged subtly.

“I heard whispers that Farley was going to approach you for an alliance, would you accept it?” she
pressed, pretending like she was discussing house drama or something instead of a potential family
alliance.

“Hmmm, the Farley’s aren't very impressive in terms of politics, but they’re all quite adept
people.” He waltzed around the question with a practiced ease, bored with the conversation. He
was getting hot under all the layers, preferring the cold anyway.

Several minutes passed of her hounding him, and him in return giving her an answer that revealed
nothing. Just as he contemplating the pros and cons of throwing himself onto the tracks, the train
finally arrived, and they boarded. Finding a compartment around the middle, he locked the door
and shut the curtains. As an extra layer of caution, Harry threw up a bunch of temporary privacy
wards, really not wanting to be seen conversing with the girl till he was sure she would be a
beneficial ally.

“Those were impressive,” she remarked, eying his casting abilities with interest.

“My tutor taught them to me.” A lie, but what else was he to say?
“So the rumor is true? You really do have a private tutor?” She seemed pleased that she managed
to squeeze something out of him, even if it was unimportant and practically useless.

“Is this truly the conversation you want to be having right now? Because I’m happy to gossip if
you’d prefer it.”

She blushed faintly, before schooling her features and becoming serious.

“I’ll cut to the chase, you're the only contender for Prince next year, and you probably wouldn't
meet much opposition if you tried to topple Avery Urquhart right now.”

Riiiiight, that was his name.

She continued, picking up pace as she got more confident, “Parkinson and I are currently fighting
for the right to challenge Vaisey, but which is slow going, since there's only four girls in our year
and the sides are even. I've been trying to get some of the second years to back me, but they're too
afraid of Vaisey to change loyalties.”

It was well known that ruling with fear was more efficient than anything else in the house of
snakes, since no self respecting Slytherin would bow to anyone unless their life was on the line, or
they were fanatics.

“That's why I want your help, Vaisey is a little wary of you, and Urquhart is just enjoying his
power while it lasts. You've got a lot of sway in Slytherin right now, even if you're not currently
using it. If you were to back me, I could nudge Parkinson out of the running and have an easier
time challenging Vaisey.”
It was a good analysis, very compelling. Her subtle stroking of his ego was pretty sneaky, but
ineffective. He sat back and thought. Greengrass was a good contender for princess, all things
considered. She was from a strong family, one that practically led the gray faction of the
Wizengamot. Her great-great grandfather had made the families fortune in the trades business, and
they got quite wealthy off of it.

The only issue he could find with her entire pitch was the simple fact that Vaisey was his favored
Princess at the moment. He had only spoken to her in passing, not wanting to show his hand too
soon, but everything pointed her to being the next Slytherin Queen. She was ruthless in a way he
deeply admired, and her leadership tactics aligned perfectly with his. It wasn't that Greengrass was
a bad candidate, but that Vaisey was better.

“I can help you get Parkinson out of the way, but I'm staying impartial in your fight against
Vaisey.” He eventually answered, already planning the next few years in advance. Greengrass
would no doubt take over in their third year, when Vaisey was a fourth year and no longer
applicable for Princess, and he could get a good grasp of her abilities then. If he saw something he
liked, he would campaign for King and Queen with her the next year.

She seemed to accept this, happy to at least get some backing. Really, if she was resourceful with
it, she could use his influence to skyrocket her campaign, but that was only if she played her cards
right.

“I want something from you first though.” he added, and she paled, which was kind of funny to
him honestly. Did she really expect him to do all this for free?

“What is it? I’m afraid that if it pertains to my family I can't be of assistance, my father wouldn't
allow it.”

“No, nothing like that.” he rubbed his cheek, thinking. He could ask a lot of things from her, and he
certainly had some things that he needed that required a girl's help. Which one of his plans was
more pressing though? Hard to say.

He didn't necessarily need a girl to slip into Myrtle's bathroom for him anymore, since he had his
invisibility cloak back. There was also a very special secret passage on the 6th floor that could only
be opened by a girl, but he would probably have Farley help him with that, if he decides to go
through with the alliance that is. There was also the issue of the Gryffindor girls' dorms, he
couldn't get up there and he really needed to, but there was no telling if Greengrass would go that
far for this. He could… yeah, that would work.

“I need you to go into the Forbidden Forest and ask a Unicorn for a lock of its hair.”

Her eyes bulged, “What!” she squeaked, her manners failing her.

“They only like girls, and getting unicorn hair off the market means it was just shed off, and I need
some that was willingly given.”

She fretted. The Forbidden Forest was a dangerous place, and there was no guarantee that she’d
find a unicorn on her first trip.

“Only if you come into the forest with me.” she finally replied. Not happening. Something bad
always happened to him in those thrice-damned woods. After he had quite literally died in there, he
was very unenthusiastic about waltzing back in.

“You doubt your abilities to find a large equine with a horn so heavily that you need my help in the
matter?” It was a manipulation tactic, obviously, but he would sooner kiss Dumbldore’s ass than
willingly go into the forest.

“I'm not a fool!” Pity. “That place is a death trap, there's no way a first year could survive a run in
with anything in those woods.”

He had been hoping the girls survival instincts wouldn't be that great, but at least she was smart.

He leaned farther back in his seat, mulling over his options. Farley would be much more efficient
in getting the unicorn hair, and being a prefect allowed her some leniency when out after curfew.
Having Greengrass help him with the secret passage wasn't ideal, but it should work fine. He still
doubted the girl would be willing to break into another houses common room, so he would have to
find some other way to do that.

“Fine, you don't have to go into the forest, but I’ll need your help with something else.” He was
disappointed really, he needed the hair for a project of his that had been in the planning stages
since he was five, and he couldn't even start till he got his hands on some.

“Okay… what is it?” she appeared relieved, he honestly couldn't blame her.

“There's a secret passage on the 6th floor that can only be opened by a girl, and I need to get in. Are
you willing to help with that?”

She audibly sighed with relief, “yes, I'd be happy to.”

“Pleasure working with you, Heiress Greengrass.”

They shook on it.

The rest of the train ride was quiet, he kept up the privacy wards till the train stopped. Greengrass
was a chatterbox once she got going, and they stepped off together, discussing their teachers in a
depressingly normal conversation.

“Professor Snape is an excellent potions master, I never meant to say he wasn’t,” Greengrass had
very strong opinions on the man, “but he should never be allowed to teach, he hates children and
It's painfully obvious.”

He was nodding along, mind numbingly bored “I believe he has an indefinite contract, and
Dumbledore vouched for him after the war, so anything short of death probably wouldn't get him
removed.”

Funnily enough, in Harry's last life that's exactly what happened.

She didn't know that though, and huffed indignantly, “That shouldn't matter! He is an awful teacher
and needs to be fired!”

He snickered quietly, “You sounded a lot like Granger just now.”

Greengrass froze, a look of horror dawning on her face, “oh merlin…I did, didn't I.”

“Harry!”

Upon hearing the familiar voice, the boy in question suddenly wasn't bored anymore. He whipped
around, taking in the sight of his best friend running full tilt down the path towards them.
“Ello Draco, how was your Christmas?”

The blonde stumbled to a stop in front of them, putting his hands on his knees and trying to catch
his breath. Behind him, Theo was making his way slowly from the train, head buried in a book.
Shocking.

“You git! Where were you on the train? Me and Theo searched the entire bloody thing twice!”

Oh… right. “Sorry mate, Greengrass and I were having a discussion and I had put up some privacy
wards.”

“Greengrass?” Draco turned slightly, eyes landing on the girl next to him, who was still coming to
terms with her Granger-ness.

“Oh…” Draco got a pinched expression on his face, “how are you, Heiress Greengrass?” his tone
was cold, void of any emotion.

She shook herself from the identity crisis, “I am well, Heir Malfoy, thank you for asking,” she
puffed up a little, glaring at him testingly.

“What were you and Harry discussing?”

What is this, a god damned inquisition?

“Nothing that concerns you, I'm sure.”

Ah, childhood rivalry perhaps?

“Oh please Greengrass, you can't expect me to believe anything you have to say is important, can
you?

Yea ok, I'm out.

Harry snuck away from the conversation, not wanting to stick around and watch the two glare each
other down. Making his way to Theo, who was still slowly walking up the trail, Harry noticed that
the book he was reading was Fellowship of the Ring.

“Enjoying the book there, Theo?”

The other boy didn't even look up from the book, replying with the monotone voice of a food critic
who was not impressed, “Half of the creatures in this book don’t exist, and the wizard Gandalf is a
joke, the word elf is spelt wrong and the species is tall and attractive for some reason, and the ring
is a extremely boring artifact. Other than that, I suppose it's fine.”

Everyone's a critic.

Theo looked up suddenly, narrowing his eyes at him. The boy’s gaze roamed Harry's face before
settling on his eyes. He remembered Death doing the exact same thing just a week prior, and felt
blood run cold.

“Harry… did something happen over the holidays?” Theo asked him, worried.

Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum

He was screaming now, he was sure of it, the burning was unbearable, and oh god that
screeching what is that.
“Harry.”

He couldn't think or feel or hear anything but that god awful noise. He almost wished that
the chanting was back, anything besides this.

“Harry, I'm sorry.”

Pleasestopstopimsorrypleasestop.

“I'm going to help. Ok?”

He screamed even louder, fighting to keep his sanity as the horrible screeching raised its
pitch as well.

“Harry. Harry, I'm sorry but you need to eat this, it’ll help.”

Pleasepleasestop-oh god is that ME?!

Someone grabbed his face, roughly shoving something warm down his throat. The screeching
cut off as he bit down.

That was me.

“Not that I can think of, why do you ask?”

Theo eyed him carefully, “Hm, nevermind. Did you like the book I sent you?”

Harry was getting whiplash with these topic changes, “I haven't gotten the chance to read it I’m
afraid, but it looks quite interesting.”

That seemed to please the other boy, who nodded jerkily and went back to his book. They stood
quietly for a few minutes, Harry was enjoying the weather, but was getting bored with all the
standing around.

“Do you want to start heading up to the castle?” Harry asked him.

The other boy nodded, and started moving. They didn't get more than a few feet before they heard
the distinct sound of Draco yelling, “Piss off!”

Looking farther up the trail, Harry got a good look at what appeared to be the end of an argument,
with Greengrass storming off to the castle in a huff, and Draco standing there fuming.

“You alright there, mate?” He yelled, wondering what could have escalated the argument to the
point that the blonde would curse.

“Fine.” He shouted back, he didn't look fine, “that Greengrass chit is a spoilt brat, thinking she’ll
get everything she wants no matter what.”

Harry didn't press him, there was obviously bad blood between the two.

Making their way towards him, Harry contemplated how to approach this situation.

Draco turned to him, eyes blazing, “What did you need to talk to her about that was so important
 you had to spend the entire bloody train ride with her?” The blonde was clearly hurt, Harry didn't
really know what to do about it, so he answered honestly.

“Well, she’ll probably be Slytherin Princess in our third year, so I was making sure she was at least
somewhat competent.”

Draco only got more upset at this, turning quickly and storming up to the castle.

Well, bugger.

“You know how the prince and princess or king and queen usually end up dating at some point?”
Theo spoke up, Harry turned to him with a questioning look.

“Yea, so?”

The other boy raised an eyebrow. Harry was still lost, it wasn't like he was planning on dating
Greengrass, or Vaisey for that matter. Not only did he have a still unknown soulmate, but the girl
was boring, and Vaisey was more of a useful tool for enacting chaos than a romantic or even
platonic partner.

When he told Theo this, the other boy rolled his eyes and started trekking back to the castle,
ignoring Harry's demands to explain himself.

Chapter End Notes

Ah drama, you warm my cold and shriveled heart.

I would like to point out: Theo is unnaturally insightful, so much so that he could tell
something happened just by looking at Harrys eyes. Does this mean that Theo has
some sort of gift, or is there something about Harry's eyes that he's picking up on?
Food for thought.
 Saturn is Bright Tonight
Chapter Summary

Draco Malfoy is quick to forgive Harry when he comes upon a worrying plot against
him.
Blaise Zabini follows quietly after two tricksters.
Tom takes a nighttime walk.

Chapter Notes

There are a lot of different POV's in this chapter, you have been warned.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco didn't know why he was so angry. Well, actually yes he did, but Greengrass always made
him angry. What he didn't know was why Harry had made him even more angry!

He huffed, storming through the castle, deciding to hide in the one place he could be assured Harry
wouldn't go. Stomping through the tall arched doorway, Madam Pince shushed him angrily. He
made a rude gesture in her direction, running off before she could reprimand him.

Draco was hiding in the library, sulking. He still hasn't come up with a good enough reason to be
mad at Harry, and refused to leave till he did. Walking along through the shelves, he reflected on
his yuletide holiday. Harry had gotten him some strange balms, with a note attached saying they
were muggle made. The other boy had also sent some cufflinks, which Draco enjoyed much more
than the strange-smelling muggle paste. Blaise had sent him pornography, again, which his mother
confiscated with a laugh. Theo had gifted him a large tomb of every magical creature known to
man, for some reason. His father had become unnaturally pale, and had hurried off to write Nott Sr.
a letter. Draco didn't know why that gift warranted a letter to the boy's Grandfather, perhaps it was
extremely valuable or dark?

His mother had kissed his head gently and said he would be told eventually, which only confused
him further. To avoid his pressing, she had handed him her gift, which was a beautiful cloak made
of thick black wool. After his father had returned, he gave Draco his, which was a set of golden
bands with runes etched on them, “to help with your back pain”. Draco put them on quickly,
excited to feel their effects. It was strange, he had started getting sharp stabs of pain in the area of
his shoulder blades almost constantly after his eleventh birthday. It kept him up some nights, but
he had only told his parents about it, not wanting to worry his friends. His father had assured him it
was hereditary, easing his fears, “I was the same at your age. Don't worry, I’ll commission
something that will help ease the pain.”

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of two people talking quietly.

Is that Granger and Weasley?

Leaning his ear to the shelf next to him, Draco eavesdropped on a very worrying conversation.
“I don't know about this, Mione. Seems kinda sketchy.”

“Dumbledore wants us to get closer to him right? But talking to him with those Slytherins around
isn't working, right?”

“Well yeah, but this seems like it's breaking a lot of rules-”

“I. Don't. Care!” There was a sound like a book slamming shut, and a person storming off. Draco
waited a moment, holding his breath. Another pair of feet followed quickly after the first, and then
it was quiet.

Walking around the shelf, Draco was greeted by a mess of parchment and books laying
haphazardly across a table. Thinking quickly, he grabbed up all the parchment with writing on it
and ran out of there, getting yelled at by Pince a second time.

Probably should avoid the library for a few weeks.

Sprinting faster, he got into the Slytherin common room in record time. He wasn't sure, but it
sounded like the two Gryffindors were planning on doing something very against the rules, and he
wanted to figure out just what it was.

Sitting down on his bed, Draco spread the parchment out and started reading, his eyebrows slowly
rising as he went.

That mudblood is absolutely mad!

Thinking fast, Draco gathered up the parchment again and ran out of the dorms, down into the
common room. He was planning on hunting Harry down and showing him what he had found,
momentarily putting aside his confusing anger to warn his friend.

Bolting out of the common room, Draco ran right into someone else, them both falling to the floor
in a heap.

Harry had been minding his own damn business, walking to the common room to get unpacked
when someone ran full tilt into his chest, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Theo was
shitting himself with laughter, the ponce.

“Bloody hell..” he groaned, trying to sit up as the madman who had decided to MMA full body
slam him to the floor started to frantically pick up their parchment.

Wait a minute..

He knew that madman, “Draco?”

“Harry! Perfect, look I get that I'm supposed to be mad at you right now but-hold on” he shuffled
all the parchment into an unorganized stack and held them up proudly, "I stole these from Granger
and Weasley! You really need to read them, that mudblood is completely off her rocker.”

Harry took the stack of parchment with a confused look, “Uhhhh… lets go to our dorm?”

Draco’s head bobbed, and Harry was reminded once more of the other boy's bird-like tendencies.

“Right uhh, shall we? You can come too Theo.” the bookworm nodded, still snickering, and the
group made their way back into the commons and up into the dorms.
Settling down on the open space on the floor, the other two boys started pouring over the
parchment while Draco explained how he had found them.

“-and of course once they had left I went over to investigate, and I'm glad I did! Weasel had said
that this plan of theirs could be against school rules, but I'm quite sure it's illegal as well.”

“They were planning on kidnapping me?” Harry questioned, perplexed. He wondered, not for the
first time, if Granger had some sort of irrationality compulsion on her.

“Yes! So from what I could gather they were planning on using polyjuice to turn into me and
Blaise, though how they were going to get hair from Blaise was anyone's guess, considering his
head’s shaved, but whatever. Then they were going to lure you into an abandoned classroom and
knock you out! I don't really know how that would have made you like them, though.”

It seemed that Granger had an inclination towards polyjuice in both lives.

“Maybe they were planning on leaving and coming back in once the polyjuice wore off, pretending
to rescue him or something? Since they would look like you two when he gets kidnapped, they
were probably hoping Harry would distance himself from Slytherin house and stick around them
instead.” Theo supplied a decent hypothesis. It had the makings of a solid plan, and could have
probably worked on a seven year old, or a muggle. Neither of them were phenomenal actors
though, and it was overall an impressively stupid plan.

The three boys sat and thought about what to do next, Harry was thinking that he should really just
jump the gun and kill the little fuckers. Theo was thinking similar thoughts, but neither of the two
boys voiced their opinions. Draco wanted to prank them, apparently.

Harry and Theo shared a look. Pranking wasn't really all that appealing to them, but Draco seemed
adamant about it. Shrugging, the other two listened to his genius plan with amusement.

Somewhere in the castle, Blaise Zabini was stirring up trouble. Darting through the halls, he chased
after the terror twins of Gryffindor. They didn't know he was following them though, that was
kinda the point.

He smirked, maneuvering behind a pillar as they slipped into a classroom on the other side of the
hall. Blaise had been following the two for the entire break, with Thasin as a trusty companion. For
some reason, they kept going into the same abandoned classroom, staying there for hours on end.
He had tried to get in, but it was warded in some way, and half a year of magical knowledge
wouldn’t get it open.

He smirked wider, but there was one person he knew that could blast through that door in seconds.

I can't wait to tell Harry about this.

The Hogwarts Express was bringing back the students who had gone home for the holidays, and
with them was Harry I-have-a-crazy-tutor-who-teaches-me-advanced-magic Potter. Blaise couldn't
get into that door on his own sure, but there had to be something in Harry's arsenal that could.

He snuck closer to the door, moving slowly. He had no way of knowing just what the twins had put
up around the door as defense, and the last two weeks had been a constant battle between his
curiosity, and unwillingness to be jinxed black and blue (quite literally, in this case). He halted
suddenly, as the door knob started to jiggle. Thinking quickly, he bolted, deciding that he’ll come
back tomorrow with Harry and the others, hopefully at a time when the twin terrors weren't
anywhere nearby.
After the feast that evening, the four Slytherin boys retreated to their shared dorm. Theo had been
unfortunately paired with Crabb and Goyle, who both snored something awful, so he had decided
to not bother with it and bunk with them that night. They relaxed in each other's company for the
rest of the day. Blaise and Draco were playing an aggressive game of exploding snap on the floor,
and Theo was reading quietly on Blaise’s bed. Harry was also reading on his bed, finally deciding
to start on the creature encyclopedia Theo had gotten him for Christmas. It was very slow going.

At this rate I'll get to the T’s by Christmas next year! He thought glumly. For a few moments he
considered just flipping through it, skimming, but thought better of it. If he was going to figure out
what he was, he would need to read through the whole thing carefully.

Focusing back onto the book, (He was in the Am- words now) he read the next creature synopsis.

Ammit- Egyptian

The Ammit is believed by muggles to be an Egyptian goddess, but is in actuality a chimera.

With a body that was part lion, hippopotamus, and crocodile—the three largest man-eating
animals known in Egypt, the Ammit imposes a terrifying figure. The Ammit is well known
for not being overly picky with its food, but preferring hearts to all other meat. Also known
as: "Devourer of the Dead", "Eater of Hearts", and "Great of Death”.

Some of it fit into his symptoms, but Harry felt that whatever his creature was, it lived in a snowy
area, and the deserts of Egypt just didn't seem right to him. Harry kept reading, only stopping once
the other boys started to snuff out the candles. Crawling under his covers, creatures swarmed his
mind, none feeling quite right enough. He fell into an uneasy sleep.

Tom Riddle was moving swiftly through the Forbidden Forest that night, long cloak obstructing
his features from anyone who might come along. He had been taking control of Harry while he
slept for most of the school year, needing the cover of night to do most of his work. Shifting
through the trees, Tom jumped fallen logs and sidestepped traps, the centaurs had nearly got him
when he last stepped in the forest. He would be more careful tonight.

He came upon, quite suddenly, a large rock covered in runes. It was perfectly smooth, an egg
shape, and a good ten feet in height. It pulsed softly with magic.

The ward stone.

He moved quickly on, veering left at the ward stone, he moved swiftly through the underbrush,
pausing quickly to place a small pouch on the ground, before moving on again. He had been
placing the hex bags in a large circle around the Hogwarts grounds for a good three months, and it
was a true testament to the centaurs loyalties that they continuously tried to capture him, but left
the bags where they lay.

An hour or two later, all the bags he had on him had been placed. He could only make so many
each night, and it was getting rather cumbersome. It would all be worth it in the end though, even if
the full circle ended up taking the rest of the school year to complete.

He started to retrace his steps, heading back to the castle. While he was walking, Tom reflected on
the last several months. After his last conversation with Fate, he had gone and talked to the other
horcruxes, trying to wear them down. When he wasn't sleeping or placing hex bags that was what
he was doing. He had made a few trips to the kitchens as well as the owlery. Sending the Weasley
twins that letter was a good call, and had helped Harry’s plans immensely.
There had been a few weeks that he had been sure he was going to get caught out at night, and
there had definitely been a few close calls, but he managed. Getting a cursed necklace into the
school had been difficult, and sneaking it onto the Granger girl was even harder, but the little
genius needed to be taken down a few pegs, and a necklace cursed with irrationality was the perfect
thing for it.

He smirked, it had been more effective than he could ever had hoped. The best part of the curse
was, of course, that the wearer was so irrational that they would refuse to take the thing off, even if
someone told them to their face that the thing was cursed.

He was sure it wouldn't last forever of course, Dumbledore was bound to figure it out at some point
and force the necklace off of her. For now though, it was enough, Harry needed time to grow into
his body and eventually take on the first transformation of his creature inheritance, having the girl
constantly coming up with good plans to control him would only make things that much harder for
the boy.

Tom frowned, he had no idea what Death had been thinking, letting Harry run off and eat human
meat at such a young age, and before his inheritance had really started yet too! He grimaced, the
cannibalism had triggered the poor boy's inheritance into acting up sooner than usual, which was a
huge problem at this stage of Harry's development. Yes, the Potter heir was very tall for his age,
but in comparison to where he needs to be when his inheritance becomes fully realized on his 13th
birthday, he was still much too small. His body and mind were simply unable to handle the rapid
alterations to his DNA and bone structure. Hopefully the problem was fixed now though, Harry’s
episode in the forest had been a close call, the creature had almost taken control of him. Tom
thought back to the horror he had felt, trapped in the boy's mind while it was on the brink of
collapse. If Death hadn’t intervened when he did… who knows what would have happened to the
two of them.

Tom was shaken from his thoughts when he was grabbed roughly by the scruff of his neck.

Shit shit shit you IDIOT.

All he could make out was the legs of a horse before everything went black.

Harry woke up a few hours later, tied to the trunk of a tree and extremely confused. How had he
even gotten out in-

“Oh bloody hell you have got to be fucking kidding me-”

He started furiously struggling in his bonds.

Stupid fucking forbidden forest! Why the hell cant I go a single BLOODY year at Hogwarts without
almost dying in this place!

“Hello Harry Potter.”

Whipping his head up, Harry spotted a creature standing halfway into the shadows, a bow strapped
to his back and strong hooves pawing the dirt, and let out a low sigh, “Bane.”

“You know of me. Good, the stars did not lie.”

Not this tool again.

“Look Bane, I don't know how I got out here but-”

 “Saturn is bright tonight. Your fathers death is distant, but not distant enough. Karma has delayed
but will not deny, school is paramount. Tell me, boy, do your eyes ever burn?”

Harry froze, trying to make sense of the centaur’s words.

“My father is dead.”

“A father who did not raise you is no father at all.”

Ok what the fuck?

“Look.” He struggled a bit more, “I get you divination wackadoodles really love speaking in
riddles, but I don't have the energy to decode all that, so do you mind throwing me a bone and
saying it straight for once?”

Bane smiled, and moved forward. Kneeling down, he cut Harry free of the bonds that held him.

“I'm afraid not, Son of Darkness. Worry not though, events cannot be altered regardless of your
prior knowledge. Fate is steadfast in her decisions. She will not be swayed again.”

And then he was gone, galloping off into the forest.

Harry had to sneak back into the castle, sweaty and very confused. The centaur’s words made no
sense to him right now, but he had been much more focused on getting out of the forest and into
the dorms without getting caught or dying to really think about it. He crept into his dorm, trying
not to wake anyone, and grabbed a fresh pair of pajamas. On his way out, he tripped over his own
feet, tumbling to the floor. Luckily, the soft shag carpet not only padded his landing, but muffled
the noise. He scrambled up, embarrassed, and moved more carefully out of the dorm.

After a quick shower, Harry jolted down the Centaur’s words on a scrap piece of parchment, and
climbed into bed. He laid down and settled, looking up at the ceiling, contemplating. He didn't
know how he had gotten out into the forbidden forest, he doubted the centaur had waltzed into his
dorm and nabbed him, so what had happened?

Harry eventually fell back into an uneasy sleep, unknowing of the sulking dark lord in his mind.

Chapter End Notes

I would like to call this my "plot points that need deeper clarification without actually
revealing anything groundbreaking to the readers" chapter. Ie. the 'what the fuck is
going on' chapter.
Feel free to share any theories you may have about Bane's prediction, but I will keep
to my promise to not spoil a surprise and not confirm or deny any one hypothesis.
 A Mirror, a Prank, and an Artifact.
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini find a very familiar mirror.

Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger drink polyjuice.
Dumbledore receives a package.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Early the next morning, Harry was shook awake by a very excited Blaise, who whispered to get
dressed quickly and follow him. Bleary, rubbing his eyes, Harry went through the motions of
putting on a thin jumper and some slacks. He was tying the laces on his trainers when Blaise came
back in and stage whispered to hurry the hell up. Dragging himself out of his desk chair, Harry
meandered along behind Blaise, who was wide awake and seeming very excited.

“So over the holidays I had been following along behind the Weasley twins, who’ve been sneaking
off to this one abandoned classroom-'' They walked out of the common room, Blaise with a skip in
his step and Harry still half asleep. “I’ve been cautious to go near the door, cuz it's warded or
something. I tried to get in once and found myself thrown out into the black lake!”

They had reached the ground floor, and Blaise started leading him through the halls. Harry hadn't
said a word, brain too focused on trying to consciously sleepwalk to reply.

Blaise chattered excitedly for the rest of the way, Harry slowly waking up as he talked.

“-and here it is! Whadda you think?” Blaise presented him with a normal, slightly warded door.

“...what are we doing here, mate?” Harry hadn't been paying much attention to the whole thing,
and had just now noticed his surroundings.

Blaise let out a long-suffering sigh, “Harry, the Weasley twins have been going into this room and
staying inside for hours on end, I want to get in, but they've warded it and I don't know how to
break through wards.”

“Ahh…… so why am I here?”

Another sigh.

“Please take the wards down for me.”

Harry looked blankly at the aforementioned door for several moments, seemingly studying it.
Blaise started jumping on the balls of his feet out of excitement.

“I didn't bring my wand with me.” Blaise was two seconds away from slapping him, losing his
patience quickly.

“Didn't you even listen to me when I woke you up?”

Another blank look.

“Right, fine. I'll go grab it, stay here.”

Blaise ran back to the dorms to collect the elder wand, which was feeling very abandoned on
Harry's desk.

While he was doing that, Harry sat down along the wall across from the door, studying it still. The
wards weren’t set up by the Weasley twins, funnily enough. They weren't even wards meant to
keep people out, they were just used to monitor who came in and out. Sure, the twins probably put
up some prank wards when they were inside, but there wasn't anything to keep anyone out.

He blinked slowly, the magical signature on the wards was a little familiar. He lazily scrolled
through a filing cabinet in his mindscape, trying to find the file on this particular magical signature.

Oh, here it is…. right, that's Dumbledore’s- harry bolted up, suddenly wide awake.

“That's Dumbledore's magical signature.”

“What, mate?”

Harry looked to his right, seeing Blaise making his way towards him.

“I recognize the magical signature, it's not either of the Weasley twins’, its Dumbledore.”

Blaise cursed faintly, “how are the twins getting inside then?”

Harry got up off the floor, dusting off his pants.

“The only wards on the door right now are meant to record who goes through the door and when,
you could have waltzed in at any time. If you encountered any other wards, they were probably
placed while the twins were inside the room, right?” Blaise nodded, tan cheeks heating up in an
embarrassed blush.

“They probably put those up, but if you had come here when they hadn't been inside the room, you
could have gotten in just fine.” Blaise was blushing further now, realizing he had wasted most of
the Christmas break on this.

”I'm glad you hadn't though, Dumbledore would have known you had visited this room, who
knows what the old goat would have done with that information.” Blaise was confused with the
boy's words, he had no idea that Harry didn't like Dumbledore.

“So what should we do?” he finally asked, breaking Harry out of his stupor.

“I can break the wards, but Dumbledore would notice pretty quickly. I'd say we would have
roughly ten minutes after the wards go down for him to notice, and another ten or so till he shows
up.”

Blaise nodded along, “Alright, we’ll peek in quickly then get the ‘ell out as fast as possible.”

Harry agreed, and started peeling back the wards... they smelled like lemon. It only took him a few
moments really, they were rather simple wards after all.

Once they were down, he motioned to Blaise, and they both moved forward and burst through the
door.
“A mirror?”

Harry froze, the only thing in the room was a large, ornate mirror propped up on the far wall.

The Mirror of Erised? What is it doing still at the castle?

Blaise was walking quickly towards the mirror, and Harry didn't have time to call out to him before
he was already in front of it.

“What the-” Blaise stumbled back, falling on his ass.

“Blaise, get away from that thing!” Harry was rooted at the spot, he wanted to go over and grab
Blaise, but he didn't want to get even a glimpse of the mirror. He had no idea what would be in it,
and he didn't want to find out.

“Harry… Harry, what is this thing?!” Blaise was still on the floor, staring unblinking at the mirror.

“What are you seeing? Blaise?”

“My… my father.”

That made sense, Blaise’s father had been Mrs. Zabini’s first husband, and from what the boy had
said about him, was the only one of her husbands that the woman had actually loved.

“It's the Mirror of Erised Blaise, he isn't really there.”

The other boy didn't reply, seemingly transfixed on the mirror.

“Blaise! He's dead, get off your ass and let's leave!” Harry was getting nervous now, not only was
Blaise transfixed on the mirror, but the headmaster was bound to notice the wards had broken and
hurry over, catching them.

“Blaise! Get over here, now!”

Nothing. The Zabini heir was lost to him. Gritting his teeth, Harry marched over to the boy,
determinately NOT looking at the mirror. Upon reaching Blaise, he hauled the shorter boy to his
feet, and started pulling him towards the exit. He stumbled, as Blaise tugged towards the mirror,
determined to keep looking in. Harry moved backwards a few paces, getting a glimpse of long
fingers with sharp, sharp claws in the mirror. He looked away quickly, hauling Blaise along with
more force.

He pulled Blaise from the room, and shut the door. He didn't stop dragging the other boy till they
had reached the common room.

After hissing the password, Harry stormed in, throwing Blaise onto one of the plush couches. He
took a deep breath, before plopping down in the adjacent loveseat, rubbing his cheek tiredly.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Blaise had the decency to look sheepish.

“Listen here Zabini, you're not going to go anywhere near that mirror again, understood?” Blaise
nodded fast, “-and you are to tell absolutely no one about it, especially Draco, understand?”

Another nod.

Harry relaxed, breathing out through his teeth, “that mirror is a dangerous mate, people have
wasted away in front of it.”
“I know, sorry.”

Harry rolled his shoulder in the weak imitation of a shrug, “‘s alright, as long as you don't go near
it again.”

By the time Draco and Theo had come down to the commons, the other two were deeply engrossed
in their fifth chess game of the morning.

Winter turned into Spring, and April came and passed without incident. Since Quirrell wasn’t
possessed, he didn't trade Hagrid a dragon egg for information on Fluffy, who had been moved to a
reserve somewhere in America, much to the half-giants destress.

Harry and Co. didn't see any hints of the Gryffindor spies attempting to kidnap him like the stolen
parchment had detailed, and Draco was a little disappointed that he couldn't prank the two back.
May started to creep around the bend, end of year exams looming ever closer when the two finally
struck.

Harry had been walking alone in the early morning, missing the cool weather of winter, when
Draco and Theo had rounded the corner unexpectedly. A few things automatically made him
cautious, the first thing was that Draco's hair was a mess, and had literally NO product in it. Draco
refused to step foot into the common room without any product in his hair, and now he was just
waltzing around Hogwarts with his hair free of anything? Not only that, but Theo didn't have a
book on him, enough said.

“Hey mate!” the Draco imposter shouted out, Harry's instincts were screaming.

Draco felt all wrong, he even smelt different. Harry had an intense urge to turn tail and find the real
Draco immediately.

“Hello. How are you?” he ground out, wishing that he could skin the person in front of him alive.
Stop wearing Draco’s face you piece of trash.

The fake Draco and Theo proceeded to talk his ears off about random, inconsequential things, all
the while leading him to a secluded classroom. Harry was a little relieved, knowing that this must
be Granger and Weasley finally going through with their stupid kidnapping scheme. He had been
nervous about doing anything to the fakes until he was sure he could take them on, but those two
were just first years, the only offensive spell they knew was the severing charm, or maybe the
jelly-legs jinx.

He walked quickly into the abandoned classroom, standing stock stiff in the middle, waiting for the
other two to close the door. Once he heard the lock turning, he whipped around and shot off two
stunners, hitting both of them, and they collapsed to the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he moved over to their prone forms, picking them up and roughly throwing
them both to the middle of the room. Conjuring some rope, he tied them up , taking their wands.

He was just about to revive them, to have a few words, when the lock on the door clicked open and
two people stumbled into the room. He whipped around, pointing his wand at the intruders, a
stupefy on his tongue.

“Harry! You alright mate?” he let out a relieved breath, pocketing his wand.

“I’m fine, Draco. What are you two doing?”

“Granger locked us in a broom closet!” Draco appeared very indignant about it. Theo didn't look
like he particularly cared.

“That's awfully unfortunate for you two, would you like to get some revenge?”

Right on time, the two prone forms behind him reverted back into Granger and Weasley, still out
cold. Draco took one look at them before cackling maniacally.

Several hours later, an obliviated Granger and Weasley woke up in the abandoned classroom.
Confused, they meandered back to the Gryffindor common room, trying to remember what they
had been doing in the classroom. Walking into the commons, they were met with uproarious
laughter from the rest of the house. Granger's hair had been turned into a literal rats-nest, with real
rats; and Weasley’s skin was green, his hair silver. They were both still wearing the stolen
Slytherin uniforms.

The rest of the school year went by quickly, Granger and Weasley had been stuck in the infirmary
for a few days after the prank, while Madam Pomfrey ran through different methods to get them
back to normal. End of year exams went much the same way that midterms did, with Harry in first
for the year, Granger as a close second.

Harry had gotten into the Ca- creatures in the book, and had yet to find anything that called to him,
or matched up with his symptoms.

The end of term feast was a delightful affair, with food piled high with savory foods. The tables
groaning under the weight of it all. Harry didn't pay much attention to Dumbledore’s speech, and
only clapped politely as Ravenclaw won the house cup. He was ready to get back to Privet Drive.
Hogwarts always had a stressful undertone, having Dumbledore and his cronies constantly
watching him made the boy quite stressed. He was conflicted though, because while he wanted
terribly to get away from the headmaster, he was anxious about not seeing his friends for three
months. Draco especially, would be difficult to part with.

He sighed, the four of them were walking down to the Hogwarts express, Thasin hissing angrily in
his ear. She wanted to stay at the castle, but he was worried one of the summer staff might come
upon her at some point.

They boarded the train, finding a empty compartment and settling down. Blaise and Draco were
having an intense conversation about some exclusive clothing store in Italy they were planning on
visiting. Theo was reading, naturally. Harry was staring out the window, grumpy and having no
way to fix it.

This is how the first few hours of the train ride went, at least till Draco got bored and began
throwing wads of parchment at Theo, who was looking increasingly irritated with the blonde.
Harry smiled at this, and assisted his best friend in annoying the bookworm.

The ride ended far too soon after that, and the four boys stepping off the train.

“You'll all be writing to me, you hear?” Draco commanded, authoritative tone to his voice.

“Course.”

“Yea mate.”

“Hell no.”
 Draco threw another wad of paper at Theo, who shouted and tried to block with his book.

Laughing, they all made their way to their respective guardians, waving goodbye to Harry as he
passed through the barrier.

“Summer here I come…”

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the headmasters office after the end of term feast. All the students
had left Hogwarts, and he needed to start working to fix a few issues he had with the boy-who-
lived. That was all put to the side for now though, he had just received a very special package.
Smiling, he pulled an object out of its protective wrapping. Holding said object up to the light, he
studied it carefully, looking for imperfections in the design. Finding none, he set it down on his
desk.

Perfect.

End of Year One.

Chapter End Notes

End of first year! The votes have been overwelmingly option 3, so the next two days
are only going to have two updates, both drawings of the main four. Thank you all for
your support in this project! you've all been amazing.
 Second Year Character References
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I think its probably obvious that Theo's books and the symbols next to each of their names are hints
to what goes on in this year ;)

Ps. I've gifted you with smiling Harry because this is the most chill year by far (I have dubbed it:
the before shit hits the fan year). I figured it would be nice to see harry happy before the absolute
shit show that is third year. Savor it, dear reader, that smile will be gone soon enough.

(for reference, Theo is the average height for a 12-13 year old boy)

(yes I know Harry and Blaise look 14 I'm sorry its the angle of their heads I promise)

Chapter End Notes

And now back to our regularly scheduled programing.

 The Summer Slump
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter and Co. have very separate experiences during the summer. Harry is
reading with a vengeance, Draco is having an awful lot of back pain, Blaise is
rebelling against respectability, and Theo is keeping his eyes firmly shut for now.
Tom, I'm afraid, is in timeout.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Year Two: The Scholars

Harry Potter realized within the first hour of being back at Privet Drive that Dobby existed. This
realization wouldn't usually make him so pissed off, but the knowledge that Dobby the Barmy
House-elf would no doubt be stopping his mail this summer made him briefly consider killing the
little bastard the first chance he got. Sighing, Harry penned a quick letter to Draco, before realizing
belatedly that he didn't have a bloody owl, not feeling the need to get one when he already had a
pet. This enraged him further, and he slumped moody in his desk chair. It was one thing going then
entire summer without seeing his friends (read Draco) but not being able to write to them (Draco)
was a different type of torture.

Are you sure that Lucius will be planting the diary on the Weasley chit this year? Tom asked,
sounding like he thought it was unlikely.

Things may have changed yes, but not so much that he wouldn't want to get rid of a dark artifact
like your first horcrux.

Tom was quiet for a moment, normally I would agree with you, but considering it is no longer a
horcrux-

“WHAT!” Harry fell out of his chair, verbally shouting his surprise.

And pray tell what the bloody buggering FUCK you mean by that, Riddle? Since when was the
diary no longer a horcrux?”

Tom was silent for a moment, trying to decide how to word it.

I absorbed it.

….You what?

I absorbed it, it's just a blank book now.

And when, pray tell, did you absorb it, and how?

It was quiet for a bit longer this time, Tom was mulling over the pros and cons of saying anything
more, Harry was getting more and more pissed.
I’m the main horcrux, naturally, so I can go visit the others. In 1983-

YOU DID THIS WHEN I WAS THREE??? AND YOU DIDN'T BLOODY TELL ME!?

…………..Yes.

Fuck you, Riddle.

Harry slammed the door that separated their minds shut, trapping Tom in his own mindscape,
decidedly in timeout. He was so incredibly pissed off by the past thirty minutes that he threw all
caution to the wind and yelled, “Dobby! Get your ass out here.” Figuring that he would at least feel
better by yelling.

The sound of a pop alerted him to Dobby's prompt arrival, and an the poor elf (that was already
scared shitless) was grabbed firmly around the neck and slammed into a wall.

Harry leaned in close and whispered, “Listen here you psychotic little shit, anything that your man-
whore of a master is planning to unleash onto Hogwarts will pale in comparison to what I'll do to
you if you even think about disrupting my mail. Understood?”

Dobby nodded fearfully and popped away.

Harry let out a long sigh, flopping down onto the floor and attempting to calm down. He knew it
was wrong to take his anger out on the poor elf, but Tom had been keeping that secret for nearly a
bloody decade! He had the right to be pissed.

Harry fell backwards onto the soft carpet with a sigh. Contemplating the last school year. His
episodes with Pettigrew and in the forest had obviously been brought on by his budding creature
inheritance, as well as all the early mornings staring blankly at a mirror. After his breakdown in the
forest however, he felt much the same as he had before he ate Pettigrew. It seemed as though Death
had done something to stunt his creature inheritance, as even the telltale signs of one seemed
almost non-existent. Sure, he still had to drain a few pets at Hogwarts of blood to negate any
withdrawal symptoms, but blood drinking tied into his necromancy as well, and could be excused
as something pertaining to that particular skill of his.

Whatever, it's not like Death would tell me what he did.

The summer passed quietly for Harry, who corresponded via owl with his friends, and relaxed at
home with the Dursleys. The same could not be said for Draco, who’s back pain had gotten
considerably worse after his 12th birthday, and he had noticed that the areas in pain were also
noticeably inflamed. His mother had rubbed some balm on his back that had helped some,
promising that this was perfectly normal for a Malfoy, but he couldn't help but feeling that this was
extremely abnormal . He constantly felt like something was going to grow out of his back, and his
nails grew in thick and fast; he had taken to trimming them once a week at least, sometimes once
every few days. He also noticed, with no small amount of bitterness, that he was still short for his
age, and not growing much taller. Harry was already almost a head taller than him, and the others
weren't terribly far behind that.

Draco sighed, it was currently the 30th of July, and he was putting the finishing touches on Harry’s
birthday present. Lifting it up for his owl, Persephone, to take, he wondered suddenly when they
were all going to meet up to go school shopping.

The Hogwarts letters had arrived on the 25th of July, and Blaise had wrote that he would be back
from visiting his extended family in Italy on the 3rd of August, and that he could meet them
sometime after that. Theo wasn't set to get back from Switzerland till the 6th, so they would have to
wait till after then. Draco entertained the thought of them meeting up without Theo, but didn’t
want to leave out one of his friends.

It'll have to be the 7th, he decided with a nod. The 7th of August was also a Friday, which was
when his father had tea with the minister, so his mother would have to take them. He considered
this to be a good thing, as his mother had a much better time being kind to other people than his
father did, who he took after in the subtle (or not so subtle) insulting of people he didn't like.

Finally deciding that was the best course of action, he got out three pieces of parchment to write to
his friends, sharing when he thought would be the best day and why. Sealing them with the Malfoy
coat of arms, he wandered off to find his mothers owl, as Persephone was currently carrying
Harry's birthday present to Surrey, wherever that was.

Gwyllgi-Welsh

The Gwyllgi is described as a large wolf-dog, found predominantly in Wales, that has the
appearance and stature similar to a Dire Wolf (see page 189) with baleful breath and blazing
red eyes. It is often referred to as “The Dog of Darkness” or “The Black Hound of Destiny”.
It often hunts human prey, appearing to them on lonely roads at night. It is quite similar to
the Grim (see page 497) as it is also an omen of terrible and painful death.

Harry breathed out a tired sigh, crossing the Gwyllgi out with his pencil. At first he had sniffed at
the thought of marking up a precious resource like “Every Magical Creature Known”, but found
himself needing to make some sort of physical progress in this long arduous journey of discovering
his creature inheritance.

He wondered, not for the first time, why Death seemed so adamant about not telling him, feeling
that it was uncomfortably similar to Tom’s dodging of questions relating to his plans. The paranoid
side of him figured that, much like Tom's plans, he would really hate the knowledge of what he
was, so Death was procrastinating the inevitable. The more cynical side of him figured Death didn't
get much amusement in his life, and watching Harry struggle through this was the only amusement
he got.

Harry leaned back in his desk chair, contemplating. It was his birthday, and his family had shoved
him upstairs with the command to stay there till his surprise-party-that-wasn't-a-surprise was all set
up. This left him sulking in his bedroom, trying to do something productive but then getting
distracted by all the mysteries currently in his life.

An indignant squawk broke him from his musing. Looking to the window, he recognized Draco's
barn owl Persephone, flapping angrily at him, wanting to be let in. He quickly got up and unlatched
the window, barely sidestepping the bird as it rocketed into the room. Persephone flew around the
room, squawking all the while, before finally settling on his bed frame. She held out her leg and
dropped a package onto the bed, before immediately flying back out the window.

Well then.

Laughing a little at the birds aloofness, he meandered over to the package, picking it up and
observing it. He didn't get the chance to open it however as two more owls streamed into the room,
one that appeared to be Theo’s snowy owl Apollo, and one that was definitely Blaise’s eagle owl
Hermes. It had been a fun day when they all sat down together and named all their owls after gods
from Greek mythology. Harry was thinking of getting his own and naming it similarly, but couldn't
settle on Hades or Thanatos for a name, wanting something death related. (there was also the issue
that he couldn't yet part with the memory of Hedwig)

Gathering up all the presents, he gave the more mild mannered birds some water before they flew
off. Setting the three packages onto his bed, he started to open them, deciding that his birthday
party would be a purely family affair.

Blaise had sent him a book on clothing alteration charms, with a note that said if he kept growing
the way he was that he would probably need them. He had also sent pornography, which was
apparently something that he added to all his gifts. Harry set it aside for later. Theo had gotten him
a book on soul bonds, making him wonder just how observant one boy could be before it veered
off into unnatural. Draco had gotten him a masterly crafted glass snake sculpture, complete with
emerald eyes. It was beautifully formed and obviously expensive, its pose coiled up lazily as if
sleeping. Draco’s note revealed that he had had it commissioned by a glassblower in Sweden's
famous “Glasriket” Glass Country, (from the magical district, naturally) and it had been embedded
with unbreakable charms, as well as passive calming magic, meant to settle the mind.

The sculpture, despite being incredibly detailed, was only about a inch and a half tall, and would fit
easily in his pockets. He clutched it, desperately, feeling the calming magic already starting to
work its magic.

Harry slouched back in his chair, and sighed, completely and utterly relaxed.

Thirty minutes later, and with Draco's present firmly in his trouser pocket, he made his way down
the stairs into his surprise-but-not-a-surprise party. It was a good day, all things considered. Aunt
Petunia had baked him a treacle tart, his favorite, and they all ate a feast for dinner

“Harry dear you need to stop growing! You just turned twelve and you've almost caught up with
me!” his aunt laughed, hugging him tightly and giving him a kiss on the head. The rest of the
afternoon was merry, and Harry settled into bed that night with the snake sculpture held loosely in
his grasp, Thasin curled up on his chest.

Blaise Zabini was in his family's library in Italy, browsing through the books filled with knowledge
long lost to the rest of the world. He was impressively bored, being surrounded by a bunch of
stuffy Italian mobsters did that to most people.

They aren't even the interesting type of mobsters, they just deal in illegal potions and smoke cigars.
Where's all the exciting duels in the streets and the sexy outfits?

Blaise had a very skewed perception of what was important in this world.

Turning a corner, he felt the wood under his hand suddenly warm. Looking to the right, he found
that his hand was on a symbol that had seemingly been carved into the wood. It was two snakes
knotted together, and appeared Norse in nature. He felt called to it, and brushed his fingers over it a
second time. The snakes started to shift then, untangling and slithering into a different formation,
forming a small square shape in the wood. The square gave way, and fell forward, revealing a
small hollowed out space behind it. Peering in, now decidedly not bored, Blaise saw what appeared
to be a small green book. Taking it out, he turned it over in his palm, admiring it. The book was
mostly green, with intricate gold trimming that also appeared Norse, it was about the size of his
hand.

“So, Loki has chosen you, eh boy?” He whipped around, finding his great great grandfather
 looking at the book in disapproval. “He isn't much a respectable god, you know, I expect you to
choose differently. Run along then, find someone better.”

The old man hobbled off, apparently deciding that that was the only explanation necessary. Blaise
felt insulted by the man's words, feeling that the trickster god was quite fitting for him really.
Looking down once again at the book, he pocketed it, and placed the piece of wood that had fallen
back into its proper place, where it proceeded to merge back with the original wood, and the two
snakes knotted together again. Blaise made a beeline for the exit, already planning on going against
his grandfather's words, whatever they had meant.

Theo was currently in Switzerland, really wishing he wasn't. Sure, the countryside was beautiful,
and the magical district in Bern was filled to the brim with incredible things, but Theo wasn't
enjoying any of it, as he was currently meeting with an old seer woman about his gift. After years
of prodding on his grandfather's part, Theo had finally been dragged off to Switzerland to meet
with this old crone who was supposedly adept in unlocking someone's inner eye. Theo had no idea
what that could do to help him and his weird hunches, but it seemed to be helping his grandfather's
stress.

The old woman was currently pottering around the kitchen, explaining how English wizards had
gotten things very wrong about divination and those with the sight, mostly because there were so
few that were adept (and knowledgeable) in the practice currently living in the British Isles. She
explained the difference between seers and prophets, where prophets are those who give
prophecies (duh), and seers are those who have been given the gift of seeing things that others
cannot. It sounded to Theo like all the so-called seers in Britain were actually prophets, and the
true seers were written off as loons.

The woman had finished her spiel and was now sitting down across from him, grabbing for his
hands before holding them firmly. She started humming lowly, calling on something. The air in the
room seemed to shift, and the smell of iron and earth overwhelmed his senses. His grandfather was
standing in the corner of the room, watching the old woman imploringly. After several moments of
this, her eyes flung open and she practically threw his hands away. Muttering to herself further, she
got up and started moving around the room again, before coming back and setting on the seat
across from him once more. She looked deep into his eyes, and started to speak.

“You've got a demon, boy, angel as well. Loki protects you but keeps distance. Your inner eye can
not be opened by me. No one but yourself, I can do nothing for you.” She spoke in choppy, broken
English, but he understood what she meant, they left the house on her prompting.

“We’ll find someone who can give us a clear answer, Theo. Bern is the divination capital of the
world after all.” his grandfather spoke in a placating tone, more for himself than his grandson.
Theo had already gotten a clear enough answer though, feeling that his inner eye would open once
it was needed. He had a hunch about it happening this year, and his hunches were never wrong.

Chapter End Notes

Its a shorter chapter than usual, but an important one. Tom wont be in timeout for the
entire year, don't worry, but he's certainly going to be doing some groveling.
PS: Please give me group name ideas for the main four, I feel like they need one that
isn't Harry and Co. which is kinda unimaginative.
 Dirty Blood Coats the Fists of Purity
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter and Co. reunite in Diagon Alley, not before he has a sneaky little
adventure down Knockturn though. It is revealed that Draco is still short.
The boys return to Hogwarts for their second year, heads held high and spirits strong.

Chapter Notes

I'm begging for forgiveness for the last chapter which was quite short with this one,
which is much longer. Hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry made his way through the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the blatant stares from everyone around
him, his eyes zeroed in on the far back wall. He was here a few hours earlier than the others,
wanting to sneak down Knockturn Alley and snoop. The last time he had been to Diagon Alley,
Tom had told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't go gallivanting down Knockturn till he
was at least thirty. Alas, Tom was in timeout right now and Harry would do as he damn well
pleased.

He stepped into Diagon, quickly pulling up his hood to obscure his features. He didn't want to be
caught down the less than stellar side-alley by anyone that would recognize him, it would damage
his reputation. Speeding up to a fast stride, Harry walked purposefully down Diagon until he made
it to Knockturn, not pausing for a second before going in. The alley wasn't all bad, really. Sure, in
his last life he had been terrified, and obviously quite young, which had made him an easy target
for unsavory people. This time though, he had already grown to the height of an average woman,
and looked to be on the shorter side as men go, so his silhouette would be passed off as an adult,
hopefully. Ok so this was a little risky, but Tom wasn’t here to tell him that.

Harry made his way down the alley slowly, mostly window shopping. He stopped though, quite
abruptly, when he came across a stationary store of all things. Intrigued, he climbed the rickety
steps and entered the shop, taking in all the enchanted quills and jinxed journals with interest. The
shelves were a good three stories high, and seemed to be on the brink of collapsing into
themselves. The shop-keep was pleasant enough, one of those live-and-let-live types, and had left
him to browse.

Strolling through the high shelves, Harry felt drawn towards all the enchanted journals, which were
masterfully crafted and quite illegal by the look of it. Finding a sign that listed all the possible
enchantments that one could put on a custom journal, Harry found that many of the journal's main
features were to keep others from getting in or reading the contents. One addition quickly caught
his eye though: Infinite pages: 400 ʛ

“Sir? What does it mean by infinite pages?” he motioned the shop-keep over to the sign, pointing.

“Ahhh good eye lad,” he spit, gross, “that ‘ere makes the pages never ending, so you never run
outta ‘em”

Harry was intrigued by this, and eventually bought a black, silver embossed journal with the
infinite pages enchantment and several jinxes to keep unwanted readers out. He figured once he
wasn't angry at Tom anyone he could get the man to add further enchantments, but for now he was
still incredibly cross with the ex-dark lord, so this would do just fine. He also thought to buy an
enchanted quill meant to write for you, which he figured would be quite handy, remembering the
blood quill and quick-quotes quills he had seen in his first life, there was no telling how many
different types of quills there were that he didn't know about.

Making his way back up to the main alley, Harry felt quite satisfied with his purchases. It was one
thing going down the obviously illegal and dangerous alley, but it was another thing entirely to
actually buy something in it. His pre-teenage rebellion over and done with, Harry settled into
Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor to wait for his friends.

It was a good thirty minutes before Theo showed up, who was carrying a impressively large stack
of books in his arms (naturally).

“Over here, mate.” He called out, “Draco’s gonna be awfully cross that you went and got the
course books without us.”

Theo sat down with a sigh, “These are from the second hand bookshop down the way actually, and
they’re for my personal reading pleasure, mind you.” Theo had apparently decided the Hogwarts
library was too small a selection and sought to buy his own books that, from the size of the stack,
would last him for the next few weeks.

“Flourish an’ Blott's is a madhouse, I tell you. Full of middle aged women swooning over some
writer or another.”

Theo looked glum about having to resort to a second hand bookstore for his book addiction, as if it
was beneath him. They chatted for a while, before Blaise showed up, looking darker than normal
from the Italian sun.

“Evenin' chaps.” Was his only greeting. He too, joined them at the table.

It was several minutes later that Draco and Lady Malfoy breezed into the shop. Lady Malfoy
looking fantastically beautiful and Draco fantastically short. Theo was the first to notice their
arrival, and proceeded to snort tea up his nose, apparently finding the Malfoy heir's height
particularly hysterical.

“”Ello-Theo stop laughing-sorry for being late, mother needed to change a third time-Theo stop
laughing!”

Harry got up with a sigh, acknowledging distantly that he could only see the top of Draco's head.
Theo laughed harder, Draco turned pink.

“I'll get my growth spurt, you'll see Nott, then you won't be laughing!”

This prompted Theo to make a passing remark about hobbits from Lord of the Rings. Which did
make Harry snort a bit, and prompted Draco to kick the Nott heir in the knee. Blaise watched the
entire spectacle with amusement

“Alright boys enough of that.” An amused Lady Malfoy put a stop to the chaos, chiding Theo and
Draco for fighting in such a public place, before pulling them all along to get their school supplies.
They first went to get stationary, Harry only getting more parchment and ink, already having gotten
new quills. Draco had picked out a particularly beautiful peacock quill, which made Theo erupt
into more peals of laughter right in the center of the store. Draco kicked him in the other knee.

Draco and Blaise took a few minutes to drool over the quidditch supply store, with Harry watching
passively from behind them. Theo was crouched down on the path reading a book, wishing they
would get a move on already.

Eventually they were dragged off to Flourish and Blotts, which did in fact have a rather large
crowd of people inside of it. With Lady Malfoy leading the charge, the group pushed their way
through.

“It can't be Harry Potter.”

I wonder if I can get away with killing a man in front of an entire bookstore.

There was no reply, as expected.

Harry watched with a detached feeling of acceptance as the one and only Gilderoy Lockhart parted
the crowd, making his way to Harry. The tall boy sunk in his heels, and when the ponce in blue
grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled, he didn't move an inch.

“Good evening sir, would you please remove your hand from my person.” Harry's voice was cold
as ice, and Draco was peering up at the two from next to him with obvious glee on his face.

“Ah, um yes of course dear boy.” Lockhart let go with a nervous laugh, “Won't you come up with
me to the stage, I'd love to get a few pictures with you.”

“I'm afraid I have to decline, sir.”

Another nervous laugh, “Nonsense my boy! Come on up, let's greet the crowd.”

Harry sunk his heels in further, and Lockhart was visibly trying to pull him along this time.
Eventually the fraud settled on just standing right there in the crowd, wearing a big smile as the
camera flashed.

Harry determinately ignored the man's speech, instead focusing on looking as miserable as
physically possible, and making most of the crowd extremely uncomfortable with second hand
embarrassment.

After he had 'The entire Gilderoy Lockhart Series' shoved into his arms, free of charge of course,
Harry was commandeered by an irate Lady Malfoy, who proceeded to glare quite poshly at
Lockhart while leading him and the other boys away.

“Honestly that man. I'm so sorry Heir Potter, some people these days have no class.” She soothed
out the wrinkles in his jumper.

“Please Lady Malfoy, call me Harry.”

The rest of the trip passed without incident, though Harry had seen a gaggle of redheads meander
into the bookstore shortly after they paid. Harry had ducked down to Draco’s level to tell him,
when Theo erupted into another laughing fit. Apparently, Harry needing to stoop so low was an act
of comedic genius, or Theo was just a bit of a tool. Either way, they got out of the store without
having a run in with the Weasley family, which was good enough for him.
Their last stop had been Eeylops Owl Emporium, in which Blaise had to physically drag Harry into
the store. It wasn't that he didn’t want an owl, it's just that he missed Hedwig, and felt that he was
cheating her by getting another. Thasin would also be extremely pissed off with “being replaced”.
His friends were insistent however, and the group walked through the store, the other boys pointing
out different owls and Harry refusing all of them stubbornly.

He noticed suddenly, a very large black owl with familiar gold and green eyes studying him from
the back of the store. Laughing lightly, he moved over to it and held out his hand. The bird (that
totally wasn’t death in disguise) hopped regally onto his hand. How it managed to hop regally was
anyone's guess. Stroking its front feathers, Harry had the feeling that it wasn't Death after all, but
had certainly been made by the god, he could feel the death magic as he brushed lightly through
the owl’s feathers. Figuring it was the best he could get, he paid for the bird and a cage, already
having some owl treats at home that he had been using to placate the aggressive Persephone.

HIs friends were satisfied he finally had a means of communication, and he was satisfied that they
could finally leave the loud store. Relocating to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, they all caught up
and traded stories from their summer, Lady Malfoy butting in with embarrassing stories from
Draco's childhood, much to the small boys mortification and Theo’s glee. Promising to meet back
up on the train, “Last compartment on the left, you can't miss it,” Harry and his friends parted
ways. It had felt good to see them all again, and the look of resigned exasperation on Vernon’s face
when he saw Harry’s new owl made the entire purchase worth it.

The 1st of September was a warm day, and Kings Cross Station was bustling with people hurrying
to and fro in an effort to meet their various appointments. All was not normal with the station
however, as a tall boy of 12 years was walking by himself to the platforms 9 and 10, carrying a
large trunk and even more peculiarly, an owl in a cage. If anyone had been watching the boy, they
would have been very startled when he quite suddenly walked right between the walls of platform
9 and 10, disappearing from view.

Harry stepped onto platform 9 ¾ on September 1st, excited to be getting back to Hogwarts. With
the glass snake safely inside his trouser pocket, and his real snake curled around his middle, the
boy-who-lived stepped through the crowd of witches and wizards. Moving with a purpose towards
the train, Harry wondered what this year had in store for him. With the Chamber of Secrets no
longer under threat of being opened and the basilisk still hidden safely away within its confines,
Harry felt that this year could be used constructively to gleam a better understanding of his creature
inheritance, as well as the various other inheritances he would eventually inherit on his 17th
birthday when he came of age. Stepping onto the train, Harry sought out Tom's compartment that
he had hid in exactly a year prior. This time though, he would be inviting his friends inside.

Settling down, Harry opened Every Magical Creature Known to a bookmarked page and began to
read

Harpy-Greek

The harpy is a distant relative of Bulgaria’s more popular Veela (see page 4,460), and is
described as a half-human half-bird creature that lives in the higher altitudes of Mt.
Olympus. Very elusive creatures, the Harpies are a species of all females, similar to the Keres
(see page 1,067). Many men have attempted to seduce one, usually at the cost of their own
lives. The last recorded sighting of a Harpy was in 1503 by an unnamed forager, who had had
time to record the sighting in a journal before falling to his death.

Harry sighed, there seemed to be an awfully lot of Veela-like creatures in the world. Right on time,
Draco stormed into the compartment, Theo not far behind him. It seemed that the two were in a bit
of an argument, and Draco's hair was ruffled, quite reminiscent of the way a bird puffed up in a
display of agitation. Theo was laughing his ass off. Ah, so it’s height related then.

Theo seemed to have found great pleasure in making fun of Draco’s height at every opportunity
when they had been in Diagon Alley, and it seemed that he still hasn't gotten it all out of his system
quite yet.

“Draco, all I'm saying is-”

“You’re a tool, you know that, Nott?” Draco still looked like a small angry bird, and Harry felt a
large amount of affection at the sight, which confused him greatly.

“‘Ello lads, lovely weather we're having.” Blaise strolled in last, closing the door behind him. He
was carrying a very ornate plate with what appeared to be fish and chips on it. When Harry pointed
it out Blaise explained that he and his mother had been eating in the muggle world and he had
decided to get some takeaway. Chalking that up to the usual Zabini chaos, Harry turned back to the
argument (read Draco screeching while Theo gets a cramp from laughing too hard). It was good
entertainment, as it goes, but the volume was a little grating.

As the train pulled away, the shortest two of the group finally settled down into their seats, with
Draco next to Harry and Theo sitting cross legged on the floor, trying to convince Blaise to stop
lounging across the entire left-side seating and give him room to sit down. Harry didn't feel like
pointing out that their side had two extra spots, and Draco was feeling sadistic so he didn't say
anything either.

The rest of the ride was quiet, with Harry furiously reading through the Ha-’s of his book, Draco
reading over his shoulder (more like over his elbow but you get the idea). Theo eventually just sat
down on Blaise’s stomach, the other boy not appearing all that affected by it.

When the train started to slow, they got changed into their school robes, and by the time they were
done the train had come to a full stop and people were starting to get off. Moving through the
crowd, the four Slytherin boys made their way to the ‘horseless’ carriages with the rest of the
school. Harry was tempted to reach out and pet one of the Thestrals, but figured the action would
start up a round of uncomfortable questioning.

The carriage ride to the school was quiet, Harry belatedly thanked Draco for his Birthday gift,
revealing that he kept it on him at all times. The blonde seemed embarrassed but pleased with that
knowledge. Stepping out of the carriages, the group made their way up to the castle proper,
chattering louder this time about the new potential firsties for Slytherin.

Settling down at the table, Harry looked down a ways and shared a nod with Maria Vasiey, the
Slytherin princess.

It seems that no one is opposed.

Turning back to the front, pleased with the confirmation that he was in fact unchallenged in his
running for Slytherin Prince this year, he watched the sorting with careful eyes.

“Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom were genuine, as well as most of your roommates,”
Death started, “-but Hermione Granger never cared much about you, and was happy to report
your movements back to Dumbledore, and most of the Weasley family were being paid hand over
fist to keep you on the Light side of the-war-that-never-should-have-happened.”
Harry remembered what Death had said in their first meeting very well, and felt it prudent to get
close to Luna again. Neville was off having a good time in Hufflepuff, and had been polite but
warry in regards to him. Harry felt it was very important to have at least one tie to his last life, and
Luna was just crazy enough to be able to fit in with his new crowd.

This thought was confirmed when little 11 year old Luna Lovegood looked him dead in the eyes
and winked as the hat shouted out Ravenclaw.

...Ok, what the fuck?

He watched, gaze piercing, as she floated down to the first year section of the Ravenclaw table,
immediately beginning to chatter at the girl next to her, no doubt going on about nargles or
something.

The rest of the sorting didn't have any more surprises, thank god, though Ginny Weasley appeared
to have been arguing quite strongly with the hat, but eventually sulked off to Gryffindor.

“Welcome back to another wonderful year at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore began, eyes twinkling, “In
the event of Professor Quirrell's unfortunate decision to return to the muggle studies post, I am
pleased to announce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: Gilderoy Lockhart!”

An uproarious applause echoed through the great hall, and Lockhart stood with a flourish. Harry
noticed that Snape appeared to be fighting the urge to drown himself (or Lockhart) in his soup. The
other teachers were of a similar deposition, and McGonagall’s lips were pressed tightly into a thin
line.

“Thank you... thank you! I can't wait to teach you all this year, I'm sure we’ll become quite good
friends.” he sent off a wink at the crowd, Harry briefly considered castrating the man in his sleep,
it would certainly do the world a favor.

After that was the feast, which felt quite brief to Harry, who was trying to figure out the enigma
that was Luna Lovegood. The wink she sent him was glaringly obvious, almost comical in nature,
and couldn't be mistaken as anything different; which begged the question of just what she knew…
and how.

He was walking back to the common room with his friends after the feast when Greengrass came
up from behind them, elbowing Draco out of the way and butting into the conversation, “when do
you plan to help me with our agreement, Heir Potter? I think that this year is-” She was cut off
when Draco slammed into her from the other side, retaking his spot next to Harry; Blaise and Theo
started snickering loudly at the display.

“Piss off Greengrass, you can beg for the princess spot later, maybe when the big contenders are
out of the running?” Draco turned his nose up at her and pushed them along, intent on leaving the
girl behind. Quite soon after they came upon the commons, going inside and settling into their
usual cluster of couches.

A few minutes after the firsties arrived, most of them looking like the type of snot-nosed brats that
Blaise would take great pleasure in tormenting. One of them, however, looked scared shitless.

Muggle-born, maybe?

The newest fifth year prefects, Snyde and Richmond, he thought, told them the rules before
leading them up to the dorms. Once the two of them had returned and the current king, Marcus
Flint, rose from his seat to address the house, starting off the first house meeting of the year.
 “Alright everyone, as I'm sure you're aware, Urquhart is no longer eligible for the Prince title.”
there were affirmative murmurs all around, Flint continued, “Our own Princess, Mariya Vaisey, has
sent forward the nomination of Heir Hadrian James Potter.” more acknowledging murmurs, “are
there any opposed with this appointment?” A few people looked like they wanted to speak up, but
glanced at Harry and decided against it, fighting him for the sake of blood purity wasn't worth the
potential injuries.

“No one? Great. Moving on...” Flint proceeded to detail issues pertaining to the house, and
eventually put a name to the first year that had seemed so nervous that night, “One of our first
years is a muggleborn named Virginia White, you lot know the rules.” Of course, a united front
outside of the commons, and relentless bullying inside of it. There weren't very many half-bloods in
Slytherin, most of them coming from influential families like him and Tracey Davis, and
muggleborns were almost unheard of, and horribly bullied by the more blood-supremacist part of
the house. That girl would have a hard time unless she latched onto an influential pure-blood or
half-blood that was willing to protect her.

The speech wrapped up pretty quickly after that, and Harry got up to chat with Vaisey about their
duties. She was a tall girl, about as tall as Theo, with black hair in a short pixie cut and deep blue
eyes. She glared at him imploringly.

“Evening, Potter,” she sassed, glint in her eyes, “tell me something, why exactly is that Greengrass
bitch vying for my spot?”

He shrugged, noncommittal, “Someone's got to take over after you, she seemed like the best
option. I told her I’d get Parkinson out of the way, but everything else wasn't my business.” He
smirked a little, “Figured you would enjoy having a new chew toy?”

She seemed placated by this, and started giving him the rundown of his general duties, “The firsties
probably won't be telling the mudblood anything, so don't bother with that one unless you see
something interesting.” she grimaced, he rolled his eyes, “the third years and down are going to
come to you to help them with house rivalries, I'm sure you can find some way to help with that.
Hmm... try not to stir the pot too much in the first few months, Potter. Farley’s got her eye on you
and Warrington's intrigued, but everyone else is still high strung about this appointment. You're
lucky Malfoy is a shoe-in for seeker or Flint would have given you some grief.”

He was surprised that Warrington wasn't out for blood, he seemed like the type to lead the
campaign against him. Interesting.

“Any questions?” she rounded out, sounding like she would wring his neck if he did. He shook his
head, and then her hand, before wandered back to his friends, intent on winning at least one game
of chess against Blaise before the night was done.

Chapter End Notes

I wonder what'll happen to poor Virginia White, the girl will need a certain type of
cunning to survive in Slytherin.
 Mischief Gains an Apprentice
Chapter Summary

Dumbledore is puzzled by the enigma that is Harry Potter, who has added the sardonic
and witty Tracy Davis to his circle of companions.
Harry is asked for assistance by a little Virginia White, who isn't at all what he had
expected.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

While Harry Potter and his friends enjoyed their first night back in Hogwarts, Dumbledore sat in
his office, watching his new tool with a fascinated gleam in his eyes. He had been feeling
extremely paranoid about Tom the past several months, prompting him to buy a very special type
of sneakoscope. Many of the ones currently in circulation were cheap imitations of a true model,
which was a globe of hollowed out crystal, and was actually called a Seeing Glass. The nature of a
Seeing Glass was quite more refined as well, and allowed the user to divinate a set topic,
regardless of their actual abilities in divination. Dumbledore had commissioned one that allowed
him to find out where a person's true allegiances lied.

They were absurdly expensive, needing to be created out of a very specific kind of crystal, taking
several years of precise cutting, and needing to be embedded with several types of carefully cast
enchantments. He had ended up needing to dip into the school's vault to purchase it, but all the
hefty cost was more than worth it.

He leaned closer to the ball, deciding to test it. The instructions that came with the crystal had
required that it be left in a sunny spot for a month before use, to charge up the energy or some sort.
Which had forced him to leave it be for the summer, but it had been left on a window sill for the
entire summer break, and was more than charged now. Thinking for a moment, he said clearly and
precisely, “Minerva McGonagall”.

The sneakoscope started spinning, gathering up everything it could gleam about the woman's
allegiances. After several moments it eventually started out slow to a stop, and words were
reflected out into the air above the orb.

Reading the synopsis, he smiled smugly, finding that the Transfiguration professor was loyal to
Hogwarts and the McGonagall name, and trusted one Albus Dumbledore inexplicitly.

Smiling broader, he was quick to say the name “Harry Potter” at the device. It started spinning,
and he waited with bated breath as the results came though. Would the boy be too far gone and
need to be taken care of? Or were the compulsions still in place and doing their job? The device
slowed to a stop, reflecting words up into the air just as it had with McGonagall. He was almost
immediately puzzled by the results. Listed under Harry Potter's name was simply: Death. That was
his only allegiance? To death? Dumbledore frowned, this required careful consideration and
thought.

Coming to a quick decision, he called up two house elves to send for Hermione Granger and
Ronald Weasley, deciding firmly that a different approach needed to be taken for this new
development.

“Ah, hello Miss. Granger, Mr. Weasley, thank you for joining me on such short notice.” They both
smiled politely, and took a seat in front of his desk.

“Now, I'm sure you've made plenty of progress in coaxing Harry Potter back onto the right path,
but I'm afraid that new information has come to light that is going to force a change in tactics.” He
explained carefully, solemn expression on his face.

“What do you mean headmaster?” Miss. Granger asked imploringly, her thirst for knowledge
overriding her tact.

“I'm afraid that information has to be kept secret for now, my dear. We are going through dire
straits this year. Worry not though, I still wish for you both to keep a close eye on the boy-who-
lived, but try to have as little interaction with him as possible.”

They both appeared worried, and a subtle brush of legitimacy revealed that the Granger girl
thought the boy must be nearing an emotional breakdown or something, and Ronald fretted that
Draco Malfoy had succeeded in turning the boy into the next dark lord.

Hmmm… I can use that.

Regardless of their worry, both of the second years nodded obediently.

“Thank you both for understanding, I'm sure once I have enough information myself I will share
with you what I have learned. Until then though, I implore you to get a good night's rest.”

They both thanked him for his time and left, heading back to the Gryffindor commons.

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair with a sigh, there was no explainable reasoning behind
Harry Potter being in allegiance with a concept, unless of course…

No… the Hallows have been missing for hundreds of years. It's inconceivable for a boy of 12 to
somehow come into contact with all three. There must be some other reason.

He sat there and though long into the night, unaware of a tall man with gold and green eyes
watching him with amusement from the shadows.

The first week of classes went about as expected for Harry. Snape was a bit more sour than usual
and McGonagall had lectured on how to (theoretically) turn peacocks into clothes hampers. Theo
had kept elbowing Draco in the side through that lecture, much to the other boys' displeasure.

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson was much anticipated by most of the girls in their
year, not including Tracey Davis, who insisted the man was a pompous prat and undeserving of his
titles. She sat with the Slytherin boys that morning, having been shunned by the other girls.

“It's simply dreadful you know,” she took a bite of her omelet, ranting to a slightly curious Harry,
who felt that this was his first enjoyable conversation with a girl he'd had thus far, “the man would
be much better suited for a zoo, being the main attraction of course.” Draco snorted his milk up his
nose. She took another bite, “-and those robes of his are just so utterly gaudy, I’d sooner gauge out
my eyes than swoon at him.” Harry nodded in agreement, finding the girl to be extremely witty and
entertaining company. Blaise seemed to agree, and was flirting with her rather heavily.
“I don't want to even start on that creepy smile of his. I mean honestly he's probably a pedophile-
quiet Zabini, I'm out of your league and you know it- anyway, I hypothesize he’ll last at least a
week before getting chased out by the sensible people in this school.” She finished off her omelet,
and her rant.

“I would hate to argue against your rather sound theory, but how many people in this school would
you consider particularly sensible?” Harry questioned, now deciding that Tracy Davis was
someone to keep around, for amusement if nothing else.

“Oh bugger you're right. We're doomed, aren't we Potter? The morons have taken control.” She
groaned, and he pat her shoulder lightly, nodding solemnly. Parkinson rolled her eyes from down
the table.

Walking into the Defense classroom that morning, Harry submitted himself to the knowledge that
he would likely be forced to clean up cornish pixies again. Him, Draco, and Blaise commandeered
the back row, farthest from the front, Theo and Davis sitting in the row in front of them. The doors
to the office slammed open and with a flourish, their new professor had arrived.

“Me.”

Oh fuck off.

“Gilderoy Lockhart. Order of Merlin, third class, honorary member of the dark forces defense
league, and five times winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award, but I don't talk about
that. I didn't get rid of the phantom banshee by smiling at her.” He grinned broadly to the crowd of
students. Davis audibly groaned, head in her hands. Theo pat her back comfortingly. Blaise was
already writing down prank ideas.

He leaned over and down to Draco, “How many galleons would you place on a bet?”

“Maximum? About 1,000ʛ I reckon, why?”

“I bet you all of it I can get him thrown into Azkaban by the end of the school year.”

Draco's eyes widened, “Harry, I didn't take you for a gambler, that's an awfully big leap you're
making.”

“Don't think it's likely?”

“Likely??” He stage whispered, “Harry, he's the most beloved man of middle aged witches across
the country! You've lost before it’s even started!”

“So is that a bet or not?”

Draco gaped at him, eyes wide, “It's a bloody bet mate. Hell.”

They shook on it.

The rest of class didn't go near as smoothly, Harry had written out random answers on the Gilderoy
Lockhart Pop-Quiz, deciding that his pride was worth more than one measly grade. He almost ate
his words seeing the look on Granger's face when Lockhart had said she was the only one to score
perfectly on the quiz.

The cornish pixies had also been a bit of a mess, but Harry had been expecting it. He started
gathering up his supplies immediately after the sheet covering the cage had been lifted, revealing
the little menaces inside. His friends (and Davis) quickly followed his lead, and they had gotten out
with minimal issues. Walking through the halls on the way to the commons, Harry contemplated if
he would get a confession out of Lockhart, or just write a letter to the Daily Prophet pointing out
the discrepancies in his books. He made a face, why would he only go halfway? Doing both was
the smartest plan, Madam Bones would never arrest a man for overlapping dates in his book series,
that would be a gross overstep of power, as well as bloody stupid.

“I just knew it!” Davis shouted, free of the classroom and feeling indicative, “that man would be a
better use to society as a clown in the circus, honestly!”

The boys all nodded along, even though three of them didn't know what the hell a circus even was.
Harry promised to explain it later.

Davis was storming along ahead of them, ranting all the while. Blaise chased after her, still quite
smitten. This left Harry, Theo, and Draco walking along at a slower pace, though Draco was
practically speed walking to match Harry's faster strides.

“Oh! Good evening.” a very familiar breezy voice sounded from an adjacent corridor. Harry
turned, making eye contact with one Luna Lovegood, a small little first year without her shoes.

“It's morning actually.” Draco felt it was something important to note, but Luna didn't show that
she registered a word he said, which miffed the blonde just a tad.

“Good morning to you too, Miss…?” Harry supplied, testing the waters of this strange
conversation.

She tilted her head, much like a cat would, “You know who I am, Harry.” His blood ran cold.

“Riiiight, ok.” Draco seemed more annoyed than anything, “we’ll just be going now, come along
chaps.” Theo followed after, snickering softly, but Harry lagged behind a little, still holding eye
contact with Luna for as long as possible, till she disappeared from view.

The Slytherin boys and Davis were lounging in the common room that day after classes. Davis was
schooling Blaise and Draco at poker, and Theo was reading his fifth book of the week, topping out
at one a day it seemed. Harry was dealing cards for the impromptu poker match, which was being
played with galleons instead of chips, because rich kids.

The common room was awfully quiet that night, as most of the upper years had run off to a
(heavily alcoholic) party of some sort in a warded room on the 7th floor. Harry would akin it to a
boarding schools version of a rave, and wondered faintly if Blaise would sneak into the next one.
Probably, it was definitely something the Italian boy would do.

As he was contemplating the pros and cons of a party held in the Room of Requirement, a quiet
voice spoke up from behind him.

“Uhm… Mr. Potter?”, he turned around to find tiny little Victoria White, fidgeting with the hem of
her outer sleeves. Harry considered his options. On one hand the girl probably just had one of the
worst weeks of her young life, but on the other he really didn't feel like dealing with the bigots
complaining about it if he decided to protect her.

“What is it?” his voice was emotionless, the perfect blend of uncaring but still willing to listen.

“I.. um.. Would- would you be willing to teach me some combat spells?”
 Oh… OH.

So that's why she’s in Slytherin. She certainly appeared meek and afraid, but she was asking rather
plainly for him to give her the means to protect herself, instead of just asking him to make the
bullying stop, which was very interesting. Glancing at his friends, they all seemed to have come to
the same conclusions, and Blaise looked about ready to lunge over the table and congratulate the
girl on her balls of steel.

“No, I'm afraid I don't have the time for that,” everyone in the group looked shocked at this,
excluding Theo, who seemed to know exactly what he was playing at, “but my companion, Blaise
Zabini,” he gestured at the boy, whose smile was growing from excited to demonic, “would likely
be happy to teach you a thing or two.”

Blaise most certainly was, and left the poker match immediately to pull the small girl aside,
gesturing wildly as he lectured on all the ways to make people beg for mercy at your feet.

I'm sure things will work out fine for her

Chapter End Notes

Honestly, this is just a really fun chapter for me, right up there with Harry Likes the
Color Red. There's the scene with the Seeing Glass, the witty humor of the bet with
Draco, Tracy Davis (enough said).
It was also a struggle, because there was a scene with Luna and Harry that I kept
trying to add in and it just wasn't working. Ah well, she'll have her time to shine soon
enough.
 Dirty Business is Effective Business
Chapter Summary

Tom is let out of timeout for a brief moment, Harry almost immediately regrets it.
Blaise reads a very interesting book, and Theo looks up Norse gods.
Quidditch tryouts are grating on Draco's nerves, but he had a hearty breakfast, which
helped quite a bit.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Ichchadhari Naags-India

A magical breed of cobra that has developed the ability to shape-shift. The Ichchadhari Naag
(male) or Ichchadhari Naagin (female), exists in an immortal state for about 100 years before
aging at the rate of a normal cobra. Ichchadhari Nagg and Naagin have a gem called
Naagmani (cobra pearl, serpent crystal, snake gem), considered much more valuable than
any precious stone. There are thousands of accounts of people dying through snake bites
when they try to steal the Naagmani.

Harry sighed, crossing the Ichchadhari Naags out of his book, he was quite positive that he wasn't
anything snake related, but it was still interesting to read about all the different breeds of magical
snakes, there were quite a lot of them.

“~Shape-shifting sounds boring.~”

Magical snakes aside for the moment, Thasin, (a muggle snake) didn’t exactly understand what
shape-shifting was, apparently.

“~You wouldn't want to turn into a human?~" He was sitting at the edge of the Black Lake,
reading his book to Thasin, who was currently hissing out all the reasons being a human sucked
major ass.

“~I couldn’t ever bother with all the things you humans put up with. This whole ‘school’ business
sounds much too tedious to me.~”

She had some very compelling points.

Besides the sudden and inexplicable urge to figure out his animagus transformation and run off to
live in a forest somewhere and never be human again, Harry was feeling very relaxed at the
moment. Sure, it was a little too warm out for his liking, but it was nice to sit at the lakeside by
himself. He had been surrounded by people almost constantly the past two weeks, with the
younger years coming to him for help and his friends being almost constant companions, he hadn't
had the time to sit down and contemplate things.

Draco was currently practicing quidditch drills with a vengeance in the hopes of trying out for the
team next week, and Blaise was off stalking the Weasley twins with Victoria White, his new
apprentice. Theo had been holed up in the library since breakfast, and Davis was off doing… girl
things, he surmised. This left him to his own devices, and history had proved time and time again
that an idle Harry Potter was a dangerous Harry Potter.

The currently potentially dangerous Harry Potter was contemplating the Chamber of Secrets.
Which was quite a dangerous thing to do if you had the means to get into the place. Harry was still
quite cross with Tom, but the man did have a very deep repertoire of knowledge about all things
Slytherin, it was likely that he knew everything there was to know about the place.

Harry sighed deeply, before opening the door to Tom's mindscape.

Leech! I'm sorry for not telling you before-

Save it Riddle, I'm still mad at you.

...How can I make you not mad at me?

Typical.

Just give me time, snake-face, you kept that from me for nearly a decade. I have the right to be
pissed off. He considered things for a moment. I do need to know everything about the Chamber of
Secrets though, so if you want to earn my forgiveness faster that would be a good way to do it.

Hmm... you’ll have to come in here.

Harry rolled his eyes, but nonetheless started to meditate, slipping into his mindscape. He hadn't
been there in a long time, a year it had to be. So when Tom met him in the girls lavatory, his shock
was understandable.

“You’ve gotten taller, Leech.”

“Yea? Well you’ve gotten uglier, I guess we all change.”

Tom looked like he had when he was in his late 20’s, and was quite attractive all things considered,
but Harry was still pissed, and couldn't think up a better insult.

Tom, ignoring the jab, led him into the chamber and over to the plush chairs in the reading nook.
Harry considered the possibility that Tom had been going insane with loneliness, likely from
ignoring Harry for a year and Harry ignoring him for three months.

“I'll admit that I don't know as much as I would like about the chamber,” Tom finally spoke,
summoning some tea and fixing Harry a cuppa.

“I'm aware of a large chamber after the main one, but the basilisk refused to grant me passage into
it, he said I was unworthy.” Tom sniffed, apparently still insulted by the memory. Sipping his tea,
Harry waited for him to continue… he didn't.

“That's it? That's all you know.'' He was actually impressed with Toms lack of knowledge, it wasn't
often that the man didn't know everything about a certain topic.

“It's more than most, Harry. There are very few that even remember the legend anymore.”

He could submit to that, the only reason he had known anything about it in his first life was
because Professor Binns, who was a ghost, had been prodded into sharing with the class.

“Harry.” he looked up, watching passively as Tom set down his saucer and donned a remorseful
look. He realized with minor unease that this was about to careen off course into an emotional
conversation. Tom looked insistent however, so he set his cup down as well with a small sigh.

“Harry, I didn't get the chance to explain myself in July, and I feel that might help you feel less
angry at me.” Tom looked at him like a kicked puppy, pulling out all the stops on the
manipulation.

He raised an eyebrow, not buying it, “continue.”

“It had been a complete accident-”

“Bullshit.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, and started again, “I hadn't expected it to work-”

“If you're going to lie at least make it believable, Riddle.”

“Blast it child!” Tom leapt up and began to pace, “You could not even begin to comprehend the
amount of things I do for you. I am an adult! I am allowed to make my own bloody decisions!
However, if not telling you about those decisions bothers you, then I offer you my most sincere
apologies.”

Harry sat on the couch, watching with a calculating gaze as Tom took a moment to come down
from his little outburst. He realized, quite suddenly, that Tom wasn't angry because Harry called
him on his manipulations; Tom was angry that Harry had locked him away and refused to talk to
him, angry that Harry demanded to know everything about his plans, even if his involvement
would jeopardize them. Harry came to the realization before Tom did.

“For someone who claims to hate family, you sure act an awful lot like you’re my father.”

The older man froze, and Harry felt an unseen force practically shove him out of Tom's mindscape
and into the waking world.

Tom?

No reply, Harry felt the door between their minds slowly swing shut.

Blaise Zabini had yet to read the book he had stolen from the family library, feeling a mild
apprehension with the idea. The book felt dangerous, pulsing with mischievous magic not unlike
his own. It called to him in a way that made it seem almost alive, and he had been distantly
considering the likelihood of it being cursed.

The book moved sometimes, ruffling its pages and nudging him in the arm if it was in reach.
Sometimes he would hear a deep voice whispering to him, coaxing him closer and begging him to
just take a tiny little peek, what's the harm with one little peek? As the days went on and he
continued to ignore it, things got more and more intense.

This all came to a head one night, the night before quidditch tryouts in fact, when he had been
woken by a deep laugh in his ear. Jolting up with a gasp, he swung his head around furiously,
finding that the green book was lying innocently on his pillow, right next to his head. Either Harry
was playing a shitty prank on him, or the book had managed to get out of his warded trunk and
onto his pillow at some point in the night.

Blaise wasn't scared in any capacity, though he was quite annoyed. If the book was that insistent on
being read, he wouldn't be getting any sleep till he eventually gave in. Snatching the thing up with
a huff, he grabbed for his wand on the table beside him and tightened the curtains around his bed.
Lighting a lumos, he opened the book to the first page. It was all in old Norse.

Bloody buggering- what the fuck?

The incomprehensible letters started shifting around, rearranging into English as Blaise watched on
with growing fascination. Once the letters were settled, the first page and potentially the rest of the
book was all translated perfectly into modern English. Blaise sat there, gobsmacked for a moment,
before eagerly beginning to read.

Gods and their Worshippers

For as long as there were gods there were also worshippers. Gods exist without worship but
worship does not exist without the gods. As long a someone worships a god however, they will
be bestowed with the gods favor, and by extension several gifts. Those who follow Baldr will
be unbeatable on the battlefield. Those of Thor may harness the power of storms. Those who
pledge to Hel will live a life long and eternal. Gods love those who follow them, and promise
great power to mortals in their favor.

Each god has been found to require a specific type of worship from their followers. If you
wish to be bestowed with the powers of the gods you must first show you hold knowledge over
their abilities. Thor enjoys the boom of thunder. Hel demands the sacrifice of life. Baldr
thirsts for acts of war. Sif commands an even blade. Frigg requests a steady hand.

All gods demand something different from their followers, but they all agree that a pledge is
required as well. The first step of any worship is the execution of your gods will, but the
second is always a pledge of your very being.

Loki requests tricks, mischief in its purest form. He finds pleasure in the poor luck of others,
and demands that you do the same. The first step in becoming a worshiper of Loki is first
appeasing his simple request. If chaos can not be wrought, he shall never be appeased.

Blaise was vibrating with excitement. The first page alone had so much for him to pick apart, it
was almost too good to be true. He grinned devilishly, his great great grandfather had been right,
Loki wasn’t in the least bit a respectable god to worship, but Blaise wasn't a respectable person,
and this sounded like one hell of a good time.

He continued to read late into the night.

It was the day of quidditch tryouts, and Draco was a ball of nerves during breakfast. The second
class of Defense had happened the day before, and was just as horrible as the first. Unsurprisingly,
some of the Slytherin girls were becoming disillusioned with Lockhart, which did nothing for
Davis’ ego.

“I told you Daphne, that man is a horrid teacher.” Greengrass rolled her eyes, annoyed with the
other girl’s gloating.

“You don't know that Davis, maybe he was just nervous about his first few lessons, you can't
blame him for nerves!” Parkinson was less convinced, believing Lockhart to be a god among
men… or something.

Harry took a bite of his omelet, only half listening to the conversation. Draco wasn’t eating
anything, deciding to mumble quidditch plays under his breath instead. Harry subtly placed a piece
of buttered toast on his plate.

“-and you are aware that Warrington will throw you through a wall if he catches you, right?” Theo
was currently trying to convince Blaise to not prank the older boys dorm, but the threat of bodily
harm didn't seem to deter him any less.

“So if he doesn't catch me-” Harry scooped some eggs onto Draco’s plate along with the toast.

“You're blind if you think that man can do anything except style his hair, Parkinson-” Davis was
getting wound up, halfway standing up and pink in the face.

“-I feel like you should have better preservation skills than this, mate.” He managed to sneak a few
slices of bacon onto the plate as well, Draco had started to nibble on his toast.

“Honestly Davis you couldn't spot talent if it slapped you in the face-” the aforementioned girl
lunged across the table and slapped Parkinson in the face, either trying to prove a point or just
awfully pissed.

Harry sighed, the Slytherin table was almost as rowdy as the Gryffindor one today. It was a
horrible environment for someone who was already stressed. Picking himself off the bench, he
grabbed Draco’s plate and Draco himself and gently led the shorter boy out of the great hall.

He walked them out and down to the Black Lake, quietly explaining where they were going and
why. Draco didn't seem to notice he wasn't in the great hall anymore, just following along. After
maneuvering them both down to the rocky shore, he handed Draco his plate and sat with him
quietly as the other boy ate.

It was the second week of the school year, and a Friday. Blaise had been teaching little Victoria
White well, and her dorm mates seemed to be giving her a wide berth now. The girl was vicious, he
could tell, if Vaisey wasn't such a bigot the two would get along like a house on fire, though
Victoria was much more subtle in her demeanor.

“Thanks, Harry.” Draco had finished his food, placing the plate on a flat-ish rock, and turning to
stare out into the water.

“You've got to relax mate, you're the best seeker in this school and they all know it.” Draco
smirked a little at that, the typical Malfoy pompousness starting to sneak back to the surface. “You
haven't a thing to worry about.”

“Of course! I’m the best seeker in this school after all.”

There he is.

The two boys sat quietly on the shore, not knowing (because how could they) that the spot in
which they sat would one day become their personal escape. That one day they would skip rocks
across the lake and talk about the future, their future. That one day they would bring a picnic down
and relax in each other's company for hours on end. That one day, late at night after watching the
stars, they would kiss each other, tender and loving, right there on the rocky shore of the Black
Lake. That was far off in the distance however, and maybe for now they were better off not
knowing.

It was a good day for quidditch tryouts, all things considered. The three boys that weren't trying out
as well as Davis and Greengrass all made their way down to the quidditch pitch, while Draco had
run back to the dorm to change. Walking up the rickety steps to the benches, Harry and Greengrass
discussed house politics.

“At the moment, Lord Parkinson holds substantial weight in quidditch stocks, and would likely buy
the team new nimbus 2001’s if it meant his daughter would be in favor with Flint-which gives her
popularity among the older years-which is very important when it comes to running for king or
queen. I can secure your appointment as princess next year sure, but everything past that is none of
my business. I can, however, recommend fighting fire with fire and have your father fund a popular
club or something though.” He had heard this rant many times from Tom. Politics were a lot of
pandering to your supporters after all, you couldn't get by for long without buying the lot of them.
Harry himself planned to supply the team with firebolts next year to assure himself Flint’s support.

She huffed, Granger-like, “it just seems so dirty!”

He rolled his eyes, “Politics are a dirty business Greengrass, the sooner you learn that the better.”

The group had finally reached the top of the stairs, quickly sitting down in the nearest bleachers.
Harry looked around at the group, mildly amused with the people he has surrounded himself with.
Blaise was flirting heavily with Davis (again), who looked extremely unimpressed. Theo was
reading a book, this one about Norse gods of all things. Greengrass was rearing up for a rant.

“Well what am I supposed to do to beat her? My father would never willingly pay a bunch of
school kids off for the sake of house politics, he has better things to do!”

Greengrass was sharp, and a steady leader that would work well to keep the house on a single path,
but she wasn't a politician in the slightest. That wasn’t a bad thing really, business savvy people
didn’t tend to be particularly adept in it, but she had a great learning opportunity in front of her.

“Ask your mother? It isn't my problem Greengrass, either way you'll be Princess next year.
Nowhere in our agreement did it say I had to make sure you were popular with the older years, just
that you got the spot.”

Greengrass proceeded to stew in her own anger for the rest of the time they were waiting, which
was roughly ten minutes. Harry left her to it and joined Theo in the bench above them, deciding to
question him on the strange book subject.

“I didn't know you were reading up on Norse mythology mate, is this a new interest of yours?” he
settled down next to the shorter boy, who had sighed deeply before placing his bookmark and
setting the book aside gently, seemingly wishing he would be left alone to his addiction.

“Its Norse gods specifically.” Blaise choked on his own saliva, which brought on a coughing fit
that impressed Davis even less than his flirting abilities. “I'm curious about the religious practices
of the Germanic people that persisted through the period that the Norse gods were at their peak.
Sadly, most of the direct resources that documented specific ritualistic practices have been lost to
time, and historians believe that the vast majority of them were destroyed with the Library of
Alexandria when it burned, as by that point the Roman Empire had conquered the Germanic tribes,
and had stolen many of their priceless scriptures.” Harry was impressed by the other boy's
knowledge, Blaise was growing rather pale as he pressed on, “it is hypothesized that either the
documents had indeed burned, or a wealthy Roman family stole many of them away, which would
place their current location around Italy.”

Theo rounded out his impromptu lecture with a ‘now fuck off’, before making a point of grabbing
his book again and continuing to read. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, before glancing
curiously at Blaise, who still looked rather pale. Suspicious.
“Got something to confess, Zabini?” he teased, casually trying to squeeze information out of the
boy. Sadly, the Italian knew all his tricks, and could do one better. Winking roguishly, Blaise laid
it down thick, “What can I say, Potter? My family's bad to the bone.”

Harry almost laughed at the muggle song reference, remembering that Blaise and his mom casually
immersed themselves in muggle culture on the daily. The other boy had tried to cover up his guilt
with sass, but he still told Harry an awful lot. The first being that his entire family, not just his
mother apparently, were known in a less than stellar light. This made him think the boy was likely
related to the Italian mafia family The Zabini’s, which really wasn't that much of a shock. What
was however, was that Blaise had practically admitted that his family had old Norse texts about
worshiping ancient gods, and had been keeping it secret for hundreds of years for an unknown
reason. Which was a huge revelation and put into question just what was in those texts. Theo had
also apparently gathered all this, and was looking at Blaise in a way that implied he wanted to pick
the other boy's brain of everything he knew. If Theo wasn't so damn ambitious in his search for
knowledge, he would have gone right to Ravenclaw, but that boy would tear someone in half to get
his hands on a rare tomb.

The tense atmosphere was broken when faint voices could suddenly be heard, coming from the
pitch. Looking down, the group watched the Slytherin quidditch team take off as the hopefuls lined
up on the ground. Flint was shouting out orders of some nature, but they were too high up to hear
much of anything. The hopefuls all got on their brooms, flying up and beginning the drills.

Harry could tell from his years flying that Draco was the best out of everyone there, though he
didn't hold a candle to Harry's own flying ability. Lucky for Draco though, Harry didn't have the
time or energy to play quidditch, and felt that he already got a pretty solid workout gutting various
animals every Sunday. He had also been entertaining the idea of sneaking into the Forbidden
Forest (because let's be honest, he’ll never escape that place, why bother any more) and asking the
centaurs to teach him archery. Bane seemed to think he was interesting the last time they met,
maybe he would be willing?

The rest of the tryouts passed quick enough, and Draco was (unsurprisingly) chosen as seeker. The
group made their way down the rickety steps to congratulate him, filing out into the field.

“Cheers mate, I told you so.” was the first thing Harry got off, messing up Draco's hair, much to
the shorter boys chagrin. Turning away from Draco however, who was getting congratulated by the
other boys and Davis, Harry caught the eye of Marcus Flint, and motioned with his head for the
older boy to come with him. They moved over a few yards from the crowd, and Flint already had a
pinched expression, probably not wanting to talk to Harry more than absolutely necessary.

“What is it Potter.” he hissed out quietly, leaning down to the shorter boy.

“You know that inventor, Randolph Spudmore? The one that's supposedly making a new broom
meant to blow the Nimbus out of the sky?” Flint was looking a lot more interested in the
conversation now.

“What of ‘im?”

“Well, I was considering buying the team a few when they came out, if they're really as good as he
claims that is.” Harry knew this was a bit like cheating, as he was well aware of just how good the
Firebolt was, and did not consider this a gamble in the slightest. Flint however, likely though he
was one bold bastard, as the broom was currently just barely out of the planning phases.

“Well, if they're really that good I'm sure the team would appreciate your generosity.”
 They shared a nod, and Harry returned to his friends, with a pointed look at Greengrass, who had
been watching the exchange from a distance.

“Dirty business.” she mouthed at him.

“Effective business.” he mouthed right back, before turning his attention to Draco, who had just
kicked Theo in the knee for saying he only got the spot because he was short. Theo went down like
a sack of bricks.

Chapter End Notes

The Summary: haha Blaise reads a good book :)))))

The Chapter: Blaise plans on joining a cult.
(why am I like this)
 A Library Greater than that of Alexandria
Chapter Summary

Harry sneaks out of the dorms at night, insistent on solving a mystery, he finds lost
treasure instead.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was under his invisibility cloak, sneaking through the halls of Hogwarts late at night. Tom
was still ignoring him, so he took it upon himself to go down into the real Chamber of Secrets and
poke around (or cause trouble).

If anyone was on the third floor that night, or perhaps nearer to the girls lavatory, they would have
noticed the door to the creak open with no prompting, and an invisible someone sneaking inside.

Harry crept through the restroom, not wanting to alert Myrtle to his being there. Moving silently
over to the sink, he crouched down and whispered “~open~” to the pipes.

Waiting quietly, he watched as the sink opened up to reveal a steep (and very dirty) slide down into
darkness.

Leech.

Harry froze, Tom?

Be careful.

A small smile crossed his features. Tom seemed to have stopped sulking and was back to his
(fatherly) fretting.

Aren't I always?

Hardly.

Rolling his eyes, Harry crouched down, bracing his hands on the sides of the slide. He positioned
his legs, preparing himself for a fast and potentially painful landing. Scooting himself further into
the slide, he took a deep breath before pushing himself down the tube, quickly slipping and
plummeting down an almost completely vertical drop. The sink closed up behind him.

It was a fast ride, and Harry quickly came upon the exit. Crashing out of the pipe, he fell onto a not
so soft landing of animal bones with a crunch. Scrambling up quickly, he vanished as many of the
bones as possible, making the area much easier to move around in.

The small chamber he was in could be compared to a large well, with circular walls going up into
darkness above him. There was a passage directly across from the slide, he remembered, which led
to the main chamber. Lighting a lumos with the elder wand, he crept carefully through the hall,
careful not to step on the large basilisk skins that littered the floor. He would come back in at some
point and pack them up and sell them. Basilisk... anything was absurdly profitable, and just having
the skins lying around like this was the equivalent of bars of gold littered at your feet.

At the end of the tunnel was a very familiar door with seven snakes entwined around the circular
handle.

“~open~”

He crept inside.

The main chamber looked much the same as it had in his last life, it was long, and half flooded, the
platform that stretched from the door to slytherins statue was meant to appear suspended in the air,
but was now just a foot of water away from getting flooded. He looked over the side of the
platform, finding that the water had flooded roughly fifty feet of the chamber. The statue of Salazar
appeared to be just his head, but under the water was his upper body and arms, completely
submerged and almost completely covered in moss.

Snake sculptures lining the walk were in a similar situation, with just the head visible, and the body
and tail creating structurally sound pillars connecting the platform to the floor were all submerged.

I wonder if i could find a drainage pipe of some sort?

I never could, I believe a pipe burst at some point to cause the flooding.

Walking along the platform, he came closer to Slytherin’s head, the statue was huge, with his eyes
being about the size of Harry's torso.

“~hey, basilisk, get your lazy ass out here~”

Tom had once told him that the basilisk was the one to open the statue's mouth, so you could really
just say whatever you felt like as long as it was in parseltongue. Harry was taking advantage of that
knowledge today.

You really shouldn't be agitating him, Harry.

Well maybe the guy’s got a sense of humor, you don't know.

“~Who wakes me from my slumber.~”

Harry watched, enthralled, as the mouth of Salazar's statue creaked open, and an impossibly long
snake slithered out. He remembered suddenly that it might be a good idea to close his eyes till he
was sure the snake wouldn't attack him.

He heard a stone crack, and a low, menacing hiss that tapped into a primal side of him that said
fucking RUN!

“~ahhhh, hello little speaker, you are quite the bold one. I have not seen a human act so crassly
since this school's founding. Tell me, small one, are you of Salazar's blood?”

Harry was very close to shitting himself, he was sure, “~I'm afraid not, I do have his descendant
with me though, would you prefer to speak with him? You met him about fifty years ago~”

The basilisk thought for a moment, “~no, he was an awful bore.~”

Indignant sputtering from Tom echoed in his skull, “~that's understandable, is it safe for me to
open my eyes?~”
“~Oh! Just a moment, let me close my inner lid.~”

Harry peaked his eyes open, finding that just to be safe, he would make an effort to not meet the
snakes eyes anyway.

“~I was actually hoping you would let me into the second chamber?~” Harry winced, realizing
how crass he sounded at the moment.

“~Of course! You are very interesting.~”

“~...is that the only requirement? To be interesting?~”

“~Should there be a different requirement?~”

He was trying really hard to not laugh his ass off, Tom was muttering unhappily under his breath.
Harry followed behind the basilisk as it slithered back into slytherins mouth, now with his eyes
open. After marveling at the incredibly detailed molars in the man's mouth, Harry stepped into
what appeared to be the Basilisk's nest. It was cavernous and claustrophobic, with uneven walls
and a bed of animal furs and underbrush. Harry felt jittery, wanting to get out of the enclosed space
as fast as possible.

“~this way~”

Following after the snake quickly, he was led into another pipe of some sort, which twisted over
and around in an effort to confuse those who did not know the way, identical pipes branching off
even further.

If someone did manage to get past the basilisk, they would most certainly get lost.

Harry agreed with Tom, sticking closer to the snake as he was led further through the passage.
There was a faint light at the end of the tunnel as they neared it, and Harry was suddenly stepping
out into a tall, expansive library.

“~Welcome to the Library of Secrets speaker!~”

“~I’m sensing a common theme.~”

The basilisk let out a hissed laugh before explaining the library, “~Salazar and his friends worried
very much about the persecution of magic that was happening at their time. In an effort to preserve
rare and ancient magics, they built the hamber and the library of secrets to keep all the old magics
safe. When they first built the library, it was about a third of the size it is now, but they added onto
it as more people donated books and scrolls over the years. I was gifted to Salazar by one of the
donors to protect the library. I was just an infant at the time, and I have been told that the man who
gifted me was a god, showing just how many people cared to protect the things in this room.~”

Harry was completely floored, and he could feel Tom in a similar state. What sat in front of him
was a sprawling library of ancient magics that, for all he knew, hadn’t been used since the
founding of Hogwarts.

He felt as though he might cry out of sheer joy, Theo would probably have a coronary. His brain
started to catch up to the snake's words.

“~What do you mean by a god?~”

“~His name had been Odin, I believe.~”

Harry stared at the basilisk for a moment, brain still trying to comprehend the sheer amount of
knowledge that was in the room with him.

“~Odin? As in the all-father? King of Asgard? God of wisdom, divination, and magic? That Odin?
~”

The basilisk looked at him strangely, “~is there a different Odin I was not aware of?~”

Harry’s face betrayed his surprise, an actual, honest to god… God had given the basilisk to the
founders? He was still trying to catch up with the fact that the chamber was a group effort by the
founders, and was just to protect ancient magics from being destroyed.

Did you know all this Tom?

...no, I was not aware, though I suppose this explains the basilisk's name.

This confused Harry further, who turned back to the snake for answers, “~what is your name?~”

The basilisk raised his head with pride, “~ Jörmungandr. ~”

Jörmungandr: Old Norse (Mythos)

Also kno wn as the Midgard Serpent, Jörmungandr is a sea serpent, and the middle child of
the Giantess Angrboða and Loki. According to the Prose Edda, Odin took Loki's three
children-the wolf Fenrir, Hel, and J örmungandr- and tossed Jörmungandr into the great
ocean that encircled Midgard. The serpent was said to have grown so large that it was able to
surround the earth and grasp its own tail. As a result, it received the name of the Leviathan
or World Serpent. When it releases its tail, Ragnarok will begin. Jörmungandr’s arch-enemy
is the thunder-god, Thor.

Harry sighed, it was sheer luck that he had found Jörmungandr in his magical creatures book, as
apparently the snake had been considered a magical creature and added to the list. It was
fascinating to think how the story got twisted, but if Hogwarts and the chamber were both meant to
be kept secret from the muggles, it made quite a bit of sense that the tale had been altered in such a
way. It certainly raised questions though, did Loki actually father a basilisk, or did he just create
the species, since his symbol was a snake?

Leaning back in his chair, Harry contemplated the rest of his visit to the chamber.

“~Would you allow me to copy down some of these books? I’d just hate to bring them out of the
library~”

Jörmungandr seemed pleased with the idea, “Of course, this library is meant to preserve magic. If
you wish to duplicate a tomb's teachings, I would happily allow it.”

Harry was so thankful that he had gotten the infinite pages enchantment on his new journal,
deciding that if Jörmungandr was fine with it, he would just copy the entire bloody library into his
book.

He had at first wanted to get started right away, but soon found that all the books were in either old
English or some other old language, and he had eventually left to plan, thanking Jörmungandr for
his time. Translation spells existed and would work, and they could be cast without damaging the
fragile books. Judging by the size of the library, it would take him decades of constant writing with
a translation spell to get it all copied over into his journal, but if he set up the translating spell to
work in tandem with his self writing quill... he could set up a sort of assembly line in the library
and only need to come down with more ink occasionally to keep it functioning.

If you did that, the handwriting would certainly be much better than yours ever could be.

You do realize that we're planning on transferring an entire library filled to the brim with lost
magic into one book right? This is huge!
Well, I certainly hope you realize how much of a headache it would be to flip through that book if
an entire library sat in it.

That was a good point. Sure, the book doesn't look any thicker from the outside, but you could
potentially keep flipping through it for eternity. He had tried it out one night, and was never able to
reach the back cover, even though it had appeared that the book hadn't gotten any thicker.

Could you enchant it in some way?

Tom considered the request, I could make a table of contents at the beginning, where you look
through all the books that are held inside? I could also add an enchantment that allows you to
verbally request a certain topic, but that might interfere with the protection charms…

Tom went off to ponder all the possibilities, leaving Harry even more excited than he was before.

Standing up, He went over to his trunk, opening the second compartment and pulling out his
(currently) blank endless journal. Rustling around further, he got a hold of the self-writing quill,
and four large inkwells. He would have to owl order more, but with his newly named black owl
Hades, he wouldn't have to worry about borrowing one of the others’.

After leaving the chamber that night, he hadn't been able to get back to sleep, and had instead just
decided to research all he could about Jörmungandr without having to go to the library. It was now
early morning, and while it was doubtful anyone would be up yet, it couldn't be considered going
against curfew to wander the school. He was still awfully suspicious though, considering all the
supplies he was carrying, so he shoved it all in his book bag and took it with him, still wearing his
invisibility cloak on the walk to the chamber for an extra layer of protection.

Can you think of any entrance that is a little closer to the commons, Tom?

I'm afraid not.

Blast.

After climbing many stairs, falling down the slide, walking along a platform, crawling through the
founder of his house’s mouth, and following Jörmungandr through the claustrophobic tunnels once
more, Harry reached the Library of Secrets.

It was just as incredible as it had been a few hours prior. Taking the journal out of his bag, he set it
gingerly onto a table, letting Tom take over to add the extra enchantments.

“~Oh! Is that you, dull heir?~” The snake asked with curiosity, Tom's eye twitched in irritation.

“~a pleasure to see you, Jörmungandr~”

The basilisk quickly wandered off, seemingly bored with him. Tom sighed with irritation and got to
the task of adding and perfecting the enchantments.

The table of contents will have to be self updating, luckily all these enchantments work well
together, if they didn't I would have to re-web a few and rearrange others.

Mmhm.

It took another thirty minutes for him to finish all that, but once they switched back Harry was
holding his journal with both hands, peering down with awe at its pages, blank and ready to be
filled with long lost knowledge.

Setting the journal down on the table again, he momentarily thanked the founders for separating
the books and scrolls based on topic. Motioning with his wand, he started levitating several of the
first topic onto the desk. Setting up the inkwells and the quill had to be done by hand, and the
translating spell had to be cast, but after just ten minutes he was watching with pride as the first
book was being carefully translated and written into his journal.

You are aware that even like this, translating and copying the entire library could take years.

I'm sure I can find some sort of spell that will speed up the process. Till then though, this will work
fine.

Draco woke up groggy; halfheartedly pushing Thasin off of his chest and rolling out of bed.
Opening his armoire and taking out his school robes. He was awake enough to register that he was
grabbing the right clothes, but everything past that was a vague blur.

He started to wake up more in the shower, when the cold water hit his aching back. He let out a
sigh of relief, the cool water soothing the ache. Looking over his shoulder, he grimaced at the faint
bumps and bruising that littered his upper back . There were two distinct bumps on his back now,
barely noticeable through a thin shirt, but the red and purple skin made them stand out with
shocking clarity. It felt like he was growing more bones.

Turning off the water, he towled down quickly, taking extra time and care to be as gentle as
possible with his back. The balm his mother has been using to soothe the pain had been working
well, but he couldn't reach back there on his own, and refused to tell his friends about the strange
sores, so he just suffered through it.

He looked down at the bands on his wrists, they hadn't been doing shite for him, but his father
insisted it would be much worse if he took the blasted things off, so they were still firmly in place.

Putting on his uniform, he smoothed out his outer sleeves and left the stall, sending a drying charm
at his hair so he could style it immediately. Blaise came in at some point while he was doing that,
taking a fast shower and brushing his teeth before leaving for the common room. Theo stumbled in
a few minutes after that, splashing water on his face while chewing on a mint, before leaving as
well. Crabb and Goyle came in at some point too, but no Harry.

Maybe he got up early?

He left the baths and peaked into the dorm, finding that Harry's bed was in fact empty, and his
school bag missing. Frowning in confusion, as the taller boy had always made a point to walk with
him to breakfast, he left the dorm and went out into the commons to search for his other dorm-
mate.

“Blaise, have you seen Harry?” he questioned the boy, who was rushing through the transfiguration
homework that was due that afternoon.

“Harry? Nah, I think he left early.” was his quick reply, not even looking up from his parchment.
 Draco was getting frustrated, “-but he never leaves early! There has to be something wrong.”

“Calm down mate. You know the guy, he's probably off sulking in a dark corner or cursing the
pants off a Gryffindor.”

Draco wasn't satisfied with that though, and stormed out of the common room in a huff, determined
to find Harry before school started, breakfast be damned.

The aforementioned buy was currently stepping out of the third floor girls lavatory, holding his
invisibility cloak tight around himself. Hurrying at a fast pace, he sped on towards an empty
classroom, intent on finding a place free of people to take off and put away his cloak.

Finding one, he dipped into the room, pulling off the cloak and shoving it into his bag.

He left the room, shaking out his outer sleeves and adjusting the collar of his uniform, before speed
walking to the nearest set of stairs.

If I hurry I can get to breakfast on time.

He sped around a corner, knocking into someone and sending them sprawling across the floor.

“Ah, sorry-”

“Fuck!”

“Draco?”

“Harry?”

They stared blankly at each other for a moment, before Draco held out his arms in a ‘pick me up
off the floor, asshole’ motion. Harry complied, reaching down and lifting the shorter boy into a
standing position. Draco made a show of brushing himself off, adjusting his uniform and
smoothing out the wrinkles. Harry stood there awkwardly while he did that, tapping his foot.

Draco eventually turned accusing eyes his direction, “-and just where have you been?”

Harry came up with a lie as fast as possible, “I found a secret corridor on the fourth floor. Must
have lost track of time.”

Draco seemed to buy it, rolling his eyes and grabbing Harry by the arm, “come on then, we can
still make it to breakfast.”

Chapter End Notes

I promise that the next chapter has a bit more substance than this one, but I just really
wanted to get all my thoughts on the library out in this chapter and by that point it was
already the usually length so I didn't add anything else.
 Everyone is Entitled to their Privacy
Chapter Summary

Harry is forced to confide his findings of Lockhart's crimes to the Slytherin house,
chaos ensues.
Three of our main group have side projects that have been taking up quite a bit of their
time, much to the annoyance of our dear Malfoy Heir.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: while this fic details a lot of mythologically accurate things about Norse
mythos, it does make a lot of shit up for the sake of plot. If you're looking for precise
historical accuracy, you wont find it here.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

September crept into October, and Harry was happy to note that the weather was finally cooling
down for autumn. Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to be a joke, with Lockhart acting out
his various heroic deeds. Harry used the free-period to compile a case of every inconsistency in the
man's books, of which there was a shockingly large amount.

Draco had leaned over to see what he was writing one day, and nearly fell out of his chair in shock.
That afternoon at dinner, Harry was forced to share his findings so far with the other second years
by an excited Draco.

“Parkinson, what did I tell you. He's a fraud!” Davis was practically vibrating in her seat, shoving
the parchment in the other girl's face, which was turning a pleasant shade of magenta.

“What are you going to do with all this mate?” Blaise questioned him, leafing through some of the
pages with interest.

“Well, once I've found every discrepancy in his books, I'll send it all to the daily prophet,” Blaise
grinned, “then I'll show it all to him and force a confession, whatever that may be.” Blaise grinned
wider.

“Great! How can I help?” the Italian boy asked cheerly, completely ready to take part in the
greatest prank of the year.

“Hold on a bloody minute, the bet specified that you would do it yourself, it's against the rules to
get help!” Draco exclaimed.

“Wait, you lot are betting on this shite?” Theo looked less than impressed with the both of them.

“Well I didn't think he would actually be able to do it! I figured it was just an easy 1,000 galleons.”
Draco defended himself, pink dusting his cheeks. Harry said nothing, not feeling an ounce of
regret.
“You're betting a 1,000 galleons on… what, if you can ruin the man's reputation?”

“Nah, I'm gonna get him thrown in Azkaban.” The older years had been listening in apparently, as
a few of them audibly gasped. Draco blushed further, Theo went white, Blaise cackled, and the
girls all looked at him like he was insane.

“Pardon?” Davis finally spoke, her look of disbelief turning into curiosity.

“Well,” he started, “he obviously didn't actually do the things in his books, but there's
documentation besides them that those things actually happened, so I can only assume that he
obliviated the people who actually did all those heroic deeds and took the credit. That many illegal
obliviations will land him in Azkaban for a good two decades at the very least.”

Open mouthed stares answered him, a few of the upper years started whispering furiously to each
other. Parkinson looked as if she might faint.

“Just a theory, might be wrong.” he rounded out, sheepish.

“Bloody hell, mate.” Theo looked and sounded very, very tired.

A few days later found Harry strolling through stacks of ancient books, all perfectly preserved
behind runes carved lovingly into the shelves they inhabited. He had come down to the secret
library with a crate full of ink, enough to copy a few hundred of books. Though... considering that
Jörmungandr had informed him that the library had a few thousand books, he would be needing to
order another shipment. He had the money, so it was fine, and in the end it was absolutely worth it.

He was walking through the shelves now, looking around for something that might interest him.
Turning the corner, Harry found himself peering at a small section of a bookshelf labeled
‘elemental magics’. Intrigued, he crouched down, pulling one of the books out and turning to the
first page. Finding it incomprehensible, he cast a verbal translator charm and sat back, listening to
his own voice read off the first few pages.

“Elemental magic has long been thought to be magic gifted to the user from the gods, much in
the same way a metamorphmagus is gifted the ability to shift their appearance, an elemental
is supposedly simply born with the ability. This however, is false.”

Harry had never heard of elemental magic before, which just cemented the fact that this library
held knowledge unknown to anyone for centuries.

“It is true that not everyone can use elemental magic, for the simple fact that many are too
balanced in their temperament. This means that elemental magic depends entirely on one's
personality.

An example of this would be that one with a fiery temper is able to harness fire. Someone of
an airy demeanor would float along in the wind. A wix that was down to earth could move
mountains. Those of a cold deposition may harness the ability to send storms of ice at their
opponent. So on and so forth.”

He was floored, a magic that depended purely on a person's temperament? He had never heard of
something so… so uncontained! Magic was something that depended on someone's core and their
intent, magic depending on something as random as a person's personality was completely unheard
of.
Or perhaps it was just forgotten.

“Those who wish to master an element must first deeply understand who they are, inside and
out. It is often suggested that one should travel the world and find a place that they feel
connected to. This idea however, forgets that one's element comes from within, and exterior
forces do not help or hinder in the process of mastering it. This author instead recommends
deep self reflection to rediscover one's innerworkings, and then intense meditation into the
mind's eye, further into one's being and into the ‘core’ of themselves. This author also
suggests that a person does not hope for a specific element that they wish to master, as one
who is fated for fire will never be able to call on wind. This meaning that your personality is
the only dependent on which element you may master, attempting to control a different
element is foolhardy and a waste of magical resources and time.”

Harry was incredibly intrigued by the book, but felt that elemental magic was something that took
an awful lot of self reflection and a deeper understanding of your own psyche, which was
something he was hesitant to undergo.

Setting the book back onto the shelf gently, he made a mental note to consider any of his friends
who might have a better time with that kind of process. He remembered Draco’s fiery anger and
Veela's ability to summon fire, but quickly pushed that thought aside for another day.

Returning to strolling through the shelves, he couldn't help but consider all the people he knew that
could potentially master an element. Blaise was out, he had a balance of personality traits that
didn't really lend him one way or another. Draco was already set aside for the moment, as Harry
wasn't quite convinced the shorter boy didn't already have an inclination towards fire from an
inheritance. Luna had great potential for air, breezing through life, but he couldn't see her focusing
enough for the meditation supposedly necessary. That's when he realized it: Theo. The boy was
driven, willing to do almost everything for the sake of knowledge. He was stiff, and blunt, but not
ice cold. If anyone would be able to master an element, Harry would think that Theo might just
move mountains.

He stopped suddenly, his feet seemingly sticking to the floor. Looking down in confusion, his eyes
widened. He was standing in a large symbol of the deathly hallows that was carved into the stone,
the circle and line representing the wand and cloak shining brightly. He tried to pick his feet off
the floor, finding with rising panic that he was most certainly stuck.

“~are you troubled, intriguing one?~”

He whipped his upper body around, finding that Jörmungandr had slithered up behind him and was
watching with interest.

“~Jörmungandr! I'm stuck.~” He tried to turn further, but his spine was uncooperative, the snake
slithered around to face his front.

“~This shelf has always fascinated those who come here, but none have ever been able to open one
of the books. Tell me, intriguing one, are you a descendant of mighty necromancers?~”

Mouthing ‘what’, Harry turned to the shelf on his left and gasped. It stood out from the other
shelves as it was made of an entirely different material, a pale stone that was carved to appear as a
shelf. It held roughly 50 books, all impossibly old and absolutely reeking of necromantic magic.
He felt his feet become unattached from the floor, and he practically stumbled to the shelf, his
hands brushing faintly across the books.
“~W-who donated these to the library? They don't match the rest...~”

Jörmungandr nodded his large head, leaning closer, “~They were added roughly two hundred years
after the school was founded. A young man by the name of Peverell had come into the chamber,
with another man who spoke the serpent tongue. Through the translator he explained that his
brothers had been plagued by death through the books’ use, and he wished to cleanse himself and
his family of it.~”

“~Ignotus Peverell?~” Harry asked, faintly. The knowledge that the first holder of the invisibility
cloak had brought these necromancy books into the library made him shiver, everything felt too
perfect, too much of a coincidence.

“~Yes! Do you know of him?~”

Perhaps its Fate? Tom asked dryly. Harry felt he might have been talking about the goddess, and
he really wouldn't have put it past her.

“~I’m familiar.~”

Harry brushed his fingertips along the book spines, carefully reading the titles, stopping quite
suddenly when he reached one with an upside down tree illustration on the spine, but no title.
Intrigued, he pulled it out, finding that the same illustration was on the main cover.

Oh my.

What is it?

That's a family tree.

Harry’s breath caught. Books about a specific family's genealogy were held tightly to the chest, it
was unheard of to even show it to people outside of the family unless absolutely necessary, to see it
among these books in a library of all things…

He gently opened it to the front cover, reading over the Peverell brothers oldest known ancestors,
the ones who were long dead but remembered by those who had created the book in the first place.
Family trees were self updating, and a family could only make one if they were of the skill and
social class to need it. The creators of the book had their memories drawn upon, and all those who
came before them that were still remembered would be written down in the first few pages, just
their names and lines connecting them. You could tell you reached those who created the book
when you found the first people with a face put to the name, as the book started to document a
person's facial features and name from conception to the age of 25, which was typically when the
book was passed onto the next generation. The three brothers were a few generations after the
original creators of the book, but they were hardly the last. Ignotus had a son who he gave the
cloak to, this was well known. It showed that the son then had a daughter named-

He stopped, staring uncomprehending at the name Iolanthe Potter nee. Peverell.

Well… shit.

Harry started flipping through the book at a fast pace, finding that the cloak was passed down the
line of Potters for generations until...there.

He stared, disbelieving at his own name and face. The portrait was him, without a doubt, the large
lightning bolt scar too obvious to ignore. He was at the very end of the tree, flipping through the
prior few pages, he found with surprise that his grandparents were named Fleamont and Euphemia
Potter, and that he had no particularly close relatives, his family having had one child each for a
good seven generations.

Harry… you descended from necromancers.

Is that what you’ve decided to focus on?

Well leech, you tell me, what is the bookshelf in front of you full of?

It took him a moment.

Holy shit.

He was standing in front of ancient necromantic texts that were technically his birthright!

Springing forwards, he grabbed a few off the shelf, completely forgetting about the deathly hallow
symbol that was supposedly keeping him trapped there. He walked right over it, its job seemingly
done.

Theo was holed up in the Hogwarts library, pouring over an old tome, three more waiting patiently
next to him. He was writing vigorously onto a piece of parchment, seemingly working hard to write
a small book's worth of words before the day was out. He had woken up early and slipped into the
great hall for a slice of toast and a cuppa before his friends were awake and able to convince him to
go and do something besides read on a Saturday.

He didn't have the time to do anything else, his hunches (as he called them) were screaming at him
that he needed to know everything he possibly could about the worship of Norse gods and he
couldn't fully concentrate on anything else till he had enough knowledge to stave off the thirst.

Putting the current tome aside for now, he pulled one off the stack next to him and flipped to the
table of contents, finding that there wasn't one, he sighed and flipped to the back and found the
index; gleaming as much as he could from that, he then flipped to the general area of something
that had interested him. He read several pages before picking up his quill again and starting to
write furiously.

This was how his day went, with several breaks in between to return the books to their spot and
grab more. He was forced out of his chair by Blaise at some point, as the taller boy wordlessly
dragged him into the corridor and forced a plate of food into his hands with a goblet of pumpkin
juice. He scarfed it down, and handed the plate and goblet back without a word, already turning
back to the library.

Blaise rolled his eyes as the retreating form of Theo disappeared back into the stacks of books.
When the boy hadn’t come down for breakfast, he had made a mental note to bring him some
lunch. It had always fallen to him to make sure the Nott heir didn't starve to death on one of his
research binges, as Harry often disappeared for hours on end and Draco didn't have the ability to
drag the boy out of his seat. It was a shame Madam Pince didn’t allow food in the library, or they
could just drop a plate near him and trust that he would eat it. Sadly that wasn’t possible, and
Blaise was forced to drag the boy out by the collar of his shirt and into the hall to eat a quick lunch.

“Alright, minor chore out of the way, we can get back to color changing charms now, you ready
Vic?”

Victoria nodded determinately, little muggle notepad in her hand and ballpoint pen posed ready to
write down notes.

Theo sat back down at his table, already forgetting that he just ate, immersed in his research once
again.

It is theorized that each god specified different things from their worshipers, which has made
finding concrete evidence so difficult, as there are such wildly differing reports.

He paused, quickly reading over the passage again before flipping quickly back to the index.
Reading through the source materials, he leapt to his feet and shot off to the religion section,
recognizing one of the titles and needing to cross reference the two books.

Practically sprinting through the stacks, he came upon the book quickly, snatching it off the shelf
and actually sprinting this time, back to his table. Scrambling into the chair, he threw open the
book he just grabbed and flipped furiously through the pages, trying to find one particular passage.
Coming upon it suddenly, he eagerly drank up the words.

Gods of Norse mythos were known for being fairly precise when it came to their desired
ritualistic practices. Many gods of old were known to have strong followings of massive
groups of people, and ceremonies were general and vaguely similar. Conversely, and in a
similar fashion of the tribes native to the Americas, the northern Germanic tribes of the 9th
century AD that have been credited as the first worshipers of the Asgardian pantheon, were
spread out and differed in opinion on how exactly one was to worship. Their gods emulated
that.

It had been said that each of the Norse gods had a prophet write out a set of sacred
documents that outlined their personal specifications for worship. These supposed documents
however have not been proven to have ever existed, and have been widely assumed to be
nothing but rumors.

It didn't have specifics, but it was more than enough for him. Falling back into his chair with a
sigh, Theo felt the itch recede, and his mind settled.

He could only assume that Blaise had to have come upon one of these supposed documents, and
was unknowingly (or Merlin forbid, knowingly) about to pledge himself to a random god. There
wasn't anything life threatening about that, as gods typically took good care of their followers, but
it wasn't very good form, all things considered.

He opened his eyes, exhausted. The last time he had had an insatiable itch was when he was trying
to figure out what was up between Harry and Draco. He had eventually come upon soul bonds, and
had sent a book to Harry about them for his birthday, but the research had lasted most of the
summer. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, those two had nearly killed him with their mysteries. He had
been searching the library for weeks after last Halloween, finally coming upon creature
inheritances and their effects. He didn't know why his hunches always insisted on him researching
these things in relation to his friends, but he felt that eventually he would figure it out. Sighing, he
began sorting through all his notes.

Draco was weaving in and out through the goalposts, feeling a sense of relief from being up in the
air. Flint had been forcing them up out of bed early each weekend and they stayed out there till
lunch, when they were allowed to go back inside to eat, before having to go back out again. Draco
had taken to just having the house elfs make him a sack lunch, having been told where the kitchen
 was by his mother. Eating in the stands instead of walking all the way back to the school was much
easier if you were just going to come back out anyway.

He sighed, weaving out of the goalposts and into open air, swerving upside down and hanging like
that for a moment, contemplative. Harry had been a tad distant the last few weeks, running off to
some random place in the castle. He had tried to question the other boy about it, but he had been
vague, and quickly changed the subject. It worried the boy some, he and Harry had been close
since first year, it wasn't like him to not only go off on his own like that but to also not tell Draco
why.

Flipping right side up again, he flew lazily around the pitch, contemplating his friend's shift in
demeanor. He doesn't seem unhealthy, just distracted. It irked him a little (read a lot) that Harry
seemed to have something big going on and he didn't want to involve his best friend (Draco,
obviously) in it.

Picking up speed, Draco did a somersault and dove, reaching for an imaginary snitch. He neared
the ground at an incredible speed, wind in his ears and adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Closer... closer… now! Pulling up half a foot away from the turf, he rocketed the other direction,
crisscrossing around in complex patterns at breakneck speed.

Blaise and Theo also had their own little side projects that were carrying them away during the
weekend. Theo was holed up in the library almost constantly, researching a northern Germanic
pantheon or something. Blaise was off causing trouble with the firstie muggleborn, and was also
reading this weird little book in the dorm sometimes. He frowned, that book felt really strange, not
benevolent in a dark magic way, but definitely old and dangerous.

Draco flew a corkscrew pattern in the air, picking up speed and letting the thrill of flying drown out
all his worries. At least he didn't have anything strange going on like his friends, at least he wasn't
keeping secrets like Harry. He made a sudden stop in the air, remembering the large bumps,
bruising, and back pain that he had been hiding for nearly two years. With a frustrated groan, he
realized his own hypocrisy.

Well… everyone was entitled to their privacy.

Chapter End Notes

I honestly think that Harry is hiding the most out of the four boys, but none of the
others are exactly innocent in their secret keeping (lol, don't mind the pun), so I found
this chapter especially amusing to write.
Words of warning, the next two chapters are fairly Draco centric, as the boy needs
some love.
 Heirs of Great Houses do Not Cry
Chapter Summary

Heirs of great houses do not get upset in polite company, and they most certainly do
not cry.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dear Father-

The gold cuffs I received from you for last Christmas have become less and less effective. I
have gone to request Madam Pomfrey’s help with the balms that mother had taken to using
to relieve the pain, but it still persists.

The Madam noted that if my ailment was truly hereditary, it could potentially be fatal if left
seriously untreated. I beg that you exert sincerity in my regard, and plead for your speedy
reply.

-Your heir, Draconis Lucius Malfoy

Draconis-

I received your letter and have replied accordingly. I regret to inform you that the nature of
your ailment is one that is better discussed face to face, and request your patience till
Yuletide. Your mother sends well wishes and a more potent balm.

-Lord Lucius Malfoy

Draco tossed his fathers letter aside with an angry groan. Not only was the letter impressively
vague, but completely unhelpful. He groaned again, rubbing his face in his hands and making a
conservative effort to not burst into tears.

It was the night after the Halloween feast, and he had spent the entire feast trying very hard to not
cry in pain, as he was again attempting now. When he had seen his fathers reply sitting on his desk
next to a small package, he had hoped it would be something actually bloody useful. Not a bunch
of empty platitudes and apologies. His trip to the medical wing the day before had also been
incredibly unhelpful, with the mediwitch simply rubbing the balm on his back and sending him
away with a pain reliever potion that didn't bloody work!

With a shout, he shoved everything off his desk and onto the floor, and stood there heaving his
chest for several moments, slowly coming down.

“Alright there, mate?”

He whipped his head around, before sighing tiredly, “this isn't your dorm, Theo.”

Said boy snorted, “it might as well be.”

They looked at each other for a moment, Theo studying him and Draco trying to burn a hole in the
other boy's skull with his glare alone. Finally, Theo broke eye contact and moved to Draco’s desk,
bending down and starting to methodically pick the parchment and books strewn about the place.
Draco took another deep breath as he set them all down on his desk in a neat pile.

“You never read that book I sent you last Christmas.” Odd change of topic.

“My father took it away, said it was inappropriate of you to send it, care to explain?”
Theo sighed, long and heavy, “Your father seems to be very much stuck in tradition, he likely
didn't want you to know sooner than necessary.”

He turned, heading over to Blaise’s bed across from Draco’s and sitting down on it, continuing to
talk, “-but that decision was hindering you, so I thought it would be best to send you and Harry
copies of the book so you could figure it out by yourself.”

His eyes narrowed, Theo seemed to know an awful lot and had been willfully not saying shit, “-and
what exactly does my back hurting have to do with a book of magical creatures?”

Theo seemed surprised, “Your back is hurting?”

“Oh so you seem to know all this shite about my family but not that? Just what is your deal, Nott?”
Draco was getting angry again, his fingers clenching around the back of his chair. The other boy
ignored that though, seeming to be thinking deeply about something or another.

“Well?”

That seemed to break the other boy out of his thoughts, and he got up to walk over to Harry's side
of the room, grabbing a familiar looking book off the desk. It was well worn, and had lots of pieces
of parchment and notes stuck into the pages. Theo flipped past all those however, to near the back
of the book, and stood there, occasionally flipping though, as Draco got more and more irritated.

“Ahhh, I see.” was finally said.

“What do you see?” Draco demanded, sitting angrily back down in his desk chair, stewing in anger
as the other boy came over, worn book in hand.

“I don't want to get between you and your father Draco, but he doesn't seem to be helping you by
keeping your heritage secret,” he set the book down on a specific page, pointing to one of the rows,
Draco didn't even look at it, glaring heatedly at Theo.

“I get hunches sometimes, and they're almost always right, read this page, will you? It’ll at least
answer some questions.” He turned and walked away, leaving a stewing Draco staring at the spot
he vacated.

He didn't know how long he sat there, glaring at the floor, but eventually he calmed down enough
to turn to the book and begin to read. His eyes drifted to the general direction that Theo had
pointed at, eyes latching onto a specific entry.

Veela-Slavic

Veela are commonly described as semi-human magical beings native to Bulgaria, or more
precisely the Slavic highlands. Appearing as beautiful women with white-gold hair and pale
skin, they have a natural affinity to charm other beings. When angered however, they
transform into Harpy-like creatures (see page 744), and have the ability to throw balls of
flame from their hands. Veela are well known as the magical creature to most often wed
wizards, and due to this it is not uncommon for many old wizarding families to inhibit traits
of traditionally Veela heritage, though if these traits are in fact credited to an official creature
inheritance is unknown.

Draco could distantly register the sound of an explosion, a magical outburst rocking the dorm and
testing the strength of the school's foundation. He could feel it lashing around him, destroying
everything in the pursuit to escape his body while not hurting him. Looking down at his hands, he
brought them both up to his face, fascinated as flames danced across his fingers. Warm, but
painless. He could feel his anger, but could not react to it. Slowly, he brought his left hand down to
the chairs arm rest, watching with detached emotion as it lit aflame.

There were yells, and some one burst through the door, marching right over to him. He was shaken
from his stupor by two long hands coming up and cradling his face, wiping away tears that he
didn't know were falling.

He could hear Professor Snape's deep voice behind the person holding his face, speaking in hushed
words.

Looking slowly up, his eyes focused for a moment on shockingly green eyes and a very familiar
scar, before his vision went black, magic reserves completely exhausted.

Harry felt the magical outburst before he heard it, and was already out of his seat and up the stairs
before anyone else in the common room could register what had happened. He knew that magic, it
was around him almost constantly after all. Bursting into the dorm room, he took a moment to take
in the carnage before storming over to Draco, who was watching his chair burn with a detached
look. His chair was the only thing left to burn really, the room was in shambles. Crouching down to
his level, Harry moved mostly on instinct, cupping Draco's face in his hands and whispering
calming words.

“What in Merlin's name happened here.”

“Draco’s had a magical outburst, Professor.”

Snape cursed, before waving his wand in a complex pattern, reversing the damage done to the
room and the personal belongings. As Draco's desk was rebuilt, Harry noticed his ‘Every Magical
Creature Known’ book also got pieced back together, and drew the correct conclusions.

“Professor,” he whispered quietly to the man, “do you know of any creature blood in the Malfoy
line?”

The man went white, and glanced his way, seeing the book almost instantly. Cursing under his
breath, the potions professor rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.

“Blast it, Lucius you stubborn fool…” he muttered, almost too quiet for Harry to pick up.

“We need to have him moved to my quarters, Lucius requested if this were to happen he would be
called immediately.”

Draco seemed to move slightly, and then slump against him. Maneuvering the shorter boy, he
grabbed for his wand to levitate him.

“No need for that Potter, I'll do it.”

He nodded, watching with careful eyes as the man did just that, and walking alongside Draco as he
was moved out of the dorm hall and into the commons. Harry was about to follow the professor as
he levitated the boy into his adjacent office, until he caught Theo’s suspiciously guilty eyes from
across the room. Stopping, he motioned to the boy and headed back to the dorm, a wincing Theo
following from a ways behind.

Stepping into the newly reconstructed dorm, he strode over to his book on Draco’s desk. Picking it
up, he turned back around, pointing it in Theo’s direction is accusatory. Striding back over to the
boy, he practically shoved it into his hands.

“Explain yourself before I break your face.”

Theo winced further, “I didn't think this would happen.”

“Wow, no shit! What, did you think he would just be ok with it?”

Theo rounded on him, “oh so you knew too did you?”

“Of course I did, I'm not a moron, but I'm not so tactless that I would get between a pre-teen in the
middle of a budding creature inheritance and his father like this!”

Theo glowered, standing firm, “it was the right thing to do and you know it.”

“Maybe, but oftentimes the right thing is just as bad as the wrong one.” he thought back to
Dumbledore's ‘for the greater good’ gimmick, drawing parallels quickly.

“I had a hunch!”

“Since when is having a hunch a good argument!”

“Since it was me having the hunch!”

“YOU'RE STUPID SEER HORSESHIT IS NOT A GOOD EXCUSE TO HURT DRACO!”

“I DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT HIM!”

“Should I come back later?”

They both whipped their heads to the door, glaring heatedly at Blaise, who was standing there
awkwardly.

“Ah great, you're here to scold me too eh?” Theo snapped, looking very close to tears anyway,
worried for his friend. Harry glowered, too upset to do much of anything.

The Italian boy chuckled a bit, apparently finding the idea of him scolding anyone amusing, “nah,
Professor Snape sent me to say that Draco’s awake already.”

Harry practically bolted from the room, sprinting down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time.
Swerving around them, he bolted to the side door leading to the Professors Quarters and slammed
through the doors, causing Snape to curse rather rudely.

“Draco?”

“Hum?”

He let out a relieved sigh, shutting the door gently before collapsing onto the floor next to the
couch that Draco was laying on, studying the boy’s bare back with extreme worry. He had two
large bumps on his shoulder blades, and severe bruising that lended him to also having a bit of
bleeding centered several skin levels below the surface, close-ish to the muscle. It looked
extremely painful, and Harry felt an ache in his chest at the sight.

“Bloody hell.”

“Language, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise and Theo had arrived, and stood a few feet behind where he was sitting, also staring at
Draco’s back.

“I didn't want you lot to know.” the boy spoke quietly, his face pressed into his pillow.

“Mate, I'm no mediwizard, but that looks like a bit of a medical emergency.” The other two boys
told Blaise to shut his trap for five bloody minutes.

“Mr. Malfoy, I have contacted your father, he will be arriving by floo shortly.” It seemed the
professor had a private floo that he was allowed to use, Harry noted distantly.

“Just bloody brilliant, can't even give me a few minutes-” the rest was incomprehensible as Draco
turned his face further into his pillow.

The sound of a fire flaring alerted them to Lord Malfoy’s arrival.

“Severus, where is my-” he stopped mid sentence, taking in the scene before him. His eyes glanced
over each of them before eventually settling onto Harry, who he sneered at quite impressively.

“Harry Potter is it? I was not notified of you being acquainted with my heir, if you would remove
yourself from the room immediately-”

Harry cut him off, not giving a shit anymore, “if you want to be a prat to me that's just fine, but
your son is currently in a great deal of pain, so if you could focus your attention onto him for the
moment I would greatly appreciate it.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manne-”

Harry leapt to his feat, eyes glowing dangerously, “How dare I? I am the heir to two great houses,
one of which out ranks yours. I am second in line to the Black lordship, as the current heir is
rotting in Azkaban. I hold far more public sway than you do, so if you really want to pull rank, I
will be happy to drag you across hot coals in the press, but your son is far more important to me
than some pathetic little bit of posturing. So how about you focus on him, or do you care that little
about your family?”

There was a moment of shocked silence before Draco burst out into great peals of laughter, Blaise
following soon after. Snape, he could tell, was trying very hard to act indignant, and failing quite
spectacularly. Lord Malfoy's face went bright red, and he stiffly marched over and stood over him
menacingly. Harry stood his ground.

“I request a private word with my son, if that suits your needs, Heir Potter?”

Harry felt that he had proven his point, and the three boys were shepherded out of the room by
Snape, who closed the door behind him with a thud.

He turned stern (amused) eyes on the three boys, who were standing in a line, innocent as could be.
“Get out.”

They ran off, Blaise patting Harry on the back in a congratulatory manner and Theo finally letting
himself laugh hysterically.

“He’s my best friend, father. Please make an effort with him.”

The man grimaced, pulling a chair up next to the couch he was lying on, “he certainly took me by
surprise. I was not expecting… nevermind, how do you feel.”

“Extremely cross with you.”

The Lord Malfoy chuckled quietly, carding his hands through his son's hair. There was a stark
difference between how he acted towards his son with company and with just family, and it was
most telling now. ”You've found out then?”

“Why wasn't I told years ago.”

“Well traditionally-”

Draco rolled his eyes, “the real reason if you please.”

His father glared, “enough cheek, Draconis.” He then sighed, looking exceptionally tired. “I didn't
want to burden you with the knowledge of a creature's inheritance so young. It is a great shame to
have, and the Malfoy family has been keeping theirs a secret for over eight generations. It was for
your reputation as well as your peace of mind. I see now though that that was foolish, you should
have been told this summer at the latest.”

Draco contemplated the apology, his fathers words were truthful, if sugar coated. If the public got
wind of a creature inheritance among any pure blood family, said family was almost immediately
shunned from polite society. His life could very well be ruined if someone told, which he supposed
made sense to the reason why he was in his head of house quarters instead of the hospital wing.

“I'm still cross.”

Lord Malfoy half laughed half sighed, “as you should be, but I beg that you understand my
reasoning, Draconis.”

“I do father, but I'm still upset that you had not told me, even if your reasoning was sound.”

He nodded, “good, hold fast to your beliefs if you know they are right.”

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned, his father laughed, “stop squeezing life lessons into our
conversations!” he only laughed harder.

Severus Snape just finished obliviating Poppy Pomfrey of any memory of Draco coming to her for
his back. It never hurt to be safe, and the mediwitch had an awfully loose tongue around the
headmaster in regards to her patients private information. Leaving the Hospital wing, he set his
face into his trademark sneer, scaring off younger years as he passed.

Good, let the little dunderheads scatter like cattle.

“Ah, Severus, there you are.”

Blast.
“Minerva, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She huffed, seemingly put out, “Albus needs you in his office for some reason or another, says that
you used the emergency floo?”

Blast blast blast!

“Hmm. Yes, one of my students had a family emergency, the details are quite personal I'm afraid.”

She nodded, understanding that other people were entitled to their privacy, unlike a certain twinkly
eyed headmaster.

After thanking the transfiguration professor, Severus altered course to the headmasters office.
Falling into a light meditation, he prepared his occlumency walls for a potential (almost
guaranteed) attack from Dumbledore.

Riding the staircase, he strengthened his nerve, stiffening his spine and setting his face in a firm
expression of emotionless disinterest. He fooled the Dark Lord during his prime, he could fool a
meddling old coot just as easily.

“Good evening Severus, do come in.” Albus was just as jolly as always, his placating smile out in
full force and completely ineffective.

“Headmaster, may I ask what this impromptu meeting is entailing?” His face was stone, eyes
betraying nothing of the Malfoy Heir’s unfortunate heritage.

“Ah yes… I noticed that you used your emergency floo? Whatever for?”

“I'm afraid one of my students had a family emergency, and needed contact with their guardian
immediately.” He spoke carefully, not giving away any specifics beyond generalities.

“Oh that's quite severe, who was it?”

Severus’ eye twitched, “I'm afraid that confidentiality exists, Headmaster.”

He felt a brush at his occlumency shields, they held strong, “yes, quite right… well I apologize for
taking up your time then.”

“Hm. I'll take my leave then.”

Draco joined them in the dorm about thirty minutes after they were shoved out of Snape's quarters.
He had been given the more potent balm and a numbing agent, which he said relieved quite a bit of
the pain. The four of them were currently sitting in a circle on the floor, waiting for someone to
speak.

Harry decided to break the silence, “Secrecy vows?” Blaise and Theo nodded determinedly, and
Draco looked at them confused.

“What for?”

Blaise rolled his eyes, “to be certain this is all kept a secret, you great lump.”

Draco was even more confused, “I trust you lot, you don't have to-” Harry cut him off.

“I, Hadrian James Potter, do hereby swear that I will keep any secret confided to me by Blaise
 Zabini, Theodore Samuel Nott, and Draconis Lucius Malfoy, and will henceforth never share with
anyone but the three listed what I may or may not be confided in by them, till the day my soul
departs from this life into the next, so mote it be.” a great flash accompanied the vow.

“Bloody hell-”

“Alright Harry!”

“A-ha!”

Blaise was soon to follow, finding great amusement in Draco's flabbergasted face, Theo right
behind him. After two more flashes of light it was quiet for a moment, as they looked expectantly
at Draco, who was trying very hard not to cry now. He raised his wand and shakily recited the vow
as well, and they all cheered and passed around hugs and pats on the back (gently, in Draco's case)
and they all most certainly did not cry, because heirs of great houses do not cry, thank-you-very-
much.

Chapter End Notes

Honestly... this was one of my favorites to write, just really a lot of fun.
 Secrets Don't Keep
Chapter Summary

Harry Potter comes to a quick decision while Albus Dumbledore plots. Theodore Nott
has a coronary and Hermione Granger worries her head of house.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The first of November rounded the bend, and the four second year Slytherin boys woke up feeling
lighter. Well, Harry still felt much the same, but Draco felt lighter, which was contagious... you get
the idea.

It did raise questions for Harry though, as he did have quite a few skeletons still in the closet, and
the elephant in the room was just waiting for one of them to spill another nasty little secret. Harry
didn't think he could get through all his secrets without getting in the very least a few teeth
knocked out by an irate Blaise, and felt that it would take a good amount of careful planning and
pure nerve to maneuver his secrets into the known for the group, and made adjustments in his plans
to do so.

Harry Potter was not the only one planning however, as one Albus Dumbledore had come across
some very worrying information the night prior. He had not fully trusted his potion master for
many years, but when he had blatantly refused his employer necessary information… Well, what
else could he do but use the seeing glass? It had raised quite a few worrying questions. The bat of
the dungeons was loyal to himself and himself alone, which was a very worrying thing indeed.
More worrying however, was his trust in one Lucius Malfoy, one of the most obvious Death Eaters
to still weasel out of prosecution.

Dumbledore frowned deeply, he took great advantage in having a spy among the Death Eater
ranks, but if that spy was able to be swayed one way or the other… he frowned further, it would be
necessary to ensure Severus’ unfortunate end as soon as the time allotted. In the coming war he
would be extremely beneficial, but after a certain time he would expend that usefulness.

He sat back with a sigh, how to do it though? It would be immediately suspicious if the man was
killed by another Death Eater, as he was supposed to be on their side, but having him killed by an
order member would also raise eyebrows.

Tricky… tricky…

That was the difficulty with killing someone in the middle of a conflict while trying to get away
scot free, neither side could be put completely out of suspicion. Alas, the second war was a few
years away yet, he had time in spades to plan the man's demise.

He smiled lightly, before getting up from his seat to get ready for the day, he had a Wizengamot
gathering to get to, he was the Chief Warlock after all.

Lava Bear-North America

The lava bear (also known as sand lapper, dwarf grizzly, and North American sun bear) is a
magical variety of the American black bear. It is found in the lava beds of south central
Oregon, and is described as a very small bear with wooly light brown fur. The few lava bears
that have been caught or killed were a little larger in size than that of a badger. The bears are
known for an elaborate pattern of cracking lava across their joints, which have been
theorized to be for venting out the intense heat at which the bears function. Many magical
American tribes in the Oregon region consider the lava bears to be more elemental spirits
than organisms, and consider them protectors of the earth.

Harry crossed the Lava Bear out of his book with an eye roll. He had been relieved to find that his
book had been completely restored to how it was when he last had it, that being well worn and full
of notes shoved into pages. The lava bear was automatically disqualified, primarily because it lived
in a hot ecosystem, and secondarily because it was an utterly ridiculous creature, if cute sounding.

Harry glanced to his makeshift conveyor belt that was currently translating and copying down its
32nd book. Tom had been right when he said that it would be slow going, and he was honestly
impressed that it had gotten this far in exactly a month of work, considering that he started on the
1st of October. He sighed, it was still taking awfully long though, he would have to start looking
into methods of speeding up the process if he ever hoped to get it finished before he graduated,
much less before June came around and school was out.

He grimaced, feeling that next year wouldn't be very open to cutting him some slack, being the
year after his first transformation on his 13th birthday, so he didn't expect that he'll have much time
to bring down fresh ink every weekend.

Leaning back in his chair, he contemplated the day before. Draco’s magical outburst had nearly
sent him bearing down on the Lord Malfoy, if he didn't have the occlumency walls he did he very
well might have torn the man to bits. That was most certainly not a normal reaction to your best
friend being hurt. Or was it? Harry certainly didn't know, in his last life his best friend ended up
being paid to hang out with him, so he didn't exactly have the whole loyalty shtick all worked out.

Getting up out of his chair, he picked up his book and motioned over Jörmungandr, who was lying
around a shelf of ancient worshiping practices… wait.

Circling back around, Harry moseyed up to the shelf, taking a closer look at the scrolls and books.
Opening one, determining that it was in Latin, he put it back. It took a lot of grabbing and checking
for him to find something vaguely Norse, and the book after that was most certainly northern
Germanic in nature.

If I'm going to begin being more truthful with my friends, why not start by giving Theo an early
birthday present?

Hermione Granger was marching determinedly up the stairs to the headmaster's office. She was
extremely angry and did not think for a moment that the headmaster couldn’t spare time for her
when it was so obviously important!

Banging on the door a few times, she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the tell tale ‘come
in!’ to grant her access. However, she got no such call, and with an impatient harrumph, stormed in
anyway. To her raising frustration, the headmasters office was most certainly empty, except for an
old looking bird that had seen much better days.

Standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn, Hermione Granger
continued to be extremely cross.

After standing there for several minutes, stubborn, a door finally opening made her spring into
action.

“Headmaster! The most horrid thing just happened-”

“Miss. Granger! Good merlin what are you doing in here?”

To Hermione’s dismay, the person who opened the door was in fact her head of house.

“No No No! Profession, I need to speak with the headmaster absolutely immediately!”

McGonagall was flummoxed, the girl was often quite sharp, but on occasion she would have bouts
and moods that completely betrayed her mind. Thinking fast, she gently maneuvered the girl onto a
chair, pushing the calming drought laced lemon drops to the girl. Yes, Minerva was quite aware of
the drugged candies, but thought that it was more of a way to calm people, rather than for
manipulation. If she knew what their intended use was, she would likely grab the headmaster by his
beard and throw him across the great hall.

Sighing faintly, she began to attempt to sooth the girl, “now Miss. Granger, the headmaster is away
on important Wizengamot business, as he always is on Sundays. As the standing Deputy
Headmistress, I would be more than happy to help you with anything you need, but please do not
make it a habit of storming into the headmasters office.”

“No, I can't discuss this with you professor, please send an owl to the headmaster insisting that he
come back to the school right away.”

Minerva eyebrows raised marginally. The girl was sometimes quite irrational yes, but this was
veering into curse territory.

“I'm sorry Miss. Granger, but that is quite impossible. I'm afraid you will have to wait to discuss
whatever it is you need to discuss with him after lunch. My apologies.”

The girl appeared to be growing more and more agitated, and Minerva settled in for an extremely
befuddling conversation which ended with the young girl yelling that ‘you aren't my mum!’ before
running out of the office. Leaving the poor professor with her head in her hand and the sudden wish
for a glass of whiskey.

Harry sauntered out to the quidditch pitch, knowing that his friends were currently out there
helping Draco with bludger dodging. He had been nervous about it since the blond’s back was still
very sensitive, but the others convinced him that they wouldn't use real bludgers, and it would help
him when it came to real games anyway, so it was a win win. Harry trusted them to be careful, and
went off with his shrunk crate of ink to the library to restock the supplies.

Walking onto the pitch, he looked up to the sky, finding three human shaped specks flying around
sporadically. Sighing, he hunted down one of the school brooms and quickly took off, flying with
the ease of a natural who had been honing his skills for years (because he was, and he had).

“Evening chaps.”

“Bloody- Harry? I thought you had run off to some random corner to sulk?” Blaise was as
infuriatingly cheeky as always.
“I came upon an early birthday present for Theo.” he replied, holding up the book.

The aforementioned boy zipped over to his side, practically snatching the book from his hands with
a greedy look on his face.

Blaise rolled his eyes, resuming his throwing at Draco, who went back to dodging. Harry drifted a
ways away from Theo, watching with a mischievous smile as the boy appeared more and more
flabbergasted by the book. He eventually used some sort of translation charm, finally able to read
the text. It only took a moment before he whipped his head up to Harry, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Where did you get this.” the tone made Blaise and Draco pause and look over, Harry’s smile
widened.

“Hadrian James Potter where the ever loving fuck did you get this book.”

Harry drifted further away, smile more of a manic grin at this point.

“Harry!”

He zipped off, fast as a bullet, Theo following a ways behind.

He heard Draco whoop and join in on the chase, Blaise not fast behind. It was certainly fun, and
Harry hadn't been on a broom in a good while, well over a decade and a half, but the muscle
memory came back quickly. The fact that the school broom was particularly shitty did well to
mask his real skill, but the other three could easily tell he was an extraordinary flier.

Making a sharp turn around a goal post, Harry altered course, flying between Blaise and Draco and
disrupting their formation. Draco hollered out an ‘oi!’ and made chase, quickly catching up on his
vastly superior Nimbus 2001. Harry did a barrel roll over the boy, veering off the the right of him
and back the way he came, but Draco was expecting it, and maneuvered himself just right and
grabbed ahold of Harry’s ankle, making the boy stop in fear of accidentally pulling the smaller
boy's shoulder out of its socket.

“Gotcha!”

Theo nearly barreled into him, still clutching the book to his chest protectively. For the sake of
Theo’s peace of mind, they all floated down to the turf below, the bookworm rearing up for the
rant of the century.

“Alright Theo cough it up, what's so special about this book.” Blaise stumbled off his broom,
mock-glairing at the boy as he practically caressed the tomb in his arms.

“What's so special?! What's so special about this book, Zabini, is that it details Norse worshiping
practices from the 9th century.” Blaise appeared suddenly extremely interested, and turned a
similar look of hunger as Theo’s towards Harry, who started to laugh.

“So you're probably wondering where I've been running off to each weekend?”

The looks he got were answers enough.

Albus Dumbledore returned to the school a happy man. The Wizengamot session had gone well,
though it had been an awful bore. Stepping out of his private floo, Albus dusted off his robes of any
soot. Looking up, he was surprised to find Minerva sitting at his desk, looking very put out.
“Minerva? What is the matter?” he might as well placate his deputy’s worries, whatever they may
be.

“Oh Albus, I really worry about Miss. Granger.” This confused the man, Hermione Granger was
the second best student in her year, the enigma that is Harry Potter being the first.

“Whatever for?”

His deputy sighed, rubbing her face tiredly, “she has strange bouts of attitude that seem completely
unlike her, I worry sometimes that a rude student is repeatedly cursing her with an irrationality jinx
of some sort.”

The headmaster's eyebrows rose comically, he had indeed noticed times in which she seemed
unhinged or slightly irrational in her actions, but he had written it all off as age appropriate. The
transfiguration professor had a very good point however, the changes in mood were almost
unnatural, perhaps she was being cursed?

“Shall we bring her to the medical wing and have Poppy check on her?” he questioned carefully,
wondering how to go about this.

“No no, I'm not entirely sure this isn't just how she is, perhaps it's one of those muggle ‘mental
illnesses’?”

He nodded distantly, considering the possibility. Muggleborns had often cited certain muggle
mental illnesses as being harmful, he didn't know the specifics of them, but perhaps she was indeed
suffering from one? If that was the case, was it contagious in some way? He frowned, if the
ailment was truly contagious, perhaps it would be prudent to quarantine the girl in case she spread
it to the other children.

He shared these worries with his deputy. Mentally questioning if the girl was still fit to be his
pawn, thinking farther ahead he wondered how those mental diseases progressed, were there cures?
Minerva seemed adamant about giving the girl time however, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

“I'm sure there are plenty of possibilities for what is wrong, for now it is best to simply observe her
and try to get a better understanding of her changes of temperament.”

He easily agreed, glad that they were taking a cautious approach to the issue.

Harry led his friends into the third floor girls lavatory, shushing them as they giggled nervously
about being in the girls loo. Rolling his eyes, he quickly locked the door to ensure privacy, and
turned to them with a serious expression. To reveal one secret he would first have to reveal another,
but with the vows they had taken he felt much more confident in revealing the parseltongue. He
was thankful that Myrtle was nowhere to be seen.

“Now, I'm sure I can trust your discretion in this?” he questioned. They all gave him looks, he half
smiled half grimaced.

“Over this way then.”

Leading them to the sink, he tapped his finger to the snake inscription, letting them all get a good
look at it before whispering “~open.~”

Theo nearly jumped out of his skin, and Draco looked at him with horror. Blaise started cackling,
“that was bloody brilliant- oh what the-”
They all snapped their heads back to the sink, which had creaked open revealing a much cleaner
slide than the first time he had come here.

“I'll see you lot at the bottom.” Was his only comment, before he slipped into the slide and down
into the darkness, hearing Blaise clamber in behind him.

He waited at the bottom for just a moment before Blaise came tumbling out, followed by Theo and
Draco who were practically on top of each other. They all landed in a heap, and Harry fretted about
Draco's back for a moment before the shorter boy insisted he was fine.

“That's it, you better explain a few things before we go any further with this mate.” Theo was the
voice of reason once again.

“Well, I'm a parselmouth, naturally.” Draco mouthed ‘naturally’ with exasperation. “-and I
happened upon the Chamber of Secrets one day, apparently it can only be opened by a
parseltongue, funnily enough. I expected to get murdered or something by the creature, but he’s
actually quite pleasant, and showed me the library.”

Theo leveled him with a hard look, “Explain.”

“Why tell if I can show?” he grinned again, having an incredibly large amount of fun with this,
before lighting a lumos and heading through the tunnel. The other boys behind him scrambling
after, various curses and one ‘and I thought I was the prankster’ accompanied them.

When the boys made it out into the main chamber, he let his friends marvel at the founder of their
house’s statue. Walking confidently up to it, Harry called out for his basilisk friend.

“~Oi, Jörmungandr, I brought that bookworm friend with me… and a few others.~”

His human friends jumped at the parseltongue, and turned to the statue with shock as the basilisk
slithered out of it. Draco almost immediately started screaming, Theo not far behind.

“~they are awfully loud, intriguing one.~”

“~To be fair, you are a 70ft long basilisk, I’d say it's warranted.~”

The two boys settled down when they realized Jörmungandr was quite tame, and curiously came
closer, Blaise was already trying to climb him, much to the snake's amusement.

“~I like the Loki worshiper, intriguing one.~”

Harry put aside the nickname for now, opting to introduce the basilisk to his friends.

“Alright you lot, this is Jörmungandr the basilisk, play nice.”

Blaise was most certainly not playing nice, but the snake took it all in stride. Slithering around the
platform, carting Blaise along as the boy’s massive steed, Harry figured Jörmungandr was really
enjoying all the people coming down.

“~Jörmungandr, I hate to spoil the fun, but my friend would really love to see the library.~”

“~Oh! Yes of course, off you go little Loki worshiper.~”

“Oi!” without prompting (for him at least) Blaise was gently slid off the snake and onto the floor,
“what was that about?”
“He's taking us into the library now,” he answered.

Theo’s neck snapped around so fast Harry could hear a crack, “The library?” a hungry gleam in his
eye.

“Mhm, you'll see.”

Theo was the first to crawl into the statue's mouth, and also the first into the library, having run off
ahead at the first sign of light. Harry took a moment to laugh at his flabbergasted face as the Nott
heir took in the expansive library.

“Welcome to the Library of Secrets! The four founders built this place as well as the chamber to
hold knowledge of all the magics that were being threatened by the witch hunts, and an awful lot
that were just falling out of practice. From what Jörmungandr’s told me, people had been coming
in and adding books for a good 300 years after the school was founded, but as parseltongue got less
prominent the chamber and library were slowly forgotten, and the legend about it becoming
twisted.”

Draco and Blaise were listening with interest, Theo was practically frothing at the mouth, his chin
on the floor.

“I've taken it upon myself to copy all the books into one that's been enchanted with infinite pages,
which is over on that table. The quill is self-writing, and I've got an automatic translator spell going
since all the books are at least 600 years old. All I really have to do is order and bring down more
ink.”

“Can… can I…?” Theo was at a loss for words.

“Go on.” he made a shooing motion, the boy was off like a rocket, laughing maniacally as he ran
through the stacks.

“Mental, that one.” muttered Blaise, with a hint of a smile on his face, “this is pretty brilliant
though mate, mind if I run off as well?”

He made another shooing motion, turning his attention to Draco, who seemed intrigued but in pain.

“Your back was hurt in the fall-” “No it wasn't.” “-don't lie Draco, let me take a look at it.”

The shorter boy huffed, walking over to the nearest chair, taking off his shirt with a poorly
concealed wince. Harry winced as well, the landing must have kicked the growth up again, there
was more bruising and it really seemed like his back was about to burst open.

Silently, Harry cast a cooling charm, and a few mild healing charms meant to fix some of the
bruising. Mentally kicking himself for letting Draco go down that stupid slide, he summoned the
balm from Draco’s desk, gently spreading it on the boys back.

“I’m sorry Draco.”

“It's not your fault.”

“It, quite literally, is my fault.”

The shorter boy didn't have much to say to that, and they listened quietly to Theo’s occasional
excited squealing.
 “I'm sure there's something in the library about creature inheritance as well, but I haven't been able
to find anything.” Harry spoke after a few minutes of silence, wrapping a loose bandage around
Draco's back and shoulders.

“...Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Why have you been looking for things on creature inheritances?”

This is too many secrets revealed in one day, mate.

“Theo sent us both those books last Christmas.”

Draco sucked in a breath, but otherwise kept quiet.

“Holy Shit!” there was a distant noise from the other side of the library.

“That sounded like Theo.” Draco turned his head to the sound of the noise, chin bobbing like a
bird.

“Should we go see what he found?” Harry questioned as he stood back, making sure the bandages
were coated in cooling charms.

“Holy Shit!”

“Probably.”

Harry would worry about revealing everything later, for now he would focus on his friends.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you enjoy! I've been hemming and hawing over what to have in this chapter, it
could have ended up twice as long as this really, but I decided to sift a few topic out to
put into the next chapter, to make sure the story can still be followed.
 Family is Most Often Found
Chapter Summary

Many people go about the day, testing the waters and ignoring sound advice.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Nicolas Flamel sat angrily in his office, glairing heatedly at the scared man across from him. When
he had found that the philosopher's stone had been stolen, he had been exceptionally angry, but
when he found that he only had three decades worth of the elixir of life in storage he was even
more irate. The letter five months later from the ministry of magic in Britain confirmed his fears
that Albus had stolen it. He had replied quickly that he had three decades left of elixir, so if they
didn't want an incredibly cross immortal with too much time on his hands to come up there and
steal it right back, then they were going to send someone with it posthaste.

It had taken them almost a year to finally return it.

Muttering in French, he had let the grizzled man hobble into his home, and let him watch with that
weird eye of his as Nicolas confirmed that it was indeed his stone.

“Now, I want you to take this letter to your stupid minister and tell him that I don't want a thing to
do with his stupid country for another two decades in the least.”

The man grunted and got up to leave. Nicolas watched him go with a frown, the ministry may have
taken nearly a year to return his stone, but the one who had assured that it was found had been
quite prompt. A young boy had owled him a letter after Yuletide, explaining how he inadvertently
caused the ministry to find the stone. He had at first brushed it off, not particularly caring as his
stone was still not returned to him, but then he had recognized the name.

Hadrian Potter…

Nicolas’ frown deepened as he thought, the boy was well known in Britain as having survived the
killing curse as an infant, which was certainly an impressive feat considering he was not a drinker
of the elixir of life. That was not what interested him with the boy though. No, he had heard Albus
speak of the child many a time, and not once had he brought up the boy's parentage. His eyes
narrowed, he had researched the Peverell line extensively in his pursuit for immortality, and he had
found quite quickly that the Potters were the last true descendants of the line. He hadn’t known that
Hadrian Potter was the last in the line of those Potters, and he didn't doubt that Albus was aware.

He rose from his chair, picking the stone up and making his way to its proper place. Settling the
stone safely behind an enchanted glass case, he sighed, incredibly tired. Not only did he lose any
trust he had in Albus, but he had no idea how to proceed in regards to the Peverell descendant.
Walking over and settling back down in his chair, he pulled out a piece of parchment and got to
work, starting to draft a letter to the young Potter heir. It would not take many years yet before the
child’s ancestry came to light and for the public to swarm him, Nicolas must make haste to get to
the boy first.
Harry and Draco made their way to the back of the library, following the occasional shouts of
Theo. Harry hadn't been back to that part of the library, and was curious to see what the boy had
found.

Turning a corner, they were temporarily frozen in place at the sight in front of them.

“Are those…?”

“Pedestals for the founder's relics!” Theo squealed, not all that upset that the objects weren’t
currently on display.

It was really quite obvious what the pedestals were for, they were color coded after all, and one
was shaped to fit a sword and scabbard. The question of course, was what the bloody hell they
were doing down there.

“Do you reckon they were placed here after the founders died?” Harry questioned, confused with
the discovery.

“No, they were built into the stonework, they have to have had some sort of purpose.” Theo
replied, crouching in front of the Ravenclaw pedestal and poking the ground it sat on.

“Oi Theo what're you on about- what the hell are those?” Blaise had finally decided to figure out
what all the yelling was about, and was quite confused with the current activities.

“They look like pedestals for the founders' artifacts.” Replied Theo.

“Wicked.”

Harry walked over to the pedestals to take a closer look. They were most certainly made out of the
same dark, almost black stone as the rest of the library, but were obviously under some extremely
stubborn protective wards, as they were perfectly smooth, circular pillars that came up to his waist,
the perfect viewing height. They were decorated with plush colored pillows, each of which having
the house's second color as trimming. There was no doubt of what they were, but what their
purpose was? Harry couldn't even begin to theorize on that.

“Maybe Jörmungandr knows something about them?” Draco pondered, poking around the
pedestals as well.

“I'll go grab ‘im.” Blaise ran off before Harry could exclaim ‘you cant even communicate with
him!’. Watching his retreating form, exasperated, Harry turned back to the pedestal in front of him;
which was the Hufflepuff one going off of the yellow and black coloring. Intrigued, he reached out
and grasped the decorative pillow, trying to pull it off of the pedestal... it didn't budge. Frowning,
he tugged harder, attempting to dislodge it from the spot it lay.

“~That is a futile effort, intriguing one.~” Jörmungandr had arrived, carrying a very happy Blaise
along on his head.

“~What are these used for?~” He grunted, giving one last tug before stumbling backwards, giving
up.

“~I am not sure, but none of the necessary objects have ever been placed onto the pedestals, so
perhaps once that happens we will know.~”

Harry winced. Easier said than done. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault was a bitch to break into, and the
sword was still firmly in the sorting hat. Before, he would have just taken the damned thing out,
but he wasn't much of a Gryffindor anymore, and he doubted the hat would be willing to part with
it for his sake. The diadem would be the easiest, but the locket was currently tucked away in 12
Grimmauld Place, also very much out of his reach.

“What's he saying?” Theo broke him from his thoughts.

Sighing, Harry went back to studying the pedestals, “he said that if we place all four of the
founder's artifacts onto the pedestals something might happen, but he doesn't know what.”

Blaise scoffed, “right, because we can just mosey into someplace and nab the things, they've been
missing for centuries!”

The others groaned, Harry nodded, thinking hard. He could get to the diadem, but there was no
telling if the horcruxes would have a negative effect on the pedestals and have the objects rejected
in some way. Remembering something from the summer, he quickly questioned Tom.

Oi, snake face, you absorbed the diary right?

Tom replied to his unasked question, I have been making an effort with the other horcruxes, but
they have to consent to the absorption and there is no one I distrust more than myself, it has been
slow going.

Brilliant.

Rubbing his cheek with his hand, Harry considered his options. None of them were particularly
good, and none of them involved being able to get anywhere near the sword until Dumbledore was
out of the picture, and even then there were minimal possibilities of the hat handing it over to them,
four Slytherins.

“Well, considering how unlikely it is that we’ll be able to find even one of the artifacts, I say we
put this on the back burner for now.” Theo to the rescue once again. Quickly agreeing with the
boy, Harry turned away from the pedestals, also putting them to the back of his mind. He had
enough things going on to worry about a few decorative displays that may or may not have other
uses.

Saturn is bright tonight. Your fathers death is distant, but not distant enough. Karma has
delayed but will not deny, school is paramount. Tell me, boy, do your eyes ever burn?

Harry had been making a small amount of effort to understand the centaur’s words since that one
night in first year, but he hadn't tried all that hard till tonight. After leaving the chamber with his
friends he had felt jittery, there were still so many mysteries to uncover while also trying to come
up with a workable plan to topple Dumbledore in the coming years. If he didn't figure something
out and soon, he would lose it, of that much he was certain.

Harry looked back down at the words with a grimace, after his last full conversation with Tom in
September, he had a sneaking feeling about what ‘father’ Bane had been referring to. Tom’s death
didn't seem to be literal though, the man was pretty much dead already. Maybe it meant
Dumbledore finally admitting he was dead and it was like a… passing from people's conscious
mind into history?

The rest of it was a little easier, karma delayed but not denied probably related to Dumbledore
getting what's coming for him, and the school being important to that plan was an obvious thing to
him long before he heard Bane’s words. His eyes burning had to refer to his creature inheritance,
though he wasn't entirely sure that was part of the actual prediction.

Saturn being bright though… he frowned. Harry wasn't much for astrology, but the last time a
centaur made a note about a planet being bright, it had been a premonition about the coming war,
so this was likely just as important.

He had taken an astrology book from the library on his way back to the dorm for the purpose of
looking into just what Saturn typically represented. Opening said book and flipping through for a
while, he came upon just what he needed.

Saturn- Oftentimes the planet Saturn is used in relation to law and responsibility, ambition
and structure. It moves slowly, and for that is correlated with elders, fathers, and teaching;
this has lended it to being the planet of school, and trials, and of the collective law/ reality of
the universe. Because of its slow rotation, many have related it to karma, as it will always
eventually come to pass. Saturn is known as steady and unyielding, but testing and bold.

What a load of poppycock.

Harry wasn't one for astrology and divination to begin with, feeling sour to the practice after
Trelawny and her prophecy ruined his first life. He could admit that Theo’s ‘hunches’ were far
more useful than vague prophecies, but they have also been proven to have severe drawbacks. He
thought back to Draco’s magical outburst with a wince. Yea, he wasn't one for divination, but he
could admit that once he was given a prophecy he would most certainly take it to heart.

Leaning back in his chair Harry stretched, sighing loudly. He wasn't going to get anywhere with
this right now, he might as well just leave it be. Getting up, Harry started getting ready for bed.

Tom sat in his mindscape, stressing. Harry had just gone to sleep, and he was currently having a
minor freak out over the contents of Bane’s warning. The bastard just had to clue Harry in to his
plans, Tom was lucky the boy had misinterpreted the centaur’s words, or everything would go to
shit.

He sighed, the hex bags seemed to be doing their job. The cursed necklace he put onto the Granger
chit wasn't going to last forever, as Dumbledore would eventually find it and force it off her, but
the hex bags were much more permanent.

Tom leaned back in his high back chair, he was in his study at the moment, pouring over plans for
the next five years. The hex bags had been an important part of the plan, as they kept Dumbledore
off of Harry's ass as long as they were both in the castle. The nature of the bags were quite simple,
as long as the two intended people were inside of the circle, one of the people would feel
compelled to ignore the other. No… ignore was the wrong word, give a wide berth? The point of
them was to be assured that Dumbledore wouldn't focus on Harry while they were both in the
castle, the fatal flaw being summers, when Harry was most certainly not in the castle.

He wasn't completely assured that it was effective for the first week of school, as he had observed
Dumbledore studying Harry almost constantly during that time, but after the first week that tapered
off quickly, so it appeared that there was a bit of a lag. It made sense, as the bags were tied to one's
magical signature, so both people would have to get their magic all over the place for it to start to
work.

“I think I've got a soft spot for tall grumpy men.”

He glared at Fate, the infernal woman was here to torment him again, he was sure of it.
“See! Athimus is just like that, all edgy and tall with that dark hair. Though he has a much bigger
di-”

“Do you need something?”

She shrugged, kicking her feet as she sat on his desk, she seemed to sit on everything except for a
chair, it was incredibly bothersome.

“If you have nothing to say, I ask that you take your leave from my mind.”

She sighed, loud and drawn out, “-see, that's the difference right there, Ath always wants to talk to
me.”

“Get out.”

Rolling her eyes, Fate got off the desk, “I guess that's why I love him. All the other gods and
goddesses think I'm psychotic, but he just thinks I'm fun.”

“Lament about your functionable relationship somewhere else.”

She groaned, “oh GOD you're such a BORE when you're not plotting.” She pouted in a way that
was very unbecoming of a goddess of her station. He told her such.

“Oh please Tommy dear, I'm allowed to pout, loss of decorum is something that mortals have to
deal with, not me.” she smiled, “-or you, Mr. Dead-man-walking.”

“I’m hardly walking.”

She laughed at that, it sounded like tinkling bells and detonating bombs, a strange but fitting mix of
lovely and gruesome.

“For someone so close to death, you sure aren't making the most of life while you have it.” her
smile was smug, lips pursed in a testing smirk.

“I have years left in my life, Fate.”

“Years move by fast.”

He glowered, growing more angry by the minute. “I have years that I will be using to assure us
victory, I will not waste a moment on empty pleasures.” he ground out, teeth grating against each
other.

“Oh please Riddle, it will be ever so boring to watch your eventual death if you don't enjoy
yourself and those you love while you still have the time.”

“I am incapable of love, my mother assured me that.”

She examined her nails, which were bitten to the skin, they grew and sharpened to points in an
instant, “Romantic love is lost to you, I agree, but familial love is a different thing entirely.”

“I killed any remaining family I had years ago, your argument has fatal flaws.”

She looked at him pityingly, “a family that does not raise you is no family at all, Tom.”

He remembered very similar words from a certain centaur the year prior.
A father who did not raise you is no father at all.

“He is not my son.”

“He’s as good as, and he’ll miss you terribly once you're gone.”

He was left to his lonesome, pile of regrets growing ever higher, son asleep in bed and a meddling
goddess nowhere to be found.

Tom collapsed back into his chair.

Blaise read by faint wand light, the small book resting in his palm as his eyes darted across the
pages, absorbing as much knowledge as he could before exhaustion became too much to ignore.

A pledge must be taken to be considered one of Loki’s own, till that happens, you will be
nothing but a faceless worshiper, begging for the praise of greater creatures.

He knew from the book that pledges were traditionally on the thirteenth birthday, but he wanted to
do it earlier. He had also written to his great great grandfather in Italy to get more information. The
man had explained that in current times people pledged themselves on their seventeenth birthday,
considering thirteen to be much too young. Blaise though that was boring though, why go along
with the trend if he could muck everything up instead? It was traditionally done on the thirteenth
anyway, so they couldn't really fault him for sticking to tradition.

The first part of the pledge is to give your body to Loki, promising to use it advantageously in
your pursuits. The second pledge is to give your mind, allowing Loki in to assure your
loyalty. The last pledge is of one's soul and magic. These are in the same pledge as they are
often intertwined and indistinguishable. Giving your entirety to a god is a pledge of the most
sincere and intimate of rituals. It is not for the faint of heart.

Blaise wouldn't consider himself particularly faint of heart, he had just rode a basilisk that day after
all. Flipping the page, he came upon an intricately drawn circular symbol, it appeared to be the
grounding circle for the ritual. He frowned, it was awfully complex, it would take a lot of time to
practice. Sighing, he stuck a piece of thin parchment into the page as a bookmark and kept going,
intent on finishing the chapter and getting a vague understanding of the pledges.

Heir Hadrian James Potter-

I would like to first beg apologies for my very belated reply to your most appreciated letter. I
am afraid to say that the stone in which you inadvertently helped recover was just recently
returned to me by your less than enjoyable ministry, but I digress.

I mean not to insult you Heir Potter, but it came to my attention upon your letter that you are
indeed the last in line for the Potter heirship. This would not have first been something that
needed to be noted upon, but in my research into immortality many hundreds of years ago I
happened upon the story of the three brothers. The story was quite fascinating, and I had
spent the many decades after creating my stone researching the Peverell family, and came
upon their only known descendants: the Potters.

I mean not to alarm you if this is something you were not aware of, but I felt it prudent to
share with you that the Deathly Hallows, wherever they may be, are your birthright by blood.
 I wait for your reply with patience equal to your own, thank you again for your truthfulness
and promptness in notifying me of your involvement in the recovery of my stone.

With appreciation,

Nicolas Flamel

Sir Nicolas Flamel-

Thank you for your reply, I understand that the time it takes to reply to school children’s
letters does not often come, and I thank you for replying at all.

I appreciate your bluntness in this matter, but rest assured, I am aware of my heritage and
have been taking measures to actively hunt it down, though as I am twelve years old and
orphaned, it is admittedly quite slow going.

If you ever find the time in which you would wish to write again, I ask most politely if you
would be interested in meeting me at any point of time in which you find yourself particularly
inclined. I have researched your stone with interest, and have yet to find anything of
particular substance. Not to be cheeky in any regard, but I find it quite unfair that you know
so much about my great mysteries and yet yours are still shrouded in darkness.

Forever intrigued,

Heir Hadrian James Potter

Chapter End Notes

I like to call this my 'loose ends' chapter, where I continue on with plot points that were
more anecdotes to the greater plot, but are still quite important. There's also Blaise
riding Jörmungandr, because I said so.
 The Fickle Morality of Children
Chapter Summary

Harry is dragged to a dueling club, which goes marginally better than he had expected,
though Blaise could use an alteration in morals.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

November blurred together in a rush of classes, relaxation in the common room, studying in the
secret library, and various other side projects. Soon December reared its ugly head, and with it was
the dreaded Defense Club. Harry had been hoping with Jörmungandr not petrifying anyone,
Lockhart wouldn't feel as inclined to found the thrice damned dueling club, but it seemed that some
things were universal constants.

“I'm not going.” he was firm in his decisions, and not even Draco could sway him.

“What's he on about?”

They were in the library, Theo neck deep in elemental magic, Harry having pointed it out to him on
a previous trip.

“What's this about mate?” Theo was getting dragged through the stacks by Harry, who was
excited to show his friend the potentials of elemental magic.

“So you know how magic is based on intent as well as your core?”

Theo looked at him quizzically, “of course.”

“What if I told you I found magic based purely on personality?” they turned a corner, and Harry
pointed down to the single shelf labeled ‘elemental magic’

“No such thing exists.” He was curious though, staring with interest at the shelf.

Harry tisked, bending down and snatching the book he had first read off the shelf and handing it
over.

“Everything that you say doesn't exist is proven to exist here, read this one.” he then turned away,
listening with an amused smile as Theo cast a translator spell.

Not ten minutes after that had Theo run back to their table with the entirety of the elemental magic
shelf in his arms or levitated behind him. Every day since then the boy had dragged Harry into the
third floor girls loo to open the chamber, with the promise to be back to open it again for lunch.

“Draco’s trying to convince me to go to that horrid dueling club tomorrow and I refuse to humiliate
myself in such a way.”

Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated, “you know next to nothing about the blasted thing, what's the
harm in checking it out?”
Of course he couldn't tell them that he knew more than he ever wanted to of that dueling club, and
that there was in fact quite a bit of harm in checking it out.

“Lockhart has his lilac sent all over the bloody thing, I'm not going.”

Blaise was laughing at him, and Draco growing red in frustration; Theo ignored them all, still
buried in old tomes and parchments filled with notes, a translation spell whispered ever so often.

“Now youre just being paranoid mate, I know the guys a bastard but he wouldnt be that stupid.”

He is that stupid and no I’m not paranoid.

“I'm not going and that's final.” He crossed his arms firmly across his chest, giving Draco a
warning glare. Sadly, Draco was just as stubborn as him, and would not yield so easily.

“You will lose literally nothing from this.” Draco hissed through his teeth.

“Except my dignity.”

The blonde threw his hands up in exasperation, head raised to the heavens as if the gods will shine
down and compel Harry into action.

Almost as if the gods had answered, a sudden saving grace in the form of a chaotic Blaise disrupted
the entire argument, “well if you did come and it is somehow being run by Lockhart, you'll get to
watch as he makes a fool of himself in front of most of the school.” He pointed out, eyes glinting
mischievously.

The two shared a look, determined now that it was two on one to sway him.

“I'm not going.”

He was going.

Harry wasn't happy about it, mind you, but he figured that he would rather grit his teeth and bear it
than be forced to deal with Blaise pranking him within an inch of his life for the rest of term.

Walking into the new dueling club, Harry looked around in distaste, being partially dragged by
Draco into the room. Blaise was leading the charge, Theo picking up the rear with his nose shoved
in a book from the Hogwarts library, appearing as enthusiastic as Harry felt.

Finding a place among the other Slytherins, Harry nodded to Vaisey tiredly.

“Gather round! Gather round! Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me?”

Fuck you.

“Oh merlin, Harry was right.” Blaise whispered with horror from Draco's other side, who had his
face buried in his hands.

“Let's all agree to take my advice going forward.”

“Excellent!” Lockhart was still there, unfortunately.

“On the prompting of the headmaster, I have found it prudent to start this little dueling club.”
Harry tuned out the rest of the speech, only registering that this was apparently Dumbledore's
bright idea. Was this a test? His eyes narrowed.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape.”

The other boys looked much more interested in the proceedings, as was Harry. It wasn't often that
you got to watch a peacock fly.

They indeed, got to watch a peacock fly, as the man went soaring across the room and onto his
back with a thud. The Slytherins (and most of the other houses, let's be honest) cheered, extremely
happy with the current proceedings.

“An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind me saying, it was
pretty obvious what you were about to do.” Lockhart strode back across the platform, pretending
he didn't hit his hip rather hard on the ground. “If I had wanted to stop you, I most certainly would
have done so.”

Harry let himself get paired up with an irate Ronald Weasley who, once the chaos started,
attempted to simply lunge at him, fist posed ready to strike. Harry simply sidestepped all the
attacks with a bored look, already wishing he had stayed in bed. Once Lockhart finally called an
end to the madness, Blaise had Seamus Finnigan jinxed twelve different colors, Theo had given
poor Dean Thomas a concussion by hitting him over the head with his book, and he could distantly
still hear Draco and Earnest Macmillan arguing about something or another, fingers pointing in
accusation instead of wands.

“Alright alright enough of that, let's have a demonstrating pair instead eh?” he turned to Snape, as if
to question if it was alright. Snape nodded mutely.

“Hm, yes yes.. Ah, Potter! How about it?” motioning to Harry, the boy simply raised an eyebrow,
not moving an inch.

“Come on up lad.”

“With all due respect professor, I would sooner dance starkers into the forbidden forest.” Laughter
erupted around him, the professor went pink.

“Right, yes well, how about you, Weasley?” the ginger stormed past Harry, intent on being the star
of the show.

“-aaaand… hm, how about you, Mr. Malfoy.”

Oh merlin help us.

Draco sauntered up to the platform, all the more ready to utterly destroy Weasley in a controlled
environment. Much like the last time, Snape pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear,
no doubt how to cast serpensortia. Harry grimaced, his friends were held by secrecy vows, but
everyone else in this room most certainly was not.

Weasley was also getting instruction, except from Lockhart, and looked exceptionally confused
with the man.

“Alright you two, line up now in proper dueling form.” They complied, Draco’s stance was much
cleaner and posture much straighter, Harry observed.

“Now bow…” they did so.

“3...2...1...Begin!”

Almost immediately Draco cried out “serpensortia!” and a long viper was conjured out of his
wand. Weasley gave a great screech and stumbled back.

“Oh dear, not to worry chaps, I'll fix it!” Lockhart made it much much worse, shooting the snake
up into the air and back down, the poor thing flopping onto the floor with a slap.

“~Bad two legs! Must attack. Go away!~” The snake was very frightened and reared up, lunging at
the closest person. That person just happened to be one Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry watched,
detached, as the snake came down on the boy and bit into his raised arm, Finch-Fletchley crying
out in pain. It was pandemonium for several minutes, with Snape vanishing the snake and
removing the now convulsing boy from the room, Lockhart desperately trying to get things under
control.

Eventually, the headmaster was summoned, and Harry slunk into the shadows, making sure to not
be seen by the man. Snape and Dumbledore stood conversing for several moments, before the
headmaster reprimanded Lockhart for agitating the deadly snake, and pulled him from the room.

“Everyone is free to go, leave now.” Snape's parting words were spoken to the students, and with a
flourish of his robes, he was gone.

Harry was grabbed around the arm and dragged from the room by Blaise, Theo and Draco not far
behind. He was pulled along down into the dungeons and through the common room entrance,
pulled along into the second year dorms. Harry was forced down to the floor, and his friends
settled down in a circle in the middle of the room, apparently here for a group meeting.

Blaise started, still with a hand firmly around Harry's arm, “He might die.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, the others nodded at Blaise’s assessment.

“Do you mind explaining how exactly that is my fault?”

Blaise looked at him quizzically, “Harry, you're a parselmouth, you could have stopped the snake.”

Ah, the fickle morality of children.

Fuck off Tom.

“So what you're saying is that I should have revealed, to everyone in that room, that I am a
parselmouth. That's what you're saying.” Blaise threw his hands in the air, finally releasing him.

“It's the morality of things mate! You didn't even seem to be considering it.”

“No, I wasn't.” his gaze hardened, eyes moving from one boy to the next, “because we have one of
the most skilled mediwitches on staff and he will most likely be just fine.”

“Most likely-”

“Would you have preferred the alternative?” Blaise’s mouth snapped shut, and he opted to just
glare angrily, Harry met his enthusiasm. For several minutes there was a tense silence, Draco and
Theo sharing looks of worry and Blaise and Harry glaring at each other heartedly.

“Harry’s right.” Draco came to his best friend's aid, “it would have been a disaster if he started
speaking in parseltongue, the muggleborn will be fine, Blaise.”
Theo nodded cautiously, not wanting to anger the Italian further.

It didn't work, “figlio di puttana, piss off!” and with that Blaise stormed out of the room, leaving
an insulted looking Draco and exasperated Theo in his wake. Harry was irritated with the boy, and
Tom was attempting to placate him.

He is still young, and if what you believe is true, Loki will corrupt his morals soon enough.

I hope you're right, if every time I make a tough decision like this he gets all pissy it's going to
make things exceptionally difficult.

“Harry, he’ll come around. I wont say I support letting the guy get hurt, but the other option was
way worse.” Theo spoke up, consoling him. Harry rolled his eyes, he didn't need to be placated.

“Don't worry about me Nott, go deal with that idiot.” sighing, Theo got up and went to hunt down
Blaise, leaving Draco and Harry alone in the room. They sat there for a while, leaning on Draco's
bed frame side by side. Harry’s thoughts moved from the argument to how angry he had gotten at
Theo after Draco's magical outburst, he still felt like that reaction was over blown. He cared about
Blaise and Theo, and he would be worried if either of them got hurt, but he wouldn't immediately
consider murder at the drop of a hat like he had when he first saw Lord Malfoy.

Could he be my soul mate?

He side eyed the blond, studying his soft hair and porcelain skin- hold on a bloody moment. Harry
got his mind back on track, he had never considered the possibility of being gay, though in his last
life the only girl that he had actually felt affection for was Ginny, and that was because he had been
dosed up on love potions. Cho had been more of a passing attraction, and he only really liked her
because she was a good seeker. Draco though… he glanced at the boy again. He had often found
himself studying the boy in his last life, and while there had been an underlying hatred attributed to
the compulsions, the studying had been more due to the boy's elegant features.

“Draco.”

“Hm?” the shorter boy looked up at him, questioning.

“If I ever do something you think is wrong, please let me explain myself before you get angry.”
Harry didn't know for sure about Draco being his soul mate, but he knew that no matter what, he
didn't want to lose him.

“Of course. You'll always have me in your corner, Harry.”

Blaise stormed through the halls, dodging students and weaving through crowds. He knew that
logically Harry was right, the aftermath would have been a disaster, but Finch-Fletchley could very
well be dying at the moment, and some things just aren't worth the cost it takes.

Blaise could faintly hear someone calling out for him, probably Theo doing damage control.
Thinking quickly, he ducked behind a tapestry and into a hidden corridor, weaving through the
dusty passage with practiced ease.

Turning swiftly down an adjacent passage, he slammed right into someone, them both stumbling
backwards. Looking up, he found the faint outline of two people in the dark. Blaise quickly
grappled for his wand, pulling it out and casting a lumos.

“Weasley terrors.”
“Zabini menace.”

The three of them all nodded at each other companionably, before moving separate ways.

He took several more turns, and had to climb a rickety ladder before coming upon a trap door in the
ceiling. Un-latching it, he peaked out, finding that he was in a deserted corridor on one of the upper
floors. Climbing all the way up, he looked around the area, very lost. Attempting to find a
landmark, Blaise spotted a strange tapestry of trolls in.. tutus? Shaking his head, he walked past it,
before stopping. Around the corner, he heard the distinct sound of two people snogging. Turning
on his heel, he went back the way he came before pausing again. Maybe they would be able to
give him directions? Turning back around, he almost rounded the corner, before marching
backwards again. They were getting really into it over there. He moved forward marginally,
wishing there was somewhere he could stop in to just think for a bloody minute. Shuffling
backwards, he suddenly caught movement in his peripherals, which caused him to turn his head.
Watching with awe, an ornate door faded into existence across from him. Not giving himself a
moment to think rationally, Blaise leapt forward and opened the door wide, clambering into a cozy
room with a roaring fireplace, leaving a moaning couple behind in the hall.

Fred and George Weasley were not idiots.

Oh sure, they did rather horribly in school, and teachers (and their mother) were constantly
reprimanding them for not paying attention in school. All that didn’t makethem were stupid
however; far from it, they were rather brilliant really. It was certainly a pity that their brilliance was
focused entirely on making pranks, but such was the curse of ingenuity.

The twins snuck through a hidden passage, sticking to the walls of the already small passageway.
Fred was taking the charge, while George directed him with the map from behind. Hearing quiet
footsteps just a second too late, Fred braced himself as someone barreled into him. Stumbling
backwards, a lumos was suddenly lit, revealing the face of Slytherins resident prankster, Blaise
Zabini.

“Weasley terrors.” he greeted.

“Zabini menace.” they replied in tandem.

Sharing a nod with the boy, they passed him and went on their way, intent on making it through to
their destination before dinner became an issue. Fred veered off to the right, moving down some
narrow steps and into a wider passage, his twin following close behind.

“Over there, you think?” he turned slightly, waiting as George carefully read over the marauders
map.

“Should be.” was the reply.

Stepping forward, Fred approached a divot in the wall, tapping the brick with his finger, testing the
ambient magic for any sort of protective spells. Sensing some sort of ward, he took out his wand
and started casting detection spells, coming upon an invisibility ward. Carefully peeling it back, he
revealed an old door in the wall, covered in dust and looking as though it hasn't been touched in
centuries.

“Wicked.'' George came up and reached a hand out to the door, knocking his fist on the wood.

“Sounds pretty thin.” It seemed if the unlocking charm didn't work, they could just bust down the
door with a careful bombarda.
 “Alohomora.'' Fred cast in a whisper, not wanting to alert any passing tricksters of their exploits.
They both sighed in relief as the lock audibly clicked, and George reached forward and grasped the
old rusting handle, turning it gently. Pushing the door inward, they both peaked in, finding a room
absolutely caked in dust.

“Looks like an old office,” remarked Fred, walking further in. If it was an office, it was very old
and had been abandoned for centuries at least. Going over to the desk, Fred started snooping
around as George lit the old candelabras. There were knickknacks and deteriorating parchment
littering the desk, little bobbles of unknown origin strewn about. George was examining a display
case that seemed to be showing off an impressive amount of skulls, most of them animal, a few
looking more human. Fred couldn't gleam anything off of the parchments, being too old to be of
much use. Frustrated, he pulled open one of the drawers, finding with glee a book of undetermined
origin.

“Oi, Georgie, check this thing out.” lifting the book out of the drawer carefully, he peered at the
title on the front page, George shining the lumos over his shoulder so they could both read it.

The Secrets of Hogwarts Past: How I Uncovered the Magics of Old

They shared a look, Fred already opening the book to the first page.

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

Chapter End Notes

Haha not me back at it with my bullshit again. I've been meaning to introduce the
twins in some capacity but could never find a good enough reason... till today.
figlio di puttana- direct translation: son of whore, common usage: motherfucker
I'm not Italian, have never been to Italy, and really hope that one website I used to get
a proper Italian cuss was accurate.
Edit: an Italian has confirmed that it is, in fact, a proper italian cuss. Take that google
translate.
 He Gifts Children an Army
Chapter Summary

Draco has his first quidditch game of the season, and catches the snitch with a
complicated maneuver. Harry almost has a heart attack.
Daphne Greengrass opens a wall, revealing more about herself to Harry than she
wanted.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Blaise didn't come down for dinner that day, and returned to the dorm later at night, right when
Harry was about to give up and go to bed.

“Did you get lost or something?”

Blaise rolled his eyes, “whatever mate. Look, I get that logically it's better for you to keep the
parseltongue thing a secret, but I don't like the idea of people getting hurt for no good reason. You
know?”

Harry nodded, wondering if he would feel the same way after pledging himself to a god. Harry had
discussed Jörmungandr’s nickname for the boy with the snake in an effort to understand his
reasoning. Jörmungandr revealed that Blaise smelt like a worshiper of gods, and he could distantly
feel Loki on him.

“~You are aware that Loki is supposedly your father.~”

“~Perhaps that is why I am so amused by the boy.~”

The conversation had tapered off at that, Harry and Tom theorizing about the new knowledge.
From what Harry could tell, it was likely that the weird little book that Blaise was always reading
through was some sort of ‘how to devote yourself to a Norse god of your choice’ book, which was
just absurd, but whatever.

Harry watched the Italian boy get ready for bed, eyes narrowed. He didn't want to breach any sort
of boundary by randomly bringing up the book or the other boy’s obvious worshiping, but he also
didn't want Blaise to fuck around and accidently get himself killed.

“Night mate.” Blaise crawled into bed, quickly blowing out his light, Harry did the same, still
thinking furiously.

Time passes on. As December continued, the biting chill of winter reached out to envelop Harry in
a freezing hug. He spent many hours out reading by the frozen lake, watching a few older years
skate across it with a small smile. Winter was his favorite time of year, and he wished some times
that he could live someplace where it never got warm out. Draco was in agreement, Veela living
predominantly in colder climates and the higher elevations of mountain ranges. They both often
took quiet walks along the border of the forbidden forest, talking about inconsequential things.
“Why is it so bloody cold!” Blaise did not agree with their temperature preferences, being native to
the temperate climate of Italy.

“Grin and bear it, mate.” Theo was in a similar predicament, bundled up so much that you could
barely pick out his pink nose in all the wool.

“Sissies, the lot of you.” Harry was in a thick wool jumper and scarf, no jacket in sight.

“You can't be bloody human mate, how the hell have you not frozen your bits off?” Blaise’s teeth
were chattering as he spoke, and he had his uncovered hands shoved under his armpits in an effort
to warm them.

“I'm not a sissy like you.”

“Sod off.”

They were walking up to the quidditch pitch, intent on watching Draco's first quidditch match of
the season. It was snowy out for the night's storm, but the sky was clear, it was a perfect (albit
cold) day for a quidditch match.

Blaise and Theo sighed in momentary relief as the trio made their way up the stairs, several
warming charms keeping the interior of the stands relatively warm. They groaned comically once
they reached the top and cold air was biting at their cheeks once more, Harry took a deep breath
with a small smile. Settling into a group with the other Slytherin second years, Blaise grumpily
cast a bunch of warming charms on himself, Theo not far behind. Harry entertained the idea of
rolling up his sleeves.

It was several more minutes of freezing cold till the players finally flew out onto the pitch.
Slytherin cheered uproariously as the team flew in a large circle. Harry got a good look at Draco's
face, which was pink from the cold and happy as could be.

The Ravenclaw team streamed out after them, and the proper house cheered as well. Hufflepuff
and Gryffindor stands were more empty than usual, most people not wanting to go out into the cold
for a game that didn't even have their team in it. Madam Hooch released the snitch suddenly, Harry
watched with sharp eyes as the gold glint sped around till it zipped out of sight. The quaffles were
thrown, and the game was on.

Harry didn't pay much attention to the game, focusing on watching Draco, making sure that he was
safe and not going out of his way to injure his back. It was a bloodbath, he found once he listened
in on Lee Jordan’s commenting, Slytherin leading 140-30. Harry was high strung, watching for any
stray bludgers heading Draco’s way.

He shouldn’t be playing with his back this tender.

“Has Malfoy spotted the snitch?” Jordan’s voice broke through the deafening cheering. Draco had
indeed spotted the snitch, and was streaming across the pitch towards it, the Ravenclaw seeker far
behind him. Harry stood a little in his seat, watching uneasily as Draco did a complicated maneuver
and almost crashed into the turf in his effort to catch the snitch. Standing fully now, Harry
watched, holding his breath, as Draco tumbled in the air for a moment before righting himself,
holding his arm up triumphantly.

Harry was halfway down the stairs before the other players had landed, wanting to make sure they
didn't crowd him. He didn't have to worry though, as Flint had built a team of stern older years, and
none of them were being overly affectionate. Draco still looked ecstatic, and was smiling broadly;
considering that this was his first real match and he caught the snitch, Harry figured that he had a
right to be.

It was in the middle of charms that Harry finally went up to Greengrass to ask her to follow him
after dinner. She nodded determinedly before returning to her notes, Harry caught Draco’s judging
eyes, and rolled his.

“She's useful.”

“She's a bitch.”

“It's not like I'm going to date her Draco, she's just helping me with something.”

“What? Snogging practice?” Blaise had chosen the worst time possible to be a nuisance.

“Eat shit, Zabini.”

Theo rolled his eyes from next to Blaise, tired of the bickering.

“Alright everyone, that's all today. Make sure to read up on the Shrinking charm and their various
uses. I want a four foot essay on it by next Tuesday.” Flitwick shooed them all out of the room, and
the Quartet headed to dinner, Draco still moping and Blaise firing off innuendos left and right.
Harry was extremely close to knocking his teeth out before he was interrupted by two very familiar
voices.

“Well hello there, Zabini menace.”

Blaise got a competitive look in his eyes, turning to face the Weasley twins, who had snuck up on
the group, “Weasley terrors, what a pleasure.”

Harry leaned over to Draco, “are they posturing or something?” The shorter boy had to muffle his
snort with a cough.

One of the twins grinned evilly, “we hate to steal you away from your little... possy, but we need
your assistance with a little something.”

The other twin spoke up, “-and it's really quite delightful, I'm sure missing dinner is well worth it.”

Harry didn't even get a chance to open his mouth and argue, as the horrible trio were already off.

“... did you know they were friends?” Theo sounded just as confused as Harry felt.

“Not a clue.”

Blaise and the twins snuck through the halls, taking shortcuts through secret passages and dodging
teachers, not wanting to be caught by any out of the great hall. As the twins led him into a very
familiar passage, Blaise questioned if this was about whatever they had been up to the last time
they had crossed paths.

Probably.

Peering at the twins, Blaise entertained the idea of showing them the little green book, but wasn't
positive that Loki wanted them. Brushing that aside for further thought, he let himself get lured
down farther into the bowels of the school, nearly tripping down short narrow steps into a lower
level of the dungeons. The passage widened suddenly, and they came upon a very old looking door
in the stone.

“Since when was that there?” he whispered under his breath, staring confusedly at it.

“We just found it a few weeks ago, you've got to see this place.” one of the twins, who Blaise
thought was likely George, spoke up.

Peering in the now open door, he wasn't all that impressed, “it's an old office.”

The twins pushed past him and started poking around, one lighting some candles and the other
grabbing a book off of the desk.

“Here you are, take a good look at this!”

Blaise rolled his eyes and glanced at the cover.

The Secrets of Hogwarts Past: How I Uncovered the Magics of Old

“Holy shit.” he whispered, opening up the cover and skimming the contents.

“Holy shit.” It was about the library of secrets. Some crazy bastard had hunted down the chamber
and mosied into the library… and then wrote a book about it?

“Isn't it incredible? An entire library filled with ancient magics sitting right under our feet!” Blaise
could tell that the twins were really excited about this new find. Hell, he was excited about it too,
this was huge. He was super excited to read the book and figure out what had happened to this guy
to just come upon the chamber, how did Jörmungandr react to him? Did Jörmungandr remember
this guy?

The twin that was lighting the candles spoke suddenly, “we've been reading the book but it
apparently doesn't give anything away about the chamber, saying that the entrance was in the third
floor transfiguration room, but there isn't a transfiguration classroom on the third floor, so it might
be a misdirect.”

“-it could also be that the book was made bloody ages ago and who knows what's changed in the
castles layout since then.”

The twins had obviously argued over this for weeks, considering the heated glares they were
sending at each other.

“Yeahhh…” how was he supposed to go about this? He was physically incapable of talking about
the library to anyone but his friends, the vow made sure of that, but these two weren't going to stop
till they figured out the mystery.

“-anyway, we wanted help with figuring out how to learn parseltongue-”

“-since apparently you need to know it to get into the chamber.”

They spoke overlapping each other, on the same mental wavelength.

He raised an eyebrow, “so because I'm a Slytherin I know how to speak parseltongue?”

The twin that had handed the book to him rolled his eyes, “of course not, but you probably know
someone who does yea?”
Fuck.

He could feel the vow block up his throat, making it impossible to speak. He opted to just shake
his head no.

The other twin rolled his eyes this time, apparently the two were quite exasperated with him today,
“alright fine, don't tell us then, but we’ll figure it out at some point you know.”

“Sure sure, you couldn't figure a flobberworm from your mother.” he sassed back.

“Well yea, they're almost identical!” This was followed by uproarious laughter, and Blaise was
quickly dragged into studying the book and planning out potential entrances.

Harry strode through the halls confidently, Greengrass trailing behind him. They were headed for
the fourth floor, passing the portrait of the fat lady, who scoffed at them quite rudely. Greengrass
made a very unladylike hand gesture in return. He could hear the painting gasp as they rounded a
corner.

“Alright, here we are.” he motioned to the wall across from them, which was thankfully void of
any curious portraits that my spy on them.

“A wall?” she raised an eyebrow.

He sighed, exasperated, “it's a secret for a reason Greengrass, the entrance isn't just going to be
there out in the open.”

“Fine, what do I have to do to get this over with?”

Alright what do I have her do now?

She needs to put her hand on the third brick from the bottom and say ‘I need an army’.

He relayed Tom’s instruction to her, and she dutifully complied.

Standing back, they both watched as the individual bricks all moved out of the way, revealing a
dusty corridor into darkness.

“Alright well… I'll get Parkinson out of the way for you. Cheers.” he moved to the opening intent
on getting in and out fast.

“Hold on a minute, can I come with?”

Uhhh…

“Why would you want to?”

She huffed, crossing her arms and stomped her foot, “well I went to all this trouble to get it open
for you, the least you could do is let me take a peak.”

What should I do?

Try to logic your way out of the situation?

Very helpful, thank you Tom.

Anytime.

“Couldn't you come back some other time if you're really that curious.”

“Of course not, you're obviously taking something from in there.”

Ahhh, she's trying to figure me out… pity.

“Well as much as I would appreciate the company, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” he made a move
to the passageway, taking out his wand to light a lumos.

“I'll close the passage behind you and you won't be able to get out.”

“I could actually, the interior opening mechanism is different from the exterior.”

She shoved past him, elbowing his stomach and marching forward.

“Oi!” Harry raced after her, Tom’s laughter rattling in his skull.

Blaise rubbed his eyes tiredly, after leaving the Weasley twins he had headed to the kitchens to get
a quick dinner. After getting back to the dorm though, he wished he had just stayed with the two
fourth years. Draco was on a long winded rant about Greengrass, and Theo (being a supportive
friend) had sat patiently and listened as he ranted on and on… and on…

I can't take much more of this.

“-not only that, but she is blatantly flirting with him and it is just disgusting to watch her try and get
his attention. It's just honestly despicable, I can't believe he even bothers to associate with that cow.
I mean honestly-”

“Draco, I get that you have a huge bloody crush on the guy, but can you give it a break?”

Theo’s eyes bulged and he started coughing aggressively. Draco went a deep red, the blush
traveling up his neck and making his entire face red.

“I-I but I.. No I don't-”

“Oh come on, of course you do.”

“But-but.. But that's ridiculous.” He ran his hands shakily through his hair, messing it up and
making himself appear bedraggled, blush still quite prominent.

“Right, sure, because you're totally not blushing right now.'' Blaise was having all too much fun
with this, Theo was watching the show with wide eyes. Instead of responding to the taunts, Draco
grabbed a pillow off his bed and chucked it at the other boy, starting an all out pillow fight,
feathers flying everywhere.

“This is ridiculous, I don't understand why you're so insistent on this.” Harry was trying very hard
to convince Greengrass to leave well enough alone, it wasn't very effective.

“If you're going to make me go to the trouble of opening the wall for you, the least you can do is
let me see what the big deal is!” She stomped ahead, intent on getting ahead of him. He simply
widened his stride to catch up.
They continued to walk through the passage, him growing more agitated and her more insistent.
Finally, they rounded a bend and he just admitted defeat, the room was hardly something that
would interest her anyway. Falling silent, they walked the rest of the way to a large iron plated
door. Harry sighed (again), and started waving his wand in various motions, slowly peeling back
the wards. Greengrass held her wand light up to the door, reading the inscription carved into the
ancient metalwork.

Slytherin has a chamber, filled with secrets.

Deeming only those found worthy entrance,

to intr ude upon history.

Hufflepuff gifts a room to fulfill all needs.

There to save ye in times of strife,

A constant comfort in misfortune.

Ravenclaw, allows ye find of a study.

Deep in the twisting caverns,

where secrets never keep.

Gryffindor, however, dwells in war.

Forced into battle with unsteady hand,

He gifts children an army.

“What?” She whispered quietly, hands ghosting over the words. He studied them carefully,
imprinting them to memory, before grasping the door handle and swinging it inwards.

The two second years gazed out into an expansive room, filled to the brink with weapons, armor,
and magical devices of destruction as far as the eye could see.

Bloody Hell.

“It- it's a war room…” Greengrass whispered, words muffled by the hand covering her mouth in
shock. He nodded, also overwhelmed.

“Gryffindor created the room to be assured that if students needed to fight to protect the castle, they
had every means possible to do so. It was designed so that only a woman could open it, with the
logic that back then the only people that would be fighting were men, but there were female
students in the castle, so they could be assured that the room would only ever be opened by
students instead of an opposing force.”

She frowned, but said nothing.

Until she got curious again, “so why exactly do you need an entire arsenal of weapons?” He rolled
his eyes, as if he would be so crass.

“I don't, there's a specific weapon that I need. If you insist on being here while I fetch it, feel free
to help yourself to the supply.”

He proceeded to move along into the stacks, hearing her go off into a different direction.

Ok Tom, where is it?

The last time I was here, it had been on a shelf along the northern wall.

Alright, can you describe it to me again?

It's an ornate longbow of pale wood with silver details, I don't know how else to explain it.

What about the quiver and arrows?

They all stay on theme Harry, the northern Germanics may have been tribal, but they weren't so
barbaric to not color coordinate.

Rolling his eyes, Harry reached the far wall, moving along and studying the various shelves with
careful eyes. He had yet to go talk to the centaurs about a potential archery practice, but the bow of
Skaði was a legendary artifact that would up his chances of them saying yes considerably.

It wasn't that he needed to learn archery to defeat Dumbledore, far from it, but the bow was one
created and owned by Skaði, the goddess of bowhunting, winter, and mountains; he had felt
compelled to possess her bow since Tom had first mentioned it. Perhaps it was the creature inside
of him, but he didn't really care, he would have the bow regardless of why he wanted it.

Spotting a pale wood, his eyes zeroed in on a long, ornate bow with silver accents, a quiver full of
arrows sat next to it, similarly designed. Reaching for it eagerly, he grasped the nock, pulling the
bow from its perch, the quiver soon after. Grasping the bow tightly on the grip, he let out a happy
sigh, it was most certainly meant for him.

Turning back, satisfied, he made his way to the front of the room, where he proceeded to wait for
Greengrass, admiring his new bow happily.

“Alright, I've got something- is that a bow?” he looked up, Greengrass had her hands wrapped
around a very dangerous looking ritualistic knife.

“Do you even know how to use that?” he questioned, she appeared guilty for a moment, his eyes
widened.

“You've done a ritual-” “I wont talk about this to anyone if you don't.” she blurted, a look of panic
on her face. It was a stare off for several seconds, nothing moving, Harry still had his hands tightly
around the grip and quiver.

“Only if you promise to open the entrance for me again if I ever need to get back in here.” he was
thinking fast, the Greengrass family was gray yes, but not so dark leaning that they would let their
daughter anywhere near a ritual that required blood-

“Deal.”

They left Gryffindor’s armory, heading down to the dark dungeons; both of them holding tightly to
 their prizes. Harry didn't question why she needed a ritual dagger, and she didn't question why he
caressed the bow like it was the most precious thing in existence.

Forced into battle with unsteady hand,

He gifts children an army.

Chapter End Notes

I really enjoyed making this chapter honestly, catch me and my half assed attempts to
kinda make the poem old English but then realizing it would be completely
incomprehensible. :p
 Do You Promise?
Chapter Summary

Its Christmas time, and with it comes more delightful presents for our favorite boy-
who-lived.
Draco is stuck at Hogwarts, and finds a delightful bit of blackmail to hold over an
unsavory persons head.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Midterms came along and Harry dubbed them unimportant, instead drawing his attention to other
pursuits. He had ordered a huge shipment of ink, having his friends help him carry it down into the
chamber. He took careful consideration in making sure that there was enough of it, and that the
charms were all still in place. The week of midterms was snowy, and Harry finished all his exams
quickly so that he could go out and enjoy the weather.

He found himself packing his bags the day before the ending feast, wondering what will happen
this Christmas. Aunt Petunia was sure to be cooking up a massive feast, and Dudley would
probably want to box with him at some point. The last letter he had received from them revealed
that Dudley had gone up a weight class, well on his way to being built like a brick shithouse. He
was a good boxer too, if heavy footed. If he did want to spar with Harry, it would be a relatively
even match, as Harry was an incredible dodger and quite strong, while Dudley’s punches could
knock him off his feet and was always firm into the ground. An unstoppable force meets an
immovable object kind of fight.

Harry didn't check the ranking board on his way out of the common room, not particularly caring
either way. Draco caught up to him, complaining loudly about how his parents were forcing him to
stay at the school for Christmas.

“-apparently mother wants to go somewhere warm for the hols, and doesn't want to take me with!
Can you believe that? The best part of Christmas is the cold, and she's wanting to gallivant around
the Caribbean for Christmas, it's absurd!” Harry listened along, nodding at the appropriate times.
His mind was elsewhere, contemplating how to convince the centaurs to teach him archery, how to
get his hands on some freely given unicorn hair, the Gryffindor girls dorms that he still had no idea
how to get into. There were far too many important things that he still needed to get done, and all
hopefully before his thirteenth birthday.

So much to do, so little time.

Tlahuelpuchi- Tlaxcala

The Tlahuelpuchi is a Mexican vampire breed most common in the state of Tlaxcala, with
deep roots among the indigenous Nahua culture of the region. The Tlahuelpuchi is a vampire
born from a human family, and lives with the family for as long as they are able, sucking the
blood of infants predominantly. The Tlahuelpuchi is one of the only known magical creatures
to be born purely of a creature inheritance, as Tlahuelpuchis all awaken on their thirteenth
birthday. Unlike other places in the world, the Tlahuelpuchi have a strong hold on their
society, having a long standing pact with shamans and other creatures in the region. The vast
majority of Tlahuelpuchi are female, with the females being much more powerful than the
males. They must feed once a month lest they will die of starvation.

Harry checked off the Tlahuelpuchi, and shut his book moodily. He had managed to get to the Tl-
creatures sometime in the last week, and had found many fascinating things, but nothing that fit
into his exact symptoms.

He looked around the train compartment. Draco was still at the school, having been forced to say
by his parents. Blaise was off somewhere causing trouble, and Theo was across from him, also
reading a book.

The end of term feast was uneventful, and Granger had been absent through most of it. So as he
was walking down the path to the train with his friends, (Draco insisting on coming with them to
see them off) Harry felt that he was piling more and more things onto the metaphorical table than
he was able to take care of before his thirteenth birthday. He was already pushing some things back
to third year (if he was able to get to them that is), but there were some things that really couldn't
even wait over the summer, and he had no way of doing them.

Frustrated, Harry looked out the window and watched the country scenery go by, trying to calm his
nerves. Regardless of how much he had to do before the year was up, he couldn't do any of it at
home, so he would just have to submit himself to the knowledge that he would just have to have a
normal, stress free vacation.

Waving goodbye to Theo, Harry stepped through the barrier, right into his aunt's waiting arms.

“Oh Harry love you've grown so much already.” she squeezed him tighter, and he relaxed into her
arms, pushing aside all of his worries for now.

“Come along then, I was going to make the stuffing today, I know you enjoy helping.”

The days leading up to Christmas were enjoyable. Dudley did in fact want to spar, and they had
spent many hours rolling through the snow outside, wrestling more so than boxing. Marge had
come over briefly to get uproariously drunk with Vernon, and they all had a great time watching
the two sing Christmas carols horribly off tune.

The Christmas feast they had was also incredibly good, though the process of making it had been
lengthened by Harry and Dudley’s impromptu flour fight in the kitchen while Petunia made a
cherry pie. She had let them go on with it for a good ten minutes before she herself was hit with
flour right to the face. They had spent two hours afterwards cleaning up the mess, giggling all the
while.

That night, Harry had settled into bed, expecting to wake up the next morning to a delighted
Dudley jumping onto his bed exclaiming that it was Christmas and to get his lazy arse out of bed.
Drifting off to sleep, Harry began to dream.

Harry woke in what appeared to be a forest at night, snow blanketing the ground and falling gently
from the sky. Standing for a moment, enjoying the quiet, he contemplated why he was there. There
had to be a reason he was standing barefoot in a foot of snow after all. He was caught off guard
suddenly by a very familiar screeching coming from somewhere to his left, building in pitch as it
came closer. It grated his ears and sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. That noise was
truly horrific, starting out a high pitched screeching, tapering off into a growl mixed with pained
whining. It sounded at times like a human, maybe, but there was something so horribly animalistic
about it that ripped the idea that this thing could possibly be human right from his mind.

Human no longer, it was a cheap imitation.

He sprinted off to his right, the noise now behind him. Crashing through the brush, the thing gave
an agitated roar before making chase.

“You're not going to be about to out run it.” his voice was echoing around him, reverberating in
his skull. The screeching sounded like a woman's voice for just a moment, it was pretending, trying
to lure him in.

“It is inevitable. Running is futile.” His voice was echoing in his skull as the animalistic growling
grew ever closer. He could barely manage to keep upright, but pressed on, running on pure
adrenalin.

“You can't have me, not yet!” this time, his voice was coming from his own mouth, and the beast
gave a great roar in response. A flash of gold in his peripherals made him stop. He wasted only a
moment of time, before dashing towards the glowing light. The creature was licking at his heels,
he could even hear its breathing; it was so close, the screeching and growling and moaning
drowning out anything else.

“So, you choose to hide? Walls can be toppled, little monster.” his voice taunted him, and he
reached out desperately to a golden door. He fell through it, getting only the glimpse of long, blood
coated fingers and glowing eyes before the door shut firmly behind him.

Harry practically threw himself out of bed, tripping over himself in his haste to get into the
bathroom. Throwing open the door, he stumbled up to the mirror and pressed his face up close to
the glass, nose brushing against the smooth surface as he stared unblinking into his eyes. It was
faint, but still there, a soft glow from deep within his skull. His breath shuddered, and he sank to
the floor, the darkness of night obscuring everything from sight.

Walls can be toppled, little monster.

He took another breath, whatever protections Death had put in place were starting to deteriorate;
his creature was breaking them down.

“They'll last.”

He took another shuddering breath, “how can you be certain.”

Gold and green eyes lit up in the dark, standing tall behind his crouched form, only visible to him
through the glass in the mirror, his own eyes starting to dim.

“Seven months left kid. Most of those are with warmer weather.”

It’s stronger during the winter. Was left unsaid.

“Do you promise?” he whispered to Death, the god nothing but a shadow of shadows in the dark
room.

“I promise.”

He took another great shuddering breath, standing on shaky legs and slowly walking out of the
bathroom, Death following behind him. Settling back into his bed, Harry took a moment to curl up
into a ball under his covers, feeling exposed in his own mind. Athimus had placed a comforting
hand on his back, rubbing it up and down his spine placatingly.

“I have a Christmas present for you.”

Harry said nothing, simply reaching his arm out from under the covers and holding it out
expectantly. A small velvety box landed in his open palm.

“No skull wrapping paper this time?” he joked, weakly.

“‘Fraid not.”

He opened the box blindly, feeling around for a little while before grasping a chain. Pulling on it,
he dropped the box and felt along the chain, coming upon a diamond shaped stone attached to it.

“You made the resurrection stone a necklace?”

“No, this is something different, the resurrection stone is your Slytherin lordship ring after all.”

“Ahhh…” he didn't bother turning on the lights, simply unclasping the chain and putting it around
his neck.

He slowly fell asleep to Death brushing his hands up and down his back.

Dudley had in fact woken him up with a full body tackle. Christmas morning was a delightful
affair, though Harry couldn't fully enjoy it with his nightmare still ever present in his mind. Blaise
had sent him a single earring of all things, a dangling snake coiled around itself, it seemed to match
the cloak pin he had gotten from the other boy the year before. His aunt insisted that he was under
no condition to get his ears pierced; he was already considering the pros and cons of going against
her command. Theo had gotten him a ‘beginners guide to archery’ book. Harry, no longer
befuddled by the boy's seer abilities, sat it aside to read through later. Draco’s present had made
him pause though, it was a leather bracelet, inlaid with a ruby carved in the shape of a rose.

Is this really…

He set it aside to contemplate later, having enough on his plate to even bother considering what it
could mean.

His aunt and uncle had gotten him an expensive looking pair of combat boots, and Dudley had
gotten him a dollar store witches hat. He thanked his guardians warmly, and tried to shove the
cheap hat onto Dudley's head.

Harry eventually got the chance to take a closer look at his new necklace, up in his room with the
door safely locked. It was the same shape as the resurrection stone, but was most definitely an
emerald, looking closer he could see specks of gold inside the polished gem. Deciding not to
question the strange rock, Harry put it out of his mind, focusing now onto the upcoming new year,
and what the rest of his second year had in store for him.

Blaise wasn't having as good of a time over the holidays as Harry was, as his mother had somehow
found out about his letters to his great great grandfather, and was very against the idea of him
pledging to a god so young.
“You will not do it tesoro, I will not allow it.” Mariabella Zabini was firm in her decision, and they
had an hour long argument about it till he was carted off to his room. He had been sulking there for
two days, having his meals brought up by elfs, but on Christmas morning he was forced out by his
mother and had to pretend to not be angry while he opened his presents. Harry had gotten him a
book on cosmetic charms, with a note that if he can't be pretty on the inside, he should at least try
on the outside. He just laughed it off, knowing that it was payback for sending porn for the boy's
birthday. Theo had sent him a custom necklace with Loki’s mark done in emeralds, the two knotted
snakes glittering beautifully. His mother had gone red with anger, but hadn't taken it from him. She
was only unsupportive of him pledging so young, not his worship of a god in the first place. Draco
had gifted a piece of parchment that said IOU, the ponce.

Once he had finished unwrapping all his presents, including the various unimportant ones from his
extended family, his mother slid hers across the table to him.

“You may think that you are ready for a pledge, tesoro, but you are not.”

He snatched the present up, replacing it with his for her, and stormed out of the room to his
quarters, irate.

What would she know, she never even pledged.

Theo was also having a less than stellar Christmas. His grandfather spent every second they were
together talking about his ‘curse’ and what they can do to ‘have it stopped for good’. It was
infuriating, so he spent most of his time holed up in the Nott library, studying. His grandfather
eventually left him to his lonesome, and he even wrapped his friends presents in the library.

On Christmas morning, he woke up groggy, finding that he had fallen asleep in the library, face
pressed into a book, using it as a pillow. He also opened his presents alone in the library, an elf
bringing him all the wrapped gifts from his friends. Blaise had gotten him a bracelet that is meant
to touch into his magical signature and shock him whenever he was supposed to eat or sleep. Theo
rolled his eyes at the obvious play to get him to stay healthy. Draco sent him an IOU, which he set
aside for future use. Harry had gifted him a journal made of rich black leather, with a note attached
that said it had infinite pages, much like the one currently becoming a one-book library. This had
made him excited, and he quickly wrote his full name in the book's inner cover. Setting all the
other gifts aside, he grabbed a large stack of parchment that was his compiled notes from the day
before and quickly set out to write them all down in his new journal, his holiday suddenly much
nicer.

Draco was bored out of his mind at Hogwarts. Not only had Weasley and Granger also stayed at
the school, but most of the Slytherins had left. This created an annoying situation where Weasley
was constantly bothering him, but there was no one he could complain to about it. Christmas
morning brought presents from his friends, which he tore into eagerly. Theo had gotten him a
customized snow globe with all four of them in it, though Draco was comically smaller than the
others, much to his irritation. Blaise had sent a single earring of a snake, which made Draco
wonder where the other one was, either way, he thought piercing an ear would at least bring some
sort of entertainment over the next week, and put it aside for later. Harry, much to his delight, had
sent a new pair of top of the line quidditch gloves, and a promise to buy him the next broom that
came onto the market. His parents sent more balm, and a letter detailing how they missed him
terribly, even though they were having a delightful time in the Bahamas. All in all, while the break
was most certainly boring, he had been gifted plenty to entertain himself with, as well as a good
enough reason to prank Theo’s bed.
Chapter End Notes

I'm sorry that this chapter is off schedule by an hour or so, I've been studying a lot
today in preparation for finals next week. Speaking of which, I'm sorry to say that I
have to adjust my updating schedule next week to once a day instead of twice. I just
have too much going on and need the extra time to study. So sorry!
 It's Not Your Business
Chapter Summary

Everyone can feel the looming presence of summer holidays creep ever closer,
bringing promises of unwanted change.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

New Years was bittersweet for Harry, not only was it the start to 1993, but it also signified the year
he would turn thirteen. In July of 1993, Harry Potter will officially no longer be fully human, what
a thought. His family didn't know about all that though, and the adults had gotten uproariously
drunk, with Petunia and Vernon dancing offbeat to a promiscuous song that made Harry cover his
and Dudley’s eyes with a blush. Marge had also come over, and after plopping Riper down into
Harry's lap to slobber all over him, went and also got obnoxiously drunk.

Harry had never drank strong liquor in either lifetimes, and he hadn't ever gotten the opportunity to
be shit-faced, so he was somewhat jealous of the adults. To relieve that jealousy, the two children
went out in the biting cold and walked down to the park, where they met Dudley's friends and
proceeded to egg a bunch of the neighborhood houses. Mostly the people that had apparently given
out shitty candy for Halloween.

Harry had a grand time with the other children, and he and Dudley had arrived back home half an
hour before midnight, cheeks flushed from running and adrenaline buzzing pleasantly in their ears.

The adults hadn't even noticed that they were gone, too focused on drinking #4 Privet Drive dry of
alcohol, and doing a damn good job of it. Harry watched the ball drop on the telly with a wide
smile on his face, Dudley's arm thrown over his shoulder and the drunkards cheering loudly
enough to wake all of Surrey.

Harry stood on platform 9 ¾ in a jumper and slacks, finally having convinced his aunt to let him
dress himself. He was talking quietly with Theo, who was wrapped up under at least three layers.

“Ten galleons says he’ll show up thirty minutes late so he doesn't have to spend time out in this
cold.” Theo grumbled, grumpy and nose pink from the biting wind.

They were discussing one Blaise Zabini, who had yet to show. Theo was bitter about the fact that
they were still standing in the cold when the train had already arrived, Harry was annoyed that their
friend was so bloody late.

“No bet.”

Harry rolled up his sleeves a tad, feeling a little warm. After he had realized that the protections
against his monster were breaking, he had also realized that his immunity to the cold had gotten
more and more obvious as time went on. Worried mothers were already glancing at him, tempted
to wrap him up in layers of wool.

Maybe I should just throw on a jacket.

Before he tempted the idea further, the Slytherin Prince of Pranks himself came storming over to
them, vehemently ignoring a beautiful woman who was yelling sternly in Italian a few paces
behind him.

Blaise didn't even stop as he walked past and muttered a quick, “lets go”. Shrugging, Harry picked
up his trunk and Hades’ cage (the bird having flown ahead) and followed after. Theo instead turned
back to the woman and had a quick conversation with her, as she seemingly explained some things
to him in hushed Italian. Harry watched with mild envy, wishing he could talk to humans in a
different language instead of just snakes.

You need to finish teaching me French, Tom.

You're a lost cause, Leech.

Rude.

“Theo, we’re leaving.” Blaise seemed to grow more and more irritated by the second, and Harry
followed behind him silently. Theo eventually caught up with them, looking troubled. The boy
didn't say anything though, and instead settled down by the window in their usual compartment and
pulled out a book, only glancing sharply at Blaise before getting absorbed into his tome.

“Well, what was that all about?” Theo might want to be subtle, but Harry sure didn't.

“Dont worry about it.”

A raised eyebrow, “That looked like your mother.”

“I'm sure she did.”

Harry gave up, instead pulling out his worn copy of ‘Every Magical Creature Known’ and turning
to a bookmarked page.

Unicorn-Worldwide

The Unicorn is an almost universal constant, with species in almost every region. The
common European Unicorn is well known for being a peaceful creature with white fur and a
single, long horn. The Indian Unicorn however, is known as a vicious warrior beast, which
has been often ridden into battle. It is typically brown or black, with a horn more twisted and
thick. Regardless of where the unicorn may be on the planet, it is widely agreed that their
horns have powerful healing powers, and their blood grants a half life to those who drink it.
Unicorn hair is also extremely potent, and is used in wands as wand cores. It has been
theorized that unicorn hair can be used in combination with snake venom to create a
powerful poison of some sort, though it has never been attempted.

Harry sighed, the entry didn't tell him much that he didn't already know, and the fact that no one
had even wondered to use freely given unicorn hair made him feel that he was on the right track.
Regardless, there wasn't much he could do to experiment with the material if he didn't even have
any of it.

Sighing lightly, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the snake earring, intent on some pre-
teenage rebellion.

“Oi, Blaise.” the other boy looked up questioningly. “Wanna pierce my ear?”
Grinning mischievously, Blaise got up from his seat and settled down on Harry's left, grabbing the
earring and conjuring some ice. He had to transfigure the lever-back earring into a straight, sharp
point. One muffled curse from Harry later and the earring was firmly in place, dangling from his
left ear. Feeling for it, he found that the insert had been transfigured back, but was missing the
lever to remove it, stuck firmly in place. He would have to transfigure it again to get the blasted
thing off.

“So why are you arguing with your mum?” Blaise tugged on the earring a bit, causing Harry to
curse again, before slinking back to his seat, in the mood to grouch once more.

Fine, be that way.

“There you three are, the train was awfully late.” Draco had met them on the path to Hogsmeade,
and had been apparently impressively bored the entire break.

Harry smiled, “how was your break? I'm afraid Blaise is in a bit of a state, might want to leave him
to sulk.” The aforementioned boy glared at the boy, before stomping on ahead of the group.

“Uh… Harry?”

He turned to look at Draco, who was pointing at his ear questioningly. He was about to explain,
before catching sight of a very familiar earring hanging from Draco’s right ear. He slowly raised
his hand and pointed at the boy's ear, flabbergasted.

They stood for a moment, just pointing at eachother, before Theo started laughing hysterically,
falling to the ground and grabbing his stomach.

Harry cursed rather impressively, “I'm going to kill that little fucker-”

Theo was still on the ground, attempting to laugh himself into a coma.

Draco just stood there, bright red.

It took them all some time to get under control, Theo needing several minutes to just get his
breathing under control, before they made their way up to the castle. Theo started chuckling
whenever he glanced at them, and Draco was still a little pink, and was filling the uncomfortable
silence with endless chatter.

“My break was horribly boring. Not only did those Gryffindor freaks stay around, but almost none
of the slytherins did! You wouldnt believe the shite I had to go through it was ridiculous-”

To get his mind off the matching earrings, Harry started thinking about what he had to do the rest
of the year. Taking to Farley was on the top of his list, as well as going down into the library and
checking on the ink supply. His thousand galleons that he took from his vault last year was almost
gone, and he would have to request more from Gringotts at some point.

He still hasn't found anything that might speed up the process of converting the library, much to his
displeasure. It seemed that if the next year was truly too busy for him to manage it, he would have
to employ some of his friends to help, perhaps Theo? He pushed that thought aside, deciding he
would contemplate it later on in the year.

It was decided by the entire Slytherin house that Blaise Zabini needed to be stopped.
His exploits with Harry and Draco's matching earrings was seemingly his first prank of the new
year. Not even a fortnight since they had all returned from the holidays and he had pranked
everyone at least twice. No one knew how he was getting into the girls dorms to prank them at
night but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Tracy was helping him. Regardless of that, he was
eventually pulled aside by Flint, who had hair down to his waist that was curly and bright pink.

“You stop him, or I do.” was all he said. Harry got the message: either you make him stop this or I
kill the little shit.

That was what he was doing now, having followed Blaise out of the common room and up the
seventh floor under his invisibility cloak. He was planning on getting the jump on him once the
halls were void of people, but when he watched the other boy open up the Room of Requirement of
all things… he had a sudden change of plans.

“This is where you’ve been sneaking off to then?” he pulled the cloak off in full view of Blaise,
and watched the boy process it for a moment, a foot in the Room and another still in the hall.

“Harry? You have an invisibility cloak?”

“Old family heirloom.” was his only reply, Blaise’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't get to say
anything else before Harry was pushing past him into the room.

“Oi!”

The door closed behind them, and Harry got a good look at Blaise’s version of the room. It was
plush, and filled to the brim with pranking supplies.

“Interesting decor.”

Blaise walked around him, “I found this room before the break. You have to walk in front of the
weird tapestry three times and it appears, it changes sometimes though.” Harry looked at some sort
of camouflaged banana peel with interest.

“It's called the Room of Requirement, Helga Hufflepuff made it. It's designed to create whatever
you want.”

Blaise whirled around, “Really? How the hell did you know that?”

Harry smiled secretly, “my tutor told me.” An exasperated groan from the other boy, the tutor
shtick was a well known misdirect on Harry's part. It practically meant ‘I'm not going to tell you,
sorry’ at this point.

He changed the subject, “so what's your deal lately?”

Blaise glowered, “I don’t know what youre talking about.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “so you're pranking the entirety of Slytherin house… what, just
because?” Blaise ignored him, instead opting to study some sort of contraption along the western
wall.

“You and your mom got into an argument over the hols, that much is obvious.” he was still getting
ignored. Wracking his brain, Harry finally came up with something.

“Does it have something to do with that fancy little book you're always reading?” Now that got
Blaise’s attention. Whirling around, the shorter boy practically threw himself at Harry, gripping the
other boy’s collar with rage in his eyes, “shut your bloody mouth you-” Harry grabbed the boy's
arms and shoved him off, stalking forward.

“Am I, or am I not, your friend.” Blaise fell over the back of a couch in an effort to gain distance
between the two of them. Harry felt something building in the back of his throat, there was
something prowling around his mind angrily.

“Me, and Theo, and Draco are all worried about you. You've been an angry little bastard since we
got onto the train. The others may be wanting to give you space but, I for one, am not nearly that
patient.” He jumped over the couch, Blaise stumbled up and into a shelf.

“So you have two options: be straight with me and bloody talk about it, or I'll break into your trunk
and figure things out for myself.”

They stood there, Harry looming menacingly over Blaise, who was pressed up against a shelf,
pretending he wasn't cowering. They stood that way silently as time stretched on, not breaking eye
contact. It was a battle of wills that Blaise was losing very quickly.

With a sigh, the shorter boy admitted defeat, and Harry dragged him over to the couches for him to
explain.

“I found a book about worshiping the god Loki over summer, I've been working to pledge myself
to him, but my mother is extremely against it.” Harry was unsurprised by the admission.

“Well that makes sense, who knows how a ritual like that might affect you.” Blaise looked
indignant, and puffed up for a rant.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with pledging at thirteen. Hell, that's when people started
doing it in the ninth century, my family just changed it to seventeen because the times had
changed. I can handle it!” He had obviously delivered this rant before, it was probably a well worn
argument between him and his mother.

“Fine then, why.”

“Wot?”

“Why do you want to do it at thirteen?”

Blasie looked at him like he was insane, “because I can?”

Can't argue with that, Leech.

Don't you have world domination to plan?

Harry sat back and thought. He had no idea how people were affected by pledging to gods, mostly
because it almost never happened anymore. There had to be a specific reason beyond ‘the times
changed’ that the Zabinis stopped pledging at thirteen, but there was no telling what that reason
was.

“So when are you doing it then?”

Blaise looked confused, “well I can't, my mother wont allow it.”

“Since when did authority ever stop you of all people.” If this was going to help Blaise not prank
the house, and made his friend happy, then he’ll help the boy do it.
Blaise went from confused to excited in an instant, and they settled down to discuss the pros and
cons of him pledging at Hogwarts where his mom couldn't skin him alive.

It was a few days after the fact, and the entire Slytherin house could breathe a sigh of relief as
Blaise stopped the pranking. The boy seemed determined now, and had been studying his little
green book with a vengeance, making notes over everything and just generally staying out of
everyones hair. Alternatively, Theo seemed to be more and more tense, holling up in his dorm and
not leaving on weekends, and generally isolating himself. Harry decided to take up his role as
inspirational speaker of the group once more and go figure out what the deal was.

He found the boy in his dorm, seemingly hiding from the world. Theo hadn’t come to any of the
meals that day, and Blaise had wondered if the boy had taken off his bracelet, whatever that meant.

“Have you eaten today.” a grunt in response.

“I'm going to drag you out of that bed if you don't talk to me.” another grunt.

“Fine then.” Harry proceeded to quite literally drag Theo out of bed by his ankle, the other boy
groaning all the while, holding tight to his pillow. He flopped lazily onto the floor, still holding
onto the stupid pillow.

“Get up.”

“Piss off.”

Harry's eye twitched, “either you get your ass up and talk to me or I'm going to tell Blaise that you
were the one to steal his embroidered pillows.” Theo clutched his pillow tighter, face buried into
the fluff.

“Fine then.” he made a motion to leave, before hearing a ‘bloody- wait you ponce” from behind
him. Turning, feeling quite smug, Harry threw a pointed look at Theo’s way as the boy attempted
to pull himself off the ground.

“It's none of your business-” he started, Harry wasn't falling for that shit.

“Well I'm making it my business. Spill.” Theo groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“I think my inner eye is going to fully open soon.”

Well that's an issue.

And why, pray tell, is that?

An inner eye fully opening is a very painful process, usually involving the seer in question reciting
prophecy of some sort, and lots of head pain.

What fun.

“How can you tell?” Harry crouched down gingerly on the shag rug next to Theo, adjusting his
long legs into a sitting position.

“I keep getting migraines, and… I don't know, it's just something I can feel.” Theo rubbed his face
tiredly, appearing to want to curl up in bed again, Harry felt a tad sympathetic.

“Well… after it happens, things will get better for you, yeah? Just grin and bear it.” Theo nodded,
 still not appearing all that enthusiastic. They sat in companionable silence for a time, before Theo
changed the subject.

“Have you figured out what you are yet?”

Harry let out a frustrated groan, he most certainly had not. Theo nodded sympathetically, hugging
his pillow to his chest. Both of them felt like they were on the cusp of destruction, as if any second
they would be destroyed and built back up differently. Harry could feel the thrumming of a
heartbeat behind his eyes, a monster prowling in the forest surrounding his mindscape. Theo felt
pressure building up in his head, mouth and throat dry, eyes holding back tears. His voice changed
pitches sometimes, as if someone else was trying to speak with his mouth.

“I had a dream over the holidays.” The budding prophet looked at him questioningly, asking what
it was about, the speaker of the gods comforting a rabid beast.

“My monster was chasing me through this forest, but I managed to hide away from it.” Theo didn't
say anything about his referring to the creature as a ‘monster’, but did seem to contemplate what
the dream could have meant. Harry felt his spine pop, his body stretching into oblivion. A low
warning growl reverberated through his skull.

“Are you scared of it?”

He let out a shaky sigh, the golden walls keeping him safe were still holding strong.

“Terrified.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm going to try to make the chapters longer now that I'm only posting once a day, but
this one is the normal length cuz last night I wasn't able to get a head start on it, so this
entire chapter was written today.
Love you all!
 We Were Doomed From the Start
Chapter Summary

Theo has a dream.

Chapter Notes

Warning: Horror, gore, torture. All that usual fun stuff.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Thirteen is an unlucky number for a reason.”

He was hiding, curled up under a bed, laying perfectly still and trying not to make any noise. He
could hear the unsteady breathing from another in the room, she was being too loud, far too loud.
Theo hugged his legs, nails digging into the fabric of his sleep pants-closing his eyes and
pretending he didn't exist. Her breathing picked up, and a muffled sob echoed through the room.
He curled up tighter, face buried into his knees, the dusty rug underneath the bed giving some sort
of relief for the uncomfortable position. A low warning growl sounded from outside the room, and
the girl gave a shriek of terror. He opened his eyes, it was coming... it had heard her.

The door creaked open, long fingers brushed the carpet.

“It was all doomed from the start, really.”

The fingers were coated with blood. Sharp, sharp claws brushing gently against the shag rug,
almost as if petting it.

“They were doomed from the start.”

A low growl reverberated around the room. It was horrific, changing pitches and tones with the
effect of several people-no, several vocal cords-all making the same noise at once. The growl
tapered off with a woman crying, his mother. He curled up tighter, the thing knew he was there, it
was greeting him with her voice.

“You were doomed from the start, Theodore.”

The fingers moved forward, long, impossibly thin legs coming into view. He wasn't the one being
hunted-no, this thing wasn't here for him-but the knowledge that someone would die soon was a
horrifying one.

“Thirteen is an unlucky number.”

A sudden screeching noise broke though the silence, rattling his bones and forcing tears out of his
eyes. It was so much worse than the growl. So, so much worse. There was an ear splitting scream
in response and the creature lunged, tearing into its prey. Dark red blood oozed out of the girl and
the rug greedly absorbed it. The long fingers and pointed claws tore into her corpse, crunching
bone and ripping muscle. As the thing bent down to eat, he caught sight of long deer horns, coated
in drying blood.

“A monster, he called it? I'm tempted to agree.”

He shut his eyes tightly, only opening them when he was sure the monster was gone. Peaking
through the cracks of his eyelids, he found himself in a burning astronomy tower, hidden out of
sight under a strange silky material. Crouched in a dark corner, he watched the room turn to ash
with a passive face. He was assured safety here, whatever had created this carnage still had its
mind intact.

Theo heard the flapping of wings, and he turned his head slightly, there was another creature,
flying into the burning building. All he could see were long, white wings.

“Phoenixes are rather funny, don't you think?”

The pair of wings shifted, revealing only a leathery arm-a tallon, he realized-that was coated with
fire. The creature was seemingly admiring the flames licking its skin. Unbothered by this, Theo
slowly turned his head back to the room, watching with detached emotions as a support beam fell,
only creating more damage to the destroyed room. The winged fire-beast didn't even flinch, sitting
down at the edge of the tower calmly, looking out and seemingly star-gazing.

“They burn themselves up only to keep existing afterwards.”

He stood, the silky fabric still wrapped around him tightly. Stepping over the fire-it didn't even
burn-he listened to the voice echoing in his skull. It was a woman's voice, soothing and kind, but
grating in a way that he couldn’t describe. The voice had an edge to it that revealed the woman's
deep amusement at his predicament, he hated her instantly.

“The ability to destroy without being destroyed is a much deadlier trait.”

He reached the quickly dilapidating stairs, slowly making his way down, leaving the angel behind
him.

“Demons and angels. Ha! You don't stand a chance, little prophet.”

He felt shadows surround him, and he closed his eyes, breathing in fresh air. Opening them once
more, he found himself in a dark corner-the sudden need to hide growing stronger every second.
He slunk further into the shadows, crouching down in an effort to make himself appear smaller or,
even better, just disappear. An amused laugh rang out in the silence, insane and angry, promising
harm and destruction. Feet pounded onto the stone, a person took labored breaths, wheezing and
panting, fighting for more time.

“Chaos. That’s what will greet you.”

A person sped past, barely a blur to his eyes. They rounded a corner, running from whoever was
making that insane cackle. They disappeared from his line of sight, and the laughter only grew
louder, grew closer.

A foot came into view, he held his breath. Dark fingers were wrapped around a deadly looking
dagger, he didn't dare glance up to see their face, already knowing. A sinking feeling of dread
filled his stomach, he didn't move-he forgot how to.

“Morals are easily altered at such an age, thirteen.”

The boy rounded the bend after his victim, sharp dagger scratching teasingly across the
stonework. Slow, steady...and then not. Quick as a viper he was off after the poor person, hair-
raising cackle changing in pitch till he could distinctly hear something else added to it-something
older, deadly and angry-the sound of two bodies falling to the floor and a brief struggle should
have drowned out the voice’s next words, but it rattled through his skull anyway.

“Fun-loving mischief breeds bloody bloody chaos.”

The sound of a knife stabbing into flesh and tearing skin forced something out of him, an admission
that he was horribly out of his element. He wasn’t the hunted, he wasn't hurt by the flames, the
knife to the back was not for him, but at any moment they could be. He could be turned against in
an instant and he would be powerless to stop it.

The deed seemingly done, the boy's laughter tapered off, the sound of something being dragged
filling its place. It made him shudder, the sound was slow and steady, promising the same for
anyone else who dared to step in the way of a god's will. He watched the young teen drag a body
slowly around the bend, blood trail as slow and sluggish as his movements.

“They never stood a chance for normality. Calamity loves them far too much.”

Arms grabbed a hold of him from behind and he was pulled backwards into darkness once more, a
kiss landed softly on his cheek.

“Revel in me, little prophet. Entertain me with your suffering.”

Green eyes lit up in the darkness, a pale green very unlike Harry’s. These eyes were cold, cold and
twisted and cruel and sadistic.

The eyes of Fate watched him with glee.

“Cry for me, you poor little thing.”

He was forced to comply, being suddenly ripped to pieces by unimaginable pain. His eyes were
burning, his back was splitting open, snakes were coiling up his arms and knotting around his soul,
he could feel his skull trying to split in half.

It hurt so much that he couldn't even be sure that he existed anymore.

He screamed, living and feeling and experiencing and reveling in the destructive power of Fate as
she forced him to bear witness to her handiwork.

“We were doomed from the start.”

Was that his voice? Was he the one speaking now? The pain was unimaginable, and the woman
was laughing uproariously as he continued to scream. He couldn’t comprehend who he was
anymore, the agony filing up every crevice of his soul, swallowing him up and forcing him down.
Was this the cruciatus curse? Was this the burning agony of hell?

“Take hold of this pain, little prophet, it will guide you to greatness.”

He continued to scream as another kiss was planted on his cheek, and the twisted green eyes faded
from view.

Theo jolted awake, arms shaking and headache worse than ever. Taking deep gulps of air he tried
to comprehend his dream, and found that he remembered most of it with incredible clarity. It was a
promise, a warning, and a macabre performance all rolled up into one. A sinking feeling of dread
pooled in his stomach, weighing him down. His entire body shook from the pain, he could still feel
his nerves on fire.

Taking another deep breath, he slowly moved to the side of the bed-his muscles were aching-and
slipped on his slippers, padding to the door as he shrugged on his bathrobe. Creaking open the
dorm room door with a wince, he moved slowly to the baths, intent on soaking his aching muscles
in hot water.

Opening the door, he quietly made his way to one of the bath rooms, stopping quite suddenly when
he caught sight of a figure standing near the mirrors. Whirling around, he took in the prone form of
one Harry Potter, his nose pressed up against the mirror, hands clutching the sides of the counter.
He was staring-unblinking-into the mirror, his eyes glowing faintly.

“Harry.”

No reply, the boy was lost to the world, too focused inward to hear him. Theo turned and walked to
one of the bath rooms, now ignoring the boy and his chilling stance-this happened far too often for
him to be bothered anymore.

Sinking into the scalding water ten minutes later, Theo finally managed to relax. The water sloshed
gently, and he slouched against the sides of the tub, trying to ignore the pain he was feeling or the
overwhelming sense of helplessness that was welling up inside of him.

He sank further into the water, feeling his eyes burn with pained tears. He let them fall, some
experiences were well deserving to be cried over, and this was most certainly one of those times.
Theo didn't leave the baths till just before breakfast ended, not wanting to confront his friends.

When he saw Harry sitting in charms, seemingly fine and with normal eyes, Theo forced himself to
ignore the memory of sharp claws and bloodied horns.

We were doomed from the start.

Harry was slouched into his seat during Defense Against the Dark Arts, pretending he wasn’t
plotting a man's imprisonment in one of the worst wizarding prisons in the world. His
‘inconsistencies’ list was a good twenty feet of parchment long, filled to the edges with obvious
time overlaps, plot holes, incorrect names, and just plain shitty writing (because those books were
horrid, let's be honest). He was finally finished with all of it though, and was planning to send it off
with an inconspicuous school owl, Hades being much too distinctive.

“-and that's how I managed to impact the vampire so strongly, he was unable to eat anything but
lettuce for the rest of his days-” Draco was mouthing along to the speech, snake earring swishing
around as his head bobbed along with his overblown (read obnoxiously frivolous) movements.
Harry smiled warmly, unable to stop himself from laughing lightly at the other boy's antics.

“Ah. Mr. Potter! Is something about my daring exploits funny to you?” Lockhart had something
out for him ever since the first dueling club meeting. Which was fine by him, Harry enjoyed
testing the boundaries of disrespect.

“Well sir, I just couldn't help but notice that you were fighting said vampire precisely a week after
you claimed you were in the alps fighting the yeti. I just found it funny how you managed to get
halfway across the world without any sort of portkey.”
Lockhart met his eyes viciously from across the room, Harry held his gaze. The entire room was
dead silent-even the gryffindors were watching the standoff with wide eyes.

“Are you insinuating, Mr. Potter, that I am somehow untruthful in my claims?” Lockhart’s voice
was icy, and the rest of the class shuffled, nervous. Harry had witnessed anger more terrifying than
Lockhart could comprehend, and his tone carried more promise of violence than the man could
ever hope to match.

“What I am insinuating, professor, is that you tell an awful lot, but never show. Physical proof is
far more important than ink on parchment.”

Lockharts eyes narrowed further, “detention, Mr. Potter.”

Perfect.

The smile on Harry's face was all teeth, “Of course, Professor.”

“What a badass!” Tracy was dancing around him on their way out of the classroom, celebrating his
domination in the battle of wills they all bore witness to.

Blaise leaned over to Harry, “Badass?”

“Muggle term meaning ballsy but in a cool way.”

“Ah.”

“The way you two just glared at each other-oh merlin I would have shit my pants!” She grabbed
him by the hands, twirling around and celebrating. The other boys laughed along, also finding the
interaction incredibly gratifying.

“What are you going to do to him during your detention?” Theo spoke up from the back of the
pack, slipping his book into the satchel slung over his shoulder.

“Interrogate ‘im, probably.”

Theo nodded, eyes sloped downward, thinking. “Be careful, if he really is using memory charms
all willy-nilly, he could be quite dangerous.” Harry wasn't all that worried about it, if he did
manage it get obliviated, Tom could just tell him what happened. Lockhart was certainly very
proficient in memory charms yes, but he couldn’t obviate the both of them.

“I have a plan, don't worry.”

He wasn't even sure he could be obliviated, considering that part of being Master of Death was that
he couldn't be tricked, as Death had told him so long ago. He wasn't sure if that rule only applied to
compulsions and potions and such though, so there was still a certain amount of risk involved in
this plan.

Branching off from the group, Harry made his way to the owlery, wanting to send off his findings
to the Daily Prophet so that hopefully they'll write a story about it in the next week or so. Stepping
into the noisy, smelly room, Harry held up his arm for Hades. The bird landed quietly onto his
outstretched forearm, and squawked angrily at him. Petting his feathers gently, Harry held out a
letter to the Dursleys, knowing that Hades would be miffed if he knew he wasn't being used for all
of Harry's mail. As the black owl flew off, Harry called down the school owl he had been using the
year prior, and she landed gently onto his outstretched arm, much more polite and quiet than the
 black owl.

“Take this to Daily Prophet headquarters,” he held out the thick scroll, “and make sure they read
it.”

She flew off, and he watched her go with a small smile, Draco would be paying up sooner than
expected, he was sure.

It was after dinner when Theo decided to approach Harry, and ask to be let into the library. The
other boy readily agreed, used to Theo’s incessant reading. The walk to the third floor girls loo was
a quiet one, with neither boy talking. Once in the chamber, Theo followed Jörmungandr quietly,
making an effort to memorize the way through the tunnels, and finding with slight destain that the
blasted things seemed to shift around each day.

Thanking the snake, even though he couldn’t understand him, Theo walked quietly into the library,
trying to come to terms with his dream. It had been a horrifying experience, watching his friends
fall from grace, but it was a necessary wake up call for him.

Coming up upon the elemental magic shelf, he resolved to meet them in the middle somehow. At
the moment, he was just an average second year student with average talents, and an inner eye that
hadn’t even fully opened yet. He was the weakest link, and if Theo knew anything, it was that he
would be the first to be cut off in the event of things getting tough. He resolved to be of some use
to the group, and pulled out one of the books from the shelf. After rereading the passage on
meditation of the mind, he sat down right there in front of the shelf, intent on starting right away.
Settling, he fell into a deep meditation quickly, forcing himself to delve into the deep recesses of
his mind and attempt to understand himself in his entirety. Good and bad, light and dark... angel
and demon.

You were doomed from the start, Theodore.

Chapter End Notes

"For the plot!" I yell, as I torture another one of my readers favorite characters.
Also! I started my english final literally five minutes after I finished this chapter,
which I had to type an entire essay for, so that was fun.
 Shackles of Memories Bind us
Chapter Summary

Theo tries to fight memories of cold green eyes and a woman singing as he grapples to
understand himself.
Harry goes to detention, because even something as normal as that can be twisted into
chaos.

Chapter Notes

WARNING: this chapter deals with traumatic experiences, PTSD, and heavy topics
that may trigger some people. Please read with caution.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You are making this far more difficult than it has to be.”

Tom was sitting across from… Tom. The Gaunt ring Tom that is. The man was just barely out of
Hogwarts, and firm in his authority over those he deemed ‘lesser men’. Tom was sorted under that
category, apparently, as the ring thought that a defeated dark lord is far more pathetic than an up
and coming dark lord.

“I am firm in my decisions, you pathetic little welt.”

Tom rolled his eyes, was he really this pretentious as a young man? No wonder Dumbledore hated
him.

“I am the larger soul piece and therefor-”

“You are a pathetic excuse for the soul of the greatest dark lord to ever exist-”

“Would you get your head out of your ass for five bloody minutes-”

“How dare-”

“Oh forget it, you're not worth the trouble.”

Tom threw his hands up in exasperation. Standing firmly, he walked to the door and returned to his
home, mentally putting the ring in the ‘too insufferable to deal with’ pile with the rest of the
horcruxes. Groaning, he settled into a plush couch, rubbing his temples tiredly. It was one thing to
plan about combining with the other soul shards, and another thing entirely to actually do it.

What’s with you?

Tom looked up to the ceiling, contemplating his son's words. He was in a bit of a funk, had been
since Harry decided to fuck around and agitate a highly skilled obliviator. It didn't help matters that
the boy’s detention was set for that day, and he was more than prepared to strongarm control over
Harry’s body just to make sure he didn’t go and get himself killed… or worse.

I'm constantly agitated by your stupidity is all.

Prat.

Leech.

Tom sighed, smiling softly. Harry had come into his mindscape a few times after their argument
earlier in the year, and he had noticed the boy trying rather awkwardly to acknowledge their odd
familial bond. Neither of them were very good with ‘family’ dynamics, especially considering their
particular situation, but it was working as well as one could hope.

Tom frowned, something was deeply troubling him about his son's mindscape however. A few
months prior it had started snowing, and hadn't let up once. This was a very strange occurrence
considering that this was his mind, and shouldn't really have weather . Tom could brush that all
aside sure, but he couldn't ignore the… thing in the forbidden forest. He had taken to going outside
at least once a day, watching something big prowl around at the edge. He couldn't get a good look
at it, as the monster stuck to the shadows, but he could tell it was large… and dangerous. He was
assured that he was safe however, as the thin sheen of gold wrapped around the entire perimeter
was holding strong. The mental protection to keep Harry's creature inheritance at bay was doing its
job for now, but it was troubling to be able to see the beast waiting for it to weaken enough to
break through.

“Death?” he called, the god never showed for him, but it never hurt to try.

Silence.

Worth a shot.

Harry made his way to the Defense classroom, mentally preparing for his detention with Lockhart.
Sure, the man was a fool, but that didn't mean he wasn't a fully grown adult wizard with a fully
formed core. Any child trying to best him would have to deal with their unpredictable core and a
severely limited spell repertoire. Harry had to worry considerably more about the former than the
latter.

Walking into the Defense classroom, Harry immediately spotted Lockhart sitting at the desk. The
man had no papers surrounding him, and Harry immediately ruled out fain mail as his punishment
for the day.

“Mr. Potter, please take a seat.” The man motioned to a chair in front of the desk, Harry felt that
this was Lockhart's shoddy attempt at intimidation. He took the seat silently, staring straight ahead
with an unreadable expression.

Let the games begin.

Theo was down in the Library again, meditating in front of the elemental magic bookshelf. He had
made a considerable effort ever since his dream the week prior to meditate as much as possible,
and had been making strides to delve deeper into his mindscape. He felt no need to build up
occlumency, considering how few legemens there were in the world, it sounded counterproductive
to him.

Delving deeper into his unorganized mind, he brushed past books of knowledge and scrolls of
memories, floating along to the subconscious. He had been trying to breach the barrier between
conscious and subconscious for the past week, but was having very little luck.

Coming upon the barrier suddenly, he studied it thoughtfully. Appearing as some sort of mist, the
barrier always spat him out into his conscious mind the second he went through. Steeling himself
he pressed his hands slowly into the mist, testing the boundaries of his own ability. Finding that he
couldn’t feel the mists distinct weight on the other side, he surmised that he might be able to stick
his head through while keeping the rest of him on the conscious side.

Floating closer, he shut his eyes tightly and dipped his head, slowly passing a portion of his upper
body through the mist.

Opening his eyes slowly he only had enough time to make out inky black hands before he was
yanked the rest of the way through into darkness.

Lockhart was pacing around his chair, acting all the while like he was some sort of great scholar, “-
I have no illusions that you are in any way, shape, or form, a fool-but your constant disregard for
my authority in this matter is rather concerning, Mr. Potter.” The bastard had been going on like
this for thirty minutes, Harry was tempted to just obliviate himself of the memory and be on his
merry way.

“No no, you are most certainly not a fool, but certain actions must be taken into account.” Honestly
he wasn't even saying anything of substance, just the same basic concept over and over in different
ways. Harry surmised that he must be dead and living out his worst nightmare in hell, as there was
no conceivable way for this to be a legal punishment to employ onto a minor.

“-this is why I have taken it upon myself to understand your thought processes, Mr. Potter, so that I
can understand your particular breed of foolhardy.”

Kill me Tom, please.

That seems awfully irresponsible of me.

“Therefore, I ask with the most polite sincerity possible that you may confide in me why your
particular behavior appears to be directed at the notion that I am some sort-some sort of liar!”

“With all due respect professor, using large words does not make you any smarter, and I consider
you a criminal, not a liar.”

Lockhart turned pink, appearing all the while like some sort of spoilt brat who wasn't getting his
way. “You insult me in such a manner? Mr. Potter, how exactly could I possibly be considered a
liar?”

Harry pulled a certain stack of parchment from his robe (he had several copies), taking the first off
the stack and clearing his throat with a cough, “in Year of the Yeti you spend precisely one year in
the alps, detailing your journey through the mountain range with the accuracy of someone who has
lived in the region, but use obvious misspellings of common words.. In Voyages with Vampires,
you illustrated how you had been hiking through the Romanian wilderness for several months,
despite having supposedly killed the yeti a week prior.”

Lockhart turned red, “Quite you-”

Harry continued, “In Wandering with Werewolves you fend them off with an amulet passed down
your family for generations, of which you have displayed in your personal museum. The amulet is
Scandinavian in origin, despite your family being of the British Isles for its entire history.”

“Don't you say another word-”

Harry flipped the page, “In Gadding with Ghouls, you detailed how you trapped the last ghoul with
a tea strainer, however ghouls are humanoid and therefore, human-sized. This isn't a discrepancy
so much as an absurd notion of-”

Lockhart leapt to his feet with rage, pointing his wand right at Harry's chest and bellowing
“Obliviate!” Harry made movement to dodge, but was caught off guard as the spell glanced
harmlessly off him, ricocheting right back to Lockhart, who threw himself to the side in a
remarkable display of dodging skill. The charm hit the back wall harmelesly.

Thinking fast, Harry also rocketed out of his seat and dislodged his wand from its holster.
Throwing a stunner at the man, who was halfway off the floor, he watched with wide eyes as
Lockhart slumped forward once more, now unconscious. The entire altercation lasted barely five
seconds, but Harry was still shaken.

He took a moment to catch his breath, and gather his jumbled thoughts into a discernible mess.
Tom’s voice was also rattling through his skull, worried yelling making things all the more
difficult.

I’m fine.

Oh you're fine?? An attack on your person with the intent of permanent amnesia and you're just
bloody peachy?!

Yes, now shut up, I think I know what this is all about.

Tom quieted, still seeming very stressed. Harry reached into his shirt, feeling around for the chain
and pulling out the emerald stone he had received from Death for Christmas. Studying it, he noted
that it was pulsing green light faintly, and the gold speckles inside seemed to be glowing with
power.

“Death.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, Harry craned his neck to look up at the god with a
questioning look. The ponce only raised an eyebrow.

Sighing, exasperated, Harry held up the emerald with a pointed look. Athimus let out a quiet ‘ah’,
and led the boy over to the chair to sit.

“It is something of my own creation that I designed for you. A delicate but unyielding crystal was
imbued with my magic, much like your owl was.” That explained Hades’ odd eyes, and the green
and gold coloring of the gem. “My magic not only ties an object or thing to you, but also alters its
own magic to benefit you. This makes your owl fiercely loyal and very hard to kill by magical
means, since that's how you lost your last one.” Harry was nodding along, still coming down from
the adrenalin high. “The gem is reflective, so my magic altered that ability and made it possible for
the stone to reflect spells back to the caster.”

Tom was singing Death’s praises by the end of the speech, appearing very happy that Harry would
have a buffer between his occasional need to agitate people and said people’s wands. Harry
however, was already coming up with an excuse to give the necklace to Draco, not even
considering that he might need it more.
“Why didn't you tell me this when you gave me the bloody thing?”

Death shrugged.

Grasping desperately at the arms that held him, Theo thrashed in his bonds, trying desperately to
escape. He was surrounded by inky darkness, the thin skeletal hands that held him leaking out of
the surrounding nothingness as if it was one big mass. Tears escaped his eyes as he was forced to
listen to the voices whispering angrily in his ears.

“Weak link.”

“Coward.”

“Useless little boy.”

“Good for nothing.”

The voices leaked into his mind, flooding his thoughts and forcing him to comprehend his own
self-hatred. More hands grasped him, and he was pulled further in.

“Tag along.”

“Worthless.”

“Scared little orphan.”

“Pathetic.”

Eyes appeared out of the dark. Cold, twisted green eyes that had haunted him at all hours of the
day. Those eyes were littered around his conscious mind as well, but they were so much more
malicious here. He whimpered pitifully, trying to twist away from them.

“Demons and angels. Ha! You don't stand a chance, little prophet.”

He was worthless. Pathetic. Theo slumped in the arms that held him, the voice growing louder and
the eyes closed in on him.

“Revel in me, little prophet. Entertain me with your suffering.”

The arms turned to claws, tearing at his skin and shoving deep into chest, grasping at his heart and
ripping deep gashes in the tissue.

“Cry for me, you poor little thing.”

Worthless. Pathetic. Weak Link. Coward.

“Take hold of this pain, little prophet, it will guide you to greatness.”

Theo collapsed.

In the waking world, Jörmungandr watched with worry as Theo and the surrounding stone
shuttered. It was as if a concentrated earthquake was shaking the foundation of a three foot radius
around the boy. The shelf across from him was getting the brunt of it, books only holding on due to
the protection runes in place.
A sudden tremor caused a deep crack under the boy, and Jörmungandr rushed to drag him away
before the crack turned into a hole. He was too late however, and the stone severed, dropping the
boy down into a cavern of his own creation.

The arms were dragging him down into the depths of his mind, forcing him further and further as
the inky blackness got darker and darker. Tearing... severing… cutting away at him.

He was falling

deeper

and deeper

into darkness.

Self loathing clouded his mind, horrible memories of cruel green eyes and manic laughter. Claws
brushing across carpet, talons lit aflame, dagger scratching across stone.

Ripping flesh, burning towers, hair-raising cackles... unimaginable pain.

“Worthless.”

“Pathetic.”

“Weak link.”

“Tag Along.”

You were doomed from the start, Theodore.

Jörmungandr had just barely managed to catch the boy before he plummeted into the earth. He had
been forced to grip the boy’s leg with his front teeth, and was worried that his venom would leak
from his fangs and into the small incision wounds. Pulling Theo gently to the surface, the snake
was relieved to note that the boy was clean from any venom. Curling under and around the prone
body, he positioned himself so that in another cavern formed, the boy would not fall a second time.

“~I will protect you, blessed seer, and await your return to the waking world.~”

Harry made his way to the Slytherin commons, making a mental note to bring Theo a lunch, as the
boy was probably neck deep in an ancient tome currently.

Harry was a bit annoyed that Lockhart had tried to obliviate him, and as revenge obliviated the
man of the entire interaction, and the knowledge that Harry was supposed to have detention.

Entering the commons, Harry made his way to Gemma Farley, deciding that he might as well get
one issue out of the way since the Lockhart business had been such a bust.

He found her having a rather promiscuous snogging secession with Jacob Roiser, and coughed
lightly to make his presence known. Not meeting her eyes, he respectfully requested her counsel
for a matter of personal importance. She had almost immediately shot up from the plush couch,
and politely shepherded him to a secluded part of the commons, apparently not wanting to be
heard.
“What can I do for you, my Prince?” The upper years always used that title instead of Heir Potter or
just Potter, except for Flint, who insisted on disrespecting him as often as possible.

“I hope you don't mind, but I have been told that you’re interested in forming an alliance, I was
wondering if you could do something for me?” Her eyes lit up, family alliances always started with
the beneficiary doing a favor of sort for the benefactor. Harry wasn't one for verbal gymnastics,
and was always rather blunt, so this was basically him not-so-subtly giving her an in.

“Of course! What do you need?”

He considered his wording before giving an answer, “my tutor has been experimenting with
willingly given unicorn hair, and I thought it prudent to give him a few locks from the unicorns in
the forest, but they dont like boys.”

She practically jumped at him, it was an easy task for her all things considered, and if it gave her
the option to form a family alliance? Well, she wasn't a slytherin for nothing.

“I would be happy to help you with this, when do you need the hair?” She was practically bouncing
on her toes, he didn't blame her, the Farley’s weren't known for… well for anything really, and an
alliance with the boy-who-lived would give them so much status it was a little ridiculous.

“Anytime in the next month or so I’d say.”

“Thank you so much, I'll be sure to get that for you right away.”

Theo was tapering on the edge of oblivion, and Jörmungandr was growing worried for the boy.
Wrapping tighter around him, the snake contemplated what he could possibly do to help him return
to a safe headspace. In Theo’s mind, he was hanging dangerously off the edge of his mindscape,
gripping onto the edge of a dark cliff, slowly slipping. His surroundings were pitch black, quiet and
deserted. The voices and eyes and ripping claws had left him. Left him to cling to his will with the
last bit of desperation and spite that he could manage to keep with him after the siege.

He could distantly comprehend that the open air below him was alive, brushing comfortingly along
his feet, tempting him to let go and sink into the depths of nothingness. His mother's singing cut
through the whispers, doing nothing but tempting him further. He felt his fingers slipping further,
almost wanting to fall off and into the waiting arms of his mother.

There was a hissing from above him though, cutting and menacing… but familiar. He didn't like
the sound of this hissing, preferring the comforting whispers and gentle singing, but something told
him that the hisses were important, that he should follow them.

Jörmungandr was hissing softly into the young boy’s ear.

“~Do not let the darkness tempt you, blessed seer. You must hold fast to yourself, you must!~”

Theo listened to the hissing, contemplative. It sounded very familiar, and it started to wake him
from his stupor. Sighing, he gripped a little harder to the cliffside, pulling himself up just a little
ways further.

“~If you lose now, there will be no hope for the others, you are the unyielding mountain blessed
seer. Do not let them move you.~”

He had managed to pull himself halfway up the cliff, and was resting there, contemplating how
close he had come to slipping off. Now that he could think clearer, he understood what this all
 was.

His subconscious was littered with everything that he shoved down, all the realities of his life and
how they affected him. Everything was truthful here, truthful to how he was. Truthful to how he
perceived himself and how he viewed his own experiences.

Theo didn't like what he saw.

It was true that he was the weakest link, that his friends were skyrocketing to greatness while he
floundered. It was true that he was a scared little orphan chasing after his mother's memory, but
that did nothing for him. These facts did nothing to help him. The knowledge of what he was only
served to prove that he couldn't continue that way any longer if he wanted to survive.

Theo dragged himself onto the edge, and stretched himself out onto the solid ground, ignoring the
voices as they grew louder, as the singing grew sweeter. Ignored his mother's voice begging for
mercy, ignored the memory of her glassy eyes and blood on the carpet, his father being dragged
away by Aurors. He pulled himself up and walked blindly through the shadows, listening to the
hissing as it guided him back to consciousness.

The shadows formed thick shackles on his limbs as he re-entered his conscious mind, forever
tethering him to the darkness.

He woke up.

Chapter End Notes

I don't want to call myself an expert in mental illnesses, because I most certainly am
NOT, and if I get things wrong I will alter the story to be more accurate.
I also want to note that what Theo is dealing with in this chapter are heavily repressed
emotions and trauma, and this isn't an instant fix to what he is going through, it is an
admittance that he is going through something, and is now making an effort to
understand how those things affected him. Its a panic attack, not a instant cure all.
 Sleep Deprivation, Voices, and Glitter
Chapter Summary

Thasin respectfully removes herself from the castle, and Tracy Davis returns with a
vengeance as Lockhart's Valentines Day fiasco renders her breakfast a glittery mess.
Blaise is considering taking a nap, but only at the insistence of his sleep-deprivation
induced hallucination.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“~You know Jörmungandr, I think you’ve scared my snake away. ~”

Harry had come down to get Theo that afternoon, and upon seeing the boy lying across the
basilisk, appearing extremely exhausted and Jörmungandr extremely fretful, he quickly shepherded
the other boy off to his dorm for a nap. After which he settled down to work on his own side-
project, that being his necromancy books.

“~Whatever do you mean, intriguing one?~”

“~I haven't seen her since I first came down here.~”

He had turned to the snake and requested that the next time Theo came down, Jörmungandr would
keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t study himself into an early grave. This conversation
then developed further till the topic you are hearing now.

“~Hm. Well it isn't my fault your companion is a coward.~”

Harry rolled his eyes, Thasin was a very independent snake, all things considered. So if she was
scared off for months on end by Jörmungandr, then that was her problem-but it annoyed him that
she had galavant off and didn't even tell him where she was going.

“~I suppose you have a good point.~”

Harry had been studying his ancestors' tomes, trying to find any sort of advantage he could have
over Dumbledore. So far he had come to the conclusion that if he wished, it would be possible to
command an army of intelligent inferni if he put enough magic into it-which was bloody
incredible, but would probably drain the fuck out of his reserves if he tried it out at twelve. There
was also talk about his ‘powers awakening to their full potential’ if he attempted to raise the dead
that were buried in a potter's field, whatever that was. He made a note to research that tidbit further,
seeing potential in getting more powerful no matter what the situation called for.

“~What was Theo's deal today? I've never seen him that exhausted before.~” Harry was concerned
for his friend, after coming down to the library, he had found Theo in a state, curled up on
Jörmungandr and seemingly trying to disappear into the large snakes scales. It worried him, as
Theo had been working himself to the bone for months, and the last week especially he had been
pale, jumping at shadows. Harry also noticed that he was refusing to make eye contact with him,
which was odd, and worried Harry slightly about his creature inheritance somehow affecting his
friend. Jörmungandr wasn't betraying specifics about the day though, and Harry couldn't get
anything more than an assurance that everything was fine, and a sudden change in subject.

“~He was merely tired. Tell me about this cowardly snake companion of yours?~”

Harry admitted defeat, “~Well she's a sassy little shit, and obnoxiously colorful with both her
scales and her language.~”

“~She sounds remarkably like you, I will endeavor to find her so that we may discuss your various
exploits.~” Polite speak for ‘I’ll hunt her down to get some juicy gossip’.

“~If you do manage to find her I would greatly appreciate it if you forced her back to the castle.~”

Harry put Theo’s worrying behavior out of his mind, focusing instead on his necromancy studies
and the living legend in front of him.

I'm sure he’s just overworked again.

Days turned to weeks, and Harry observed with a concerned gaze as Blaise lost more and more
sleep, bloodshot eyes and naps during classes became commonplace for the boy. Theo also
appeared a wreck, and was getting worse every day. Harry had watched the two decline sharply
through January, and now that it was firmly into February, he felt that it was prudent to figure out
what was wrong with the both of them.

With Theo he could figure it out rather quickly, he was holled up in the library with Jörmungandr
more and more often, and Harry no longer needed to open the door for him-the boy having
memorized the parseltongue necessary, now able to do a passable imitation. Harry figured that he
was probably still working on his elemental magic, or some other sort of ancient magic that caught
his fancy. All he could really do for Theo was make sure he had that bracelet that Blaise gifted him
on, and ask Jörmungandr politely to make sure he was fed.

Blaise was a different story however. The boy was practically a recluse now, holling up in the
dorm with parchment and quill, constantly practicing the runework for his pledge to the point of
obsessiveness. He was far more self-destructive than Theo was, and physically fought being
interrupted for any reason. Harry had taken to dragging him out of his seat, and sitting on his chest
as Draco forced high calorie foods down his throat. It wasn't an instant fix, and Harry couldn't wait
for the day he was over and done with the stupid pledges, but for now it was keeping the idiot alive
over the weekends.

Classes were another thing. Harry could probably sleep through the entire semester and still
manage first in rank, but that was just because he had already been through school once AND had
been taught by Tom for the majority of his adolescence, so he was hardly a fair comparison to a
normal twelve year old. Theo was still managing fairly well in classes, though he seemed
withdrawn and less inclined to do practical work. Blaise though, was completely ignoring classes,
skipping half of them and not paying attention to the rest. Considering that little Victoria White had
come up to Harry a few times and asked if Blaise was done with his side project, Harry could only
conclude that he was completely focused on this pledge, putting aside everything else till it was
done.

It made some sense, there were three pledges after all, and Blaise would have to do all of them in
the tight window between his birthday on the 21st of April and the 1st of september when school
was back in session. That was six months to do three pledges, each of which required intense
magical power, perfected runework, and a considerable amount of recovery time. He would
probably be doing them almost back to back, with a month of recovery time in between.

Harry leaned back in his desk chair, glancing at the back of the boy in question. Blaise would be an
even bigger wreck after his birthday, and he needed someone to take on the grunt work. Harry and
Draco had been doing his homework for him, and while his participation and practical work was
hot garbage at the moment-Blaise was never truly on the trend to being a good student-the written
work the two were doing for him was enough to keep his grades afloat.

“Oi, Draco, fancy a walk?” He wanted to talk about his christmas present with the blonde.

Nodding, Draco got off his bed and quickly grabbed his boots, Harry doing the same. It was nearly
ten minutes later when they stepped out into the unfortunately warming weather, Draco already
chattering away.

“-Blaise is insufferable honestly, I couldn't count on one hand the amount of times the bastard has
pranked me this month, mostly because he hasn't! Can you believe that? Not once in the past four
weeks has he pranked me a single bloody time, it's as if your talk with him scared the idea right out
of his mind-”

“Draco, I actually wanted to thank you for my Christmas present, since I haven't had the chance to
do so yet.” The blonde stopped speaking, eyes widening slightly, before quickly adapting to the
new topic.

“Oh! Yes, it was more of a gift from my mother really, she had somehow learned that your original
bracelet went missing after your parents died, and thought you would appreciate having a new
one.”

“It was very kind of her, please tell her I say thank you. You do realize though, that this means
you'll have to get me two birthday presents on my thirteenth to even it out.”

“Oh sod off.”

Draco shoved him, and Harry sent of a stinging hex in retaliation, the both of them laughing all the
while.

It was a custom in wizarding culture to have a bracelet created with your child's birthstone
embedded into strong leather. It was meant to be enchanted by one of the parents with various
protection carms and such, and the child would wear it to their magical majority at seventeen.
When Harry had learned that not only were they a thing, but his had gone missing after the attack
on Godric's Hollow, he had been irate, knowing who had probably taken it from him. He had no
idea how Narcissa Malfoy had learned about it, but Harry was immensely thankful that she had
gotten him another one. It was always wrapped securely around his left wrist now, Tom having
embedded it with an absurd amount of protection magics.

The rest of the walk they talked about inconsequential things, too wrapped up in the conversion to
contemplate that the next day was Valentine's day. Harry was enjoying himself so much that he
forgot about Lockhart and what would be out in full force the next morning.

Harry remembered now.

Standing in the entryway to the Great Hall, he observed the very pink decor with a feeling of
detached acceptance as Draco raved about ‘proper Saint Valentine's Day practices’ next to him. He
could distantly hear Tracy loudly complaining about glitter in her hair, Harry himself had copious
amounts of it weighing down his untamable mane already, and Theo was holding his satchel full of
books to his chest protectively. Blaise hadn't even shown up to breakfast.

He had to take a moment to observe the decorations, they were more obnoxious than he
remembered. There was some sort of enchantment that made the ceiling rain pink glitter, and every
available surface was covered with love notes and even more glitter. Harry wrinkled his nose in
disgust.

“This is ridiculous, I can't believe the nerve of that man.” Harry sat down next to the ranting Tracy
quietly, the also ranting Draco not far behind him. Theo, it seemed, had dubbed the day pointless
and had gone back to the dorm.

“Valentine's day is supposed to be a day of affection for those you are close to and this man has
turned it into some… some sort of joke!” Harry could agree that this was a joke, as he watched his
eggs, which were acclimating glitter at an astounding rate.

Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump

Harry felt a sudden rush of adrenalin, if Lockhart didn't get shipped off to Azkaban, he would kill
the bastard himself. He cracked his neck, slowly turning to the head table with a look of
incomprehensible hunger. Chatter blended into the background as he focused in on the pink robed
menace himself. His eyes started to warm, fingers slowly scratching at the table.

Wouldn't it be easier to just kill him now and be done with it?

He felt something prowling around inside his mind, scratching at the walls keeping it at bay.

Harry!

He snapped out of it, quickly turning back to his glittery breakfast, much more tense than before.

What the hell was that?

I don't know but you better not let it happen again, that thing behind the wall was trying to claw its
way through! Control yourself.

Harry took a deep breath to settle his mind, he was still human, he was Harry, everything was fine.
Tom was still safe inside his mindscape, the protections were still in place and not going anywhere
for a few months left. Everything was fine.

“I'm going to write a formal complaint to the board of governors to get that man’s teaching license
revoked!” Tracy was still off on a tangent, Harry focused back in on her instead of the adrenalin
that was still making his ears buzz.

“I honestly doubt he even has one.” Greengrass seemed just as annoyed as Tracy, but was hiding it
much better. Poking at his glittery eggs with disgust, Harry turned to look around for something
that wasn't covered in sparkles. Finding nothing, he admitted defeat and decided to stop by the
kitchens for lunch and dinner, actually wanting to eat that day.

In all honesty, Harry was rather impressed with Lockhart. Despite being a narcissistic coward, he
had actually been quite clever while in school, and got excellent NEWTs in charms and care of
magical creatures, though he was rather average on most practical exams. That all landed him in an
equally average white-colar job, but he had managed to skyrocket his fame by being the kind of
cunning that would make any slytherin impressed.

He was still a bloody ponce though, and a criminal, so Harry hardly respected the man, despite his
resourcefulness.

The rest of breakfast had Harry waiting for the other shoe to drop with tense shoulders.

He knew that Lockhart would employ a bunch of dwarves to deliver valentines day messages
during classes, he watched them march up the isles during breakfast after all. He also knew that
last time Ginny Weasley sent him one, and he had been properly humiliated by the entire
experience. What he didn't know was if he would manage to not kill the poor dwarf if the same
thing happened this time.

He got his answer soon enough.

After Theo re-joined them in herbology, the ‘cupids’ quickly started streaming in, one of them
belining straight to Greengrass.

Tracy is an absolute angel.

The girl was far more stubborn than the dwarves could ever hope to match, and the second that one
came anywhere near their group in any class, she would immediately and adamantly refuse to let
them go any further. Be it by threatening physical harm, actual physical harm (when she could get
away with it), or just jinxing them black and blue, the girl employed all methods in an effort to
keep them off of her brood. Draco joined in at some point, needing an outlet for his ritus fury, and
Harry found great amusement in watching the two of them nearly drop-kick a small horde of the
poor sods away in an effort to be rid of all the sappy messages. Word had gotten around quickly
after that, and they were left alone the rest of the day.

Blaise was hearing a voice.

There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with hearing voices, as humans did have ears to hear
noise and mouths that made noises, but the fact that there was no one around and the voice was
from his head, Blaise could reasonably infer that he was likely going insane.

He was writing runes, practicing a smaller part of the larger rune scheme he would make on his
birthday for the body-centric pledge. Rubbing his eyes to clear away the tiredness, Blaise pressed
on, ignoring the fact that it was morning and he stayed up the entire night.

That rune is wrong, and you need to be looser in your strokes. Much too stiff.

He threw down the quill and rubbed his eyes harder, of all the things to be hearing, he's been
saddled with rune critiques?

Well at least I'm helpful, the others would never even consider speaking to one of you worshipers
before the final pledge. They're awfully stuffy, you know.

He ignored the voice, Blaise hadn't even considered speaking back to it yet, feeling that that would
be crossing the line between probably crazy and absolutely batshit.

Maybe I need to get more sleep.

I agree! You couldn’t even pledge yourself to a horse in this kind of state. In fact, I demand that
you sleep at once.

He thumped his head down onto the desk in frustration, wishing that the voice would stop saying
weird things that didn't make sense. Staring blankly at the blurry rune work as his eyes crossed,
 Blaise felt the urge to close his eyes and sleep more and more impossible to resist. Maybe the voice
had a point, he was obviously going insane and needed more sleep. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn’t
know the necessary runes, it was just that he could barely keep his eyes open at this point and
maybe he should just sleep a little bit. Only half an hour at the most, and then he’ll be right back to
it.

He was asleep before his eyes fully shut, relaxing fully into the chair.

Thasin slithered through thick foliage, hunting for her new favorite snack: fairies. When she had
learned that there was a fifty foot long king of snakes in the castle, she took it upon herself to
respectively remove her body from the king's vicinity, and now stayed primarily in the forest that
Harry didn't like very much. She had forgotten what he had called it, the Illegal Forest, perhaps? It
hardly mattered in the end, the illegal forest had a much wider variety of tasty things to munch on,
and she was growing at a rapid rate because of it! Not only that, but she felt that something about
her was changing, as she no longer got sleepy in cold weather, now hunting at all times of the year
with ease. The little fairies were her favorite, as the strange smell in the air that Harry had called
‘magic’ was very concentrated in those little fairies, and they made her feel all sorts of funny
things.

She was currently making her way slowly through the underbrush, having found that there was a
tiny little grouping of the small humanoids. Catching sight of them, she slowed down, careful to
not alert them to her being there. Lunging forward, fangs dripping venom that was just lethal
enough to kill the creatures, she snagged one right out of the air, the others fleeing quickly from the
scene. Thasin swallowed the now very dead fairy easily and quickly moved back into the brush,
stalking the rest of the creatures with careful eyes.

She would return to Harry once the warm weather came again, but for now she would hunt to her
heart's content.

Chapter End Notes

This is more of a break from the chaotic plot then it is actual... plot, though I consider
Theo and Blaise's separate descents into insanity especially important to future plot
points, but everything else is mostly for the laughs and minor little things. Thasin
though, is always important, always.
 Tread Carefully
Chapter Summary

The end of the year looms ever nearer, and with it: summer. Harry has far too much to
do and not enough time to do it all.

Chapter Notes

Warning: brief mentions of past graphic scenes (it's literally like three sentences,
should be fine by ya know).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry hated this stupid fucking forest.

Weaving around the trees and dodging low hanging branches, he considered all his reasons for
coming into the forest, (not for the first time) and sadly found them worth the potentially fatal trip.
The bow of Skaði was an absolute beauty, but he had no bloody clue how to use it. Even the
beginners guide to archery book that Theo had gotten him for Christmas was only a step up from
useless, the bow had some sort of magical properties that made using it the normal way seemingly
impossible. Either that or he had horrid aim, it was a toss up at this point.

Grunting, Harry crouched down to crawl under a fallen tree that was blocking his path, wishing
that he had the smarts to sneak out with a torch or something, his lumos wasn't much of a long
distance light, and was rather useless in this scenario.

“So you've come to receive our teachings at last, son of darkness.”

Harry jolted upwards and smacked the back of his head on the fallen tree, cursing profusly. The
currently unidentified voice waited patiently for him to stumble out from under it, now dazed and
even more cross than he was before. Dusting himself off, Harry looked upwards with an
exasperated look, recognizing Firenze for his distinctive white hair.

“I suppose I am yes,” he sighed, already regretting his decisions quite heavily.

“And you will be removing the fae-eating snake as well, yes?”

What?

“Pardon?”

Firenze looked troubled, “I suppose she is not your familiar then?”

Harry was increasingly confused with this conversation, “I don't have a familiar, at least I don't
recall having one.”

The centaur seemed to accept this, and continued with conversation, “the stars spoke of you
eventually seeking our teachings, I had hoped you would have come sooner, but it was not meant to
be.”

Harry's eye twitched, it wasn't his fault he was going through two separate puberties at the same
bloody time. “I was a tad busy, I'm afraid.”

This was also accepted with a nod, and the boy found himself missing Bane and his bluntness just a
tad-Firenze was spacy as all hell, and a terrible conversationalist.

“Well, shall we be off then?” Harry nodded, following after the centaur as he guided him through
the trees, occasionally pointing out fairy colonies that had been massacred by the supposed ‘fae-
eating snake’, Harry had never heard of something so ridiculous before, and he had a
megalomaniac father figure that lived in his head, so he knew ridiculous.

They came upon a clearing full of other centaurs, all of which seemed to glance at him with
interest. He soon realized that they were actually glancing at the bow slung over his shoulder.

“Ah, son of darkness, so good to see you in fine health.” Harry smiled a little, nodding at Bane.

“Not going to tie me to another tree tonight, are you?”

The centaur laughed uproariously at that, “it centinally depends on what I can surmise of your
bowmanship.”

Harry winced, that was not reassuring.

“Well I suppose you would like a closer look at it then?” Harry questioned, taking the bow of
Skaði off his shoulder and holding it out to Bane, who practically jumped away from it, wincing.

“I'm afraid not, son of darkness, that bow is not for hands of warmth.”

“I have a name you know.”

He was ignored in favor of the mythical bow, and the centaurs crowding around him, looking at
(but not touching) the white wood with thinly veiled awe and jealousy. Eventually, after much
questioning and an incredible amount of patience on his part, Harry was eventually led away from
the main group by Bane, who wished to see what he could do.

What he could do was apparently quite pathetic, and Bane took a moment afterwards to laugh at
him.

“Alright alright, what exactly do you suggest I do to fix my shite aim?”

This only made him laugh harder, “son of darkness, you aren't even channeling your magic through
the bow!”

“I'm supposed to do that?”

At this rate, the centaur was going to get a cramp from laughing too hard, “it is a magical bow, I
suppose it works much the same way your people's wands do. Try to channel your magic through
it as though you were going to cast a spell.”

Taking the centaur’s advice, Harry pulled the string taut, resting it on his lower lip in an effort to
steady it, on the passing advice of Bane. Closing his eyes momentarily, Harry fed his magic into
the bow, concentrating it into the arrow head.
“No, not like that. Allow the magic to reverberate through the entire weapon, from the bow neck to
the string, down through the arrow tail and finally, the head.”

Harry relaxed himself slightly, eyes still closed. He created a sort of circuit with the bow, magic
flowing into it through his right hand, into the string, through the arrow and to the head and neck,
and out his left hand. Opening his eyes, he took a slight breath before releasing it.

The arrow whizzed past the painted target and into a bush a few feet to the right, freezing the entire
thing in a thick casing of ice instantly.

“Hm. Well your aim is still rather pitiful, but your magic is channeling quite well. Keep practicing
like that, and return next month so I may review your progress.”

He was sheparded out of the colony quickly after that, and Harry didn't even have the chance to ask
him about the prediction from last year.

February passed quickly and Hogwarts quickly found itself creeping into March. The papers were
printing editorials of Lockhart’s books and the various inconsistencies Harry had sent to them at an
astounding rate. Rita Skeeter had apparently latched onto the story and was writing like no
tomorrow, her loyal readers streaming into the ministry demanding some sort of investigation into
the man. Nothing happened for a while, not even when the Hogwarts students started sending
stories of Lockhart’s incompetence to their parents in response to the articles. It wasn't until an
anonymous letter to the Daily Prophet detailing an obliviation attempt by the man on a student that
the ministry was finally forced to investigate him. They said that it was a slow process, but the
entire scandal made the Slytherins love him and Lockhart sweat profusely, so regardless of what
happened, Harry considered it a win.

Farley had returned to him a few weeks into March, and had proudly given him a long lock of
unicorn hair. He thanked her warmly and set out to write her parents a letter, determined to make
the alliance a reality. The letter was brief and formal, but he could only assume that Farley wrote
out a much more detailed and excited letter than he did, and there was no need for specifics.
Reading over it one last time, Harry made sure that it was to his liking before sending it off.

Mr. and Mrs. Farley,

I would like to first introduce myself so that if we ever do cross paths, we may all know each
other. I am Heir Hadrian James Potter, known by many as the boy-who-lived. Upon my
sorting to the house of Slytherin, your daughter Gemma has been cordial, welcoming, and
extremely kind. It is due to an extremely kind favor from her that I find myself requesting a
more permanent companionship between the houses of Farley and Potter.

I would like to make it clear that this is most certainly a request for a family alliance, and is
most certainly not for a marriage contract.

-Heir Hadrian James Potter of the houses Potter and Black.

Harry’s paranoia over being roped into some sort of marriage contract unwillingly was what
eventually led him to write that last line, but other than the mild embarrassment it was a smart play
in his eyes.

Setting his letter aside to dry, he eagerly tore into one that Hades had just brought to him, having
recognized the distinctive seal pressed into ruby red wax.
Heir Peverell,

Your wit knows no bounds, young Heir. I would be ecstatic to have you in my home, if it
were not for your headmaster I would be more than happy to do so. However it is my deep
regret to say that me and Albus are no longer of pleasant company. Until I can be assured by
you that the esteemed headmaster is not someone considered by you to be good company,
then I am afraid that you will not be welcomed into my place of residence.

It is most relieving to know that you were not only aware, but making the effort to find your
heritage. I know little of the Peverells besides the legend of the hallows, and you likely know
much more in regards to them, but if you would prefer, I would be more than happy to help
you with your research.

-Eager, Sir Nicolas Flamel

Pulling out a piece of parchment, Harry settled down to write a letter in response, more than happy
to have a genius immortal helping him find more on the Peverells, even if he already knew where
all the hallows were.

March bled into April as Harry continued to go to classes, write to Flamel and work out a usable
contract for an alliance with the Farleys. All this blended into itself and became one mass of stress
and work, so when Harry finally slipped out to forest-that-seemed-intent-on-killing-him, he was
shocked that a month had already passed. Blaise’s birthday was fast approaching, and Harry felt
like the year was slipping right through his hands like sand. In a month and a half he would be on
the train back home, and his birthday was soon after that.

It was worrying, as Draco's birthday was just barely a month before his, at the end of June on the
24th, so he would be first transforming a month earlier than Harry. The shorter boy would have
more time to recover, which was good, but Harry wasn't sure just how bad it might be for him if he
only had the month of August to recover from his first shift.

If nothing else, the first month of school will be excruciating.

After his lesson with Bane, where he learned nothing except that he still had awful aim, Harry
returned to the castle under his invisibility cloak. He was jittery, feeling unaccomplished, he had
yet to do anything of true substance, and there was still far too much to get done. Changing
directions suddenly, Harry made his way to the chamber, intent to start his experiments with the
unicorn hair. Him and Tom had been going over all the potential combinations with the hair that
could make a potent poison. Tom was insistent on a diluted mix of african sea salt and lionfish
spine, but Harry felt like acromantula venom would do better than the lionfish. In an effort to
compromise, they decided to try both,among other possible combinations, and test them out on
summoned rats to figure out their qualities.

Harry eventually made it into the chamber, and followed Jörmungandr through the ever-changing
tunnels, brainstorming.

“~-and after that we were planning on trying out bloodroot, since it's already proven to be an
awfully potent poison ingredent.~”

He was running through all their ideas out loud as Jörmungandr listened quietly, seemingly
contemplating something.
“~I personally think it would be a good idea to try ptolemy, but Tom thinks it would dissolve the
cauldron.~”

Jörmungandr interrupted suddenly, having come to some sort of decision. “~Would you like to use
my venom as well?~”

The offer brought a few things to the table. Freely given unicorn hair combined with freely given
basilisk venom might make an interesting reaction, as they were extremely different but both freely
given, which could potentially create something interesting. Tom was adamant that it wouldn't
make a poison though. Harry accepted the offer anyway, experimentation meant following several
potential avenues after all.

Settling down at a desk that already had the potion ingredients and cauldron set up and ready for
him, Harry got to work. He decided to try Tom's idea first, because the man would be annoying
him about it till he did. He crushed the lionfish spines before adding them to the cauldron of
purified water mixed with the african sea salt. Setting that aside to steep under low heat.

He had to handle the unicorn hair with delicate care. Using only one hair was extremely important,
as all the calculations he had made were based around only one hair per concoction, so using even
one extra would throw the entire poison off.

Holding the hair up to the light to make sure that there was, indeed, only one hair, he gingerly
lowered it into the cauldron. Nothing happened for a moment, before he was suddenly thrown back
from a small explosion.

There was a beat of silence as he laid on the ground in a heap, contemplating his life for a few
moments. Eventually, Harry calmly checked to see if he still had eyebrows (he did).

So, I think that's a bust.

Are you alright?

I’m fine, dad.

Returning to the table with a sigh, Harry started cleaning up the mess, decidedly crossing out
‘lionfish spine’ from his notebook. It took several more tries with various different ingredients
before Harry got to something that didn't immediately explode, the acromantula venom having
actually taken his eyebrows off. Making a note that streeler shells didn't explode the mix, he
bottled some to test later.

“~Jörmungandr, do you want to try your venom now?~” Harry picked up a phial, holding it up to
the basilisk questioningly.

Leaning down, Jörmungandr released his venom slowly into the phial, stopping only once it was
almost to the brim. Thanking the snake, Harry turned back to his desk, cleaning out the cauldron
and prepping for another potential explosion.

I don't think my heart can take another negative reaction, Leech.

You don't even have a heart.

It's the principal of the matter.

Harry was also feeling the effects of so many explosions, and was a little annoyed with his
eyebrows blasting off. Conjuring a shield, Harry carefully stirred the venom into another batch of
the diluted african sea salt.

Do you recon the salt is the thing making it all explode?

Every poison of incredible potency uses african sea salt as a binder. The explosions would be
much worse without it.

Harry nodded absently, focussing in again on the mixture. He watched with fascination as the sicily
green venom mixed with the clear liquid and turned the entire thing a shocking shade of neon pink.

Well that's promising.

Or damning.

Ever the pessimist, eh Riddle?

Grasping a single piece of the unicorn hair once again, Harry steeled himself, preparing for another
explosion. Gently dropping the hair into the cauldron, he lept back several feet and strengthened
his shield, bracing himself.

After nothing had happened for a solid ten seconds, Harry risked it and peaked an eye open,
finding that the cauldron was sitting on the table quite innocently, and certainly not ablaze.
Creeping forward, he leaned over to look into the cauldron while staying as far away from it as
possible.

The shocking pink color was still there, and the hair was floating at the top, some sort of golden
hue sizzling out around the hair, as if a chemical reaction was taking place. Curious, Harry grabbed
the stirring rod and carefully started stirring in a counterclockwise motion, waiting for the
impending explosion with bated breath. Surprisingly though, all that happened was the shimmering
gold color to become interspersed in the concoction as the hair was dissolved, making the entire
thing appear to be a cauldron of liquid gold.

Well that's interesting.

Harry bottled as much of the concoction as he could, wanting to experiment with its properties at a
later date. He couldn't do much with it at the moment, as his watch told him the sun was rising in a
few hours, and he wanted to get at least a few hours of sleep. That afternoon though, he would
come back and experiment with it as well as the streeler shell concoction.

Thanking Jörmungandr on his way out, Harry yawned tiredly, thinking of his soft bed and warm
covers longingly.

As Harry Potter settled down to sleep, another person woke with a start, a nightmare forcing her
into the waking world.

There was a dark, skeletal mass creeping through the woods, its eyes glowing dimly from a place
deep inside the skull. It was huge, monstrous and horrible.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A scared little boy curled up in a cupboard, licking his wounds as an angry man raged on the other
side, hate wards firmly in place.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A young boy pressed his hands into the side of Quirrell's head, the man falling apart before his
eyes.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A child clambered around the Chamber of Secrets, splashing through the water as a blinded
basilisk followed closely behind.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A young man was riding buckbeak in his third year, swooping through the sky and feeling free for
the first time in so long.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A scared boy watched with horror as Cedric's body fell to the ground with a thud, light draining
from his eyes.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A mourning child screamed out for his godfather as he fell through the veil, Remus holding him
back.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

Tired eyes watched with horror as Snape shot a killing curse at Dumbledore, the man falling off
the astronomy tower.

“You know who I am, Harry.”

A war ravaged man walked into the forbidden forest, accepting his death as necessary.

“You don't know who I am, Luna.”

A little boy carved up one of Mrs. Figg's cats behind the house, licking up the blood greedly.

“It destroyed me Luna, he destroyed me.”

A monster sunk its arms into Pettigrews stomach, grasping for hidden organs.

“You don't know what kind of monster I've become.”

A demon screamed in the middle of a forest, eyes burning as a creature beyond comprehension
tried to claw out of his soul.

“I'm a monster, little moon. I know you, but you certainly don't know me.”

The tall creature lunged, horrifying screeching bubbling up from inside its throat as its claws
stretched out from the shadows towards her, intent on swallowing her whole.

Luna Lovegood woke with a gasp, bolting up in bed. Her eyes were wild, darting around the room
as if something was going to step out of the shadows and attack her. Reaching up with shaky hands,
she pulled the curtains on her bed shut, feeling exposed.

The dreams were getting more and more disturbing. They had started a year or so back, and had
mostly just been vague memories of a young girl's time at hogwarts. Since the start of her first year
however, they were more disturbing, showing a world torn asunder by a horrible civil war. She
could tell that Harry Potter was in the center of it all, that his actions were paramount. When she
met him in real life though… he looked nothing like he had in her dreams. His eyes were hard, gaze
calculating. He walked like some sort of animal, ready to spring forward and swallow her whole. It
was a split second decision, to say that he knew her all those months ago, and the dream tonight
made her wonder if it was such a good idea.

Luna had always had strange perceptions of life, she saw people's emotions and thoughts swirling
around their heads, Fate must have thought she was such a silly little thing, and gifted her a few
spare memories to chew on, nothing of substance of course, but enough to stir the pot. Let it never
be said that a person couldn’t be a prophet and a seer at the same time.

Luna shivered, curling up into a ball. The dreams always got blurry in the morning, and she could
never quite remember what was in them except for vague concepts. This one would be no different,
but its message would be remembered.

I'm a monster, Luna Lovegood. Tread carefully.

Days passed, and Harry started spending his free time trying to figure out what the hell the golden
potion was. So far it had absolutely no effect on mice, he had administered it orally, analy, and to
the skin, but no dice. Either it was just a pretty liquid with no effects whatsoever, or just didn't
work on mice for some reason. Harry was forced to put aside his experimentations on the 21st
though, as it was Blaise’s birthday.

The italian boy had gotten a bit better with his sleep schedule, relieving Harry of some of his
worry. Though, he seemed to mumble to himself occasionally, which was slightly concerning, but
nothing that Harry couldn't pass off as stress related.

It was a Tuesday, and the group decided to stick to a simple celebration in the common room, as
Blaise was going to be doing his first pledge that night. The presents were passed around, and
Blaise thanked them all kindly for their companionship.

Theo falling asleep and subsequently out of his chair allerted the group to the late hour. Parting
there, Harry and Draco pulled Theo along to the dorms, Blaise heading out the other direction to
the room of requirement. Harry was forced by the secrecy vows to not tell the others of what Blaise
was doing, but he personally felt that they deserved to know.

It wasn't his secret to tell though, and he settled into bed that night with a tired sigh, quickly falling
asleep.

Walking slowly around a large circle drawn onto the stone with chalk, Blaise checked for any
inconsistencies in his rune work. Finding none, he disrobed, and carefully knelt in the middle of the
circle, where there was a small ceremonial dagger and a wooden bowl.

Cutting the back of his forearm, Blaise watched the blood drip slowly into the bowl, trying to
gauge how much he needed. Guessing mostly, Blaise took a cloth to staunch the flow of blood
from the wound when he decided that it was enough. Dipping a finger into the bowl, he started the
slow process of writing out even more runes across his body. Some were meant to grant Loki
access to his body, others were to make sure his mortal skin wouldn't tear apart at the strain of a
god’s overwhelming magic.

Seemingly done with the prep work, Blaise set the bowl and dagger to the side and started to chant
 in old norse. The language slipping off his tongue as if he had been speaking it all his life.

God of Mischief I call to thee,

of my body I kneel before you.

God of tricks I gift myself to thee,

so that my body may be used as a vessel.

God of knots, tangler of eternity,

accept my offering of servitude.

On and on, his voice slowly raising in volume and the ambient magic swirling around him thicker
and thicker. At the climax of the chanting, Blaise felt as though he was going to be torn asunder by
the magic clawing at his skin. He could feel it knotting around his arms, twisting up his body like
snakes. Just at the moment that he thought he might just suffocate on the heavy magic, it all
seemed to shift, pulling backwards slightly.

Come into me, and I will invite myself into you.

It all surged forward, crushing into him and worming into every pore, every atom of tissue till
there was nothing of his body left to devour.

Blaise passed out.

Chapter End Notes

So much happened in this chapter I stg. Anyway this is one of the longest chapters I've
written, and is super plot heavy, but I had the option to either buckle down and write
this out, or split it into two chapters. I suppose you can guess which option I chose.
 Running out of Time
Chapter Summary

Everyone is running out of time.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Blaise was a wreck for a good two weeks after his ritual. He had described the pain to Harry,
explaining how the magic seemed to force its way into his skin. He was constantly complaining
about his muscles aching, and spent hours on end soaking in a scalding hot bath. Theo seemed to
realize what was going on, but left it be, knowing that Harry couldn't say anything about it and
Blaise wouldn't. Draco, however, didn't have the sort of tact required of leaving things where they
lie, and constantly demanded answers from him. Harry always changed the subject with ease, good
as diversion tactics.

He spent many hours down in the library with Theo when Draco was off at quidditch practice, still
trying to figure out what the golden liquid could be. He even experimented with the concoction and
ended up perfecting the ratios, coming up with a potion that was more of a deep gold color than the
first one. Harry didn't really know why he had decided that this was the correct coloring, he was
going off instincts mostly. Regardless of how it looked though, he still couldn't make sense of any
sort of effect it had on the rats, and was wondering if he should start trying it out on other (larger)
animals.

Theo didn't really pay any attention to Harry’s mad scientist experiments, too focused on his own
elemental magic. He had gotten to the point where he could shake the ground slightly, and
occasionally rocks would fly into his hand with enough concentration. It wasn't enough for the boy
though, and he became more and more agitated the less and less progress he made. It worried
Harry quite a bit, and he had eventually forced his friend aside to figure out what was going on.

“Theo, mate, why are you being so hard on yourself about this?” They were sitting in some slightly
moldy couches in the back of the library, Harry with his elbows on his knees and leaning over to
Theo with a worried look.

“I don't know what youre talking about, I am simply frustrated that I seem incapable of doing
simple magic-”

“-but it's not simple!” Harry cut him off, flabbergasted, “mate, no one has done magic like this
since the founders era. You are, quite literally, teaching yourself an ancient art that was already
incredibly rare at the time that it was well known. Elemental magic is the opposite of simple, and
I'm honestly impressed you've gotten this far in such a small amount of time.”

Theo stared at him with wide eyes as he processed his words. Harry felt that the other boy might
start crying, and backtracked a little.

“-and if you really want to talk about someone not being able to do a simple task, I’ve been trying
to figure out how to aim a bow for two bloody months and im still more likely to shoot the arrow
up my own arse then hit the target.”
Theo let out a wet laugh, definitely about to cry. Harry landed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“You've been pushing yourself way too hard lately mate, you're worrying me and Draco. I would
say you're worrying Blaise but we both know he's got his own mess to deal with right now.”

Theo laughed harder, rubbing his eyes as Harry laughed along with him.

“You're probably right.”

“Probably?”

“Don't push your luck, Potter.”

Another round of laughter erupted from the pair, and Theo’s mind settled, memories of cold green
eyes becoming overtaken by his friend’s happy, mischievous ones.

Draco could feel his skin tearing open slightly while he sat in astronomy that night.

He had slouched slightly, and a sharp stab of pain and the feeling of something shifting allerted
him to things being very, very wrong . He spent the rest of the class sitting as still as possible,
trying not to shift further, panic slowly rising up from his stomach.

The past few months had been more uncomfortable than painful, as he couldn’t feel his wings
growing underneath his flesh anymore. His wings development had the point where they were as
big as they were going to get before his birthday, and instead he had to deal with the strange and
itchy sensation of feathers starting to grow just under his skin. His entire back was practically one
big purple bruise, and the two lumps had swelled to the point that his entire back except for the
skin on his spine was raised off his muscle, making it obvious that his wings would soon be
revealing themselves. He had started to notice the pattern of feathers pressing into his thin skin
layer, making the wings even more obvious.

He worried very much about how his skin would fare, was there another layer growing along with
his wings? Or would he just have to deal with exposed muscle on his back while his skin grew
back? His father had said that it generally depended on your wingspan and size, which was above
all extremely ominous and very worrying.

He sped out of the astronomy tower with Harry at his heels, the taller boy seeming to know
instinctively that something was wrong. Draco kept his posture rimrod straight, worried that if he
hunched even slightly, his back would rip further.

Harry opened the dorm door for him, and Theo came in with them. Blaise had skipped class again,
and was currently passed out in his bed, snoring loudly.

“Harry, help me with my uniform, please.”

They watched silently as the tallest boy undid the buttons on Draco’s over shirt, sliding it off of his
shoulders gently. Theo sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“What? What is it?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Harry scrambled around him to look at his back, and Draco could hear the boy mumble a quiet
severing charm to cut his undershirt off of him with stunning accuracy and skill.
“What happened? Bloody say something!”

Harry was casting healing charms quietly, trying not to look at the rest of the boy’s back. Draco’s
undershirt had been bloody all along the upper left side, and it had nearly given him a heart attack.
Apparently, Draco seemed to have shifted wrong, and it looked as though his left wing had pressed
upwards a bit too far, and had punctured the skin. What he could see of the wing, it was still
growing some feathers, but was mostly formed, though he could only get a small glimpse of it
before his healing charms did their job and patch up the wound, forcing the wing back into its
proper place just under the flesh layer.

“It's fine now.”

“What. Happened.” Draco was panicking, straightening his back more than it already was.

Sighing slightly, half out of relief, half of worry. Harry went back around to Draco’s front, gently
explaining what he thought happened and what he had done to fix the problem. The shorter boy
became more and more pale as he continued to explain, face turning an ashen gray by the end of
his explanation. Draco thanked him quietly before grabbing some silk bed-wear and hurrying off to
the showers, ignoring Harry's worried calls to wait.

It was about ten minutes later that Draco found himself sitting in a cold bath, back straight as a
ruler and eyes welling up with frustrated tears.

Heirs of great houses do not cry.

It was a mantra that he had been using often throughout the year, trying to keep himself from
curling up in a ball and trying not to exist.

Heirs of great houses do not cry, Draco, so stop it.

It just wasn't fair. Why did he have to be saddled with this… this curse! He sniffled, splashing the
cold water into his eyes as he bent at the neck, still incredibly paranoid about moving his spine in
the slightest.

Heirs of great houses do not cry, even if they have a very good reason for it.

Draco was so, so tired of the constant discomfort of bloody wings growing right under his skin. He
was so exhausted by constantly having to hide the fact from everyone but his friends, knowing that
if word got out it would ruin his entire family in a heartbeat. He was so bloody tired of all the pain
and worry and merlin he just wanted it all to stop.

Heirs of great houses do not cry, unless it is extenuating circumstances, in which they can cry as
much as they damn well please, as long as they're sitting starkers in a bathtub all alone.

Deciding that his new mantra was much more reasonable in relation to his current situation, Draco
shamelessly let himself cry, wishing desperately that he was normal.

The Valkyrie were an all female group who chose those who may die in battle and those who
may live. Picking half of those killed in battle, they took the chosen to the hall of the slain,
also known as Valhalla, ruled over by the god Odin. There, the deceased warriors became
known as einherjar. When the einherjar were not preparing for Ragnarök (see page 89), the
Valkyrie would bring them mead as they feasted in Valhalla. The Valkyrie are commonly
described as warrior women, and by extension daughters of royalty. They were said to be
accompanied by ravens, and were associated with swans or horses.

He flipped to page 89.

Ragnarök was foretold as a series of events, detailing in order: a great battle, the death of a
number of great figures (including the gods Odin, Thor, Freyr, Heimdallr, and Loki), natural
disasters, and the entire world becoming flooded with water. After these events, the world
will resurface anew and fertile, and the surviving gods will return and the world will be
repopulated by two human survivors. Many have attributed the christian flooding of the
earth and the tale of Noah's ark as proof of the widespread cultural belief in Ragnarök,
though concrete proof of the event is nonexistent.

Blaise shut the book with a sigh, putting it gently down on the tiled floor. It was a few weeks after
Draco had had his newly dubbed 'wing incident' and Blaise was almost completely recovered from
his first ritual. During his recovery time he had been forced by the rather nagging voice in his head
to read up on more of the northern germanics and the gods that they followed. This had eventually
brought him to the topic of Ragnarök, which sounded like a great big mess if he’d ever heard of
one. The valkyrie were an interesting sounding bunch though, he always found the idea of strong
women who could crush his skull with their bare hands appealing, and the einherjar was a really
cool name if anything else.

Sighing again, he dipped lower into the scalding bath, his nose just barely above the water so he
could breath.

It was firmly into May, and Theo had put aside whatever he had been so aggressively working on
to instead aggressively study for final exams. His other friends were much less inclined to study
though, Harry being a literal genius who fucked around with potions instead, probably inventing
something incredible like bottled immortality or something equally ridiculous. Draco had his
creature inheritance to worry about, so he was also ignoring the looming exams. Blaise winced, the
other boy's back was in an awful state, the skin was dying, and looked about ready to fall off. Harry
had taken to wrapping it lightly in cooling bandages to keep everything in place.

Blaise was considering studying for the exams, really he was, but he hasn't really been paying
attention to school the past four months or so, and didn't really have the notes to study with. He
considered asking boy-genius to help him, but Harry didn't make any notes either, and probably
didn't really have the time to deal with the aftermath of Blaise’s poor effort in school. Theo would
shoo him away no doubt, and Draco was a good month away from literally having his back ripped
open, Blaise doubted he had the mental capacity to deal with a mild inconvenience, much less
exams.

Submitting himself to shite grades with a sigh, (and making a mental note to try a tad harder in his
third year) Blaise leaned back and stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling.

Do you regret your pledge?

Groaning loudly, he sunk completely into the water. The voice spoke up and questioned him
occasionally, as eventually he had started to reply.

Absolutely not.

Are you ready for the next one?

I am.
Breathing air out of his nose, Blaise watched with blurry eyes as the bubbles floated to the surface
of the water, contemplating. He was absolutely ready for the next pledge, but Merlin had the first
one hurt. The light from several candles around the bathroom refracted through the water,
appearing blurry and geometric to him. He closed his eyes, not realizing that he could breathe just
fine under the crystalline water. A dark green snake lounged along the tub's rim, watching him
carefully, making sure he was safe.

He didn't notice.

Minerva McGonagall was absolutely positive something was extremely wrong with Hermione
Granger.

The girl had punched one of the upper year gryffindors in the face for telling her that perfection
was a very difficult thing to accomplish, and to relax a smidge with the studying. The girl in
question had been sheparded off to the medical wing for some bruise paste while the younger one
was dragged up to the headmasters office.

“Now Miss. Granger, you are aware that attacking someone for no reason other than they said
something you don't like, is not a good way to go about things, yes?” Albus was trying to placiate
and scold the girl at the same time, and Minerva felt that it was an ineffective approach if anything.
The girl needed someone to tell her off and actually punish her in some way! Granger had done
plenty of things that deserved at least a detention and Albus wormed her out of all of them.

To say the transfiguration professor was not pleased would be an understatement, the headmaster
consistently favored her house yes, but this was taking it too far.

“Yes Headmaster.” the girl appeared regretful in the very least, and somewhat cowed. Minerva was
not convinced.

“Well, I hope that you understand how what you did was wrong.”

“I do, headmaster.”

Albus nodded, sitting back and stroking his beard as if it was his ego, “Well as long as-”

“Albus, you are not truly considering letting her get away with hitting a student! She must be
assigned detention in the very least.” Minerva cut him off, flabbergasted and completely done with
his nonsense. He seemed to almost… glare at her, but it was so quick that she immediately wrote it
off as something else.

Albus nodded, and assigned a week of detention to the girl, who was rearing up to argue. Shaking
her head, Minerva grabbed the muggleborn girl and practically dragged her from the room,
scolding her all the while.

“Your detentions will be with me at six o’clock each night starting on Sunday Miss. Granger, I
hope this is a lesson in restraint for you.”

With those parting words, she left the girl at the fat lady’s painting and made her way to her own
office, intent on cracking open her new bottle of brandy and wasting away for the night.

Albus Dumbledore fumed in his office, angry at both the young girl and his transfiguration
professor. Hermione Granger was almost always perfect, strong willed and determined to do
whatever he asked, but her occasional bouts of strange behavior were extremely damning. His
 deputy wasn’t making things any easier for him either, wanting to punish the girl as if she was any
other student.

At least Severus was smart enough to leave well enough alone. Regardless of the man’s troubling
allegiances, he was certainly good at not caring about Albus’ going ons.

He sighed, regardless of his staff and their happenings, Harry Potter's second year was almost at a
close, and he hadn’t made very many strides to pull the boy back to the light. His allegiance with
‘death’ was something that worried the hadmaster greatly, and he used that worry as a reason for
not doing anything in regards to the boy.

Popping a lemon drop into his mouth, trying to calm his nerves, Albus put the boy-who-lived out of
his mind, focusing instead on Miss. Granger’s worrying actions, as well as the rest of the ever
shorter school year.

God of tricksters I call to thee,

of my mind I request your council.

God of snakes I gift my memories,

my allegiance lies at your feet.

God of knotts, creator of myschef,

accept my pledge of loyalty.

Time had passed quickly, and Blaise’s second pledge had come and gone at the end of may. It was
much less painful than the first, but felt intrusive-like someone was picking through his memories
and thoughts, pausing occasionally and seemingly contemplating his past experiences.

It still left him exhausted, feeling drained of his magic. He didn't pass out again though, which
Blaise felt was a large improvement, all things considered. Walking out of the Room of
Requirement under Harry’s invisibility cloak, Blaise decided that he was going to try to study just a
little for his exams, his mind clearer than it had ever been.

Two twin green snakes followed slowly behind him, swirling and knotting together as they went.

He didn't notice.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry if you're confused by the timeline in this chapter, it's basically the month of
May, and the main things that happened during it.
PS. The last chapter comes out tomorrow, and after that will be character references
for year three!
 We are out of Time
Chapter Summary

The school year has ended, and time is up.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Veela-Salvic

Veela are commonly described as semi-human magical beings native to Bulgaria, or more
precisely the Salvic highlands. Appearing as beautiful women with white-gold hair and pale
skin, they have a natural affinity to charm other beings. When angered however, they
transform into Harpy-like creatures (see page 744), and have the ability to throw balls of
flame from their hands. Veela are well known as the magical creature to most often wed
wizards, and due to this it is not uncommon for many old wizarding families to inhibit traits
of traditionally veela heritage, though if these traits are in fact credited to an official creature
inheritance is unknown.

He let out a tired breath, turning the page.

Vetala-India

The Vetala are a subspecies of vampire that are native to India, said to live around charnel
grounds. The main difference between a common vampire and a Vetala being that the vetala
is more in tune with the spirit world, living with a foot in the living world and one in the spirit
one. The religion of hinduism credits the Vetala to being an evil spirit instead of a vampire,
and one that has the ability to possess freshly made corpses. There is a strong vetala cult in
the konkan region of india, considering the species sacred. Being unaffected by the laws of
space and time, they have an uncanny knowledge about the past, present, and future and a
deep insight into human nature. Therefore many wix seek to capture them and turn them
into slaves.

Harry slammed the book shut with frustration, rubbing his exhausted eyes tiredly. It had to be at
least three in the morning, and instead of sleeping, he was trying to finish the Ve- section of his
book. Shoving the book to the side, he got up and moved silently to a bookshelf, currently in the
library.

He had been looking for things about potter's fields for a while, but hadn't found anything till he
thought to write his aunt about them. She had written back that they were graveyards for unknown
or unclaimed people, and then asked why the hell he was looking them up. He had written back
something about a herbology assignment and went on to research what being buried as an
unknown person could do to a spirit. What he found had been incredibly depressing: the soul was
unable to fully pass on, and because of that were often left as ghosts.

This is what happened to many of the ghosts at Hogwarts, though people who were murdered also
had the chance of becoming ghosts. Nearly-headless Nick, Moaning Myrtle, and the gray lady
were proof of that. Most ghosts clung to the living world, their final wishes to stay alive or be
remembered ingrained in them. Which explained why they seemed to avoid him so much, he had
observed since his first day at Hogwarts that the ghosts fled from him immediately after spotting
him.

“Oh shut up Wesley, you'll be lucky if even Hufflepuff accepted you.”

“Sod off, Malfoy! You're one to talk, being a shoe-in for Slytherin.”

Harry stood passively while the two argued, wondering if this moment was indicative of the rest of
his life. The light and dark fighting over him in a constant, neverending tug-of-war.

Stop being so dramatic.

At some point a few ghosts breezed through a wall, right on time. What was different from the first
go round however, is they took one look at him and hightailed it out of there.

Weird.

Since that day, the ghosts had immediately fled the room whenever he appeared, but he never paid
much attention to them-not really caring one way or the other. Now though, he understood why
they were so afraid of him. He stank of death, he was Death's master after all, and that fact was
picked up on by the ghosts. Perhaps they thought he would force them to pass on or something?

Looking through the books, he pulled an old, gray tome off the shelf. It was the book that had first
detailed the power-boosting ritual that involved a potter's field, and he figured that he might as well
read over the ritual again, still not positive that he would do it. To his frustration however, the
ritual seemed to require an awful lot of things that either took ages to owl order, or were extremely
illegal. He would need six months of prep work in the least, time that he simply didn’t have.

Rubbing his cheek thoughtfully, Harry tried to pick apart the next two weeks to shove even more
things into the mess. The Farleys had decided to wait for their daughter to get out of school before
officalizing the alliance, wanting Gemma to be able to ride the initial attention wave to a good
paying job in the ministry. His golden potion was still a mystery, and he had put it on the
backburner for now, the other poison that had come of the experimentation working just fine for
what he needed it for. He still had shite aim with a bow, but he was steadily getting better, so that
was something he might be able to continue doing through his third year. There was still no
discernable way to get into the girls dorms yet, and he also put that aside till the opportunity
presented itself.

Harry really wished he had more than two weeks left of the school year, but final exams were the
next monday, and he had nothing that he could do in that amount of time. If he had a month of
school left he might be able to make more progress on his poisons and the strange golden potion,
but no dice.

I'm out of time.

Thasin slithered out of the forest, heading straight for the looming castle in the distance. The
strange hoof men seemed insistent on finding her, so she decided to return to Harry that night.
Weaving through familiar halls, she silently slithered into a small divot in the wall, coming upon
the large common room that Harry and his friends spent many hours in. It was a simple case of
going up the stairs and into the correct room before she was winding her way into a familiar bed,
the bird boy being startled awake by her being there.

He was laying on his stomach, and the bird smell was much stronger than before. She noticed this
all distantly, settling near his head, she curled into a loose knot and fell asleep.

Blaise nearly skipped the exams altogether, and if Theo hadn’t dragged him out of his desk chair
every morning he likely would have. Regardless of that though, he had managed to panic study just
enough that he was sure he had passed at least charms and astronomy, but he most certainly failed
in herbology, and most of the practicals were rather pitiful across the board.

The leaving feast found him reading his green book as he distantly shoveled food in his mouth,
barely registering that gryffindor had won the house cup. He was just refreshing himself on the
final ritual, even though he had practically memorized the entire book (it was out of habit at this
point). Looking up, he realized how glum his friends appeared, Draco wasn't even boasting about
the slytherin house’s conquering of the quidditch cup, too busy turning his spine into a ruler. Harry
also appeared subdued, his abnormally long fingers tapping the wooden table, nervously fidgeting.
The taller boy had seemed off for the past few weeks, and Blaise wondered if he was hiding
something. Theo was rubbing his temples occasionally, apparently having another bad headache.
Blaise frowned, was Theo getting enough water? He had read somewhere that dehydration could
cause a headache, loss of sleep as well.

“Another year has come and gone. Now I'm afraid to say that the rather publicized scandal of
Professor Lockhart's books had spawned an inquest into the validity of his claims, and the ministry
has calmly escorted him out of the school for questioning.”

Harry smirked a little, making a ‘gimme’ motion at Draco, who grumbled a bit before passing him
a rather fat pouch of what Blaise could only assume to be 1,000 galleons.

He smiled a little, glad to see that some things weren’t weighed down by the depressing
atmosphere.

“Other than that though, all is well, and I welcome you to eat to your heart's content!”

Finally.

Shoveling food onto his plate greedly, he contemplated his friend's strange behavior. Sure, Draco
had a right to be nervous, his first change would be coming very quickly after all. Theo also had a
bit of an out, being generally kind of moody-headaches were also a commonplace it seemed, so
that also didn't bother him-but Harry really didn't have anything going on that Blaise coud attribute
to his fidgeting, maybe he was going to ask Draco out of something?

Blaise shook his head and sighed, putting his friends strange behavior out of his mind and focusing
his full attention onto the food.

Theo felt like his head was going to explode.

His headaches were getting worse and worse, and with that pain was the knowledge that his inner
eye was going to be opening soon. He wasn't scared so much that he just wanted it over and done
with, maybe after it was finally fully opened his grandfather would stop trying to ‘cure’ him.

Theo knew that his inner eye opening was supposedly quite painful, but he honestly felt that he had
already experienced pain in spades, and wasn't all that nervous about that either.
Cold green eyes stared at him from the darkness.

What he was worried about though, was his friends.

Draco was going to be going through his first major shift in his creature inheritance, but at least he
would have his father there to help. Who did Harry have, his muggle relatives? Theo sighed, they
sounded like pleasant people from the way that the other boy talked about them, but he had no
doubt that Harry was keeping his inheritance from them. Just like how he was keeping it from
Blaise for some weird reason. Theo didn't know why that irked him so much, but it did. He had
figured it out ages ago, and Harry had obviously told Draco, considering the looks of
understanding they shot each other whenever Draco’s back hurt or one of them found Harry staring
blankly into a mirror in the dead of night. Blaise was their friend, and had taken the secrecy vow
with them, he would keep the secret.

However… Theo’s eyes narrowed. Blaise was keeping his pledge a secret from Draco and him as
well, and likely wouldn't have told Harry if the boy hadn't forced it out of him, so perhaps he
deserved it for keeping his own goings on to himself.

Theo didn't like it, but the secrecy wouldn’t last the summer, so he supposed that letting them go
on with it was the easiest option.

It was a quiet walk down to the Hogwarts Express, Harry was contemplating everything that would
happen over the summer with extreme worry. His main concern was being able to get out of the
house for his birthday, so he could keep his family safe from himself. He could only hope that
Death could help him with that, the god seemed willing enough to help him through this process
after all.

His second worry was Draco, he had no way to help the blond from his residence in Surrey, and he
wouldn't be able to leave till he recovered enough to manage going out. He also worried about
Theo, as the boy had confided in him that his inner eye would surely awake that summer.

We’re out of time.

I'm here for you Harry, everything will happen, but I will be there with you.

That was another thing that worried him greatly. Tom was in his mindscape, and he had no idea
what the monster might do to him once the protections came down.

Just… just promise me you'll lock the door between us on my birthday. Please.

Tom didn't reply.

After all the students left, Albus Dumbledore had a moment of clarity, quickly panicking.

He had left Harry Potter alone the entire school year! For some reason, he had truly thought that
leaving the boy would be a better tactic than simply forcing his way into the blasted child's mind
and figuring out just why he was loyal to death.

Rubbing his face with a frustrated groan, Albus quickly pulled out a piece of parchment, ideas
swirling around in his head. The boy would be far from his influence at this point, but he was still a
mistreated orphan, if anyone could bring him back under Albus’ wing, it would be a friend of the
boy's deceased father. Convincing the board to let a werewolf onto the staff would have originally
been quite tricky, near impossible you could say, but Albus was not one for consulting the board.
What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

The train compartment was tense, and Draco was starting to fidget besides him. Harry had been
considering giving Draco the necklace for his birthday, but didn’t think that it would be as well
received on the day. He had been mustering up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence
when Draco did it for him.

“I'm scared.”

The admission made everyone turn to the blond with worry, who was sitting on his seat, spine
ramrod straight. Harry reached out and rubbed the shorter boy's shoulder comfortingly, and the
atmosphere turned from tense to depressing in a millisecond.

“It's not so much that I'm scared of wings bursting out of my back or some shite so much that I'm
terrified that it'll be… it'll be official then you know?”

Blaise’s eyes widened, finally seeming to realize the reality of Draco’s (and Harry’s) situation,
Theo nodded with understanding.

“I'll always be in your corner, Draco.”

Harry’s admission made the blond laugh a bit, and they all seemed to settle, the others quickly
agreeing with Harry.

“Yeah! You won't get rid of us just because you eat worms or something mate.”

“Blaise, Veela are carnivorous…”

“Worms are animals!”

“What?”

Theo and Blaise proceeded to have an extremely amusing argument about the difference between
insects and animals. Wherein Blaise insisted that they were basically the same thing, and Theo
nearly strangled him for it.

“Oh, Draco, I've got you an early birthday present.” Harry handed him the box that Death had
given him the necklace in, and watched with excitement as Draco opened it and pulled out the
necklace.

For fucks sakes leech would you please just protect yourself for a change.

Harry ignored him. “Its embedded with a special type of-uh-defensive magic I came up with.'' He
realized belatedly that he hadn’t come up with a believable lie beforehand, and had to make one up
on the fly. Draco nodded along, as did the other two, apparently having decided a twelve year old
inventing new magic was totally acceptable if said twelve year old was Harry Potter.

“How does it work?” Draco questioned, fastening it around his neck.

Harry, suddenly feeling a tad mischievous, turned to Blaise. “Hey mate, shoot a jinx of your choice
at ‘im.”

The blond jerked his head up with wide eyes, a yell on his lips as Blaise immediately shot off a bat
bogey hex, grin ferial.
 His eyes widened comically as the hex bounced back, throwing him backwards. He covered his
nose with his hand and muffled a curse. Harry quickly muttered the counter curse, trying not to
laugh along with Theo, who was nearly on the floor.

“Bloody hell-” Draco was having a heart attack, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
Theo seemed to realize just what had happened, and the nerdy boy descended onto Harry and
demanded to be told how he managed to create an object that repelled spells. Harry furiously
refused to say anything, laughing all the while.

The rest of the train ride was of a lighter mood than it had started, but still quite subdued, Draco’s
admission still fresh on everyone's mind.

Stepping off the train, Harry waved goodbye to his friends, watching worriedly as Blaise stormed
past his angry mother. The woman immediately started yelling in italian, and Harry hoped the boy
would be able to do his pledge on time. Draco was quickly swept from the platform by his parents,
his birthday was in two weeks after all. As much as he was loath to admit it, Lucius Malfoy seemed
to be a good father at heart. He pat Theo on the back as the boy slunk away towards an imposing
man, already looking particularly miserable about going home.

Harry sighed, looking with trepidation at the border between the magical and muggle world. He
was officially out of time. It was officially summer vacation the second he walked through that
barrier, and with it was the knowledge that soon, everything would change. He slowly started
walking towards it, his footfalls seeming to echo in his head as the heartbeat’s steady tempo started
up, the chanting seemed far off. He was still protected by the golden wall, but his monster was
scratching at it, testing the flimsy barrier as it slowly started to give way.

Just barely a month left for him.

He was out of time.

They were all out of time.

Harry crossed through the barrier and into the muggle world.

End of Year Two.

Chapter End Notes

Character references will be up tomorrow!

PS. I wrote this entire chapter while listening to Ceelo Green's "Fuck you" on repeat as
a way to motivate myself, I feel like that fact should be touched on in some regard.
 Third Year Character Refrences
Chapter Summary

Third year character references (with bonus girls)

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Did I suddenly decide to make Theo hot? No, that twas his fate all along.

Bonus:
 Someone had asked about the girls uniform, so I thought it might be nice to draw the main three
girls in the typical uniform.

Chapter End Notes

Tomorrow is the first chapter of third year! Here we goooooo

 The Summer has Ended and we are not Saved
Chapter Summary

A inhuman screech echos through the woods, and the earth shudders in anticipation.

Chapter Notes

Warning: This chapter contains very detailed gore, body horror, and undertones of
child grooming

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Year Three: Ragnarök Unleashed

Draco’s birthday came far too quick, and before he even had time to prepare, he was sitting at the
dinner table for his birthday dinner. It was dead quiet, his mother simply siped her wine, and his
father stared blankly off into the distance. Draco felt as though he might vomit any second.

The entire ordeal played out as if it was his final meal.

His parents quietly walked him to a section of the manor that he had never been in, deep into the
dungeons of the estate. The room he would be staying the night in was far below ground, far away
from prying eyes. His father said that he would be staying in there for the night so he wouldn't
accidentally hurt someone, but they both knew it was so no one saw.

Draco’s shoulders shook as his mother kissed his forehead softly, carding her fingers through his
hair gently.

“Be brave, little dragon.” Was all she said, his father gave him instruction on how to remove his
golden cuffs, and then they were gone.

Closing the dark door behind him with a quiet click, he registered with growing dread how it
automatically locked from the outside. A few candles lit from far above him, and he looked around
the room that his father and grandfather and ancestors of old had all stayed a night in.

It wasn't a nice room, the walls and floor were beat up, long claw marks running up and down the
walls and floor and some were even high up on the tall sloping ceiling. Straightening his back
further, he strode to the middle of the room-there was no furniture or windows- and carefully
removed his shirt, feeling the fabric scratch unpleasantly against his outer layer of skin.

His father had told him many times exactly what he had to do, and why he had to do it. These
things were much easier said than done, and as Draco sat down on the cold stone floor, his nervous
shaking became more pronounced.

He carefully removed the golden cuffs, nearly doubling over as every nerve in his back started
registering the pain. Draco had to sit cross legged on the floor for several minutes before he could
build up a tolerance to it, and had to sit even longer to build up his nerve.

In most cases the first transformation is forced into happening by a person's inner creature, but
Draco's family had gotten into the habit of forcing it themselves, a few hours earlier than planned
so that they could keep their mind during the first half of the transformation at the very least. This
worried him-mostly because the idea of using muscles for the first time to rip his back open felt
akin to skinning himself with a dull knife.

The few candles in the room let off eerie light and he breathed out slowly, feeling for the unused
muscles and attempted to flex his wings.

He hesitated for a moment, but managed to move them a marginal amount, which immediately
caused him to hiss in pain as his wings shifted upwards and tore through his flesh slightly, much
the same as they had in astronomy a couple months prior.

Something deep inside the boy's mind peaked open sharp, silver eyes.

Shaky breathing echoed through the room as Draco grit his teeth, trying to move his wings further
as they slowly tore father through his skin. He could feel the outer layer pull off of the muscle, and
hissed out as parts of his back that weren’t housing his wings also pulled upwards, the skin tearing
painfully off of the muscle as his nerves screamed at him to stop.

An exhaled gasp, his quickly sharpening nails dug into his knees, drawing even more blood. Tears
sprung from his eyes as he relaxed the wings slightly and felt the scraping of feathers downwards
against muscle as they slid painfully back into place.

Oh merlin I can't do this, I can't.

A quiet, questioning scree echoed through his skull.

Now? It seemed to whisper.

I can't do this I can't.

He straightened his spine, tears falling faster as something inside him got up, prowling forward
from the dark recesses and into the light.

Now? We fly now?

His head twitched to the side against his best wishes, like his muscles were reacting to an electric
shock.

Now, Now! Fly right now!

A cry that was more birdlike than human bubbled up through his lips, and his wings shoved hard
against his skin. He was panicking, something was surging up to take control of his movements,
forcing the not yet used wings to tear further through the bonds that held them flimsy in place. His
spine bent, flesh on his lower back tearing slowly from the muscle.

He screamed.

The skin of his lower arms was thickening as the dying flesh of his back thinned and ripped. Nails
sharpening into talons as his hands turned leathery, feet and toes lengthening into long talons that
embedded into the floor and scratched slow, deep incisions into the stone as his legs stretched out
as all his limbs extended and convulsed.
One final, painful shove tore off most of the skin and long, bloodied wings burst out of his back-
the area almost completely skinned, the bloodied muscle exposed to air for the first time.

His pained screaming changed pitch, fire dancing up his arms as his human mind sank into
oblivion.

A veela’s screeching could be heard all through the night, monstrous and enraged. It was prowling
around the room, scratching at the walls and wanting to get out-wanting to fly.

Draco was gone, sunk deep into sleep as his veela raged on through the night.

Shadows danced through a darkened room, twisting unnaturally into shapes and faces, sometimes a
menacing cackle could be heard, manic grin widening as the chaotic magic grew thicker in
anticipation.

Soon.

A young man sat in the middle of a large circle, intricate runic arrays spiraling in complicated
patterns that were drawn out expertly with chalk. The teen was drawing bloody runes of ‘soul’ and
‘magic’ all along his body, the symbols twisting up and down his body like red, bloodied snakes,
knotting and twisting in complicated arrays. Cursing softly as he ran out of blood, the teen grabbed
at something and held it up. Twin snakes curled up in a corner of the room, watching the
proceedings with careful eyes and occasionally tasting the magic in the air.

The teen winced, dragging a ritual dagger across his arm to draw more blood, the red liquid
dripping sluggishly into a wooden bowl.

I have to hurry…

The boy's mother was out of the house, having gone on a date with some man or another and left
the boy to his own devices. She had been keeping careful eyes on him the whole summer break,
watching him for any suspicious activity. She didn't know that he had finished two of his three
pledges, and by the time she returned, it would be too late to interfere with the third.

He drew the last rune down on his dark skin, and placed the dagger and bowl out of the circle,
careful not to drip any blood onto the chalk-drawn runes, not wanting to mess anything up. Settling
back down in the middle of the rune circle, Blaise quieted his mind, focusing on the constant buzz
of his gods magic underneath his skin and twisted through his mind and flowing through the air.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out for the familiar magic, and was met halfway.

He began to chant.

My god of chaos,

I have gifted my body.

My god of mischief,

I have given my mind.

My loyalty lies at your feet,

I open my soul.
The old norse slipping from his tongue, the quiet chant started out a whisper, but quickly built as
the overwhelming magic thickened. Twin snakes hissed happily and slithered quickly to the circle,
tangling up his body and over his shoulders, hiding reassuringly in his ears.

Bow to me, child of chaos.

His head lowered, but he continued the chant, breathing heavy as the snakes tightened their hold
around him, pressing tighter to his diaphragm.

Submit to me, do as I say.

The magic was physical now, sickly green swirling around the room, lashing against the walls and
weighing thick in the air and shoveling down his lungs, making it harder still to breath.

You will torture if I ask.

Pounding on the door went unnoticed, a woman’s begging pleas to stop being drowned out by the
roaring magic.

You will kill if I order it.

Twin snakes knotted around him, entwined together and glowing with the magic still thick in the
air. Hissing happily at him, his mother's screams were completely drowned out.

You are mine.

All the magic surged, crushing into him and forcing him into a deep bow, forehead slammed into
the floor. The twin snakes pressed into his skin, streaming down to the back of his hand and
seeping into the skin, branding him. The climatic finish to months of work bearing down on him
and overwhelming his still developing core.

The magic started to settle, and he could finally hear the pounding on the door and his mothers
screams. Someone elses cold hands covered his ears, blocking out her cries once more. A deep
chuckle rattled through his skull.

The pledge was complete.

The door unlocked, and his mother stumbled inside with a sob.

It was a warm night almost a week before his birthday when Harry cracked it.

He was up late, researching long into the night as he cursed Death to hell and back. He had taken to
flipping haphazardly through the remainder of his book, reading the names but skimming the rest
with thinly veiled panic.

Warg? No that sounds stupid. Wa-Won-dee-a-megw…? Is that really a real thing?

He brushed past several pages with frustration, hands landing firmly on an entry for a ‘Wekufe’. It
seemed to be some sort of demon, but he felt no connection. The panic bred frustration and he
leaned back into his chair and rubbed both hands across his face in a mix of exhaustion and
creeping dread. He could feel his monster clawing at the barrier, the chanting slowly growing
louder and louder as he focused onto it.

Wait…
The chanting.

It had to be important, it had to be. Bolting up, and listening hard, he could feel it echoing quietly
through his head. Hard drums and loud war cries. It was menacing and boisterous, but celebratory,
meant to be danced to. It felt powerful, like it was driving a foe away. The beat and singing almost
reminded him of…

His eyes widened marginally, it was an American tribal chant, it had to be.

“Idiot, you idiot that was so obvious.”

Grabbing his book with new found determination, he flipped to the index and searched for all the
creatures native to colder regions of the Americas, excitement racing through him as a potential
lead presented himself.

Canada perhaps?

Most of the creatures were ones that he had already read over and crossed out, and he was about to
try something different before he neared the end of the list and stopped, the chanting doubling in
volume and energy.

Wendigo.

His blood turned to ice as he fumbled the book in his hurry to flip to the correct page, realizing that
he had already been so close to figuring it out. Panic gripped him again, the chanting was growing
louder.

Not good. Not good. Not good!

Reading the entry with wide eyes, he could almost feel the demon grin with satisfaction.

Wendigo- Algonquin region, Canada

The wendigo is a demonic creature known most notoriously by the Algonquin peoples of
Canada. While the true origins of the creature are unknown, it is most commonly considered
a human who had been infected by black magic after turning to cannibalism. One of the most
ruthless predators known to the American continent, the Wendigo is known for its distinctive
ability to mimic people's voices to lure its victims closer, as well as control over winter
storms. So little is known about the wendigo due to the fact that no one has managed to
capture one for research or, by extension, survive a close encounter. Due to this, the exact
traits of a Wendigo are mostly unknown, though all first hand accounts agree that they are
extremely large and emaciated, and have a distinctive glow to their eyes that comes from
deep within the skull. Precautions against the creature are currently to avoid if at all possible
and do not engage.

Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump

He could feel the burn growing hotter behind his eyes, long claws scratched harder and harder at
the golden dome. So so close to breaking through. Eager to burst in. It was coming for him,
thirteenth birthday be damned. His breathing picked up, it was going to break in, right now. He
wasn't ready, he needed time.

Harry, Harry it's ok, it isn't going to break through.

He was out of time. It was coming.

The heartbeat was beating a mantra in his ears, panic turning to abject horror as his long- too long
they’re far too long- fingers clenched the wooden desk, nails indenting into the wood. He hunched
down, eyes wide and terrified, the onset of a full blown panic attack taking the air from his lungs.

I need to-

He turned, instincts screaming to get out and do it fast, the protections were collapsing and he was
running out of time.

He ran straight into someone, who held fast to him and refused to let go.

“Harry, calm down.”

It was so close, clawing at the barrier. He was watching it claw viciously at the golden protections,
half in his head and half in the outside world, the massive figure was bearing down on him and-

Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump

He was going to die, it was going to kill him.

Harry lashed out at the person holding him, panic gripping at his logic and silencing it. They held
firm, brushing a hand through his hair gently.

“Harry, Harry if you don't calm down I'll need to take you away from here, you're feeding into it,
you're letting this happen.”

Stop, stop!

He couldn't hear Death, he couldn't hear Tom. His entire focus on the chanting and the heartbeat
and those sharp sharp claws and oh merlin he was about to die.

“Riddle, I know you can hear me, lock the door. This is happening right now.”

The barrier cracked.

There was a moment of complete and utter silence in which Harry and his demon just stood there,
eyes locked together in his mindscape as the thin golden dome cracked and splintered, raining
down to the dirt like stardust raining from the sky.

“Harry, I’m so so sorry.”

It burst forward, ear piercing screech ringing his ears as it barreled down on him, claws slashing
him to ribbons, sharp, yellowed teeth ripping into him and gnawing on him, tearing at his sanity
and forcing him down, deep into the dark corners of the forbidden forest, deep into his
subconscious.

It tore his Hogwarts to shreds, the chanting and drums and awful, horrible screeching seeping into
him until the demon reached his core, where it sunk its twisted magic deep into his and infected
every crevice, twisted every atom, changed him in a way he couldn't comprehend. Mind and soul
torn asunder his body twisted, changing into something different. Antlers ripping viciously through
his skull, bones reforming and shifting and elongating. Veins bursting as joints popped out of their
sockets, only to be twisted and put back wrong.

This was greed, gluttony, and anger. His deepest, most twisted desires forcing their way up and
taking control.

Harry was floating, inky blackness carrying him along-cradling him. The wendigo was in control
now, forcing them to meld together and form something new. Something twisted, something cruel.

A monster felt the cutting wind on its face in the middle of the woods, having been ripped through
space and thrown roughly into a dense, snowy, pine forest by an irate god.

The screeching howl of several different voices layered together could be heard for miles.

Harry was gone, inner demons turned outwards to run rampant through abandoned woods.

His eyes were burning, his back was splitting open, snakes were coiling up his arms and knotting
around his soul, he could feel his skull trying to split in half.

Theo woke up screaming in a voice that was not his own. The sound ripping from his vocal cords
and tearing apart his lungs.

“A boy who mastered death lives a second life.”

Green eyes, antlers-no, horns? Monster. Evil-badbadBAD.

“The son of darkness will snuff out the candle of deceit.”

He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and sobbed, his skull was shattering.

“The demon will force the world into a new age.”

A door slammed open, hands grasping, panicked yelling-his grandfather?

“Death’s magic is forever shades of gray.”

Spots appeared in his vision, the prophecy ripping through his inner eye and forcing it open,
searing his lungs as the words of the gods were screamed from his throat like fire-like poison. He
was sobbing into his grandfather's chest, the older man whispering gently in his ear.

“It will be alright Theodore it's all right. Everything's alright.”

Everything’s wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. It's all gone to hell.

He cried harder, throat and lungs burning from the overexertion. His voice was hoarse and he was
shaking uncontrollably, grasping desperately at his grandfather's night gown for comfort.

Cold eyes, cold green eyes. Happy-gleeful cold green eyes.

“Take hold of this pain, little prophet, it will guide you to greatness.”

He didn't want greatness, and he didn't want the pain.

Theo curled farther into his grandfather, shaking horribly still and crying.

No more, please no more. We don't deserve this.

Somehow, he just knew that his friends were suffering too-in different ways, yes-but suffering all
the same. His throat burned, scratched and bleeding from the fiery words of angry gods. He hacked
 up some blood, coughing uncontrollably as he sobbed and shook.

We don't deserve this.

Cold, green eyes.

Chapter End Notes

I've been so excited for third year, so I've decided to keep to a once a day schedule, so
I'll have more time to really get it the way I want it.
 Creating Monsters of Men
Chapter Summary

The aftershocks of his birthday are starting to subside as recovery continues for Draco,
though Harry has just woken up.
Not all prisons are full of cells, and the shackles can sometimes appear to you as
harmless snakes.

Chapter Notes

Warning: This chapter has scenes involving child grooming, detailed descriptions of
starvation and its effects, and mentions of past gore.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry had been missing from Surrey for a week.

His family of course, would have been in a right state of worry had they known this, but the
Dursleys had been obliviated by someone into thinking that their nephew was staying at a friend’s
house, and was perfectly fine. A man with golden-green eyes who had done the deed sighed
quietly, returning to the snowy mountains of Canada to watch over his master.

The boy slept for a week, a monster prowling through the thick pine in his place.

“Things could have been different ya know, if you hadn't decided to force this all onto him.”

Cold green eyes glanced towards the god, testingly.

“And let the greatest hunter on the planet squander itself? Let the boy be less powerful than his full
potential? I did him a favor, sugarplum.”

That was certainly the question. Forcing Harry and the wendigo apart allowed for the demon to
grow stronger and more savage in the boy's mind, which would certainly help Harry in the future,
but right now the acclimation period will be much harder… much longer. Death wasn't certain it
was really worth it, as the boy's human mind would be in a constant tug-of-war with the demon,
which would distract him from more important things. He didn't always agree with Fate, and
sometimes argued against her decisions, but forcing things off of the path she chose was unwise, so
he kept his personal displeasure to himself.

Harry woke slowly as the demon grew tired, bones cracking back into place, shifting and popping.
Long antlers snapping off as if shed; bloody, gaping holes going down to the bone taking their
place. The wendigo crept back into the forbidden forest as Harry collapsed tiredly into the snow,
limbs still stretched out long and unnatural, much longer than they were before.

Harry?
He blinked blearily, trying to figure out where he was and why he was in so much pain. Snow fell
gently onto his face as he opened his tired eyes fully.

What happened?

Everything's fine now, it's all going to be ok.

He felt extremely not ok, his entire body was sore, and he felt like all his bones had been broken
and put back together not quite right. Not only that, but Tom’s reply told him nothing of what
happened, so it was likely pretty god awful. Harry buried his face in the snow, the biting cold
soothing his aching… everything.

Where am I?

Canada, I'm quite sure. Death brought you here a week ago.

...a week?

He had been out for that long? His thirteenth birthday must be just around the corner.

“Death.” It was a whisper into the wind, but was heard nonetheless. Leaving his chosen love with a
nod, the god sought out his master. The crunching of boots on snow and cigarette smoke allerted
Harry to his appearance.

“How do you feel?” a groan was the only answer, “better than I expected then, if you can still make
noise.”

A large hand landed on his back, rubbing the bare skin comfortingly. Bird song was the only thing
that could be heard for a time as Harry struggled to stay awake. He had slipped off into
unconsciousness for who knows how long, and when he woke he was fully clothed and clean of
dirt and grime, the worried eyes of Death staring down at him.

“I'm going to take you back home now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Draco had been laid up in bed for over a month, recovering and regrowing the flesh on his back.
His wings were the same color as his hair once his mother had cleaned all the blood off of them,
and he wasn't really sure if he liked them or not. His father explained that with enough control he
could fold them back into his back and have them disappear-much like a veela did. Sadly, that
ability would take time to master, and for now he would have to wait for his back to heal
completely before he could even try.

Draco sighed, shifting on his stomach slightly and stretching out, wincing as his wings stretched as
well. He had no idea how he was going to hide them at Hogwarts, but he trusted his father and his
ancestors, they must have had some sort of way to do so.

Making a pained face, he shuffled up on the bed and sat with his legs hanging off of it, spine
slouched slightly as his freshly grown skin stretched. He wasn't completely healed yet, but his back
muscles weren’t fully exposed anymore, and his mother promised a full recovery before August,
which he considered a small mercy.

The creature inside of him was fully awake now though, and often whispered how it wanted to fly
off into the mountains in his head. His father had explained months ago how he was similar but
different to a true veela; going deeply into the analysis of a magical creature's psyche and how
merging a wix and a creature together affected the offspring.

“While your typical Veela is in tune with her more animalistic side, and switches between beautiful
and horrific as easily as one would their emotions; we are different, as our veela instincts are
separate from our human brain-they don't fully mesh together. This is actually quite common with
anyone with a creature inheritance, and is why we are considered abominations, because we truly
can not fit perfectly in either world.”

This was fascinating from a psychological and magical point of view, but had also made Draco fall
into a mild depression. Not only was he not fully human, but everyone thought he was an
abomination on both sides. If anyone found out, the only people he would have would be his
friends and family. He spent almost all his recovery time in bed, constantly exhausted and without
motivation to bother with anything.

Settling at his desk, awkwardly shuffling his wings in an effort to sit comfortably with them. Draco
picked up a quill and penned out a quick note to Harry, feeling guilty that he hadn't gotten the other
boy anything for his birthday.

Harry,

I know it's your thirteenth birthday tomorrow, and I feel awfully horrible for not getting you
a birthday present. So… IOU? I read all of your letters and don't worry, I'm fine, just tired.
My back is healing fast too, so really everything's fine, Are you alright though? You haven't
written in about a week, and it's rather worrying. Are you looking for a good place to shift
tomorrow? I'm sure my father would be happy to let you use our dungeons if you’d like.

-Draco

Ps. are you going to tell me what you are now? It's rather impolite to be keeping it secret
from your fellow abomination.

Harry’s aunt had been in a state when she saw him show up at the door that day, mostly due to the
shock of seeing him seemingly grow four inches in a week-which was a good reason to be shocked
out of her wits, in Petunias defense.

“What on earth happened?” she fret, patting him down and brushing at invisible dirt on his
shoulders, leading him up the stairs slowly as he grunted in pain.

“My friend said that magic gets dodgy with puberty, I just had a growth spurt.” It was an awfully
bad lie, but he didn't really feel like coming up with anything else. Death had hurriedly told him
where they believed he had gone off to, and then fucked right off to wherever he lived, rather
unhelpfully if Harry was being perfectly honest. Harry had still been trying to keep balance on his
new legs-which were still in a great deal of pain-when his aunt had opened the door to see him
standing (read crouching) there on the porch.

“Good lord… we’ll have to go clothes shopping tomorrow to get you a whole new wardrobe love.”
He was extremely unenthusiastic about that idea, as standing in itself was a struggle, let alone
going out and buying clothes of all things. She had a point though, as most of his pants would
probably go up to his mid calf now, and he begrudgingly agreed as he was herded up the stairs and
into the bathroom for a bath. He stayed in the scalding water for hours, enjoying the heat for once
as it seemed to make the wendigo sluggish and the chanting go quiet. He managed eventually to
stumble into his room, the soreness still not quite gone and him still not quite used to his longer
limbs. He let out an exhausted groan when he noticed Persephone perched on his bed, really not
wanting to deal with the difficult bird at the moment. Seeming to understand his blight, she simply
dropped a letter onto the bed and flew back out the window, cuffing Hades with her wing on her
way out.

Reading Draco’s rather short letter, Harry fell onto his bed and curled up under three different
blankets with a sigh, attempting to disappear into the heavy quilts and puffy comforter. He didn't
know what to write in response to the blonde, it was good that his back was healing, but that bit
about the dungeons did not sit well for Harry. Regardless, he felt conflicted about telling any of his
friends about the wendigo, the creature was infamously horrible for a very good reason. Being a
beautiful veela like Draco was one thing, and a creature inheritance like his could actually be
sympathized with. Wendigos, on the other hand, didn't have a single redeeming attribute.

They would be disgusted by me.

Don't think like that, Leech.

He felt disgusted with himself honestly, wendigos were greed and gluttony incarnate, it was
shameful for him to be so similar to the creature that the gods found it fitting for him to become
one.

Burrowing further into his blankets, Harry curled up and tried to sleep, exhausted and restless.

His mother would never forgive him, probably.

Blaise had been locked in his room against his will, as his mother had grounded him for the rest of
the summer and was currently deciding whether or not to keep him locked up for the rest of his
life. He could hear her screaming at his great great grandfather through a floo call a few rooms
away, going on about how he ‘wasn't ready’ and how ‘loki will corrupt him’. It was infuriating.

Grabbing a book off the shelf in his room, he attempted to settle down in his reading nook and
focus on-he checked the cover-herbology, it seemed.

He bounced his leg, focusing half on the book and half on his mothers yelling. He could also hear
the ticking of the clock, seconds dragging by as he was still trapped in this stupid room!

Throwing a book across the room, Blaise watched with satisfaction as it hit the wall with a thud,
and landed hard on the floor.

The house elfs had been bringing him all of his meals, and he had an adjoined bathroom, so he had
been stuck in the confined space for two weeks now. It was slowly driving him insane. Leaping to
his feat, he paced around the room like a caged animal, feeling his growing restlessness become
more and more unbearable.

“She doesn't understand, does she?”

He stopped, relaxing immediately as a hand rested assuredly on his shoulder. Loki.

“No, she doesn't.”

There was a warm breath on his ear, twin snakes coiled up his legs, “she never will, I'm afraid.”

This made him pause, his mother was extremely overbearing yes, but she would eventually
understand this was the best thing for him… right?

The hand tightened, the god tisking at him as the snakes hissed warningly.

“You doubt me?”

“Of course not.” He replied quickly. He was right-of course he was right, Loki was a god after all.
Gods knew the truth behind a person's mask, what their true nature was. Blaise was his worshiper,
Loki wouldn't lie to him.

“What should I do?”

A beat of silence, and the snakes tightened their hold on his ankles. He shifted, stiffening slightly
as a pale hand brushed over his cheek gently on its path to cover his eyes, obstructing his vision.
He was pulled backwards slightly, familiar magic swirling through the room as the hand over his
eyes pressed harder, covering the entirety of his line of sight. He was completely blinded, relying
on his god for guidance.

“Wait, for now.”

He obeyed.

Azkaban prison was considered inescapable for a reason.

The triangular tower was designed with a hollowed out center, which allowed for the dementors to
float easily to any floor they pleased, while the prisoners-if they escaped their cells that is-would
be forced to run all the way down a few hundred sets of stairs to the bottom, depending on how
high up they were. Because of this security tactic, the worst of the worse were higher and higher up
in the looming tower.

Sirius black’s cell nearly reached heaven.

If you were to peer into the decrepit room, you would be much more likely to find a heavily
emaciated dog-skin barely clinging to the bone-curled up in a corner of the room, breathing
uneasily as its prominent ribs rose and fell with the breathing, than a human man. Now, usually this
would be cause for alarm, as Sirius Black was not known to be a dog in any capacity by the
populace of Britain's magical community. In fact, only three other creatures ever knew-one of
which was dead and the other two as good as. So, this left the forsaken Black heir in a delightful
predicament of being in a cell that was not designed to mute his particular skill, which he took
great pleasure in exploiting.

He had originally started to use this delightful little skill of his as a way to keep sane in the hellish
tower, as his cell reached up pleadingly to the gods' unmerciful hands, and the dementors swirled
around him almost constantly in human form. Sadly, his family was rather horrible at staying sane-
his dear cousin's earsplitting cackles from a few cells to his left was proof of that-so he had become
rather bonkers himself in his decade long stay in the tower.

There was something that had broken him from the simplicity of a dog's mind and into his insanity
addled one-that being a particular article in the papers that the minister had ever so kindly given to
him as he passed by that day. There was nothing in it that any normal person would be particularly
excited about-but the Heir Black was hardly a normal anything at this point, and he had noticed
something-or someone- very… familiar.

For the first time in over a decade a bark-like laugh accompanied the insane cackles of Bellatrix
 Lestrange in the highest level of the prison, and all the Death Eaters gathered close to the bars of
their cells as the two Blacks laughed maniacally.

“Well would ya look at that, ol’ Black’s finally lost it.” Augustus Rookwood spoke up from across
the way, as all the other prisoners in the vicinity watched the man laugh boisterously on the floor
with interest.

“Never thought I'd see the day.” Antonin Dolohov replied from the right of him, also watching with
amusement.

Bellatrix only laughed harder, falling to the floor and rolling in what seemed to be her own feces,
and the Death Eaters jeered at them both, mocking and egging them on at the same time, no doubt
desperate for entertainment of any kind.

Sirius eventually got himself under control, forcing himself to calm down as his deteriorated
stomach muscles clenched painfully.

“Ahahaa… alright chaps, that's all from me.” With a grunt he rose to his hands and knees, and the
other prisoners watched with growing realization as he shifted back into his dog form and slipped
through the bars of his prison door, starved enough to do it relatively easily. He trotted down past
the other cells as all the other prisoners yelled for him to break them out too. He made a great show
of it all, hopping along as best he could manage in his less-than-stellar state, before slipping
cheekily around the bend and out of sight of the Death Eaters, who were cursing him rather
profusely.

Alright Petey, let's dance!

Oh yes, Sirius Black was long gone, and would likely never fully recover his mind; lucky for him
though, his godson was rather unbalanced as well, even more so now that his inheritance had been
fully realized.

Trotting happily down some stairs, Sirius Black prepared himself for a long swim to shore.

Let’s dance indeed.

Chapter End Notes

Sirius is quickly turning into my favorite character to write, though I enjoy writing
insanity in all of its various forms, so that's probably why.
 Dead Man's Party
Chapter Summary

Harry feels a little too close to death's door for comfort.

Remus Lupin doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

Chapter Notes

This chapter is veeerrrrry Harry centric, just a heads up.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

His aunt Petunia had been rather miffed when Harry returned from school with a piercing, but she
nearly had a heart attack when he wandered into a gothic themed store and grabbed a spiked leather
jacket off a rack to try on. She wasn't able to sway him against it however, and was only just barely
able to steer him away from the bowl of various edgy/band related patches at the checkout counter.
He only let her do so because he could just as easily transfigure some later on.

Harry considered it a small repreve from being forced out of the house to go shopping, and
managed to sneak a few dark denim jeans into the mix of beige as they browsed stacks of clothes.
Caragans were all well and good, but Death’s punk rock sense of style had rubbed off on him, and
he felt that teen rebellion was something he deserved to enjoy.

Despite his aunt's distaste in his new sense of style, she still enjoyed buying him new clothes,
despite the fact that they would likely have to buy him an entire new wardrobe the next year as
well.

He followed behind her slowly as she ran about, picking up various tan trousers and smart collared
shirts, likely hoping to drown out all the black. He was already contemplating the permanency of
color changing charms on fabric as she did so, his urge to hide in shadows growing by the day as
his wendigo recovered from its jaunt through the Canadian wilderness.

The demon never spoke to him, choosing instead to prowl through the forbidden forest of his mind,
waiting for the right time to force its way into control again. Tom was already trying to convince
him to build up walls to keep the monster at bay, but he felt that would be counterproductive. The
main aspect of a creature inheritance was the combining of a magical person's core and that of a
magical creature after all, it would be akin to trying to stunt his puberty if he fought against the
monster further. Even if he wanted to.

His aunt held a truly hideous jumper up to his chest, and he had to intervene before she actually
decided to buy it.

“I think we have enough to last me for the year, auntie.”

Huffing at him, she put the impressively ugly thing back on the rack, and he breathed a sigh of
relief. No color changing charms could ever fix that monstrosity, and Harry wondered if Dudley
loved his mother very much or was just color blind to be so willing to wear whatever Petunia
bought him.

Thirty minutes later he was safely locked away in his room, where he sorted the clothes into two
piles of ‘wearable’ and ‘needing intensive color charms’. Falling onto his bed with a sigh, Harry
popped four or five capsules of Advil into his mouth, dry swallowing the pills with a grimace. He
had suddenly come up with the grand idea of trying muggle pain relievers to help with the growing
pains and… everything else, hopefully they would do something. Checking the bottle belatedly for
the recommended serving size, he squinted at it and groaned angrly, annoyed that the bottle
showed a number much lower than what he had decided was the correct amount. Hoping that he
didn't overdose too terribly, Harry kicked off his shoes and flopped further onto his bed, burrowing
deep under the covers. He groaned again, wiggling out of his too small pants as if trying to imitate
a worm, utterly exhausted.

Wake me up when the world is ending.

Harry was forced awake by his stomach growling a few hours later, not the end of the world, and
he blearily made his way down to the kitchen with the goal of eating the entire pantry’s stock of
food. He got very close to that goal too, before his aunt shooed him out of the room, scolding him
for spoiling his dinner.

Harry sat grumpily in the living room after that, stomach growling hungrily despite the few
thousand calories he had already consumed. He had written back to Draco that morning before they
had left for clothes shopping, detailing that he already had things handled and not to worry about it.
Just as he had been sending that one off, Blaise’s owl Hermes had flown in with a letter detailing
his current detainment and why his mother needed to be arrested for child abuse. It was extremely
dramatic, but a similar letter from Theo about his grandfather's new found anxiety over his inner
eye opening made him think that his friends were just like that. The point was that the two of them
were being forced to owl order all their school supplies, and couldn't go to Diagon with him. Draco
had already told them that he wouldn't be able to go shopping either, due to his much needed
recovery.

Wouldn't that be nice. Harry thought to himself sardonically, popping another three advils into his
mouth as the others had worn off. His recovery time so far seemed to be consisting of hot baths and
getting comfortably high on pain meds. Which, in his opinion, was much better than laying around
in pain.

He slumped further into the plush couch, partially angry and partially happy that he wouldn't be
able to meet his friends to go shopping for school supplies. It was upsetting for him that he would
have to wait even longer to see his friends (read Draco) but he also knew that they needed rest
(Draco) so he was okay with the solo trip. Harry perked up a bit, if he was able to go in without his
aunt like last time, he would also be able to go do whatever he pleased in the few hours on his own
in Diagon Alley.

You could go to Gringotts and get another inheritance test.

Tom had a good point, it would likely show both his creature inheritance and soul mate’s name
now that he was thirteen. He also needed to take a trip down into one of his gifted vaults, as it had
various heirlooms from dead or dying families that thought it prudent to shove all their riches onto
him.

“Harry, you ate all the pickles and even drank the juice! If you were really that hungry you could
have just told me, I can make you a snack.”
His stomach grumbled in response, and he sunk low into the plush cushions as his cousin snickered
besides him.

“Sorry auntie.”

Remus Lupin sighed tiredly, setting down the well worn letter and rubbing his eyes.

Sirius had escaped Azkaban that morning.

The letter in front of him was one that the headmaster had sent him quickly after the last school
year had ended. It detailed a potential contract for the defense position at Hogwarts, and after
reading it Remus had truly almost thrown it into the trash. He was far too dangerous to be around
children, what had that man been thinking?

He had held onto the letter though, just leaving it at his desk to mock him. Something was
compelling him to take the job, and Remus had spent several sleepless nights trying to come up
with a respectable reply.

Sirius had escaped Azkaban that morning.

The morning paper displaying his ex-best friend’s manic grin and the big bold letters exclaiming
his escape had Remus bolting out of his dingy dining room chair and up to his room, where he
proceeded to write out a very sloppy but earnest reply accepting the post if it was still available.
Sirius had broken out to kill Harry, he was sure of it, and that was reason enough for him to go to
Hogwarts.

Remus rubbed his face again, regret clouding his mind. He hadn't gone looking for Harry in the
muggle world, he didn't have the nerve. He had thought about it for years, crossing out the boy's
birthday each year on the calendar and wondering how he was doing, what he was like now.

He had kept his distance though, Dumbledore had told him the boy was happy and in safe hands,
he didn't want to ruin that with his presence. So he had left James’ son alone through his childhood,
content with the knowledge that the boy was doing well.

Now though... he couldn't just stand by while Sirius ran rampant through the countryside. The
traitor would no doubt be hunting down the last Potter to appease his lords spirit in some twisted
show of loyalty.

So he was off to Hogwarts, Remus wasn't going to let sweet baby Harry get killed by the man who
betrayed his parents.

Throwing on his darkest clothes and new leather jacket, Harry was out the door before his aunt
could force him into something more respectable. Popping a lolly in his mouth (he needed an
almost constant intake of calories lately) he walked swiftly down the street, intent on taking the
knight bus to Diagon Alley.

It was a horribly sunny day, and Harry sweat slightly in his dark clothing, but pressed on anyway.
The chanting and growls that constantly seemed to bother him quieted the hotter it became, and he
welcomed the quiet with open arms… and then got bored with it. Deciding to fill the quiet with a
more enjoyable noise, he threw his headphones on and pressed play on the walkman on his hip,
bobbing along to a random Green Day song. Dudley had been nice enough to get him a new
walkman for his birthday, and the two of them had snuck out to a record store to buy a bunch of
songs (for Harry) and porn magazines (for Dudley) about a week after that.
It was mid-August now, and while Harry’s muscle pains hadn’t improved in the slightest, he had
gotten better at eating enough to moderately satisfy the wendigo, so he was generally doing a hell
of a lot better, though the constant buzz from his budding advil addiction was likely a big part of
that.

Pointing his wand out to the street once all the muggles were out of sight, he watched the knight
bus rocket into sight in front of him.

Stepping on, he pulled a couple sickles out and handed them to Stan, who was staring rather
obnoxiously at his scar. Harry glared tiredly and mumbled out “Diagon Alley, mate”, not wanting
to bother with the fame today.

Plopping down on a bed, he cast a sticking charm just in time as the bus rocketed off again.
Ignoring the stares from Stan as the man's brain cells started rubbing together to figure out who he
was, Harry closed his eyes and waited for his stop.

I should have just apparated.

You don't have a license.

Rule three of Slytherin: don't get caught.

That doesn't relate to actual crimes!

Weren't you the leader of a terrorist group or something?

The bed he was on slammed hard into the back of the bus, and Harry grunted nocomitally. This
was by far his favorite mode of magical transportation despite the rather shoddy safety measures,
so he begrudgingly submitted himself to the ride.

Ten minutes and a few bruises later, Harry hopped off the bus. He made his way into Diagon,
ignoring the open mouthed stares as every pureblood in his vicinity lost their fucking minds at his
obscenely muggle get up. He usually made an effort to dress the part of the perfect pureblood heir-
really he had-but Harry was tweaked out on ibuprofen at the moment and would probably flip off
the minister if given a good enough reason.

This is why proper recovery time is important, Leech, go home and rest.

Nah.

Climbing the sloping steps of Gringotts two at a time, Harry strolled in without a care in the world.
His walkman had fritzed out with all the ambient magic in the air once he had gotten to the alley,
so he pulled his now useless headphones off and placed them around his neck.

He walked up to the nearest free teller, tripping over his feet on the way there. “Ello, can I speak to
Griphook?”

The goblin glared at him rather hatefully, but got up and went through to a back room. While he
was waiting, Harry got a little fuzzy in the head and stood there for a moment, humming quietly.

I’m going to take over and force water down your throat.

That’s cruel.

“Heir Potter, always a pleasure.”

Shaking himself slightly, Harry glanced down to Griphook, who seemed rather upset with him.

He raised an eyebrow, “have I done something?”

Griphook sneered, “it’s what you haven’t done, follow me.”

Harry followed behind the goblin obediently, only mildly concerned about whatever it was that he
was so angry about. Sitting down in a familiar (and uncomfortable) chair, his eyes widening with
excitement as the goblin in front of him pulled out a long ceremonial dagger.

“How much do I need to pay to get myself one of those beauties?”

Griphook grinned nastily, “more than all of your vaults combined.”

A groan, “blast.”

Setting the dagger down, the goblin pulled out various papers, “it has come to our attention that
you have not only refused to reply to our various correspondence in regards to your heirship,
despite-”

“-I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the only ‘correspondence’-” he made the air quotes
with his fingers, grinning sardonically, elbows on boney knees, “-I've received from Gringotts is
withdrawal notices.” Harry ran his finger down the side of the dagger in front of him, fascinated
with the craftsmanship.

“You… What?” Griphook seemed flabbergasted with this knowledge, Harry was still pleasantly
buzzed.

“Haven't gotten dick from you lot, yea. You sure I can't buy one of these?” Tom groaned tiredly,
mumbling about the woes of parenting.

Griphook took a moment to watch him very closely, “I apologize, Heir Potter, it seems that we have
done a disservice to you, could it be that your magical guardian has not been receiving our
correspondence?”

Harry squinted at him, “my magical guardian? As in Albus Dumbledore, the man who placed like-
a bajillion compulsions on me? That magical guardian?” Harry was pretty sure he was starting to
come down from the high, if the growing ach in his limbs was any indication, pity.

Griphook rubbed his eyes, “yes, that one. I'm afraid this has become rather complicated.”

“Couldn’t you just send the letters to me instead? Can't be awfully difficult to do.” Harry highly
doubted that Dumbledore really had that much business being his guardian anyway, being who he
was. Bastard had too many titles as is.

“I'm afraid not, a young heir such as yourself would have to be emancipated to do such a thing, or
change your guardian I suppose.”

Well hey, I just so happen to have a potential magical guardian who just broke out of prison.

This is a phenomenally stupid idea.

“Does a magical guardian have to have a clean criminal record?”

It was Griphook’s turn to squint at him, “...It would be considerably more difficult for someone
with a criminal record to gain custody, yes.”
“Blast.”

It was quiet as semi-high Harry tried to think of a solution and the goblin considered his retirement
plans.

“Okay but what if they’re cleared?”

“Heir Potter, you can not have Sirius Black as a magical guardian.”

“Well why the bloody hell not!” he threw his hands up in the air, wincing as his muscles disagreed
with the motion.

Griphook was about to respond before he took notice of the grimace, and seemed to realize
something, “Heir Potter, your thirteenth birthday was a fortnight ago! You can not be out of bed,
what are you doing here?”

He slumped back in the seat, squinting through the pain, “I have to get my school supplies you
know.”

The goblin tisked at him, the prat. “This was very foolhardy of you Heir Potter, I can give you a
pain relieving potion but you truly must rest your body.”

That seemed extremely unappealing to Harry, but to his dismay he was practically forced out of the
office, pain reliever and book catalogue in hand. He choked the foul tasting liquid down and
wandered out, feeling about ten times worse than he had walking in.

I'm going down Knockturn.

Harry-No.

This would be a wasted trip otherwise.

He cast a strong notice-me-not charm and picked a random piece of wood of the ground,
transfiguring it into a long black cloak. He might feel like a dead man, but he still wasn’t stupid.
Stubborn as all hell? Yes. But not stupid.

Pulling the cloak over his body and making sure that any distinctive feature was covered, Harry
made his way into Knockturn alley, notice-me-not still in place for extra security.

The alley was just as dingey and decrepit as he remembered, though the novelty was wearing off.
He brushed past street vendors and the homeless, keeping his eyes firmly on the storefronts and
names. He went far deeper than last time, passing his fair share of brothels, bars, and unsavory
people as he wandered deeper.

The glimmer of something caught his eye in a large gap between two building. Peering into the
side-alley, he caught sight of a small, free standing door. He creeped further into the alley,
intrigued.

The door was banged up and old, with pale green mold growing in various spots, but the magic that
whipped around it made Harry curious. Reaching out and grasping the door handle-which was
mostly just rust at this point-he pushed the door open with a creak and found the other side was not
a continuation of the alley, but another store. This didn't shock him particularly, and he stepped
inside, the door shutting behind him with a click.
Theo had been spending the last three weeks laid up in bed, partially blinded. His inner eye
awakening had done a lot more than just give him a painful migraine, and he was being treated for
blindness in his left eye. The mediwitch his grandfather had hired seemed confident that it would
be healed up soon, but his grandfather was already looking into removing it and having a magical
eye implanted in its place. Theo honestly didn't care what happened, as long as by the time
September 1st rolled around, he still had two identical brown eyes that actually worked.

He sighed, shifting in discomfort as the bandage over his eye rubbed uncomfortably on his skin.
Why they hadn’t come up with bandages that were less scratchy was beyond him.

Getting up slowly, working as best he could with the shoddy depth perception, Theo stumbled to
his feat, insistent on moving. His legs groaned from dis-use, and his back ached something awful,
but he managed to shuffle over to his bathroom door. Stopping to stretch, he sighed as his back
popped pleasantly.

Opening the door, he got a good look at (what he considered to be) a big mess. His hair hadn't been
cut in a while, letting his natural waves fall all over the place. He blinked blearly at his reflection,
he lost the rest of his baby fat at least, though only eating soup for nearly a month probably had
something to do with that (it didn't).

Sighing slightly, Theo made his way to the bath, wanting to get clean through more than just
cleaning charms for once. Honestly, it was his eye that was malfunctioning, not his legs, he could
walk just fine.

Steam clouded the mirror as he sank happily into the water, making sure to keep his eyes firmly
above it. Theo had no illusions about his grandfather’s actions, and in some ways agreed with
them. He was the only possible heir stretched over three generations, if he somehow died before
having children, the Nott fortune and heirship would land on the Rosiers, who were his closest
cousins. So it made quite a bit of sense for his grandfather to be so overprotective, but it didn't
mean that Theo had to like it.

He sank further into the water, groaning as the sound of a door slamming allerted him to his
grandfather coming into the room.

“Theodore? Where are you!”

Back to it then.

Harry strode into the peculiar store, marveling at the strange trinkets littering the shelves.

“Harry Potter!”

Bloody- “Fuck!”

Whipping around, Harry stumbled backwards as a crazy-looking old crone darted forward to grab
at him. She got his wrist in a vice grip and refused to let go, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I could feel the magic in the air but couldn’t let myself think it was true!” she grabbed at his
cloak, yanking it off as he continued to pull at his arm, trying with no avail to dislodge himself
from her grasp.

“Get. Off!” another strong tug and she finally let go, turning and running off to a side room with
shocking speed, yelling excitedly about magic and nearly lost opportunities. He took the moment to
catch his breath and settle his nerves.
 Absolutely mental, that one.

Harry turned to the door, intent on getting the hell out before the old woman came back. He sighed
tiredly as he found that the door had, unsurprisingly, disappeared.

In hindsight I should have seen this coming.

I don't even need to say I told you so.

“Yes! It was such a great shock when the gods told me-” the batty old lady returned from the
stacks with something wrapped in deep purple silk, still chattering away, “-I almost didn't believe
them-truly how could you blame me. Harry Potter, a demon! Well, it was almost too much for my
old heart to handle.” she shoved the silk covered thing into his arms, before bending down and
picking up his cloak, throwing it messily over him once more.

“Now off you pop dearie, and keep her nice and clean. Shoo!” and with that the door reappeared
and he was thrust quite rudely out and into the alley, the cloak just barely covering his scar.

He stood there, eyes wide and confusion etched on his face, trying to figure out what the hell had
just happened and failing quite spectacularly.

Well… that was interesting.

Harry looked down at the silk covering, pulling it back slightly to reveal a large, clear, crystal
carved in the shape of a human skull.

He covered it again, and continued on his way.

Chapter End Notes

I'm a firm believer in early days Michael Jackson's domination of the sexy skinny-
legged boy archetype, and no I don't take constructive criticism.
PS. did you know that the word muggle is a slang term for weed? Neither did I, but I
guess that means we're all potheads, not potterheads. (ahem)
PPS. I wasn't high while writing this, I promise, just listening to 80's-90's rock to get in
the appropriate headspace. (I think it worked a little too well, thank you Twisted
Sister)
 Smells Like Teen Spirit
Chapter Summary

Preparations for the ever approaching school year are overshadowed by strange skulls
and magic eyes.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Soft purple silk mocked him silently as he studied the silhouette of the currently hidden crystal
skull. He had attempted to study the object once he had gotten home, but it seemed insistent on
staying under its baroque coverings. Harry had set the skull onto his desk and left for a time, the
silk being thrown to the other side of the room and onto his bed.

He had returned not five minutes later to find the skull had been re-covered, deep purple waves
draped elegantly over the cranium.

His apprehension over the mysterious object was growing by the second.

This... is a tad suspect.

Truly? My, I hadn't noticed!

No one likes a Sassy Sue, Riddle.

It was more than just a ‘tad suspect’ really, crystal skulls were obnoxiously rare as is, and not
particularly well liked by the vast majority of polite society. Sure, divinators flocked to them to try
and get an assured glimpse into the future, as the skulls were well known for being much better
conductors of magic than a normal crystal ball, but anyone who studied divination was either far
far away from being members of polite society or...Theo, he supposed.

Though, even divinators knew the risks of using such an object, as every crystal skull that had been
found always had an extra hint of darker magics, something a little monstrous and… demonic?

That was partially why they were tiptoed around by the magical community. The term ‘crystal
skull’ was widely used to reference a very narrow niche of carved crystals. The parameters were
that the object had to be a large, clear quartz crystal that had been cut to form an anatomically
accurate skull, and then left to sit in a heavily magical area for a few thousand of years. The
theoretics around these skulls were vague, as they had all been created in a short time frame by an
unknown group in mesoamerica thousands of years ago, but everyone generally agreed that letting
a magic conductor sit in a cave for a few thousand years was a good way to get the bloody thing
possessed by some sort of nasty black magic.

There were only about thirteen of the skulls known to exist, though many of them were currently in
the possession of muggles. Apparently because muggles were (generally) far more inclined to
grave-rob than magicals.

Since all the currently known crystal skulls had originated from mesoamerica, it was likely that
this one had as well. His crystal skull was about the size of an adult male's, and he could already
tell by the ambient magic surrounding it that the thing was very old. He breathed in, heightened
senses telling him everything about the magic. Dark and light, black and white, good and evil-
polarized magic and everything in between had touched the damned thing. He hadn't noticed in
Knockturn, too busy being confused, but now that he was sitting right there and letting it all fall
over him… Harry was extremely intimidated by the object.

Pulling the deep purple silk from the skull once more, he watched the sunlight hit it beautifully,
throwing colorful refractions against the walls. He had read up on the skulls in the nearest public
library, knowing that the muggles likely had more on them than your typical (read legal) bookstore
in Diagon. They were said to have various healing properties, and the refraction of light through
the skull was an important part of that healing process.

He couldn’t work out any sort of enchantments or runes on the thing, but the light running through
it was obviously doing something. The sun streamed in and hit the skull head on, and in the place
where a brain would be, there was a growing ball of multi-colored light. A kaleidoscope of colors
danced around the room and swirled inside the skull. Tangible, thick, and… dangerous.

It seems to be gathering power and storing it. Tom seemed fascinated with the skull, Harry's
apprehension grew.

Should I cover it back up?

The silk already seemed to want to leap out of his hand, tugging at his strong grip pathetically as
the skull continued to glow with a rainbow of colors. Realizing suddenly, Harry turned his wand on
the silk, casting every diagnostic charm under the sun to figure out the enchantments on the stupid
thing.

What he found was marginally more shocking than the skull's history. The thing appeared to be
semi sentient.

“Bloody hell.”

Who the hell was that lady from the shop? Not just any random old crone could hunt down a large
crystal skull and then make a piece of cloth semi-sentient to cover the blasted thing. Silk was
heavily magic resistant as it, likely due to the fabrics smooth waves. Enchantments tended to slip
from it more often, needing more upkeep and recasting, there was no way this thing could be
considered sustainable without a considerable amount of magic and skill.

Or a grounding stone. Sometimes, Tom just said the dumbest things.

I'm sorry, do you see any grounding stones on this piece of thin, light fabric?

Perhaps it was built into the embroidery?

That was an even more baffling hypothesis. The embroidery along the silk was a slightly brighter
purple than the fabric, but was so tiny that it was hard to make out what the pattern even was.
Squinting slightly, Harry turned the silk in his hands, trying to find a better angle. He recognized a
section of it suddenly, and looking even closer his eyes widened comically.

“Bloody Hell.”

Runes. An absolute metric fuckton of impossibly tiny runes were embroidered into the silk. They
criss crossed over and through each other to create a thick metric of interlocking runes. It was
incredible, he gaped, it was one of the most detailed examples of rune matrics he had ever seen.
Tom had also gone quiet in shock.
Harry sat back with a long drawn out breath, eyes blown wide in awe.

That lady just… handed this thing to me…?

He questioned if the skull was nearly as special as its embellished covering as he brushed his hand
carefully over the runework. This explained how the thing could be sentient, several of the runes
could be used for that sort of thing, the sorting hat likely had a similar arrangement.

Letting go of the fabric, he watched as the thing slithered (much like a snake) over to the skull and
draped across it, seeming to sigh with relief.

Fascinating.

He pinched a corner of the fabric between two of his fingers, watching with wide eyes as a
different corner fluttered up and slapped uselessly at his hand, trying to dislodge him. It reminded
him of the muggle movie Aladdin-which he and his cousin had gone to see when it came out the
year prior-and the magical carpet in the film, how it had moved and flowed.

Harry left the silk alone and watched it fold under and around the skull, trying to cover as much of
the crystal's surface as possible.

What do you think I should do with it?

Leave both of the thrice damned things alone and get some bloody rest.

Harry groaned but decided to comply, the pain reliever potion was wearing off anyway.

Theo was layed up on a medical bed, annoyed and tired. His left eye was heavily inflamed and
deteriorating by the day, basically unsalvageable.

What's the point of magic if it can't fix this?

He knew deep down that it was an unreasonable request of magic to fix everything, but he really
didn't want to bother with getting a second eye. This feeling only grew as the mediwitch showed
him their selection of magical eyes, all of which were various shades of blue or yellow. He could
only assume that the enchantments made them that kind of color, not just because people preferred
them.

“Is there any way to get an eye that matches my natural eye color?” she gave him a pitying look,
that would be a no then.

“This one is quite sharp.” his grandfather pointed at a shocking blue eye, the properties listed
under it showed that the thing would give him perfect eyesight as well as the ability to spot poisons
and potions in his food.

“Awfully jaring though.” Theo didn’t really care for any sort of fancy enchantments on his eye,
less is more so to speak, but his grandfather was quite excited about the idea of more protection for
his heir.

“Are you sure there aren't any more colors?” Theo was practically whining at this point, he knew,
but honestly this was ridiculous.

“Well we do have a small selection of green eyes-” that was another no then. The only green eyes
he could stand to look at anymore were Harry’s, and that was only when the boy wasn’t in one of
his moods. Theo passed that avenue with disdain and focused his right eye on the potential pairs in
front of him. There was an eye of a dull yellow color that seemed to have only been enchanted with
perfect vision, which was calling to him with its simplicity.

“How about this one, Theodore?” his grandfather pointed to another blue eye, which seemed to be
twice as large as the others and had an absurd amount of enchantments listed below it.

The mediwitch came to his rescue on that one, “I'm afraid that particular eye is most often used by
aurors, and can’t actually be inserted into the socket due to its size. He would have to wear a rather
large eye patch.”

Theo breathed a sigh of relief as his grandfather made a face and vetoed the eye immediately,
turning to look around the other ones. Theo was quite sure that in the end he would have no choice
about which eye he got saddled with, and layed back down on the bed, accepting whatever fate his
grandfather chose for him.

Draco was of a similar disposition, lying on his stomach as the family mediwizard pottered around
with a frankly ludicrous amount of potions and inks.

I'm too young to have a tattoo.

It wasn't a permanent one, thank Merlin, but would stay till he had enough control over his wings
to be able to keep them hidden on his own. The runic arrays that were to be painted and ‘staining’
his skin were meant to do the job for him before that time, keeping the wings in some state of
constant invisibility whenever he had fabrics covering them. He would still (sadly) feel the wings
under his clothing, but any sort of movement or lumpiness that came from him shifting them
around or adjusting his posture would be unseen by everyone. Of course once his back was bare of
fabric the wings would be revealed once more, as the runes weren’t nearly strong enough to
completely hide two pale wings in clear view.

“Alright Draconis, I'll be applying the sticking agent now. Please hold still while I do so, it is quite
itchy.”

The old man’s family had been serving the Malfoys for generations, a family alliance securing
each generation's silence in regards to the veela inheritance as well as all other medical issues.

The potion was extremely itchy, and Draco could barely hold still and the man rubbed it in, the itch
only growing in intensity as it sank into his freshly healed back. He squirmed a little, the man
pressing down harder to keep him still.

“That should do, I'll start drawing on the runes now.”

The runes were even more unpleasant, as they had to be drawn with a special type of quill that
would work on flesh. Occasionally, the blasted thing would catch on his skin and nick him, which
forced the mediwizard to stop and heal the nick, then reapply more of the itchy potion. The entire
experience was overall just incredibly uncomfortable, and he breathed a sigh of relief once it was
finally over.

The runes raced up and down his spine, spreading out down his lower back, just barely missing his
wings as they curled back up and swirled around his sides to meet back up at the start across his
shoulder blades.

They looked fine, he supposed, but Draco really preferred to not have them at all. He really never
liked the idea of tattoos on his own skin, though they occasionally looked quite interesting on
others.

He sighed, pulling a loose shirt over his still sticky back and adjusting his wings to lay flat and
comfortable. Walking from the room, he met his father at the door.

“May I see?”

His father examined his covered back, exclaiming happily how the runes appeared already in
effect.

“Excellent job as always, Maylis.” The Lord Malfoy wandered into the room and started up a
conversation with the old man, seemingly having forgotten that his son was still in the doorway.
Moving back along, Draco shifted his wings a tad, the stickiness of his back clinging to the
feathers uncomfortably.

Wandering out to the garden, Draco caught sight of vibrant scales as Thasin slithered through the
brush besides him. Harry had practically thrown the snake at him, mumbling something about her
preferring the blond anyway. Draco had been enjoying the snake's companionship, despite the fact
that he had no way of understanding what she was constantly hissing at him. She kept the pompous
albino peacocks from bothering him when he strolled in the garden at least, so he didn't feel too
milfed about the language barrier.

“I'll be going back to Hogwarts soon Thasin, Harry as well.” she hissed something at him, he
assumed it was some sort of acknowledgment.

“You'll be coming along too you know, don't try to get out of it.” an annoyed sounding hiss
answered him.

“I can always send Persephone off to fetch you on September first if you decide to slither off and
hide.” she darted off into the shrubs, apparently done with the conversation and his threats.

Draco stopped at a pergola covered with flowering vines, settling himself down on a bench and
staring out at the immaculate gardens. He loved the manor, but Hogwarts held a certain feeling that
couldn't be explained or recreated. It was the magic in the air, the not-quite-but-almost sentient
castle that called him to the cold stone and mysterious corridors. It was a home to him, the twisting
halls and towers reaching the sky. One day, Draco wished to perhaps become a teacher there, just
so that he could live on the grounds full time if he so chose. Potions and herbology were his
favorite subjects at the moment, perhaps if he did well enough he could get a mastery in both
subjects and teach one of them.

I wonder if Harry would want to be a professor as well.

He doubted it, honestly. Harry was brilliant, sure, but wasn't all that good at explaining his
brilliance to others. The taller boy would probably be going into politics like Draco was expected
to do, climbing the ladder and changing the country for the better no doubt. Harry would be damn
good at it too, he had become the unquestioned prince of Slytherin in his second year as a half-
blood after all. Such a feat that took considerable skill and knowledge of politics, as well as a great
deal of raw talent and pure nerve that Draco didn't feel he personally possessed. Sure, with time
and the right drive he could do it, but politics had never been something the blond had wanted to
do for an extended period.

He honestly half expected Harry to get bored of all the politicking eventually and try to take over
Britain, probably just to see if he could.
He would do it, effortlessly.

Draco smiled warmly, Harry really didn't seem to have much in the way of limits, and often did
whatever the hell he wanted, even if it was a supposedly ‘impossible’ feat. Though, anyone who
had vanquished the dark lord as an infant had to be quite extraordinary, so he couldn't fault the guy
on that.

He sighed, Harry was a certain kind of extraordinary though, special in a way no one else could
replicate. He hadn't seen anyone quite like Harry before and doubted that anyone else could even
attempt to get close.

“Draco? Where did you run off to?” his mother's voice was far off, likely from the back porch. It
broke hin from his thoughts though, and he got up, dusting his pants of imaginary dirt.

“Coming!”

Blaise was still trapped in his room, slowly going insane.

“Let me out, Pipsy.”

“I can’s not be doing that, Master Blasey.”

“Let me out.”

“I has been ordered not to, Master Blasey.”

“Let. Me. Out.”

“I must be returning to the kitchens, Master Blasey.”

“Oh come on, live a little! What's five minutes of freedom going to do?”

The elf appeared nervous, and he felt a little pity for her. But honestly, he was the one that needed
pity, considering that he had been locked in this god forsaken room for over a month now. He told
her so, and she appeared even more nervous, rubbing her hands together and trying to argue
without actually arguing.

“I must be returning to the kitchens, Master Blasey.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, “Fine.”

She popped away quickly, and Blaise slumped, defeated, in his chair. Despite his current
detainment, he had been doing relatively well over the summer. Loki had been visiting him often,
showing him fascinating magics and the olde ways occasionally. The god’s sickly green magic had
soaked into the room, swirling lazily around the place.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Blaise looked to Hermes at the window, who was watching him with an
air of extreme amusement.

“And what do you think you’re lookin’ at?”

No answer.

I'm going insane.

Picking himself off of the chair, Blase made his way over to the window, petting Hermes
distractedly as he looked out to the Irish gulf, waves crashing against the shore in repetitive
motions. Italy had much sunnier and warmer waters, and he missed the airy villa and huge
windows to lounge in front of, warm sun casting light in through the floor to ceiling windows.

Ireland was where he had grown up, but Italy was his home.

He turned from the window with a sigh, he couldn't even go down to the chilly water and pick sea
shells out of the sand, stuck in his room the way he was. If his room was closer to the ground he
would just sneak out through the window, but he was on the fourth floor and didn’t have a death
wish. Semi-sticking charms cast to his palms crossed his mind briefly, but Blaise didn't feel he had
the right amount of control over his magic to pull off the kind of pinpoint accuracy required.

Blaise finished the circle and plopped back down on the chair he had started at, knowing that in ten
minutes or so he would call Pipsy again and the cycle would repeat.

Padfoot crept through a densely wooded forest, sniffing out a familiar scent.

He had no bloody clue where he was, but after crashing through the underbrush into a random
clearing, he got the faint whiff of a very familiar scent. It was over a year old, but the source was
relatively close, so he could still track it. The scent had changed slightly over the years, and had an
undertone of danger that made Padfoot wimper quietly, but this was his godson-no doubt about it.

He was nearing civilization, finding that he must have been in the woods surrounding a muggle
neighborhood. Creeping out of the forest and into some dense bushes, he trotted along with his
nose to the dirt, following the faint trail. The scent grew stronger as he got closer to the street.

Peeking out of the bushes, he looked around warily, still getting a strong whiff of something that
instilled a primordial fear in him. Silent as the night, Padfoot crept from the bushes and into the
light of day. Gaining confidence, he started a fast trot down the street, unknowingly headed straight
towards number four Privet Drive.

The familiar scent and its dangerous undertone nearly tripled suddenly as long, thin legs covered
by ripped skinny jeans came into view. He looked up, and was met with familiar green eyes and
unfamiliar everything else.

Harry?

The boy sure smelled like Harry, and the hint of danger on him was starting to slowly make more
sense. His godson couldn't possibly be completely human, he was far too tall for just barely
thirteen.

“Hey there, snuffles.”

The teen squatted down and scratched behind Padfoots ear, the spikes on his leather jacket
catching the sun- what I would do to get my hands on something like that, those spikes are badass-
Padfoot excitedly barked, this was his godson alright, and seemed to be taking after him in fashion
taste as well! James was probably rolling in his grave.

Harry ruffled his fur one more time before getting up and walking back to wherever he was staying,
Padfoot followed quickly behind him.

You're not keeping it.

 That ‘it’ is my godfather you know.

I don't care, I’m not dealing with it.

Circe, you're dramatic.

Harry hadn't really been planning on hunting down Sirius till he got to Hogwarts, but if the guy was
going to just mosey around the bend like that he could hardly pass up the opportunity. The only
difficulty would be convincing Aunt Petunia to help the dog, but he had a good fix for that too.

“Oi, Dudders.”

His cousin was in the backyard, out of the way of any windows. Probably doing drugs.

“Wha-oh! Harry, mate-the hell?” he fumbled with a bag, clumsily stuffing it back into his pocket,
definitely drugs then.

“Found a dog.”

“A wot?” Dudley was still awfully slow. Harry just pointed behind him where Padfoot sat
obediently, tongue lolling around.

“Blimey, you sure that isn't a wolf?” Dudley loved dogs for some reason-probably Aunt Marge’s
influence-but Petunia had been hemming and hawing over actually getting the teen one for a good
while now. This was the perfect opportunity to push her in a good direction.

“Nah, his ears are more floppy than a wolf’s. Probably a mutt.”

Padfoot looked extremely insulted.

“Think ma will let ‘im in the house?”

“Eh, probably not. We could make a case for the backyard though.”

They did, in fact, make an effort to convince the Dursley matriarch to clean and feed the dog,
Dudley did most of the talking. Harry already had a few contingency plans he was stewing up with
a disgruntled Tom in case this one didn't work out, so he just stood back and watched the fireworks
mostly. Intervening only occasionally as voices raised.

Petunia held firm against her son’s onslaught however, and the dog was forced outside with a large
plate of leftover meat and an even larger bowl of water that sat on the porch.

“If that poor thing comes back around again, I'll set out another bowl and some leftovers, but strays
can have fleas and worms and god knows what else. I won't have it in my house.”

Harry was happy enough that his Godfather would be assured occasional meals, and left Dudley to
his dog-lover rant.

He had a mysterious crystal skull and sentient silk that he needed to figure out before the school
year started, Sirius would be fine.

Chapter End Notes

The summer was a bit longer this year, but I felt like it was important to detail their
recovery time and other exploits (ie. breaking the FUCK outta prison. Sirius is a bad
bitch). The next chapter is off to Hogwarts though, so we've officially ended our
summer happenings.
 Death's Shadow is in my Corner
Chapter Summary

The Hogwarts express has some late boarding passengers, and Harry reveals more than
he wanted to.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry put the crystal skull on display in the fourth compartment of his trunk.

He hadn't had much use for the small studio apartment that Tom had made for him in his first year,
and it had just been gathering dust in his trunk for the past two years. Now though, he felt that the
private space would be more useful this year than the last two. He had set the skull (and it's purple
cover) on his dresser, where he had drawn a circular rune meant to keep any malevolent magic
from escaping. The skull still freaked him out a little, and he didn't want to take any chances with it
being around his friends.

Walking out of the house, Harry scratched Padfoot's ear, “I'm off to my totally not magical
boarding school Snuffles, it would be super weird if I saw you there so this is goodbye.”

The dog looked at him strangely and got up, wandering away to the woods behind the house.

The drive to Kings Cross was quiet, and the walk to the platform was equally silent. Harry didn't
feel particularly inclined to pay attention to anything going on, and he quickly found himself taking
up an entire bench in his regular compartment, legs thrown out on the plush seating and back
against the window.

He was trying to come up with a rune scheme that would protect his walkman from ambient magic,
and Tom whispered ideas in his mind as he wrote out potential runes on paper. Theo was the first
to arrive, and stopped in the doorway.

“Harry?”

He glanced up, “...Theo?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Theo had finally hit puberty, apparently.

“You got awfully hot over the summer, mate.”

“Wha- you grew a foot!”

“Four inches actually, no big deal.”

Theo seemed extremely perplexed, Harry was wondering why he suddenly had heterochromia.

“Hey, why’s your eye blue?”

Theo sighed tiredly, coming all the way into the compartment and dropping onto an adjacent seat,
“I had to get it replaced. An inner eye awakening sometimes affects your normal eyes negatively,
but it usually isn't so bad that an eye just stops working, so it was a surprise when mine deteriorated
so quickly.”

Harry winced, “tough luck, mate.”

Silence descended onto the compartment as Harry returned to his runes and Theo tried to figure out
how Harry had managed to grow four inches in such a short period of time. Harry could hear the
tick of Theo’s wrist watch in the silence.

“It was your creature inheritance, wasn't it.”

“Yup.” popping the p as he continued to write, Harry didn't even look up from his notebook.

“You aren't going to tell me?” Theo pressed further, his itch to understand the current mystery
overriding his sense of tact.

“You haven't figured it out?” He replied, cheekily.

Theo narrowed his eyes, Harry was deflecting. Something was wrong with this situation, “you're
some sort of demon, I’ve figured that much.”

“Bravo, ten points to slytherin.”

“You can't keep it secret forever you know.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, frost crystalizing on the windows. Harry
turned to the other boy slowly, anger clouding his mind. Theo automatically realized his mistake.

Glowing, angry green eyes.

“Watch yourself, Nott.”

Theo sat back against the seat with a thump, hands clenched into fists.

The compartment went back to a (much more tense, and cold) silence as Harry furiously ignored
the other boy in the compartment. Theo’s hands were shaking, trying to forget the glowing eyes as
they bore down on him.

The door slammed open suddenly, “My mother's a bitch.”

Blaise had arrived.

Stepping into the compartment, it took the italian teen a good three seconds to take in the boys’
new appearances before seemingly accepting it as the new norm and settling down in a chair.

“Why, exactly, is your mother a bitch?” Harry raised a single eyebrow, Theo was still silent.

“You're joking! She locked me away in a prison for nearly a month and a half!”

“And why exactly was that, Blaise?” Theo seemed to be trying to piss everyone off today.

Blaise was certainly on the road to being pissed off, “None of your bloody business.”

“Well I disagree!”
“Why is everyone fighting?”

Harry’s eyes met Draco’s as the shorter boy entered the compartment, looking around at the
budding argument. An instant connection snapped into place as the two boys gasped. Softly
glowing green met sharp, steely gray. A sprawling forest reached up with towering branches to
brush along low hanging clouds. Fog whipping around flora. Harry felt the rush of cold wind on
his face, ice in his heart; fire flickering across smooth skin, an angel’s halo. Draco’s eyes widened
marginally, dilating as Harry held his gaze. The world was collapsing and reforming and collapsing
again around them in a fiery, freezing inferno, biting snow storms cutting across his cheeks as trees
burned to the earth. The smell of peppermint and cigarette smoke intertwined together.

Mine.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two. “Riiiight… you two done having sex with
your eyes?”

The spell was broken, and Draco blushed deeply, sitting down next to Harry as the older boy
pulled his legs up, muttering something about a cool jacket, face growing redder by the second.
Harry glared at Blaise for ruining the moment, not quite sure why there was a moment in the first
place.

Tom's voice cut through his musings. Are you daft?

What?

He's your soulmate, Leech. I thought you were smarter than this.

Harry's eyes raised marginally, his wendigo creeping forward with curiosity.

Ohhhhhhh.

Padfoot ran at top speed through dark woods, jumping over fallen logs and under low hanging
branches. He had left Petunia’s family soon after Harry had gone off to Hogwarts, convinced that
Peter would be there with the Weasley boy.

The past few weeks observing Harry had been... interesting for the crazed man. Harry looked
nothing like either of his parents-acted nothing like them too. The teen was sarcastic, analytical and
sneaky. He twisted conversations and played his family with ease.

Slytherin to the bone.

Sirius had grown up with slytherins, had understood them at a fundamental level. He had always
known that deep down, he had a bit of slytherin in him as well, though it was uncommon for him to
tap into it. So he could understand his godson and his actions, though the aftershocks of the
dementors helped that understanding along.

There was something about Harry that unsettled him though, a darkness that wrapped around the
boys heart and penetrated the air around him. Sirius couldn't make out what it was, but felt
confident that the darkness wasn't directed at him negatively.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Padfoot leaped over a large boulder blocking his path. He would
have to stop and find food soon, but he would try to get as far as possible before that time came.
Tracey and a very smug looking Daphne were greeted by a very tense atmosphere as they stepped
into the compartment. Theo and Blaise were glaring at each other, on the cusp of another argument
no doubt. Harry and Draco glanced at each other every few seconds, the shorter boy blushing
rather impressively.

Daphne sat down primily next to Blaise, ignoring the other three in the room. Tracey zeroed in on
Harry, her muggle ancestry shining through.

“Harry! Is that a new sense of style I smell?”

Draco scooted closer to him, eyes narrowed.

“Yea, what about it?”

Her eyes lit up, “I got some black nail polish from my muggle aunt over the summer, do you want
me to paint your nails?”

Harry didn't feel that he had much say in the matter, and switched seats with Draco so he could sit
between the two. That's how a good portion of the ride went, as Daphne eventually roped Blaise
into conversation, and Theo stuck his nose moodily into a book. Tracey painted Harry's nails
expertly, and Harry could admit that they suited him. As his were drying, a fascinated Draco had
his nails painted as well.

“Now you two match!” Tracey seemed very pleased with herself, admiring their nails with glee.
Harry rolled his eyes, pulling back out his notebook to continue brainstorming runes. Everyone in
the compartment halted what they were doing as the train slowed and then stopped, temperature
dropping marginally.

Harry mumbled a curse, he had forgotten about the dementors.

“Why’d we stop?” Tracey rose from her seat and peered out of the window, the temperature
continued to drop, and through the darkness outside a tall figure could be seen floating past.

“Everyone stay away from the door.” Harry got up, moving towards the middle of the
compartment. His commanding tone had everyone up and against the window in a heartbeat,
shivering slightly as the penetrating cold seeped through their clothes. An icy chill was freezing
the room, ice crystalizing the windows and making everyone's breath visible.

The rattling of chains allerted Harry to the dementors approach, and he pulled out his wand,
standing firmly in front of the huddled group. The freezing heart inside of him was colder than the
surrounding air, and he felt comforted by the cold as his friends grew more and more
uncomfortable.

A looming shadow obstructed the view into the hall, and the handle started to shake. There was a
shrek behind him, probably Tracy.

The dementor’s hand was the first thing into the room, and the temperature dropped another few
degrees as it moved further in. Scratchy, uneven wheezing was the only sound it made, floating
ever closer towards them. Harry heard someone fall to the floor, the others scrambling to grab a
hold of them

“Harry-”

“Shut up.”
Draco’s mouth clicked shut audibly.

He stepped forward, putting himself firmly between the dementor and his friends, eyes locked onto
the hooded figure before him. It raised a long, skeletal hand, running it slowly down his cheek.
Almost... tenderly.

“There is nothing here for you.”

Its hand ran further down his cheek, then reversed, moving upwards and stroking the sensitive skin
below his eye. It made another wheezing sound, seemingly fascinated.

Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump

A warning growl bubbled up from deep within his throat, the burning behind his eyes tripled as he
stepped another foot forward, the dementor backing up several feet and recoiling.

“I said, there is nothing here for you.”

It wheezed again, bowing its head in apology before departing, the icy chill slowly vanishing as it
moved further down the hall. Harry breathed out another cold breath, he hadn't felt a thing.
Usually, dementors affected him heavily, but that was akin to speaking with… Death.

He turned, softly glowing eyes locking onto Theo’s prone form on the floor, he was the one that
had passed out, but the others weren’t far behind. He glanced from each person in the
compartment, taking in their current states and reactions to him carefully. Blaise seemed to be the
best off, likely due to Loki’s interference. He seemed to have realized something, and was
watching Harry carefully, the girls shoved behind his arm. Draco looked more pale than usual, and
he had his gaze pinned to Harry with steely silver eyes, hands sizzling with heat. The girls looked
mostly confused, trying to figure out what was happening. They all looked tired and scared.

Harry quickly realized he needed to do damage control. Turning fully, he addressed the room. “Not
a word to anyone till I explain personally.”

Blaise stormed forward, “You piece of-”

“Blaise. Not now.” Draco drove a wedge between them, motioning aggressively to the prone form
of Theo, still lying on the cold floor.

“What was that thing?” Tracy slid shakely into a seat, rubbing her arms to try and gain more
warmth.

Harry sighed, crouching down and picking Theo up, placing him carefully across the opposite
bench, “a dementor.”

Daphne turned to him sharply, “and you just, what, told it to leave?”

“Obviously.”

“-and how exactly is that physically possible?”

Blast.

“Later, Greengrass.”

Her blue eyes narrowed, argument on the tip of her tongue. He held her gaze testingly, daring her
to question him.
 Her glare tripped, but she dropped the conversation for the time being. “Fine.”

Five minutes prior:

It was cold.

Theo shivered, rubbing his arms as he watched the window crystalize before his eyes.

It was very cold.

“Everyone stay away from the door.” There was something about Harry's voice that had him
standing as close to the window as possible, huddled up with the others in the compartment.
Harry’s towering form stood guard in front of them, seemingly waiting for something. The air in
the compartment was freezing.

Theo felt it before he saw it.

The icy chill seemed to penetrate his very being, and chains rattling distantly allerted him that
something very wrong was happening. Harry pulled out his wand as the huge shadow of…
something obscured their view of the hall. The handle started to shake, and Theo shook with it. He
could hear his mother's voice, begging for mercy. She sounded far away. Someone shrieked, and
he snapped his head up to see a long, boney hand move quietly into the room.

Cold green eyes opened and peered at him mockingly from the shadows, and his mothers
screaming rose in pitch, ears ringing as a woman's twisted laughter overrode his mothers pleas for
mercy.

“Revel in me, little prophet. Entertain me with your suffering.”

He swayed, the twisted laughter of Fate ringing in his ears as his mother continued to sob.

“Cry for me, you poor little thing.”

Theo collapsed to the floor.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is shorter than they usually are I know but this chapter and the next were
originally one big chapter that I decided to separate so I could add more details.
 Killer Queen
Chapter Summary

Stress is evident as the group of third years come clean about a few secrets.
Remus is extremely confused.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Theo finally woke up with just a few minutes to spare before the train was set to arrive in
Hogsmeade, exhausted and shaking. Harry pat him on the shoulder and handed him a bonbon-
Tracey had revealed she had some in her trunk when he had asked for some chocolate. The others
had mostly recovered from the dementors attack, and were now just watching him warily.

Except for Draco, who was much the same as always, which was a constant that relieved Harry of
some of the pressure.

“What happened…?” Theo munched on the bonbon tiredly, sitting up slowly with Tracy’s help.

“A dementor showed up and tried to come in, but Harry just… told it to leave.” Daphne was
standing next to Blaise, seemingly taking his side in the conflict.

Theo nodded absentmindedly, “Makes sense, thanks mate.” He nodded to Harry, who was stifling
a laugh.

“What do you mean it makes sense?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Blaise, annoyed with the teens aggression. Theo seemed to agree with him
on that regard, and pulled himself up to a standing position, Tracey still fretting.

“Oh come on, if anyone was going to do something absurd, it would be him.”

Daphne scoffed, and stormed out of the compartment in a huff. Blaise followed behind her, glaring
at everyone all the while.

“Don't be bothered by him, he’s been locked up for the entire summer after all, he's just moody.”
Draco was the voice of reason, somehow, and they all made their way out of the compartment after
the newly dubbed ‘moody duo’.

The walk to the school was a quiet one as Harry and Theo talked about their classes and Draco
subconsciously held onto Harry's sleeve.

“I've got Divination and Arithmancy, though I've heard that Divination is taught by a crackpot, so
I'm not sure how useful it will be.”

Harry nodded along, “I've got Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, though I had wanted to do Care as
well. Trelawny is supposedly a fraud, though I've heard she's had a few solid prophecies.”

Theo seemed intrigued with that, and started up on a long winded rant about how Switzerland was
the only place that seemed to have a reputable divination sector, and why he had started learning to
read German because of it.

“I don't see how you couldn't just find a reprint of the german texts, or use a translation charm.”
Harry was arguing for the continued use of simple charms to meet his ends, Theo apparently
wanted to do things the traditional way.

“Because I want to eventually live in Switzerland for a period, and I can't use translation charms on
people constantly.”

“Sure you can!”

The argument was getting them nowhere.

As the group walked through the main gate, Harry sighed slightly as the familiar magic washed
over him. The great hall was just as beautiful as it had been when he left in June, and the heat from
various fireplaces and floating candles cradled him and soothed his mind.

He settled down on a bench at the slytherin table, Draco on his left and Theo to his right. Blaise
was moping near Crabb and Goyle, while Daphne glared at him heatedly next to Tracy from across
the table.

Well isn't this just fantastic, you've done an excellent job cultivating relationships leech.

Would you just fuck off?

Harry wasn't in the mood for Tom’s bullshit, and he got progressively more irritable as the seconds
drove on. He could feel the heat behind his eyes, his teeth grating uncomfortably and his fingers
flexed. This was not the day for this.

“Welcome to another wonderful year at Hogwarts!”

Oh fuck off!

“I am pleased to announce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Remus Lupin!”

The great hall erupted in applause as the graying man stood, waving sheepishly. Harry noticed the
werewolf glancing with confusion at the Gryffindor table, seemingly looking for someone.

Has he been living under a rock?

Remus would have had to be out of the country to have missed the mild country-wide panic that
came from his sorting; it was unfortunate for the man that no one had decided to inform him.

Mentally shrugging, Harry turned to the rapidly appearing food, pilling all manner of meats onto
his plate. Draco appeared similarly hungry, and the two ate ravenously (but politely, they weren't
animals at the moment after all). Theo only picked at his food, obviously thinking very hard about
something.

Tracey, apparently not wanting a tense atmosphere at dinner, decided to take it upon herself to
throw a bread roll at him.

Remus glanced again towards the Gryffindor table, severely confused. He couldn't see anyone with
the telltale Potter hair or bright green eyes-no one that could potentially be Harry.
Tentatively, he turned to the Ravenclaw table-Lily had always been unbelievably bright-but he also
didn’t see anyone that matched the universally acknowledged features either. Growing concerned,
he leaned over to his old head of house.

“Where’s Harry? Has something happened to him?”

McGonagall glanced at him sternly, before pointing her fork to the… slytherin table.

“He's the tall, gangly looking one, around the middle of the lot.”

Whipping his head around, careful eyes combed the slytherin table, settling on a tall, skinny teen
with a sharp haircut and mischievous green eyes. He was chewing something, raising an eyebrow
at a brunette girl across from him, who had a bread roll in her hand and appeared about ready to
throw it; a similar roll was laying on the table, and a boy to Harry’s right was glaring at it in
distaste. Harry took a sip from a goblet and flipped her off, the people surrounding them breaking
out in galls of laughter.

...oh merlin.

Remus rubbed his face, confusion bleeding into mild horror as the boy grinned devilishly, flicking
what looked like peas at the now screeching girl.

He seems almost like… Sirius.

If Sirius was sorted into Slytherin, he corrected himself, watching as the boy laughed and nudged a
smaller teen on his left who looked like a miniature Lucius Malfoy, a girl Remus could identify as
a Greengrass scoffing at the two of them poshly.

“He...uhm,” Remus cleared his throat, ignoring Snape as the man smirked at him in amusement,
“he’s different than I... expected.” He coughed, feeling uncomfortable suddenly.

McGonagall puffed up, “yes I was quite shocked too at first, but he is a model student. Top of his
year across the board-a genius, I would say.”

Shocking the werewolf, Snape agreed with the woman's observations, complementing the teens
impressive knowledge of potion ingredients and his natural skill in the practice.

Remus felt quite suddenly that he was out of his element, and turned to look at the young Potter
once more. He was partaking in a very mild mannered food fight, as the Malfoy look-alike stuffed a
muffin down the lanky teens uniform collar.

“Is he doing well in your house, Severus?” Remus leaned over to the drowl man, who turned to
him with a raised eyebrow.

“Flourishing, Lupin. So stop mothering him from a distance and eat your porridge.”

The walk to the common room was much cheerier than the walk to the castle, as Harry continued
to shake muffin crumbs out of his uniform, cursing under his breath as his friends laughed. The
introductions by the fifth year prefects was much the same as it had been the past two years, and
quite suddenly the commons was void of firsties and the start of year house meeting had begun.

Word of the budding house alliance had spread apparently, as Gemma Farley had stepped up as
Queen to round out her seventh year. Clearing her throat, Farley started on the pressing concerns of
the house.
“Alright you lot, as Mariya Vaisey has aged out of the princess seat, our current prince has
nominated one Daphne Greengrass for the position.” the girl rose, glancing smugly at a glowering
Parkinson.

“All opposed?” no one raised their hand, “very well, Daphne Greengrass is the new slytherin
princess.”

Farley made a note on a piece of parchment, “next order of business-”

“Wait a bloody moment!” a voice shouted out from the second years, and a wiry kid Harry could
identify as Derrick Fingal stepped forward, looking to be on a warpath. The Fingal line wasn't
known for anything in particular, but Derrick had proven himself to be quite the bigot, and had
been quite vocal in his distaste of Harry.

“I want to challenge the half-blood for the prince title!”

He was also incredibly stupid, apparently.

Draco’s amusement wasn’t containable, and he snorted slightly on Harry’s left.

“Is he serious?” Theo set down his book with a look of interest on his face, curious about how this
would all play out.

Farley raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between a trying-hard-not-to-laugh Harry and a red-with-
rage Fingal, “...are you sure?”

He got notably brighter in color, “yes I'm bloody sure!”

The upper years started whispering among themselves, looking with slight worry at Harry, who
was trying not to let the wendigo get too excited lest it wrangle control and make a big bloody mess
of things.

This ought to be fun, if anything.

“Alright, I accept.”

The whispers turned into excited muttering as Harry rose from his seat and sauntered to the large
open area in the middle of the commons that was set aside for duels. This duel would have been an
unwise decision on Fingal’s part if Harry had been a normal third year, but in this case it was
practically suicide.

Don't kill the brat, there might be an inquest.

Duly noted.

Fingal met him in the circle, and Farley came up to officiate. Summoning a handkerchief, she held
it aloft and started listing out the rules with a cautious tone.

“There will be no illegal spells cast, and if there is the caster will be automatically eliminated with
the win going to the other duelist. The first to be disarmed and by extension unable to cast will be
considered the loser. Ready?”

She let go of handkerchief, and the entire house watched with bated breath as it fell. Harry had his
wand pointed assuredly at the younger boy's chest, hands steady.

As the fabric brushed the floor, Harry sprang into action.

There was an effectiveness to ending duels quickly, a necessary thing in wartime when your
opponent wishes you moral peril. But in the case of pride and status it was widely acknowledged
that you must humiliate your opposition to the best of your ability. This is why it was of no shock
to the slytherin house when Harry whipped forward with deadly accuracy and landed a succession
of prank jinxes on the boy-changing his hair, clothes, and skin to a dazzling array of colors. He
threw in quite a few nasty ones as well, and Fingal was quickly vomiting slugs and spewing
mealworms from his ears.

“You know Fingal, despite all your magical faults-being near squib and all-I'm sure there's
someone deep inside you that would make a rather pleasant receptionist.”

Harry was mocking the boy now, sure, but the opportunity to humiliate a blood purist in the
company of other blood purists didn’t come often, and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.
The rest of the house laughed and jeered along with him too, which gave Harry blanket immunity
from fault. A win-win really.

The second year was determined however, and through all the various jinxes managed to get a shot
off, which was swatted away wordlessly by Harry, who shot a bat-bogey hex at the boy in return,
stifling a yawn.

“Are you going to do something interesting, Fingal, or shall I end this for you?”

The second year didn’t reply quickly enough apparently, and with a firm expelliarmus, his wand
came soaring into Harry’s outstretched palm.

“Fingal is unable to cast, Potter is the victor.” No one looked particularly shocked at Farley’s
words, and some of them were still jeering at the loser, who was trying to pick himself off the
floor. Harry cast the necessary counter curses with an eye roll, and threw the boy his wand back.

“Next time, challenge someone who’s actually on your level.”

The ragtag group of third year slytherins reconveined in the third year boys dorms, Tracy and
Daphne looking around and pointing out the various differences between the girls and boys dorms.
Blaise, never being one for subtlety, turned on Harry almost immediately.

“Alright Potter, spill.” Blaise was still wound tighter than a drum, and glared at Harry with distrust.

He rolled his eyes, “I need an unbreakable vow from those two before I say shit.” He motioned to
the girls with a pointed look.

Daphne’s eyes got steely instantly, “what could possibly be so important that you need something
like that?”

“Either you vow not to share with anyone what you hear after this or I obliviate you.”

A wand pointed at her head sped up her decision making, and the two girls quickly assured their
silence.

Waiting patiently for everyone to look at him, Harry ripped the bandaid off quite spectacularly.

“Me and Draco had creature inheritances over the summer.”

The dorm descended into chaos as Blaise leapt at Harry, intent on throttling the life out of him.
Daphne turned on Draco and said something that must have been quite insulting as he also lunged
at her. Tracey was gripping Theo’s arm asking what that meant, Theo was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Throwing Blaise over his shoulder with a sigh, Harry moved to separate the two blonds wrestling
on the floor, but was jumped on from behind, and stumbled forward.

“Enough!”

Everyone halted their movements, looking over to an erate Theo, who continued to rub his head as
if he had a migraine.

“Blaise, you've been keeping it secret that you pledged to a god from Draco and I-yes I figured it
out and no I'm not supportive of your decision-so you really have no reason to be pissed off at
Harry for hiding his inheritance. Daphne, it's obvious that you and Draco have some sort of rivalry,
but it is extremely unclouth to use this as ammunition against him.”

Blaise slid off of Harry’s back, glowering but staying silent, the two blonds got up from the floor
and brushed themselves off, pretending nothing had happened.

“Now if everyone would just settle down and talk, I believe this could be a very informative
conversation.”

Sufficiently cowed, the group arranged themselves in a circle, all looking at Harry expectantly.

He sighed, and started explaining. “My inheritance didn't come from my family, I'm pretty sure it's
exclusive to me and won't be passed down the line. I don't know if I'm really comfortable saying
what it is, because I don't want your view of me to be tarnished by the knowledge, as the creature
isn’t something a member of polite society would consider redeemable.”

This caused ripples in the group, but Theo nodded and said he would respect Harry’s privacy.

“I don't like it, but you have the right to keep this private. It is a very personal matter, I won't press
you.”

The others also seemed to want to press him for, but let him continue, “I will say that it is of
demonic origins, and lives in colder weather-”

“This doesn't explain how you managed to shoo off a dementor.” Daphne cut him off, crossing her
arms.

“That… is due to a few family heirlooms that I've come into contact with.'' Harry really didn't want
to explain the whole ‘master of death’ business to his friends. That seemed like a recipe for
disaster.

She seemed ready to press him for details, but luckily Draco came to his rescue, “that's fine Harry,
family heirlooms are private business.” the blond glanced at Daphne, obviously trying to one-up
her. she glowered.

“I'm more interested in what this god pledging business with Blaise is.” Tracy’s voice cut through
the silence, and all eyes turned to the fidgeting teen, who was rubbing a gloved hand nervously.

“It-uhm… its family related-”

“Bullshit.”

“Oh fuck off Potter!”

 They descended into arguments once more, Blaise looking about ready to lunge at Harry again.
Theo sighed with exasperation, this was going to take a while.

Chapter End Notes

Somehow half of my chapter titles are song titles now, I kinda dig it tbh.
 Green Eyes haunt You
Chapter Summary

The first defense class leaves Theo shaken and Harry out for blood.

Chapter Notes

A little shorter than usual, but I didn't want to overshadow all the angst and feels with
plotting.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Eventually Theo was able to wrangle the group into some sort of cohesive truce, though Blaise still
seemed ready to throw down at any second. The next morning saw the third years eating breakfast
and joking around as if nothing had happened, the drama of teenagedom coming and going like a
windy day.

Blaise was still wound far too tight.

The group of third years made their way to Defense, Tracy going on about some sort of movie that
she had watched over the summer, though Harry was the only one who actually understood the
things she was saying. Draco was trying to follow along as well, but was mostly just guessing what
the various muggle terms meant.

Harry stepped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with trepidation. He had no idea
what his boggart would be, and was a little nervous to find out. He was still very cautious with the
wendigo, but after the first transformation it had calmed slightly, and was simply biding its time, so
he found it doubtful that he would be afraid of it. Could it be Dumbledore? It was hard to tell really.
Looking around the classroom, he spotted many posters of dangerous magical creatures and
various illustrations of wand motions. Professor Lupin was standing awkwardly next to his desk,
watching the students trickle in with a nervous smile. The man caught Harry’s eyes suddenly, and
nodded to him with a slight wave, Harry grimaced in reply.

Settling down at a desk, Harry didn't bother to pull out his books, thinking back on more important
matters as students continued to come in. He had quite a few things to focus on this year, and he
was still aching from the transformation, so he needed to divide his time up effectively. For now,
converting the Library of Secrets would be put on the backburner indefinitely; he had run some
numbers, and with the 20,000+ books in the bloody thing, along with his rate of roughly thirty
books translated a month, this was quickly turning into an unrealistic goal. He had gone back to the
illegal stationary store in Knockturn (after getting the crystal skull shoved in his hands) and bought
another infinite notebook to transfer all his necromancy books into. Harry was already planning on
smuggling them out of the library at some point, since they were technically his anyway, but he
also wanted a book to house them all in to have on the go. If he ever decided to continue
transferring the books in the library to his book, it would have to be with a time dilation spell that
had yet to be invented.
Note to self: invent a time dilation spell.

The crystal skull and its fascinating silk cover was another thing that he would have to figure out at
some point. The old crone had obviously had some sort of communion with the gods if she was so
willing to literally throw it at him, which meant that it had to have some sort of function that would
help him with the wendigo. He thought back to what she had said with a frown, she had known that
he was a demon from the get go, which solidified her claim that the gods had some sort of role in
the exchange.

“Yes! It was such a great shock when the gods told me-” the batty old lady returned with
something wrapped in deep purple silk, still chattering away, “-I almost didn't believe them! Harry
Potter, a demon! Well, it was almost too much for my old heart to handle.” she shoved the silk
covered thing into his arms, picking up his cloak and throwing his messily over him once more.

“Now off you pop dearie, and keep her nice and clean. Shoo!”

By simple deduction he could understand that she must have had some sort of vision or prophesy
of some sort to be able to glean anything from the words of gods, which meant she was a seer in
some capacity. She had also given pronouns to the skull, which was an odd thing to do considering
it was a carving, perhaps the thing truly was possessed?

She could have been talking about the silk.

Tom had a good point, though it raised the question of why exactly he would need a semi-sentent
piece of fabric that insisted on covering a potentially cursed crystal skull, and if she did actually
mean for the skull to help him in some way... why? What could it do for him?

He was shaken from his thoughts by Draco standing from his chair, the other students doing so as
well. Following their example, Harry rose and fumbled for his wand-it seemed he would be finding
out what his boggart was very soon.

It was a relatively quick walk to the staff room, and Snape met them there on his way out, sneering
at Professor Lupin as he passed.

Standing in front of a large cabinet that was shaking slightly, Lupin began to explain. Harry zoned
out though most of it, staring at the cabinet with curiosity. Harry felt Draco grip his left arm, and
Theo ducked behind him as well. Apparently his friends felt he was the best thing to hide behind.

Sighing, Harry got in line as Tracey added herself to the group hiding behind him. Harry wasn't
expecting anything too spectacular, perhaps the horrid screeching of a wendigo or the lying eyes of
Dumbledore, nothing that he couldn't get past. As the students each stepped forward to face their
fear, Theo slowly inched out from behind him, his analytical side playing against his very
reasonable fear. Gaining confidence, he moved ahead of Harry and to the side, trying to watch the
proceedings from a better vantage point. Unfortunately, the boggart caught sight of him, and in an
instant it shifted to reveal… Harry's eyebrows rose marginally, he knew those eyes. Theo seemed to
as well, and he stumbled backwards and onto his ass, fear evident in his eyes.

“Mr. Nott? Is everything alright?” Lupin was being wholly unhelpful, and Theo continued to stare
unblinkingly at a large pair of light green eyes as they held his gaze from the confines of the
cabinet. Quite suddenly, a cruel-sounding laugh bubbled up from the darkness as well, and Harry’s
thoughts were confirmed.

Theo is afraid of Fate?

Honestly? I don't blame him, that woman is impossible.

You've met her?

Unfortunately.

“R-ridiculous!” It wasn't working, Theo was far too afraid to be of much use. Sighing, Harry
stepped in front of the boy, obscuring the boggart's line of sight. It turned the big green eyes on
him, and transformed into…

Harry took a sharp breath in, staring unseeingly at a little boy in oversized, dirty clothes. A messy
head of hair and bright green eyes hidden behind thick, circular glasses. The boy was roughly nine
years old, though it was hard to tell because he was so small. He had a nasty scratch on his knee,
dirt and pavement sticking to the tender skin. His feet were bare and covered in scratches, dirt and
mud caking them as if he had been running from someone without shoes on. He looked up
nervously at Harry, fidgeting with his too large shirt. There was a large bruise on his cheek.

“H-hello sir.”

Weakness.

Searing hot anger flooded through him and Harry clenched his hand into a fist around his wand,
overwhelmingly wanting to destroy the creature in front of him.

“Ridiculousss.” His tone was venomous and cold, tipping into parseltongue slightly as his anger
became palpable in the air. His face betrayed nothing but disgust and hatred, cold fury obvious as
he thrust the elder wand forward and obliterated the boggart where it stood, no laughter needed.

I am not that child anymore, and I never will be again.

“Ah… are you alright, Mr. Potter?” Harry glared at the Professor heatedly before turning and
storming out of the room, deciding right then that if he was in there for one more moment he would
let go and kill everyone. Draco followed closely behind him, whispering platitudes quietly.

15 Minutes Earlier:

Theo was nervous about going up against his greatest fear, mostly because he was absolutely
positive of what it would be-the dementor was enough for him, thank-you-very-much. Peaking at
Harry, who looked bored of all things, Theo snuck behind the tall boy, hoping to stay out of the
boggart's line of sight. Draco seemed to have the same idea, and Tracy quickly followed behind
them.

“This is utterly ridiculous, why are we being forced to face our greatest fear in front of the class?”
Tracey whispered to him quietly, occasionally peering out from behind Harry to watch the
proceedings.

“It's tactless really, who does this new professor think he is?” Draco replied to her before Theo
could, and the two quickly started up a hushed conversation about how unfair this all was. Theo
peeked out behind his gargantuan friend to watch the other students face their fears with an
interesting array of tactics. Moving out slightly, Theo watched Goyle turn the muggle lawnmower
into a vase, which was apparently hysterical to the boy; the vase turned into an inferni as it turned
on Parkinson, who shrieked.

Moving to get a better view, Theo was startled when the inferni caught sight of him and turned
into-

Oh merlin.

He stumbled, falling backwards as the memories of both his dream form the past year and the still
fresh dementor attack bubbled up to the surface.

“Revel in me, little prophet. Entertain me with your suffering.”

Green eyes lit up in the darkness, a pale green very unlike Harry’s. These eyes were cold, cold and
twisted and cruel and sadistic.

The eyes of Fate watched him with glee.

“Cry for me, you poor little thing.”

He was forced to comply, being suddenly ripped to pieces by unimaginable pain. His eyes were
burning, his back was splitting open, snakes were coiling up his arms and knotting around his soul,
he could feel his skull trying to split in half.

It hurt so much that he couldn't even be sure that he existed anymore.

He screamed, living and feeling and experiencing and reveling in the destructive power of Fate as
she forced him to bear witness to her handiwork.

“We were doomed from the start.”

Was that his voice? Was he the one speaking now? The pain was unimaginable, and the woman
was laughing uproariously as he continued to scream. He couldn’t comprehend who he was
anymore, the agony filing up every crevice of his soul, swallowing him up and forcing him down.
Was this the cruciatus curse? Was this the burning agony of hell?

“Take hold of this pain, little prophet, it will guide you to greatness.”

“R-ridiculous!”

He was trying, trying so hard to ignore those cold green eyes and the promises they held, the pain
they wrought. Tried to muster up anything that could possibly make this situation funny in the
slightest. He couldn't, he just couldn't.

Long legs obscured his view of the eyes and Tracey grabbed him around the arm and hauled him to
his feet, steading him with a hand.

“You alright there Theo?”

Shaking his head slightly, Theo let himself be led over to his friends, who were watching Harry
with worry for some reason. Turning slightly, he caught sight of a small little boy with horrid
clothes and big green… he halted, eyes widening.

Is that-is that Harry as a child?

He couldn't observe the little boy further, as the aforementioned teen viciously cut his wand down
and obliterated the boggart in one go, no laughter needed-just pure fury.

Theo backed up slightly, he had never seen Harry that mad before, something was horribly wrong
about this situation.
“Ah… are you alright, Mr. Potter?” Harry turned the anger towards the Professor, and Theo
thought for a horrible moment that Harry might actually attack the man, before (to Theo's relief) he
turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, very obviously skipping the rest of class. Theo
watched Draco hurry after him wordlessly, already trying to piece together this puzzle.

“Theo, are you sure you're alright?” He turned to Tracey, empty assurances on his lips.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

She gave him a look that said that she didn't believe a word that he said, and he cursed her
impressive lie-spotting abilities.

“Fine. I'm quite shaken about it truthfully, but I'm not talking about it right now.” She nodded
sympathetically, stern features melting away instantly. Glancing behind her, Theo caught Blaise’s
eyes, the boy gave him an irritated look, as if this was another secret that he had been hiding...wait-

Sighing, Theo rubbed his face, exhausted.

Harry stormed down the hall, mostly ignoring Draco as he stumbled over his words.

“-I mean it's perfectly reasonable to not like who you were as a child-uh, I mean I was an awfully
ugly baby you know-but don’t tell Theo that he’ll probably owl my mother for photographic
evidence and ruin my reputation. Uh, but hey right-um really there's nothing wrong about it you
know, even if your fashion sense was rather-uh, well Harry it was awful honestly but-”

“Draco.”

They stopped, Draco fidgeting slightly as Harry gazed down at him carefully.

“You'll always be in my corner, right?”

“Of course.”

A forest fire during winter, that's what they were together. “I’m afraid of being weak, Draco.”

The shorter boy’s eyes widened with understanding and Harry sighed slightly, rubbing his cheek.

“I-that version of me has never existed, but the idea of it angers me I-I don't like it.”

“I understand Harry.”

You don't though, do you.

Because that version of him didn't exist in this timeline yes, but it had been his reality for the
majority of his first life, and the aftershocks of that shame still haunted him, apparently. He
couldn't tell Draco all that though, there was a line between secrets that could be shared and ones
that never left the confines of his mind. That's why he couldn't talk about being master of death,
because his past time travel was fundamentally intertwined with his past life, regardless of if he
wanted it to be or not.

The boggart was affecting him more than he could have ever expected it to, and Harry was
completely out of his element in how to deal with it.

“I don't know what to do. I feel like I need to break something.”

 “Let's go find you something to destroy then.”

Draco grabbed his hand and started determinalty dragging Harry along to some unknown
destination. Harry marveled at their intertwined hands, feeling complete as the other boy's naturally
warm hands clashed with his naturally cold ones.

Winter and fire, ice and heat. Polar opposites intertwined in harmony.

I'll always be in your corner.

Chapter End Notes

I'm going on vacation for the next 5 days and will have shoddy internet so updates
might be late or just not happen, it really depends on the gods at this point.
 Basket Case
Chapter Summary

Classes pass by slowly as Harry dodges well meaning potential father figures and tries
to reconnect with his friends. However, a letter from a certain alchemist disrupts the
uneven tightrope he had been walking, as well as everything else.

Chapter Notes

A few readers: "(insert character here) is pissing me off!! Why are they doing (insert
action)????"
Me: "...........they're 13 and traumatized?"
(this isn't me complaining or anything, but like I'm trying to make realistic characters
here, and I'm sure a lot of you were or are currently 13. That shit isn't easy, and just
gets worse when you add magic and trauma (Blaise was literally imprisoned in his
own bedroom for over a month, cut the kid some slack, jesus))

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry and Draco skipped classes till lunch, deciding instead to chuck rocks into the Black Lake
(this wasn't technically destroying things like they had initially planned, but it was the only thing to
do that wouldn’t get them expelled and they both got a good arm workout from it). Entering the
great hall for lunch, they were met with a worried Tracy and Theo, who proceeded to gang up and
pester them about why they had skipped, if they were ok, and why they thought it was a good idea
to potentially piss off the new Defense professor.

“First of all,” Harry started, pilling mashed potatoes onto his plate as he spoke, “that entire lesson
was a load of shite, and I think the entire thing should have been optional. Secondly, I’m extremely
annoyed with Lupin and that stupid boggart, thank you for asking, and finally-” he slapped
Parkinsons hand away from the steaks to grab one, “Lupin can eat my ass for all I care, he kept
looking at me as if he wanted to anyhow.”

That all was true, Harry remembered Remus from his last life and the man had been kind but
distant, and really obsessed with the whole being a werewolf business. He had tried to fight Tonks
every step of their relationship because of it, and honestly, Harry didn't have room in his cold
shriveled heart for that man's angst and self obsession. Because that was what it was really, self
obsession, Lupin made no effort to understand that Tonks loved him till nearly the day they died, it
was depressing for the both of them.

Theo seemed scandalized by the thought of blatantly disrespecting a teacher, though he obviously
agreed with Harry’s reasoning, Tracy was itching for drama.

“Well if you do try to sass him, be sure that I'm in the vicinity to hear it.”
Harry rolled his eyes at her and took a bite of his steak, “only if you stop asking to wear my
jacket.”

The ensuing argument was so chalk full of muggle slang that no one else in slytherin could
possibly follow what was being discussed.

Remus sighed, closing the door to his quarters quietly. It had been a very taxing day of teaching for
him, and after Harry had stormed out it had only gotten worse. He had been unable to focus on his
classes after seeing the boy’s boggart, trying to make sense of it. Sitting down tiredly at his desk,
he thought back to the conversation he had had with Snape during dinner.

“Pardon me, but do you happen to know anything of Harry-sorry, Mr. Potter’s homelife?” Snape
peered over at him with thinly veiled annoyance.

“That’s personal information Lupin, mind your business.”

Wincing slightly, he tried again, “it's just that Mr. Potter had a rather peculiar boggart that made
me worry that he might not be taken the best care of-”

“He lives with Lily’s sister if you're truly that concerned, though all evidence points to him living
quite happily with her and her family, considering that he goes home every Yule. So if you would
stop butting into a student's personal life, I’m sure everyone would appreciate it.”

That wasn't all that promising, Remus had met Petunia-only once, at the wedding-and she had
seemed like a horrible woman. He couldn't see Harry flourishing in the sort of atmosphere that
Petunia would create.”

“Are you quite certain? I’ve met Petunia and she never seemed to be quite the-”

“I grew up with her Lupin, in case you have forgotten. If you truly must know I had indeed had
doubts about her parenting abilities at first, but the boy has proven time and time again to be quite
happy in her home, so she has obviously changed for the better. Now if you are quite finished, I
would like to eat my quiche in peace.”

Remus still wasn't quite convinced that Snape knew what he was talking about, the man had gone
head to head with James for years after all, there was no way that he didn't have some leftover
resentment for the Potter line. That, of course, meant that Harry needed help and wasn't getting it
from his head of house. Now that he was thinking about it, Remus could also attribute the teens
aggressive attitude to living in a bad environment-his family had sure made Sirius angry at the
other marauders on several occasions.

Shuffling through some papers tiredly, Remus pulled out a blank piece of parchment and started
writing a quick letter out to the boy, perhaps they could have a conversation over tea?

Days passed, and Harry was on his way to his first Ancient Runes class, which he shared with
Blaise. The other boy had gotten notably less tense as the days went by, but was still wound up
quite a bit. They walked quietly to the classroom, having nothing to talk about that wouldn’t
potentially cause an explosive argument.

“I'm trying to make a rune scheme to protect my muggle devices from magic, any ideas?”

That did the trick, and the boys launched into a heated debate over the inter-complexities of
protection runes and how they might interfere with dodgy things like electronics. Harry soon
realized that they both would likely find the runes class rather boring, as Blasie could already
probably get an O on the Runes OWL. He told the other boy that, and observed passively as he
became extremely insulted.

“What, don't think I could manage the NEWT?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, have you created your own rune scheme?”

“Have you?”

“Naturally.”

“Bloody-gifted bastard.”

Tom had insisted that he learn how to draw runes the second his hands were physically able to hold
a pencil, and it had been an upward battle for a few years as his motor functions continued to
develop, but Harry had eventually gotten quite adept in the practice. Though, since you could only
do self study under very specific circumstances, Harry had been forced to take the class anyway, at
least for the year till he could test out. Blaise had been studying runes for the majority of the last
year for his pledge, and since he had to understand the obnoxiously ornate runes scheme to be able
to use it; he had done a lot of studying of runes and their alphabets, as well as a considerable
amount of theory-and that was only the studying that Harry knew about, there was no telling what
he had been doing over the summer.

Ancient Runes had potential to be an interesting history lesson for them, and Professor Babbling
was well known for being quite ingenious, perhaps Harry could approach her for an apprenticeship
and learn a few things.

Walking into the classroom, Harry observed the area with interest. He had never been in the room
in his last life, and it had an interesting layout he didn't see in the rest of the school. The entire wall
behind the teacher's desk was one big chalkboard, and the desks were set up in crescent moons
branching out from the front. All the other walls were covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves,
which were in turn stacked to the brim with various books. It was quite large, but felt a tad cramped
from all the space taken up.

He settled down at a desk, still looking around with interest, the chalkboard was empty at the
moment, though that could change in a heartbeat. Blaise was next to him, already jolting down
runes from various alphabets-as if he didn't already have them memorized.

“Trying to take my crown as universal teacher's pet, eh Zabini?” Blaise glared at him, it lacked
heat.

“I'm not gonna compete with you and Granger for that spot.”

“Oh come on mate, you can hardly consider her whining to be ‘competing’ with me.”

Snickering, the two boys turned back to gathering up their stationary. Harry knew that Granger had
to have the time turner this time around as well, though he had no intention of letting her keep it.
Sure, stealing the thing from the girl was risky, but stealing from the ministry or-god forbid-trying
to find a stable one on the black market, was much worse. He could handle one sleep deprived
third year with a superiority complex, especially since said third year still had the irrationality
curse on her.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Granger rocked into the classroom just before the bell rang,
looking like a dumpster fire. The responsibility of using a time turner obviously wasn't one that she
could cope with, as from the looks of things she wasn't using it to catch up on sleep.

To be blunt, the girl looked an utter mess.

Harry watched her carefully, it would be much easier to steal the time turner from her if she
continued being such a wreck, but he didn't doubt that she would eventually get the hang of all the
time traveling, and by extension get better with her sleep schedule. Best to act fast before that
happened.

The slam of a door allerted Harry to the professor arriving, and he turned quickly to face the front.
He paid a relative amount of attention to the woman as to gauge what they would be learning for
the year, but didn’t think that it would be anything he couldn't handle.

“Good morning class!” Professor Babbling was a cheery woman who appeared to be roughly into
her forties, though that could mean anything for her actual age, as magical people tended to age
depending on a wide array of factors. It was mostly based on genes though, as someone who was
born to a particularly… well, to an inbred family like the Gaunts or Blacks would age much the
same as a muggle, and someone who had a good amount of variety in their ancestry could live up
to two hundred years if they stayed reasonably healthy. Harry could only assume that he was on
that track, if not for his parentage than his immunity to disease and injury due to being Master of
Death.

“This year will be an introductory course to runes and the main three alphabets, which are the
Germanic, Anglo-Saxon, and Greek alphabets.” Harry was already adept in those three, and from
the smirk on Blaise’s face, so was he.

“If any of you reach NEWT level Ancient Runes, you can also look forward to learning the
Phoenician alphabet, which is far more complex.”

This made the young Potter pause, Tom hadn't taught him the Phoenician alphabet, as it was native
to the Mediterranean and not often used outside of the region.

“Do you know that one?” Harry leaned over and whispered to Blaise. The boy was Italian after all.

“What, you don't?”

Prat.

Harry didn't find the rest of the class all that compelling, and he told Blaise so once they finally
left.

“Honestly? I think I'll spend most days working on my own projects, I can hardly consider going
over the alphabets repeatedly a good waste of my time.”

Blaise looked ready to agree with him before they were interrupted. “Honestly Potter, why would
you take Ancient Runes if you don't even want to learn runes!” Granger didn't know how to mind
her own business, typical.

Turning around to glare halfheartedly at the girl, he didn't bother with an explanation.
“Eavesdropping are we, Granger?”

She turned pink, and adjusted her overflowing satchel with a huff, “I'm simply pointing out how
you shouldn't take a class if you aren't interested in the material.”

Harry was in a bit of a tricky position, because on one end he really wanted to just tell of the girl
and explain how he had a private tutor, but she would no doubt tell Dumbledore, who would then
become suspicious of him; but Harry also had pride, and there was no way he would walk away
from this without verbally decking the girl.

“If you must know Granger, I've already learned those three alphabets. If you weren't so busy
babysitting Weasley, you might have the time to do so as well.”

There, not only was he digging on her ability to study, but the jab might even drive a rift between
the two Gryffindors.

“Come on then Blaise, I have better things to do than squabble in an empty hallway.”

They left the girl fuming in the corridor, hurrying off to their next class.

Hadrian,

I hope this letter reaches you well. It is my understanding that you wished to learn more
about my stone? Well, I can hardly consider occasional letters to be a viable way to inform
someone of such a delicate object, so I have a proposition for you. You see, the stone is a
finicky thing, and can only be used under very specific circumstances-circumstances that
have yet to be revealed to anyone but my wife, funnily enough. While I am aware that you are
currently a student and not yet gifted with long stretches of time to squander away in a lab, I
find it prudent to request that if you are interested in learning how to use the stone, you allow
me to teach you face to face, perhaps over one of your summer vacations?

I mean not to say that I am in any way wishing to depart from the living world and gift the
stone to you, because I fully intend to see the universe out to its completion, but if you find the
idea of immortality interesting in any respect, I would consider a descendant of the Peverel
line a man best suited for the knowledge of how to create and use the stone.

In any case, I do not wish to push you to make a decision, but I urge you to at least let me
apprentice you in an informal manner.

Your friend, Nicolas.

Harry reread the letter for what felt like the twelfth time, still not fully believing it. Nicolas Flamel-
the world renowned alchemist Nicolas Flamel, was offering to teach him how to make a bloody
philosopher stone.

Tom was having a temper tantrum in his head.

Fifty years! I spent fifty bloody years trying to find a way to become immortal and this french
bastard just plops the solution right into your lap!

In his defense, it was a reasonable thing to have a temper tantrum over, considering the
circumstances.

Should I take him up on the offer?

Should you-are you bloody kidding me? If you don't I'll kill you twice over!

It was a once in two lifetimes opportunity really, and Harry would be phenomenally stupid not to
take it-the elixir of life was a good enough reason to do so. He sat back in his chair and thought
carefully, while he could certainly make a case to his aunt about receiving lessons from the man
each summer, she would no doubt insist that he stay at home for at least a month before going
galavanting off to France, if she even agreed in the first place. Harry wouldn't be able to convince
her this summer, he was sure of that, and who knew what nonsense the wizarding world would
cook up the next summer to make his life infinitely harder.

Puffing up his cheeks in frustration, Harry quickly started writing out the potential upsets the next
four years would lead him to, needing a visual to get a better picture of things.

Summer after third year: Quidditch world cup-Draco might force me to go, and the death
eaters will likely attack during that time.

Fourth Year: triwizard tournament-won't compete since Tom isn’t being a bother, Pettigrew
won't survive this year anyways.

Summer after fourth year: ...Umbridge? (note: dementors are a minor nuisance at best,
don't bother with Umbitch unless she bothers you).

Fifth year: Potentially umbridge as defense teacher (might need to murder), Dumbledore
trying something(?)

Summer after fifth year: ????

Harry looked down at his chicken scratch distastefully. So much of his knowledge of events after
fourth year depended completely on Voldemort being an issue, so he couldn’t effectively foresee
what was going to happen after that date now that Tom was on his side. It was likely that he could
start on with Nicolas the summer after fourth year, but it was doubtful he could weasel anything
sooner than that out of his aunt.

Harry glared down at the unhelpful parchment, liking to think that his indecision was all its fault.
When it continued to sit there like an inanimate object and not apologize or anything, Harry tossed
it aside and grabbed for the two other letters he had needed to read that night. Turning the first one
over in his hands, Harry groaned slightly at the name of the sender. He still (albeit begrudgingly)
ripped the letter open and read its contents.

Mr. Potter,

I would like to first apologize for not introducing myself to you personally, as me and your
father were good friends. I would like very much to get to know you over a cup of tea to
discuss how you have been in my absence. If you find this a pleasant idea, I would be happy
to see you next Sunday over brunch.

Professor Remus Lupin.

Harry was extremely unenthusiastic about meeting with Remus for anything but school related
happenings, but doubted he would be able to get out of it without seeming suspicious to
Dumbledore.

Cursing slightly, Harry penned out a quick reply and handed it off to Hades with a grimace, turning
to the other letter. The name of the sender on this one made him smile a bit.

Heir of Slytherin,
Good evening your grace! Or morning, I'm not awfully picky. I wish you good tidings and
hope that my letter greets you in good health (is that what you say to fancy heirs? I’ve yet to
speak to a particularly fancy heir yet so I apologize most sincerely if I've insulted your fancy
graceness). I had the most wonderful dream last night, and as we have yet to speak outside of
my dreams, and I feel it is unlikely that you remember those dream conversations, so I feel
that you simply must hear about it.

If I have not done something horribly rude and insulted your heirness, I do ever so hope that
you will break school rules and meet me in the astronomy tower tonight.

Luna Lovegood

...What.

Welcome to existing in Luna Lovegood’s sphere of influence, Tom.

Harry was happy that Luna had reached out, though it concerned him slightly that she seemed to be
dreaming about him. Penning out a quick letter of confirmation that he will indeed bring a fork, he
set it aside for Hades to nab once he returned.

Reaching for Nicolas’ letter again, Harry started reading over it once more, still feeling undecided
about what his response could be.

Decisions decisions.

Harry found it quite funny that all of Theo’s elective courses were divination related, though
Arithmancy was a type of divination that Harry could get behind far easier than Trelawney’s
nonsense.

When Tom had first started explaining arithmancy to him, it had seemed like a load of rubbish as
well-and honestly, the magical properties of numbers? Was he really that unreasonable by thinking
it was hogwash? Regardless of his initial warryness of the practice, he was pleasantly surprised
when it ended up being very logical and methodical. As well as obnoxiously ornate-he couldn't
make heads or tails of the OWL level equations when Tom had first had him write them down,
though he eventually figured them out. Arithmancy was still his weakest subject at the moment,
and Tom grumbled occasionally that he would likely only get an A or EE on the NEWT if he took
it (and considering that he had been studying all of Tom’s knowledge of the subject for the first
eleven years of his second life, he wasn't likely to get much better at it, unless Professor Vector was
a better teacher than whomever had taught Tom).

Turning to Theo, who was fidgeting with the corner of a piece of parchment, Harry contemplated
the boy’s predicament. The Nott heir had been practically forced into the profession of seer the
second his inner eye had opened, and that position was confirmed further when his grandfather
took him to St. Mungos to have his eye treated, which made his abilities public. Theo would be
able to be the Nott Lord yes, but society would expect him to study divination and practice it for
the upper crust. That was the fate of every realized seer of noble blood in Britain, as the stuffy rich
people of the world would much rather go to another stuffy rich person to get their future realized
than some crackpot living in a hut. It was rather sad for Theo really, and Harry was once again
thankful that he had given the other boy the option to study elemental magic-Theo would need a
skill of his that he could consider his own choice in the coming years as the pressure of society's
expectations pressed down on him.
“-supposedly Professor Vector is very good with numbers, and hates Trelawney with a passion,
which makes her at least of average intelligence-” Theo had been nervously listing off everything
he knew of the teacher, and as Harry zoned back in on the conversation he was able to add
anecdotes of his own.

“She seems rather bonkers in her own way though, I heard she's stricter than McGonagall.” This
was apparently not the right thing to say to the already stressed boy, as Theo immediately removed
himself from the conversation to start mumbling out all the mathematical equations he knew.

“Good evening class.”

Jumping slightly, Harry whipped around to the front, where Professor Vector had seemingly
appeared out of nowhere. Theo had nearly jumped out of his skin, and Harry made a mental note to
talk with the boy and see why he was so jittery today.

Harry had never been particularly in love with mathematics as a subject, though he had been rather
good at maths in his first life, and Tom’s aggressive teaching had only elevated that. He quickly
came to realize that Professor Vector was, in fact, madly in love with the science, as she
passionately ranted on about probability and numerology and advanced theorems that they would
most certainly NOT be learning until they were in NEWT-level advanced arithmancy because right
now they were ‘far too foolish to use the knowledge effectively’, as if they would even be able to
understand said knowledge.

I like her.

You would, wouldn't you.

Putting Tom’s newfound crush aside, Harry was comfortable in considering his relative ease with
the subject till sixth year, but listened properly anyway as to gleam any extra tidbits of knowledge
that the mathematician might drop in her lengthening rant.

Theo was scribbling furiously onto a parchment, seemingly fascinated with the woman's lecture.

There's hope for us yet.

Draco slouched further into the tree he was leaning on, glaring at all the Gryffindors as they pet
and bowed to the hippogriffs as ’Professor’ Hagrid looked on with pride. The slytherins in the class
had all opted to watch, not wanting to get shredded to bits-that's what Daphne had said at least.
Truthfully, Draco wanted to interact with the winged beasts, and his inner veela was whispering
about how wonderful it would be to fly with them.

He shifted, making sure not to lean his back onto the tree. He had gotten used to his wings being
trapped under the constrictive fabric, but wanted to be able to retract them as soon as physically
possible.

Draco glowered as Weasley was thrown onto the back of one of the hippogriffs and quickly carted
off into the sky, yelling with glee all the while.

Fly now, please?

I can't, go back to sleep.

A plus about his inheritance was that the veela actually listened to him, though it was rather miffed
about the constant sleeping, and Draco was sure that eventually it would force him out after curfew
to fly.

Weasley touched down on the back of the hippogriff with a whoop, and Draco’s scowl deepened.
He was NOT jealous of Weasley, his animal instincts were just fighting against his common sense,
that's all.

Not even the simple mind of his veela bought that lie.

Sighing deeply, Draco betrayed his pride and drew off of the tree and stalked closer to one of the
nearest hippogriffs. Catching its eye, he fell into a deep bow-one that his father would be proud of.
The class went quiet as the winged beast bowed just as deeply, not one to be outdone.

Deeming it safe, Draco practically floated to the animal, feeling some sort of indescribable relief
by fighting against the norm. Stroking along the hippogriffs soft feathers, he whispered platitudes
to the magnificent creature, comparing their wings and assuring her that he would bring some
preening equipment to the next class to properly pamper her.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Draco smirked at the shocked (and indignant, in Weasley’s
case) faces that watched him.

I can't wait to tell Harry, he’d laugh his ass off.

While the blond boy continued to get on swimmingly with his winged friend, Hagrid didn't come
over to offer him a ride, so Draco spent the rest of the class stroking her feathers with a small
smile, pretending that the other slytherins weren’t also spreading out to partake in a relatively
dangerous activity.

That night, after everyone who didn't have secret conversations in towers scheduled was fast
asleep, a tall boy slipped out of the Slytherin common room under his invisibility cloak, an
annoyed snake in hand. Harry had no idea what to expect of this meeting, and wasn't sure he would
be able to properly guess, as Luna always carried an air of absurdity that was hard to comprehend,
much less plan for.

Setting Thasin down to go do whatever snake thing she had been insistent on doing that night,
Harry started on his way out of the dungeons, intent on getting to the tower before Luna did.
Turning a corner, Harry caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair, and quickly followed after the petite
girl. He followed Luna all the way up the astronomy tower, and watched with slight trepidation as
she sat down on the edge of the towers lookout, legs dangling off the edge and humming softly.
Harry continued to watch her, calculating gaze trying to sort her out. Luna was a wild card on the
best of the times, and he couldn't depend on her to make this a normal meeting. The dreams that
she had written about worried him as well, what exactly did she know?

The humming continued, and he remembered a terrified father handing him and his friends over to
snatchers for just a hint of proof that his daughter was alive. How long had Luna been trapped in
the dungeons of Malfoy Manor? Was it weeks, or maybe even months?

The invisibility cloak fell from his shoulders, pooling at his feet as if made of liquid stars.

“Hello Harry.”

“Hello Luna.”

None of this situation made sense, she wasn't supposed to remember, why does she remember. The
intense anger of seeing his boggart bubbled up again, this time with a hit of something utterly
nauseating.

Shame.

“I’ve been having strange dreams, Harry.”

He was fracturing, pulling apart at the seams to reveal that scared little boy locked inside a
cupboard. He hasn't changed, never would. The realization came bearing down on him like a sack
of bricks, and Harry was forced to confront himself-his true self-for the first time.

“At first I thought they were just that, dreams.” He was being peeled apart like layers of an onion,
he was Heir Hadrian James Potter, proud slytherin with a heart of ice. No, he was just Harry, an
orphan who saved the world. Except… that wasn't true either, was it. He was a scared little boy,
just a creepy little freak with an ugly scar.

The layers flaked off till the emotional armor had been swept away with the wind, and all that was
left was the angry, desperate shell of someone who could have been incredible. An ugly little thing
fighting furiously to become something-to become something that could one day be considered a
cheap imitation of what he should have been. Trying to right the wrongs that had torn him asunder
in the first place. What was the point if no one else even remembered what had been done to him?

“But I realized a few months ago what they really were.”

Harry's mind fractured, his first and second lives separating and tearing, the rift between them
stronger than ever.

Who am I. Who was I. Who should I have been?

“They were memories of a future that is no longer going to happen.” Luna knew. She knew of the
weakness he showed in his first life, she knew that she had rotted away in Malfoy Manor for
months on end while he fought in a war that should have never happened, she knew he was weak,
that he had failed.

“I’m different now.”

His voice came out rough, almost pleading. Please, please I promise to be better this time. I'm not
weak anymore. I'm not.

“We all are Harry, but that doesn't change the memories.”

He collapsed next to her, walls that kept the emotions at bay collapsing with him as everything
bore down full force. The anger from seeing his boggart fell away and revealed the anguish it had
been hiding.

Weakness.

Fear.

Cowardice.

“I asked you to come up here because I had a good dream yesterday night.”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Luna was bright eyed and excited, her eyes betraying none
of the pity she must be feeling for him. Her words had been so quiet and calm but she had been
smiling all the while as his mind imploded.
 “Do you want to hear about it?”

All he could do was nod, and she started describing a world where people weren't forced into boxes
of light or dark, where a person would be judged based on their character instead of their ancestry,
or wealth, or magic. She spoke of a world that was free of horribly corrupt governments that didn't
care about their people, spoke of countries that thrived on innovation and discovery. Spoke of
happiness and wonder and a world where people could simply exist, could simply live.

It was an unrealistic dream, full of ideologic concepts and utopian societies, but it was very, very
nice.

It made him wonder how close humanity could get to that dream.

How long would it take to fix the world?

“Far longer than two hundred years” was the answer.

Chapter End Notes

Long chapter cuz I had twice as long to write than I usually give myself (╯▽╰ )
Luna and Nicolas Flamel will both have larger parts to play in this book and this
chapter featured a sneak peak into that. I want to go on record that Luna doesn't know
nearly as much as Harry thinks she does, Fate makes sure she only remembers just the
barest of details, but she's a smart cookie and understands enough to comfort Harry.
 Passing the Torch
Chapter Summary

Harry gives some good (but not well received) advice.

Theo returns to his roots, and finds potential company among the dust.
Blaise's shackles tighten.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was in what Tom called his ‘scheming funk’ for the rest of the week, thinking over his
conversation with Luna and the letter from Nicolas that was still going unanswered. Luna’s dream
opened up a lot of previously ignored avenues (on the basis that plans stemming from those ideas
would take far longer than he could reasonably live) and the promise of immortality that followed
with the knowledge of how to make a philosopher's stone had catapulted those ideas from far
fetched to completely plausible. Due to all of this, Harry had been forced to rethink his previous
plans for the next four years, and took considerable time to contemplate the decades and centuries
after that.

To be rather blunt, Harry was in the throes of a complete reevaluation of his entire future, and all
because he refused to pay attention to his feelings surrounding what Tom had dubbed ‘the Luna
incident’. Of course, Harry was open to the idea of accepting his last life and how it had affected
him, just not for another few decades or before he was legally able to get utterly and completely
smashed. Till that eventual time though, he would focus on reworking his plans and making new
contingencies. Truthfully, Harry wasn't quite sure if he would be able to pull it all off all on his
lonesome, which made the possibility of bringing his friends in on it another likely necessity-which
by extension prompted a heated debate with Tom over the morality of child soldiers.

In short, Harry was quite mentally compromised by the time Sunday rolled around and he was
expected to visit with Lupin over tea-something that he was already quite unenthusiastic for-so the
result of the encounter was bound to be negative for at least one party.

Harry dragged his feet on the way up to the Defense classroom, apprehension and annoyance
building as he got closer and closer to his destination.

I never should have agreed to this, why didn’t you stop me?

Just grin and bear it Leech, how annoying can one man be.

Harry grimaced, reaching the familiar door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He
moved silently into the room, and made his way quietly up the steps and to the office’s foreboding
door. Sighing, Harry steeled his nerves and stepped forward, knocking twice (firm, but not too
friendly-a professional nock for a work environment), already regretting ever bothering with this.
A quiet ‘come in!’ granted him entrance, and Harry creaked open the door and stepped gingerly
inside. Lupin was busying himself with tea of some sort, and Harry designated not to drink a single
sip. The office looked much the same as it had in his last life, and Harry stood awkwardly at the
door-not wanting to come in further without prompting from the man.
He sniffed slightly as he caught the distinct smell of dog permeating the air slightly-not enough for
a normal human to pick up on, but he certainly could. His wendigo seemed to rear its head up and
contemplate the smell for a moment, before settling back down again, dismissing it as a non-threat.
Harry could only assume that what he was picking up on was the werewolf side of Lupin, which
would explain why it seemed so...weak. A werewolf wouldn't give the gluttonous demon too much
trouble on a good day, but Moony was skin and bones from obvious neglect and avoidance from
his human half-he would probably be taken down by a particularly dedicated dog, much less one of
the most efficient predators known to the magical world.

Well that answers one question.

Harry couldn't exactly call the man on his werewolf abuse to his face-despite how much he really
wanted to-and opted to tell Sirius about it if he ever managed to meet the man in human form.
Remus could learn a thing or two about ‘embracing the wolf’ from Sirius, Harry surmised.

“Oh! Please, do come in.” Remus had finally realized he hadn't sat down, and shepherded a
reluctant Harry into a chair facing a worn out desk. Settling himself into the plush seating, Harry
watched the nervous man dart around the place with a steely gaze, ignoring the tea that had been
placed in front of him.

Lupin eventually managed to stop busying himself about the place and finally settled down in the
seat opposite Harry, appearing grave-as though he was about to tell the boy his parents had
tragically died, the teen struggled to not roll his eyes at the man.

“Good morning sir, may I ask what this is about?”

“Ah, yes well-as my letter said, I knew your parents-quite well actually, me and James were good
friends.” the werewolf gazed off into the middle distance, seeming to have a flashback of ‘simpler
times’. Harry examined the tea slowly cooling in front of him, it didn't seem drugged, but one
could never be too careful.

You aren't even affected by drugs, just drink the tea.

I'm not affected by poisons you idiot, or have you forgotten the pain medications from this
summer? He could have drugged it with veritaserum or something.

You're so bloody paranoid.

“Yes well, bully for you sir, but why exactly is that my business?”

Lupin choked on his saliva, not expecting that reply. Tom started laughing.

“I-well, I thought you might like to hear about them…?”

No, actually, thank you for asking though.

Lupin had tried that shtick on Harry in his last life, and had told him nothing but inconsequential
things and happy little stories-nothing of particular substance. Harry had no desire to listen through
that again-at least Sirius didn't sugar coat the pranks and bullying.

“My aunt’s told me plenty of my mum, and Professor Snape has regaled me with many of my
fathers exploits, so I'm rather fine in that department thank you.”

A bold faced lie, sure, but the look on Lupin's face at the thought of Harry only knowing Snape's
perspective of James Fleamont Potter was just incredible. Truthfully, Harry felt quite detached
from his birth parents, a combination of never having met them and having a good three decades
(mentally) to come to terms with their deaths, as well as gaining a considerably large amount of
family over his second life. All of which assured that they were not much more than concepts for
the teen.

“Harry-” the boy narrowed his eyes, “ah-um… Mr. Potter, Professor Snape and your father didn't
particularly like each other while we were all in school, perhaps you would like someone else to-”

Harry was getting sick of this, “sir, with all do respect, I don't know you. I accepted your offer
because it was the polite thing to do, but I don't really feel any obligation to be here, and I feel that
you may be doing this for your sake rather than mine.”

That was the hard truth of the matter, Lupin was paying all this attention to Harry because of his
parents, not because he actually gave a shit about Harry as a person, and the man needed to come
to terms with that. Lupin seemed to disagree with that notion however, and went a peculiar shade of
white, sputtering for a moment as he tried to argue.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “-or is there something else I'm missing here?”

As the sputtering ceased, Lupin rubbed the skin above his eyebrow, seemingly deciding to file
Harry’s snark under ‘teen angst’ and ignore it.

“Harry-I'm sorry-Mr. Potter, I wanted to discuss your boggart.”

Cold, gentle rage overtook him, and Harry straightened his spine, schooled his features-stony and
cold.

“What of it, sir?”

Lupin winced at his tone, and his general demeanor, but pressed on, “well… I met your aunt at
James and Lily’s wedding, and I wouldn't have considered her that pleasant of a woman…”

Alright, Harry had lost track of where this conversation was going, they were talking about his
boggart just a second ago and suddenly his aunt was thrown into the equation?

“And...?” he made a ‘please continue’ motion with his hand, eyebrow raised in silent question.

“...and it worries me that you might not be… well that you might not be well suited for a home
environment that she may create.”

You're a lifetime too late for this, Lupin.

Harry wanted to laugh, he really did. The Remus Lupin of the first timeline never once even hinted
at realizing that Harry was abused, and now that he was actually living in a happy home did he
realize that something had deeply affected him?

“You think I'm being abused.”

It was a statement, not a question. Lupin winced again, “not abused so much that-”

“Sir, this seems like the job for my head of house, not my Defense professor, have you talked to
Professor Snape about your concerns?”

Harry was going to try to approach this diplomatically, and if that didn't work he would just up and
leave, professionalism be damned.
Lupin sighed tiredly, exhausted by dealing with what he perceived as a genius child being
squandered in a bad home environment, “I have spoken with him, yes, but we don't see eye to eye
on this matter.”

Time to rip off the bandage. Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and forcing eye
contact with the man.

“I love my aunt and uncle, and me and my cousin are basically brothers. I do not know you
personally professor, and I feel uncomfortable with this situation, as I've never spoken to you
before in an actual conversation, please understand that. Now I am very sorry that you lost a dear
friend when my father was murdered, but if you don't actually care about me as a person, I have no
obligation to fill the hole he left.”

The man looked devastated, and his already old face seemed to age five years as Harry went on. It
was the simple truth though, even in his first life Harry hadn't been particularly close with Remus,
and his death had just been another body in the long list of casualties. Sirius was different from
that, and his death had nearly killed Harry outright, Remus just wasn't comparable, and Harry
wouldn't be giving him any pity.

“I'm sorry sir, but this seems like a personal problem that you have with some past regrets, I can't
and won’t help you with that.”

Sirius was half crazed from his stay in Azkaban, and had often mixed him and his father up, since
they looked so similar; other than those few times though (and the insanity) Sirius had always
wanted what was best for Harry-he never would have used him as a means to an end like
Dumbledore or Lupin were.

“I’ll be leaving now, sir. Have a good day.”

He left the man where he sat, appearing more worn and tired than he ever had before, but hopefully
with some good advice that would help him in the coming years.

Harry didn't have time for hesitation, and he most certainly didn't have time for old, manipulating
adults who thought they knew what was ‘best’ for him.

Theo returned to the familiar comforts of stinging papercuts and the dusty smell of ancient tomes.
The Hogwarts library greeted him like an old friend, and he settled among the stacks of history
with a smile. He had missed the beautifully carved bookshelves and precariously placed tomes, the
delicate velvet lining on the cushions of couches, the infinite mysteries and impossible
possibilities.

Theo was home.

He hadn't been able to visit the library during the first two weeks, as he had been in the middle of a
fortnight long panic over his new classes. Theo didn't want to think that he was squandering
himself by following the path fate had chosen for him, but as Harry and Blaise discussed
complicated (and completely incomprehensible, for him at least) rune schemes, and Draco and
Daphne went on and on about the fantastical creatures they were learning about in Care of Magical
creatures… well, he just felt a bit left out. Harry already seemed to have arithmancy near perfected,
which Theo supposed he shouldn't be all that surprised about, but he still felt like he was
squandering.

Among the towering shelves of ancient books however, Theo didn't need to be particularly good at
anything, he could just be a fascinated student wanting to learn, and that would be enough.

Brushing his finger along the back of a particularly old looking book, Theo sighed wistfully. Yes,
this was what he was good at.

“Oh good! The nargles are leaving, I was getting worried.”

Jumping a good three feet in the air, Theo whipped around to find a tiny little girl that came about
up to his shoulder, and would probably be about eye level with Harry’s belly button. She had
crazy, curly, dirty blonde hair, and big, cloudy blue eyes. She was wearing a ravenclaw uniform
with trousers, and had a delicate red oak wand tucked behind her ear.

“Uhh… hello?”

She beamed, “hello! My name's Luna, it's ever so lovely to finally meet you.”

“Oh merlin you're the crazy one.” He whispered under his breath, realizing just who the little girl
in front of him was. Harry had talked about ‘crazy little Luna Lovegood’ all the time, quite fondly
too, as if talking about a favorite pet or something. Harry had made note that the girl was also a
seer to him, though unlike Theo she was more inclined towards seeing people's auras and thoughts
than having any actual prophecies, which by extension made her appear a tad eccentric to other
people. At the time Theo had brushed that all off, but was starting to understand what the taller
teen had meant now, and his logical brain was screaming at him to get the hell out of the situation
before his mind melted.

“Uh its-um… it's a pleasure to meet you, I’m-”

“Theodore Nott! I know, Harry told me about you.” She leaned forward and smiled excitedly, and
he wondered distantly if she had followed him to this… very deserted part of the library for a
particular reason.

Am I about to get murdered?

“Oh um… that's nice?”

Her smile got impossibly wider, “it is!”

Theo didn't know how to handle this girl, or even speak with her. Laughing nervously, he nodded a
bit and turned stiffly back to the bookshelf, hoping that she might just… wander off.

She didn't, and Theo was forced to stand there pretending to skim through a book as she waited
patiently for him to finish.

“So sorry but, do you need… anything?”

Theo immediately regretted speaking, as she launched into a long winded and completely
nonsensical explanation about why she had been stalking him for a good three days.

“Well it started with a large infestation of nargles that I had noticed gathering around the Slytherin
table, first I had thought it might be Harry’s soulmate, since both of them have been quite high
strung lately, but it was you! So I thought to myself ‘well Luna, whatever will you do now?’ and I
decided that it would be best to help you, because nargles are oh so bothersome, and I would hate
for you to be plagued by such pitiful creatures after such a daring escape from the deadly claws of
fate. I know it was horribly rude to follow you around the past few days, but the nargles were
swarming your ears and eyes, so I didn’t think you would have been able to see or hear me
anyway-”
He started waving his arms around, flabbergasted, “now hold on just a bloody second, what was
that about Harry’s soulmate?”

She blinked at him strangely, “oh? So you didn't know he had one?”

“Oh of course I knew, but what does Draco have to do with… what was it-Nargles?”

She gave him a look that made him feel like an idiot for some reason, “nargles infest an unguarded
and stressed mind-or mistletoe. Harry would be absolutely swarmed with them if he didn't have all
the barriers keeping them out. That's why they’re bothering you instead.”

It took Theo a few moments to figure out what she was talking about, “you mean occlumency?”

The tiny girl rolled her eyes, nabbing a book from the shelf and admiring its gold trimming, “I'm
sure you could call it that if you like, but ‘occlumency’ isn't an awfully romantic word, don't you
think? I prefer ‘worry-not walls’, personally.”

Theo was hilariously out of his element, and wondered distantly if this was a yin-yang situation,
with similar but absurdly different people meeting and clashing rather horribly.

“I… what?”

She pat his chest comfortingly, “I can make you a butterbeer cork necklace if you like? It'll keep
them-the nargles-away.”

He could only nod slightly, his utter confusion bleeding away into intense curiosity as he studied
the girl now pulling him along to some unknown location, humming a tune loudly.

Theo liked figuring out mysteries, and Luna Lovegood was arguably one of the biggest mysteries
of them all.

“I don't know if this is such a good idea.”

Blaise looked down at the worn, little green book that had brought him to Loki’s worship,
contemplating what the god had just demanded of him.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Green snakes coiled up his legs, twining around his wrists and squeezing in what he assumed was
meant to be reassuring. A warm hand braced his shoulder, squeezing slightly as well.

“It's just that… well Victoria is still just a second year, and she's really small-”

“You don't think she’ll be able to handle it?”

“I-yes.”

A bead of sweat trailed down his cheek, and he swiped it away, glancing out into the expansive
black lake in front of him. Loki had compelled him to find somewhere private, and he chose a
small divet between a large boulder and the edge of the forbidden forest, knowing that if anyone
came along, he would hear them before they saw him.

Loki wanted him to give the little green book to Victoria White, assuring that she would join him
eventually as a worshiper as well.
 “I know what is best, Blaise. If I say that she's ready, then she is.”

He really didn't want to try to argue with the god, but still felt that this wasn't what was best for
Vic. He had gotten to know her very well over the first half of his second year, and she was very
strong willed and determined to succeed-characteristics that Loki appreciated when they were
focused on mischief. The only problem was that Victoria only employed pranks to wrangle control
over the bullies-she didn't actually care for them more than any other method of enacting your
authority. She was honestly right to go to Harry first, and Blaise was sure that she would eventually
go back to bothering the tall boy for dueling advice and spells.

“She might-well… I just think that the Weasley twins would be better suited-”

The hand and snakes tightened their hold, and he cut himself off, tensing slightly.

“The ‘Weasley twins’ are much too focused on chaos for the sake of chaos, they would never
follow anyone.”

Hissing snakes and twisted, knotted vines coiled up his ankles. He chose this, he reveled in it, this
was what he had wanted. It was unfair of him to take Loki’s teachings and magic and not give back
with equal substance.

“You’re right, I'm sorry,” the hands and snakes and vines loosened their hold, and Loki embraced
him gently from behind-forgiving him silently, “I'll give it to her as soon as I can.”

It was time to pass the torch.

Chapter End Notes

Ok, so I was actually kinda drunk writing the first half of this, and low key hungover
writing the rest. But hey, that's New Years for you, happy 2021!
PS. Draco will be the main focus of the next chapter, which is why he wasn't in this
one.
 Heaven's on Fire
Chapter Summary

Draco enjoys some private time spent with his best friend.
Harry tells a few white lies.
Tracey is a true slytherin.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco was annoyed with everyone.

Harry was preoccupied with some random scheme that would no doubt break reality, and Theo had
just gotten over some sort of existential episode and had been squandering away in the school’s
library for the past week, mumbling on about nargles-whatever that was. Blaise had all but
disappeared off the face of the earth- only reappearing for classes or meals, and Draco didn't feel
obligated to hunt him down to figure out what was going on. Greengrass was still completely
unbearable, and Tracy was hanging around her more often, so he couldn't talk to her either.

Everyone was obviously ignoring him on purpose and it was absolutely infuriating.

Well, actually, Harry wasn’t ignoring him, as the other boy did all his scheming and tinkering right
next to Draco, but since Harry was never that far from him, he obviously didn't count in the general
consensus. Draco tried not to think too hard about how inseparable they had become that year, as
after they reunited on the train it felt like he was missing half of himself every time Harry left his
general vicinity, so they were practically connected at the hip. He also tried not to think too hard
about how the usually difficult to read teen seemed to be an open book now-Draco had always
known Harry better than most, but now he could tell exactly how his friend was feeling with just a
twitch of his abnormally long fingers.

We’re just very close friends. Was what he tried to tell himself, but the thought that there was just
something else between them kept niggling the back of his mind-despite Draco’s best attempts to
shove it down.

Despite his newfound clostness with his best friend, Draco was quickly realizing just how
bothersome his inner veela could be. It was obviously getting quite antsy as the days crawled into
October and the weather got notably colder, and Draco was positive that he would have to let it
take over at some point. The place to do so was the question though, as while he would at first say
that the forbidden forest was the best place for it, Draco didn't feel particularly comfortable
galavanting into the dangerous woods.

Turning to Harry, he was about to ask about it until the boys position stopped him. Harry was
sitting next to him on his bed, jolting down some sort of complicated looking rune scheme, his
tongue sticking out slightly in concentration; Draco took a moment to smile at the scene.

He's so cute when he's focused.

The thought crept up on Draco from behind and slapped him straight across the face with a fish.
Turning a bright pink, the small teen took a quiet moment to contemplate his sexuality-not for the
first time. Truthfully, he hadn’t ever felt all that interested in girls or boys, and Harry had been the
only person who he ever considered particularly attractive to him. That realization had led to a lot
of confusion on his part, as Draco contemplated the possibility of being Harry-sexual, instead of
just gay. There wasn't anything awfully terrible about the concept, except for the possibility of
Harry not being Draco-sexual, which made the blond feel incredibly depressed and far needier for
the green eyed boys attention than usual.

“Harry?”

“Mmmmm… hm?”

“You go into the Forbidden Forest a lot, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Could you take me?”

“Mmmmm… why?”

Harry still hadn't looked up from his notebook, obviously only half paying attention to him. Draco
squinted at his friend, annoyed that he wasn't getting the attention he so obviously deserved and
desired.

“I think I'll need to shift soon, and I don't want to be near the school when I do it.”

Harry nodded a little, jolting something down with his muggle quill that Tracey had dubbed a
‘pen’, still not focusing his full attention on Draco.

“Don't veela launch fireballs or something? Starting a forest fire isn't exactly the best way to
exercise subtly.”

Draco puffed his cheeks out in frustration and embarrassment, “well I wasn't going to try and light
something on fire or anything, are you daft?”

The taller boy rolled his eyes, shutting the notebook with a huff, Draco’s entire face lit up, “it's not
like you'll keep your mind through the transformation.”

Excitement turned to indignation, “of course I will!”

“Says who?”

“Says me and my superior magical knowledge and abilities.” Draco crossed his arms and nodded
affirmatively, his blush slowly fading as his confidence grew.

Harry raised an eyebrow in response, “oh? Your ‘superior magical knowledge and abilities’ you
say? So are you or are you not the man who fell on his arse the first time he cast bombarda?”

Draco went beet red, sputtering slightly as Harry laughed at him, “that was because I overpowered
it!”
Harry grinned a little, laugh tapering off into a giggle, “Or because you're short.”

“I'm not short, you're just massive!”

“Better to be massive than to be short.”

Draco scoffed, “hardly, short people have it far better than you giants.”

Harry readjusted his position, now firmly facing Draco and giving the blond his full attention.

Much better.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Well, first of all, short people can actually walk through door frames comfortably, a novelty that
you won't experience ever again after christmas if you keep growing the way you are-” Harry
snorted, whacking Draco lightly with his notebook, “-oi! You know I'm right, don't try to deny it.
Also! Us shorter folk are much better to cuddle with. Don't you laugh, I have sound reasoning! For
instance, have you ever seen someone try to casually hug an acromantula? No? I thought not, now
how about a kneazle? Mhm, my point proven.”

Harry rolled his eyes, still chuckling a bit, “there's a distinct difference in threat level between a
spider and a cat you know.”

“Hardly, I would be much more inclined to hug a spider that was considerably smaller than me to
one that could swallow me in one gulp, and I would be absolutely terrified by a large cat that could
do just the same!”

Harry set his notebook down on the side table, completely invested in the friendly argument.

“Well I don't think I would. An acromantula that's been shrunk is still a far bigger threat than a
normal spider, just like how a basilisk that's been shrunk can still turn you to stone.”

Draco’s initial question had turned the conversation into a heated debate over magical creatures it
seemed, and he welcomed the change, as it seemed to draw Harry’s full attention to him.

“Oh suuure, because a spider that's an inch long and able to speak is just as threatening as a fifty
inch long one, you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Harry leaned towards him, taking up Draco’s personal space as his grin took on a teasing quality.
The blond made a conservative effort not to blush as Harry's speech came out half hissed and deep,
slipping slightly into parseltongue as his striking green eyes glowed faintly.

“Sssaid the sssspider to the fly.”

Draco glowered, trying to keep his dignity while blushing furiously, “your stupid muggle sayings
mean nothing to me!”

Harry broke out into that beautiful laugh of his, throwing his head back and falling away from
Draco, his intimidating gaze giving way to obvious mirth.

“What's so funny? Harry-Harry why are you laughing at me?”

The banter continued on as they cycled through the usual jibes and jabs while not actually coming
to a conclusion about the subject they had originally started with. Draco didn't mind though, the
only thing better than being next to Harry was talking to Harry, so he was content regardless.

“What's all this then?”

Roughly an hour later Theo found them in the mists of an elaborate experiment involving an
enlarged spider plushie and precisely twelve blankets. Their argument had dissolved even further
into a compex analysis of the comfiness of various blankets, and Harry had summoned in several
different types of fabrics and furs to figure out which one was the most comfortable. The enlarged
plushy having been an added bonus.

Looking up from where he was wrapping Draco into a giggly human burrito, Harry replied quite
simply, stating that it was a ‘science experiment’ before returning to the laughing teen, who was
squirming around like a worm on the floor, trying to dislodge himself from the bonds that held him
captive.

“Hold still you great lump!”

Theo sighed, rubbing his temple tiredly, “children, the lot of you.”

Draco only laughed harder in response.

The next day found Draco sitting grumply in his arithmancy class, wishing that he hadn't taken
muggle studies after all.

Originally, Draco had decided to take the course as a way to finally understand conversations
between Tracy and Harry, as the two seemed insistent on speaking in incomprehensible muggle
slang constantly. To his dismay, the class was obnoxiously inaccurate, as the teacher went on and
on about muggles having squandered away for centuries on end, even though Harry had once said
that muggles had gone to the moon of all things just over two decades prior, so Professor Burbage
was obviously bonkers and completely wrong.

The worst part of taking the class was that he had to take his arithmancy class with the
Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class of all things, since the Gryffindor/Slytherin arithmancy and muggle
studies overlapped. This meant that he couldn't be in class with Harry (and Theo), and was instead
forced to squandered away all alone with terrified Hufflepuffs and manic Ravenclaws.

It was an awful shame too, because it had taken him near the whole summer of arguing his reasons
to his father, who was very insistent on the class ruining his reputation. Draco had eventually had
to write a letter to Flint, who was also taking the class, to ask for good arguments for it.
Apparently, the Slytherins used it as an extra study period, as well as a way for their parents to brag
about being ‘inclusive’ during wizengamot sessions. His father hadn’t bought it for a second, but
finally allowed him to take the class, saying that Draco would be running out of the classroom
screaming by mid-November. It was an awful pity that he ended up lasting a month less than that,
but Draco knew his limits and respected them.

“Can-uh… can I sit here?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Draco stifled a groan as Longbottom quivered in front of him. Harry
had taken a liking to the boy in their first year for some reason, but the tentative friendship had
(thankfully) tapered off in second year. Draco didn't really feel like making a scene in a class that
didn't have anyone who would enjoy the nervous boy's embarrassment, so he grunted
noncommittally and resolved to gain selective hearing in the case that the other boy attempted
conversation.

Thankfully, poor Neville was far more focused on pretending he wasn't sitting next to an
infamously grumpy slytherin, and it didn't take much prompting from Draco for him to
acknowledge that they were ignoring each other.

The second I get the chance I'm dropping muggle studies and getting out of this hell.
As Draco squandered away in arithmancy, Harry shuffled through twisting passages deep within
the bowels of the school, intent on causing trouble.

His first trip to Diagon Alley in his second life made it clear that he would need to befriend the
Weasley twins at some point, and while he had originally put it rather high on his list of things to
do, other pursuits had shoved the eventual meeting further and further back, much to his dismay.
With the revitalizing of his efforts however, and Harry's realization that he would need more
companions to help him in his pursuits through the coming years, he had quickly come to the
realization that he would have to track the twins down and come to an agreement.

“Not all of the Weasleys were being paid off to control you, the older three brothers were mostly
out of school and Dumbledore didn't really care about them. Those twins though… well, Chaos
really loves them. So, being a menace herself, she gifted them with an urge to be absolutely
neutral… chaotic neutral, that is.”

“Meaning they don't care who you are, as long as they can prank you.” Harry surmised, leaning
his cheek on his hand as he contemplated the potential behind an alliance with them.

“Yep, those twins live only to cause problems. If you want to trust any of the Weasleys, trust them.”

That's not to say it would be easy in any means, and Harry was beginning to regret not just sending
them a bloody letter or something.

It's hard to say if I'll even be able to get out of these bloody caverns on time.

Admittedly, without the Marauders map he was struggling to find the twin tricksters, instead
finding a large amount of dust and unused passages in their place. He was extraordinarily lucky
that Tom had taught him about all the hidden passages, or he would be obscenely, hopelessly lost.
Though, as he was doing all this in his free period, Harry was growing more and more concerned
that he wouldn’t be able to make it out before his transfiguration class that was set to start in a
good half hour.

“Knowing the passages isn't much help if the bastards aren't even in them.”

He started angrily mumbling under his breath, the lumos lighting his way glowing brighter as his
magic surged in response to his anger.

Harry wondered, sardonically, if he could just use a point me and be done with it.

“Well what do we have here, George?”

“Seems like someone's gotten a tad lost, Fred.”

Working completely on instincts, Harry whipped around and threw two stunners off, realizing
belatedly who was talking as the two red headed terrors impressively dodged his attack, throwing
out prank spells of their own in response. It took only a moment for Harry to cast a shield, and the
jinxes glanced off harmlessly. The three found themselves in a bit of a mexican standoff, as they all
pointed their wands at each other.

“Evenin’ chaps.” Despite his casual tone, Harry still didn’t lower the shield or his wand, not ever
fully trusting the chaotic forces of nature before him.

“Evening.”
“Ello.”

Silence reigned, and as the gryffindor terrors shared a loaded look, Harry grappled together some
sort of workable plan for heralding the two into some sort of agreement before time ran up and he
needed to sprint back the way he came. A stroke of genus had him slowly lowering the shield, still
half expecting them to send a stunner his way. When they didn't, he pocketed the elder wand and
raised his hands placatingly.

“I was actually looking for the two of you, funnily enough.”

This seemed to intrigue them, and they both slowly lowered and put away their wands as well.
Who he assumed to be Fred (it was hard to see any sort of distinguishable features in the low light)
nodded at him in a ‘go on then’ sort of motion.

Lowering his arms, harry brushed himself off and started to explain, “well, being an orphan and
all-” one of the twins snorted, “-I never knew all that much of my parents, so when I first went into
my trust vault I took a great deal of time trying to find any sort of scrap of them. I eventually found
documentation of a map that my dad and his friends made.” they both stiffened, and shared another
long, loaded look. He continued, “I wasn't able to figure out what really happened to it, but I’ve
heard rumors that you two seem to always know where people are, and one of the maps properties
is being able to see where anyone in the school is in real time, so I was hoping you might at least
know of it.”

Harry was lying about finding anything that talked about the map in his vault of course, but he had
to make his random knowledge of the map have a reasonable source, or they would grow even
more suspicious. Besides, a few white lies never hurt anyone.

“So, do you two happen to know anything about the Marauders map?”

There was a beat of silence, before who he assumed to be George croaked out, “did your dad have
a nickname, by chance?”

Harry grinned slightly, hoping it wasn't noticeable in the low light, “Ah-yeah actually, he called
himself Prongs- it's written in his school journals.”

There was a rustling of paper, and someone whispering a hurried ‘lumos’.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Harry didn't bother to hide the wide grin that overtook his face this time, already moving towards
the two and his map.

Tracey Davis considered herself a true slytherin.

She had to be, ever since birth she had been plagued with being not strong enough and not pure
enough. Her very first memory was that of her mother, a muggleborn woman with plain hair and
striking blue eyes being forced from the Davis estate by her angry grandfather.

She was the family’s shame.

Her mother and father were very much in love, and although she didn't have a drop of magical
blood to her name, Hellen Davis was a truly brilliant woman who survived through slytherin with
nothing else but her wits and silver tongue. Dermot Davis fell for her in their fifth year, and they
eloped right out of Hogwarts, creating a scandal that plummeted the Davis family from well known
and favorable to of average wealth and class.

Again, she was the family’s shame.

Tracey had grown up without ever seeing her extended family on her fathers side after that early
memory, and was dipped further into muggle culture because of it. She had grown up with her
father singing magical nursery rhymes as her mother swished her wand around to create the tune;
the household was so chock full of magic that they had a second, completely muggle home to use
whenever Tracey wanted friends over.

That wasn't to say that she grew up completely in the muggle world, her father was still a member
of the wizengamot, despite her grandfathers best efforts to disown him, so she was often carted
along to meetings for the moderates to fawn over and pretend they actually cared about ‘the little
Davis scandal’. She also got to meet quite a few of the children who would eventually turn into her
dearest friends, as Theo and her had been well acquainted by the time they were six and she had
once met eyes with Draco as he stuck his tongue out at one Daphne Greengrass.

That day was the first time Daphne had graced the wizengamot with her presence.

The Greengrass family was infamous for being neutral in most political aspects, focusing instead
on their family businesses and getting incomprehensibly wealthy because of it. Due to that, Tracey
didn't even get to hear about the Greengrass heiress till she was seven, and didn’t meet her till they
were both nine. They had become acquaintances quickly after that, and even Daphne’s naturally
poised outward front cracked and splintered to Tracey to reveal a girl desperate for a friend.

“If you get into slytherin with me, I'll make sure they don't give you any problems.” Tracey still
remembered that day. The first of September, 1991 found her on the Hogwarts express, sharing a
compartment with her best friend. Daphne had been more quiet than usual that day, and Tracey had
been growing worried, till the blond girl turned to her with pure determination in her eyes and
promised to keep her safe in slytherin.

“Daph… thank you.”

Tracey fully intended to not only survive slytherin, but to graduate in infamy, and she fully intended
to add other brilliant people to her roster of friends, Davis scandal be damned.

That plan had gone fully into effect when Harry Potter was sorted into her house.

As the boy-who-lived made his way to the slytherin table that fateful day, Tracey had taken in his
cool deposition and too-green eyes, and came to an earth shattering conclusion far before the rest
of the slytherin house did.

Harry Potter was going to change the world, and no one was going to stop him.

She quickly realized that if she wanted to be someone in slytherin, the only other half-blood in the
house would have to be befriended first, and Daphne seemed to agree with her conclusion. They
both took different approaches, sure, and for a few months Tracey had worried that Daphne’s
rivalry with Draco would see her kicked from the group, but eventually the two found themselves
firmly among a gaggle of brilliant, like minded people.

Tracey loved all of the boys truly, they were like brothers to her, and she absolutely adored each of
them for very different reasons, but Harry continued to be completely baffling in every aspect.

She had a gap period with him currently, and while they usually just sat somewhere and worked on
things for their classes, Harry had instead dragged her off to some random hall near the
 transfiguration classroom, and said that he needed to go find something, and asked her to stand
watch and tell a teacher if he didn’t come out in time for their next class. After she accepted, he had
tapped a seemingly random pattern onto the brickwork to reveal a partially crumbling passage that
looked like it hadn't been used in decades.

“Bloody hell, how many of these are there in Hogwarts?” She remembered his knowing smile as
he passed her his satchel and lit a lumos.

“There are precisely four hundred and thirty eight passages in Hogwarts, with seven that lead out of
the school and another two that lead into the headmasters quarters. Most of the walls are hollow to
allow so many of them, I should be back in an hour or so.” and then he had disappeared into the
darkness, not bothering to explain how he knew that or where he was going, the opening in the
brick closing up behind him.

She was currently standing next to a very rude painting in said hallway, waiting patiently for him
to come back out. Tracey had no illusions that Harry was far more than he let on, especially after
he revealed a still unknown creature inheritance to the group. She hadn't bothered to try and figure
out what he was like Daphne had been doing, knowing that he would tell them eventually. She was
more focused on what had changed in him a fortnight prior. He hadn’t done anything all that
notable the night before the change, but that morning at breakfast she had noticed with alarm that
he seemed to be far more focused onto his notebook than the conversation going on around him,
and while she hadn't been able to get a good view of the paper to figure out what the deal was, she
knew that look in his eyes-she had seen it when he was gathering information against Lockhart and
when he stared down a dementor for them-and was able to draw her own conclusions.

Harry Potter was planning something… something huge.

The bricks started to slide away, and Tracey stood back from the wall as a dusty but seemingly
satisfied Harry stepped out from the bowels of the school, an old piece of parchment in hand.

“Got what you were looking for?”

He grinned, “yup.”

Tracey didn't know just what Harry was planning, but if she knew anything, it was that she wanted
in on it.

Chapter End Notes

A lot of people were talking about how much they love Theo and Luna's dynamic, and
I wanted to talk about my thought process (generally) with the ships in this fic.
I really love the opposites attract sort of thing, but I also love yin-yang (opposites at
first glance but actually very similar in some way) archetype, which is how I
approached the two (confirmed, I still have a few cooking on the stove) ships in this
fic. I also love assigning elements to people (lol, if that wasn't already obvious), so I
also take that into consideration as well, which is why the current ships look like this:
Harry/Draco: ice/fire
Luna/Theo: wind/earth
I consider Blaise's element to be 'nature'. Flora to be specific (green, untamable and
dangerous, etc...), use that knowledge as you please.
PS: I'm back from vacation now, so our usual (daily) updating schedule will resume
shortly.
 Carry on, Wayward Son
Chapter Summary

Wayward sons of great houses fall further from grace.

Chapter Notes

I apologize for making this one take so long, despite saying that I would get back to
daily updates, but I struggled with a few of the scenes in this chapter, and had to look
back at a time in my life where I was in a much darker place in order to describe things
in a way I felt was accurate and real.
Warning: rabbit murder, panic attacks, mentions of actual murder.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Padfoot prowled through the underbrush, stalking past a bright, colorful snake in his pursuit of a
wild hare. He had been finding a wild variety of things to eat in the forest, but very few things that
the other predators wouldn't fight him for. The snake lunged past him towards some pixies, which
scattered hurriedly, disturbing the hare and triggering it into a fast, jerky jump away from the
excitement. Seeing his chance, the grimm leapt forward as the hare darted towards him
unknowingly, his jaws clamping down on the animal's neck-killing it almost instantly.

Sirius had been in the forbidden forest for about a month and a half now, if his rudimentary time
keeping lended it to being about mid-October now. The centaurs were more or less leaving him be,
either not interested in a random animagus hiding out in their woods or deciding he wasn't a threat
to them and therefore not their problem. The colorful snake he was hunting near seemed to also
want very little but a hunting partner from him-which he was grateful for, since the bloody thing
had to be a good six feet long. The other beasts in the forest consisted mostly of a few stray
werewolves (only on full moons), the dementors (occasionally), and a nest of acrotomula that he
gave a wide berth to. Other than those creatures though, everything else in the forest was mostly
harmless to him, and Sirius was living in relative peace in his temporary home. His days consisted
mostly of hunting the hare population into near extinction-an attempt to get his weight back up to a
reasonable amount-and sleeping.

Basically, he was insanely bored.

The only reason he had escaped was to finish off ol’ Peter once and for all, and he couldn’t exactly
do that when the rat bastard was hiding away in Gryffindor tower, firmly out of his reach.

Blast.

Sinking his teeth further into the hare, Sirius settled down to eat his lunch, still contemplating how
to get into the school without alerting anyone of his presence. The wards would notify the
headmaster of his being there-unless he entered as Padfoot-so he would have to at least enter the
school in dog form. People would question why a giant hound was perusing the halls of Hogwarts
if he stayed that way the entire time though, but if he turned back to a human, passing people and
paintings would recognize him almost instantly.

He chewed angrily, annoyed that it was near Halloween and he still hadn't even seen the rat.

Wait…

That was it! The Halloween feast would be taking part on the 31st and all the students and teachers
would be in the great hall, celebrating and most certainly not in the common rooms. He could
sneak in and nab the rat then!

Picking the rest of his lunch with his mouth, Padfoot trotted along in the direction of the forest's
edge. If he was able to get into the common room without the password, then he could sneak in,
steal the rat, and be back out again before anyone came back from the feast!

Settling back down again at the tree line, Padfoot gnawed at the bloody muscle on a leg, tearing it
from the bone as he watched the school with careful eyes. Harry was up there, no doubt spawning
chaos in that perfectly executed way of his.

They would reunite soon, he was sure of it.

Two shadows swayed through the Forbidden Forest, a notably taller one taking the charge. The
two people’s appearances were hidden from view by thin summer cloaks, and despite the weather
being quite chilly, neither seemed to mind. If anyone was around to see them, they would be quite
concerned by the decisive gait of the taller shadow and the visual caution of the shorter one.

The centaurs were at first nervous about the two and what they could mean for the forest, but the
stars did not lie about their peaceful quest, and the tribe granted them passage through the woods.

“Son of darkness,” the taller figure looked towards the one who spoke-Bane, and nodded slightly
at the silent question, there would be no damage done to the forest that night. The two figures
moved on, further-deeper-into the woods, passing by fallen trees and moss covered boulders.
Coming upon the gargantuan rune stone, they halted, before moving directly to the right of it,
walking for several minutes more before finally coming upon a large clearing.

The smaller figure whipped off its hood to reveal an extremely frazzled Draco Malfoy.

“Since when did you befriend the bloody centaur clan?!”

The other figure pulled its hood away as well to reveal one Harry Potter, who raised an eyebrow,
“since my first year, I occasionally sleep walk into the forest you see-” Draco sputtered, “- and I
met Bane one such night when he tied me to a tree and foretold my father's demise. He's also been
teaching me archery on occasion.”

Draco shook off his cloak all the way, his face scrunched up in intense confusion, “he… sorry?”

“Foretold my father's demise and is teaching me archery, do keep up Dray.”

The Malfoy heir glowered at the nickname, blushing slightly as he shrugged off his overshirt,
intending to reveal his wings to the elements.

“Your father’s dead if I'm not mistaken, unless you have him secreted away somewhere for safe
keeping...?”

Harry winked mischievously, turning so his back faced Draco to allow the shorter boy some
privacy.

“I would never.”

“For some reason I doubt that.”

Draco had his shirt completely off, and flexed his wings happily, they had started to cramp up on
the long hike. Turning around, he started stacking up his clothes on a log, “you can look at me you
know, my pale skin won't blind you if the sun isn't out.”

He heard a laugh, and the shuffling of feet as Harry turned to face him. There was a sudden
choking sound, and Draco looked over his shoulder questioningly at Harry, who had his eyes
zeroed in on Draco’s back.

“Hm?”

“You uh-” Harry cleared his throat, fidgeting with his sleeves slightly, “you have some… some
tattoos…”

“Oh!” Draco turned fully, spreading his wings out so that Harry could get a better look at them,
“these are the runes for keeping my wings hidden. I can't tell what the ‘ell they’re supposed to say
though.” harry nodded, coughing slightly as he examiled them, draco felt a little embarrassed at hsi
lack of knowledge of runes suddenly, “-nd in my defense they’re are backwards for me, so it's a tad
difficult to read them.”

He heard another mild mannered cough, and Draco wondered distantly if Harry was coming down
with a cold.

Shuffling awkwardly, Draco continued with his explanation, “they aren't permanent or anything,
don't worry. They’re designed to slowly fade over the next two years.”

Harry shuffled his feet some more, though with his back turned away Draco was relying heavily on
his sense of hearing to figure out what the teen was doing, and couldn't see the other boy's
expression.

“They, um… they suit you-tattoos I mean.”

Draco made a face, “you reckon? I've never liked the look of them on me personally, though you
could pull them off brilliantly I’m sure.”

Another cough, Draco risked a glance over his shoulder, finding that Harry was focusing very
firmly on the treeline to his left, instead of Draco. Odd.

“I've considered getting some before, yea… but um-they really do suit you, Dray.”

Draco didn't let himself entertain the idea of Harry actually being flustered-because honestly, the
Harry Potter losing decorum over some temporary tattoos? It was preposterous-and instead focused
on making sure that his already pristeenly folded shirts were still perfect.

“Right! Well-um, shall we then?”

Harry coughed one final time and nodded decisively, shrugging off his cloak to reveal protective
armor made of dragon leather and imbued in fire protective charms. Draco had no idea where he
had gotten it from, and Harry refused to say.
Throwing his cloak to the side, Harry pulled his satchel off and started rustling through it,
chattering all the while, “so here's the plan: I'll set up a circle of containment runes-” he pulled out
a ritualistic staff to draw in the dirt, “-in a large circle through this clearing. The headmaster won't
be notified because we're right on the line between the inside and outside of the wards, so the
wards will get confused and mementairly ignore us instead of telling him we’re breaking school
rules. After that is set up, you'll shift and I'll take it from there.”

Draco had been nodding along with the entire thing till Harry said the last step, and he realized
what he was saying with horror, “wait, you aren't going to be in the circle with me, right?”

Harry shook his head, and Draco went white, “No, I need to be inside it too keep the runes stable,
that's why I have the armor-”

“-but you'll just be… in there with me?”

Harry sighed, “I'll be fine, Dray.”

Draco shook his head jerkily, “no you won't, I could hurt you-”

“-no you won't. If it comes to that I’ll shift as well and keep you contained, but I seriously doubt
you’ll get that aggressive.”

Harry turned his back on him, moving instead to the edge of the clearing and started on the process
of drawing the necessary runes into the dirt, mumbling what sounded like germanic under his
breath as he did so. Draco knew that no amount of pleading on his part would change the taller
boy's mind, so he instead sat tensely onto the log his shirts were on, fidgeting with his hands as he
waited.

It was ten minutes of tense silence as Harry drew the runes, and Draco was forced to fill that time
with his own thoughts. He didn’t know what he would do if he woke up in the morning to find
Harry’s corpse lying there, and the thought of that fear becoming a reality made him shake, his
anxiety growing as Harry got closer and closer to finishing the circle. He couldn't control the veela,
he would be bloody asleep as it ran around the enclosed space which was now looking much
smaller than it should be. Harry wouldn't have anywhere to hide if things got bad, he would have to
face draco down head on. He knew Harry wouldn't hurt him, even if it meant getting hurt in the
process. This was a bad idea, Harry was going to get hurt or scared or killed and it would be all his
fault-

“Harry.”

He started tapping his feet, his fingers and hands twitching as if he had no control over his nerves.
There was a lump in his throat that made it hard to breath. He was panicking.

Harry’s going to get hurt, you're going to hurt him.

“I've fought things far worse than a veela, Draco. Please trust me when I say that everything will be
fine.”

He tried to gulp down the lump in his throat, his fingers and hands twitching sporadically as his
legs bounced faster and faster. Draco wanted to believe him, and for the most part he did, but there
was a side of him-a rather large side-that still believed that something would go horribly wrong.

“I do trust you, it's just that… I-”

He took a quick shuddering breath, realizing that he couldn't take in enough air. His breathing
picked up, short and choppy as his fingers flexed and shook painfully, the muscles tensing. His
entire body jerking and shaking as his muscles tensed, breathing getting far more choppy as it
became even harder to take in air, tears forced their way out of his eyes. Draco couldn't think, his
mind taken over completely by panic as he realized he had almost no control over his limbs, his
base desire to move or explode taking over and all he could do was tense his entire body and shake.

Harry completed the circle, and Draco felt more than saw the protective dome come into being,
trapping them both inside. His nails dug into the flesh of the back of his hand, an urge to

“Draco?” Harry was making his way over to him, throwing the staff to the side, “Dray, stop that.”

“I… I.”

Draco couldn’t calm down, the command to just stop was making him panic further and he
scratched harder at his skin, the stinging sensation giving no repreve to his need to move and
breath and if he stopped he would die, he knew he needed to stop twitching and tapping and
tensing and needed to just calm down but if he did then everything would just get worse and-

“Dray-merlin. Breath Draco.”

He felt hands gripping his own, Harry's green eyes locking onto his, “Just breath, Draco.”

He tried to take deeper breaths, his knees jumping faster as his body tried to continue exerting the
same amount of energy as it had before. He was dizzy, his vision gaining white spots as he let out a
fast, shuddering breath. The grip on his hands tightened slightly, pulling his nails away from the
tender skin.

“Shite-not like that. Breath steadily, Dray.”

A hand rested between his collar bones, the heel of Harry’s palm pressing slightly into his ribcage,
only a few inches from his heart. Another hand gripped his right shoulder, steadying his shoulders
as he kept trembling. Harry pressed him backwards till he slipped off the log, now lying firmly on
his back.

“Deep breaths Dray, take in as much oxygen as you can as slowly as you can… Yea, just like that.
Okay-shite, I'm going to start counting, alright? I want you to breathe in till I reach ten, then hold it
for another five, then release slowly for seven, alright? We're going to do that till you’re calm
again.”

They sat for another few minutes as Draco breathed in tandem with Harry’s steady counting, the
scratching slowing to a stop as his head filled with cotton. He started to slowly relax his muscles,
thought his toes and fingers still twitched uncontrollably and violently every few seconds, and his
head felt fuzzy from breathing so deeply for so long, but he was calming down. He was coming
down. Everything was going to be fine.

Harry didn’t take his hands from Draco’s chest or shoulder, still counting quietly. His breathing
started to slow into a steady pace, but Harry kept counting regardless, a steady tempo ringing out
that Draco’s mind latched onto as a steady constant.

It was another several minutes of quiet between the two Draco stared off into the sky, unseeing.
His head felt fuzzy and his arms and fingers kept twitching, but his panic had subsided and was
now replaced with a fuzzy unknowing where he was only half aware of his surroundings or his
own consciousness. Harry had lied down next to him on the log at some point, and was still quietly
counting, occasionally asking questions like ‘are you comfortable on your back like that?’ or ‘do
you need some water?’.

Draco closed his eyes, toeing along the side of sleep.

Fly. Fly far away.

The distant voice of his veela didn’t deter him from leaving the waking world behind.

Draco fell into oblivion.

Harry watched worriedly as Draco closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. The boy had had an
aggressive convulsion of some sort, his entire body tensing as his limbs convulsed, his breathing
sporadic and choppy. He had originally worried that Draco had been shifting against his will, but
quickly realized that the teen was having an extreme reaction to the situation. Regardless of his
initial panic over the situation, Harry had managed to get the other boy calmed down enough to
sleep it seemed, though he didn't look particularly comfortable on his back.

A sudden shift in the air had him instinctively leaping backwards over the log. Just in time to, as
Draco’s entire body started convulsing once more, fire igniting across his wings and arms.

“Bloody-”

Oh, fuck.

“Very helpful addition, thank you Tom.” Harry accidentally snipped at the man out loud, sprinting
across the clearing away from Draco as he started to shift.

My apologies for not helping, shall I mosey into the glade with you and assist in getting your
soulmate under control? Oh-wait! I can't.

Not. Helping.

The veela was still midshift, and wasn't causing any pressing concerns yet, though the fire along its
wings and arms wasn’t doing the dry grass surrounding it any favors, and the flames were
spreading worryingly fast.

“Aguamenti!”

A large stream of water burst forth from his wand, coating the grass around him in a semicircle and
hopefully halting the spread of the fire further towards him. The runic barrier would keep the blaze
contained inside of it, but there was no telling if veela flame was resistant to conjured water or not.

“Draco! Can you hear me?”

No answer, the boy’s features continued to shift into that more akin to a bird, the skin of his
forearms and feet thickening into leathery talons. Harry cast another aguamenti as a particularly
aggressive flame caught a fallen tree near him aflame, taming the wild inferno slightly as the water
partially extinguished it.

Any ideas?

...Run away?

Very funny.
Harry could feel the wendigo rearing up for a fight, and shoved it down decisively, his
determination to not hurt Draco overriding the demon's aggression. This was his soulmate, not
some random creature having a hissy fit.

The magic around him shifted again, and Harry teetered slightly, sucking in a breath as his magic
swelled and the air grew colder. The wendigo wasn’t trying to wrangle control anymore, instead
seeping its magic into his core, melding them together, twisting it and forcing the glacial energy
out of him.

Harry thought back, irrevocably, to when he had first shifted, and the entry he had read in his
magical creatures book.

The wendigo is a demonic creature known most notoriously by the Algonquin peoples of
Canada. While the true origins of the creature are unknown, it is most commonly considered
a human who had been infected by black magic after turning to cannibalism. One of the most
ruthless predators known to the American continent, the Wendigo is known for its distinctive
ability to mimic people's voices to lure its victims closer, as well as control over winter
storms.

Winter storms. He could control storms.

He’s mine too. The wendigo seemed to say, and the air cooled further, the autumn breeze turning
into an arctic chill as the water seeping into the earth crystalized.

The fire around him couldn’t burn his skin if the ice inside him froze it first.

Harry stilled, watching passively as the fully turned veela reared up and screeched excitedly,
flapping its wings and unknowingly adding more fuel to the fire surrounding it. He breathed out
slowly, his breath coming out frosty, water droplets crystalized as they entered the hot air from his
freezing lungs. The clouds above the clearing swirled and churned, darker than the night sky and
infinitely more ferocious. Taking a deep breath, Harry felt the wind pick up diminutively, the icy
chill swirling around the clearing and knocking into the veela gently, pushing it back down to the
earth.

Harry felt strange, as if there was something else being added to who he was, a molted darkness
seeping into his soul and merging with it. Something cold and wet hit his cheek, and he looked up
slowly to find… snowflakes. The beginnings of a blizzard were sweeping through the area,
gathering up and caking the earth with inches of flaked ice. Usually, snow wouldn't be able to put
out a fire of that magnitude, but with the near instant blizzard that was sweeping through the place,
the veela was struggling to stay aflame itself, despite being the source of the fire in the first place.

The chanting had returned, but he was surprised to find that it seemed different somehow. Slower,
less aggressive and more… gentle? He moved smoothly though the quickly rising snow, unable to
see farther than a foot but knowing exactly where Draco was regardless. A confused scree echoed
from close ahead and made him halt, the snow quickly gathering on his shoulders and head,
clinging to his clothes and tickling his skin.

“Draco?”

The next scree was closer than before, and Harry could see the faint outline of wings though the
blizzard.

“Draco, you can stay out here for the night and fly around the clearing, but you can't keep setting
things on fire, you'll piss off the centaurs.”
A tallon reached out of the darkness and grabbed at his shoulder, and the small veela pulled itself
onto him, wrapping around him like a koala. He pet its hair (feathers?) comfortingly, feeling the
blizzard start to wain into a flury, and then stop altogether. It had only been snowing for three
minutes or so, but the white snowfall was up to his knees by the time it had all ended.

Harry didn’t sleep that night, instead watching from a distance as the curious veela crept through
the piles of snow, growing more and more human like as the night went on. By the time the sun
was up, it had exhausted itself and curled up next to him, now looking more or less back to normal.
Draco woke soon after that.

“...Wha?”

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Draco squinted at the sun as it peaked over the horizon, confused and sore.

“...Wha?”

He coughed, his throat was dry, and in desperate need of some water.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Turning slightly, he found Harry leaned up against a tree, making a… snowball? Patting the dirt
underneath him, Draco found that he had melted an imprint of his silhouette into a good eight
inches of snow.

“What on earth-”

Pulling himself up onto his elbows, Draco looked out to the clearing they sat in, eyes widening in
alarm and confusion as he found the entire space was covered in several feet of snow.

“You're lucky it's Saturday you know, or we would have had to leave hours ago.”

Draco turned back to Harry, who appeared much like he did when he pulled an all nighter, that
being much the same but slightly more grumpy than usual and with a conjured cup of caffeinated
tea somewhere nearby.

“Did you sleep?”

“Hardly.”

Despite his tone, Harry smiled at him warmly, “you only burnt the grass, don't worry. I just
overreacted a tad and caused a blizzard.”

He gazed out at the clearing, “Bit of an understatement, that.”

Harry wacked one of his wings lightly in response, “come on then, we can still make it to brunch in
the great hall if we hurry.”

Harry stood, gathering up his various things as Draco watched him, appalled.

“You want me to go to the great hall wearing rags?”

An eye role was the only response.

“Harry, I am not showing up to brunch wearing old pants that have three holes in them! Look at
this-the hems have been utterly destroyed! Harry, Harry listen to me-”

He scrambled to his feet as the taller boy made his way to the tree line, gathering up Draco’s half-
frozen shirt that was hanging from a branch as he did so.

“Sorry, too busy making my way back to the castle, won't you join me?”

“Harry, this isn't funny!”

“It's a little funny.”

“Harry!”

Blaise woke up to find that both of his dorm mates were missing from the room. Grumbling under
his breath, he pulled the covers back and kicked off of the bed, treading through the shag rug on
his way to gather up some clothes for the day. If those two wanted to go snog in a dark corner at
five in the morning that was fine, but the least they could do was leave a note.

The teen moved to his armoir, pulling open the doors with one hand as he scratched his ass with
the other. Blaise was a firm believer in mornings being for lanquidity, not glamor. Yawning, he
grabbed at the first jumper and slacks that he could find, smacking his mouth loudly as his other
hand pat around for some undergarments. Pulling his winnings from the bowls of his messy
dresser, Blaise dragged his feet out of the door and down the hall, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he
passed by Goyle on his quest to take a bath.

Ten minutes later found Blaise nearly nodding off again as he slouched into steaming water, twin
snakes lounging across the rim as he sank further into the tub. These moments were cherished by
the teen, those times when the lovebirds (who weren't technically lovebirds yet) wandered off
early in the morning and he was free to wake up on his own time. He had never been much of a
morning bird-though Theo was much worse about mornings than he was-and Blaise greatly
enjoyed slowly waking up whenever it was possible for him to do so. Honestly, his dorm mates
made him seem like the laziest man on earth, as they constantly woke up before the sun rose-the
monsters that they were.

He opened his eyes moodily. It was one thing for Draco to have a creature inheritance and not tell
them till he has a breakdown over it, but Harry consistently freaked them all the hell out with his
creepy mirror watching and uncomfortably long fingers for a sold two years without feeling an
ounce of remorse over not telling them why exactly he was so… so freaky!

He dipped his nose below the water, blowing air bubbles out slowly as he contemplated his friend's
secrets. Harry was obviously allowed to have things that he kept to himself, it would be extremely
hypocritical of Blaise to say otherwise, but there was a very firm line between family secrets like a
creature inheritance and somehow being able to tell a bloody dementor to fuck off and have it
actually bloody fuck off!

His eyes narrowed at the wall opposite of him, the twin snakes hissing in tandem, as if
acknowledging his mood and agreeing with it. Harry was his friend, arguably his best friend in
fact, but Blaise was feeling extremely betrayed by the other boy's secret keeping. He had confided
his plans to pledge with the taller boy, had gotten nothing from support from him about it after his
mothers intense refusal, and had even planned when he was going to be doing them and where with
him. Blaise had expected the same amount of trust from Harry, and he had been deeply hurt when
he found that he hadn’t received it.
 He closed his eyes once more, sinking fully under the water with a sigh. He should explain that to
Harry-explain just why he was so angry, but his stupid pride was getting in the way and their
friendship had been tense and passive aggressive since school started almost two months prior.
Blaise hated it, he wanted his friend back.

On halloween. I'll apologize on halloween.

A hand grabbed his collar tenderly, lifting him gently from the slowly cooling water.

“Blaise.”

The snakes hissed happily at their master, twisting up pale arms clad in sleeves of silk. Loki had
arrived.

“I’m working on it, I promise.”

Victoria had been extremely miffed that she had been ignored by him for half the last school year,
and he had promised to explain that morning exactly why he had done that, and why she should
absolutely NOT prank him in retaliation for it. He hoped to get her to start reading the book as
well, though he honestly expected her to just jinx him purple and be on her merry way. Honestly,
that girl was a menace. Why Harry hadn’t adopted her or something was beyond him.

“Forget the girl, I have a task of more importance for you to complete.”

Or maybe he would just beg her forgiveness, reinstitutionizing a cult could wait a few days.

“What is it?”

The hand trailed up from his collar and wrapped firmly around his throat, and one of the snakes
twisted down the arm to encircle his neck as well, squeezing gently but assuredly as it hissed in his
ear. Vines grew out of the drainage pipe and wrapped around his ankle, thorns pressing lightly into
his flesh… testing him.

“I need you to kill for me.”

The vines coiled through his lungs and took hold of his heart, budding flowers and tangled leaves
tickling his insides-entwining with his soul.

There was no going back.

Blaise breathed in deeply, and coughed up pollen.

Chapter End Notes

In regards to Draco's panic attack: I've gotten panic and asthma attacks for years, and I
actually remember my first asthma attack vividly; it was at a track meet for my school,
I was 11 at the time. They only got more frequent over my teenage years, so I have
many experiences to draw from in this instance. If you have diffrent experences with
both panic and asthma attacks, just know that it is perfectly common for people to
experience different symptoms, and what I illustrated here was based purely on my
own experiences. The breathing exercise, as well as hand placement over the lungs and
stabilizing on the shoulder are all things that my parents and medical professionals
have done to help stabilize my breathing and calm me down.

The uncontrollable foot tapping as well as finger flexing are also symptoms that I
experience the most frequently, as well as scratching (I have several faded scars on the
back of my hands from scratching them till I bled during panic attacks that were
experienced without another person there to stop me from doing it, and I really didn't
have control over myself in those times, I was irrational and panicked and viewed it as
having the choice of either scratch my skin or literally explode) and of course the
choppy, uncontrolled breathing as well. I've never come down from one and been able
to just get back to things either, so I've always needed to turn off my brain and just
stare blankly at a wall or something for several minutes to get fully out of panic mode,
and I've never walked away from a panic attack without feeling like I was going to
pass out from exhaustion, which is why Draco handed things over to the veela
accidentally, he had really just fallen asleep.

My panic attacks were at their peak when I was thirteen, and having Draco experience
them as well was important for me in that it really is the height of your self loathing
and realization of you being a speck in the eight billion people on the planet. While I
have long since gotten better with my severe anxiety, and am in a much better place
now, these characters are kids that are being thrust into a war while also having to
deal with magical puberty and the ability to accidentally kill someone if they got out of
control, and need to show that they are gaining awareness of that fact. I used to have
panic attacks over math tests of all things, how these kids aren't complete wrecks in
canon is beyond me (*coughcough* it's because of shitty writing, fuck you JKR).
Anyway, I've already started on the next chapter, so the daily schedule is absolutely
returning tomorrow! Sorry for this chapters delay once again.
Ciao!
 More Important Things than Love
Chapter Summary

A series of letters over two months are revealed, and Harry makes an important
connection between current mysteries and old memories.
There are more important things than love, though everything is intertwined eternally
in vines and fire.

Chapter Notes

I taped into the side of me that wants a light academia aesthetic in order to write the
romantic scenes of this chapter, I hope you're happy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hadrian,

I would be more than happy to take you on for the summer, and Perenelle is so very excited
to meet you, I'm sure you'll both get along well. It is a relief to hear that you wish to
understand immortality and, one day, even wield it-but I feel that it is paramount for me to
explain the nature of the philosopher's stone to you, before you even begin to attempt a
recreation. Don't get excited however, as I would never dare to do so over something so easily
intercepted as owl post. Instead, I am writing to secure your understanding that your first
month in my home will be spent purely focused on the science behind the philosopher's stone,
as well as the-frankly, quite poor-morals that go into creating one.

I hope this knowledge does not sway you from a purely intellectual point of view, and plead to
the gods that it does indeed sway you from one day creating one.

Nicolas.

Nick,

While I appreciate your concern for my morality in relation to the creation of your stone, I
regret to inform you that morality is not an issue for me. My family is not one swayed by
death, if I am correct in my interpretation of your words, and it is of no consequence.
However, if the history of the stone is one so bloody as you seem to insinuate, I do not expect
myself to partake in the creation of one till I can be assured that the ingredients can be
obtained legally. While this admission may alarm you, I hope that it does not sway you from
your decision to mentor me.

Harry.
P.S. I apologize if I've insulted you with the nickname, but no one has ever called me Hadrian
before and while I certainly enjoy the name, I feel that we are on less professional terms than
the use of full names insinuates.

To the Heir Potter, Hadrian James Potter of Godric's Hollow,

I am saddened that your views of death has been sullied at such an age, but it does not
surprise me. A child of your drive and experience must be far more determined to reach
their ends than is expected of the norm, and your past tragedies do not elevate your moral
compass to that of respectability. I am also saddened to say that you are correct in your
assumptions, and beg your understanding that I have never, nor do I intend, to take a life
unwillingly. If you have a differning of opinion in that regard, I ask politely that you keep it
to yourself, or at the very least have a very, very good reason for it. Once more, while your
admission saddens me, I stand steadfast in my decision to mentor you regardless.

Sincerely, Sir Nicholas Flamel of Pontoise.

P.S. Nice try.

To Nicky, a good lad of pretentious titles,

I must admit that my views of death have changed over the years as I delve further into my
families background and the true nature of the hallows, but I would not say that my stances
are particularly immoral in any respect, just of a differing perspective. I certainly do not
think any less of you for confiding in me the truth of your stone’s creation, and assure you
that it was never my intention to insinuate that I did.

On an unrelated note, I was wondering if you would be willing to study a potion I have
concocted? I currently have no discernible way to test it, and am not fully sure of its effects.

Most sarcastically, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-nuisance

P.S. You can't stop me, old man

Bothersome child,

While I would enjoy a conversation about the exact nature of your ‘differing perspective’, I
have been forced by my world renowned potioneering wife to instead plead for a sample of
this mystery substance. While I am afraid that my expertise is in that of alchemy and
transfiguration, and can not give much in the way for analysis of newly invented potions,
Perenelle has been hailed as the leading force in potion creation for centuries. Your
concoction is in worthy hands with her.

Unenthusiastically, an immortal that has lived through people that are far more of an
annoyance than you could ever hope to be, my wife being one of them.
P.S. I already have.

Harry hadn't been down to the Chamber of Secrets since he had left the previous school year, and
Jörmungandr was awfully cross with him for supposedly abandoning the place. He found the snake
curled up grumpily around a fallen rock in the main chamber, sulking. It took a considerable
amount of pleading on his part to finally get the snake to acknowledge he was there, and when he
finally managed it, all that greeted him were large puppy eyes and hurt feelings.

“~I have counted the moons since your departure, and you had returned to the school two months
ago! Do you dislike me so much that you wish not to see to me any longer?~”

Harry rolled his eyes at the snakes dramatics, hugging the massive head regardless in a show of
apology, “~I've been busy.~”

“~Too busy to visit?~”

“~I'm here now aren't I?~”

“~Yes, and only two months too late.~”

Shoving the snake's massive head to the side with a laugh, Harry requested passage through the
caverns into the library, and eventually was granted it after several apologies, summoned cows to
eat, and debates over if his reasons for not visiting were sound ones. Striding across the library to
his workbench, which had five vials of the mystery potion, Harry contemplated who would be
receiving the first batch. He was planning on testing the concoction out on a few unsavory people
that he wouldn't be all that upset about potentially dying, and needed to figure out what order in
which to slip the murky liquid into various people's pumpkin juice. A few months prior he would
have put a little more consideration into his potentially murderous exploits, but-as he explained to
Nicolas-he had no such qualms now.

Holding the first glass phial up to the light, Harry examined the opaque golden hue with careful
eyes. The potion he had in his hands was the original one, and was notably less vibrant than its
counterparts-he could only assume that meant it was less concentrated and by extension less
effective. It would be the first bottle tested on unwilling human participants, and would likely
determine if the potion was indeed fatal to the drinker or not.

Halloween was fast approaching, and Harry wanted not only to figure out what the potion was, but
also to steal Granger’s time turner. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to do the latter, but with
the realization that the wendigo was willing to allow him usage of its magic even if they were
technically still quite separated… well it opened a lot of potential avenues. Usually, he would
frown at the theatrics of plotting for Halloween, but he had to admit that with the halloween feast
there was a window of opportunity where no one was around, same with yule break. Harry still had
no idea how to get into the girls dorms, despite having tried to figure it out since his first year, and
was half convinced he would have to send Daphne up there like he had with the armory.

Curse Gryffindor and his insistent need to have all his secrets hidden away behind walls of women.

Godric Gryffindor’s weaponization of chivalry aside, Harry was feeling relatively good about how
he stood in regards to his new plans. Sure, he would have to be forgiven by Blaise at some point
and get Theo’s head out of Luna’s ass long enough to have a conversation with the boy, but getting
the two of them on board with his conspiracy wasn’t particularly pressing, as he didn't plan on
trying to sway any of his friends to the plot till at least Christmas. Tracey already seemed to know
he was cooking something up, and was dropping hints that she wanted in on it, so she was likely to
be the first he recruits.

Humming curiously, Harry pocketed the phial and shuffled through the mess of papers littering his
desk to find his notes on the creation process, intent on making more as he went through the
experimentations.

“~Do you truly think it is lethal?~”

Jörmungandr returned to his side, butting against Harry’s arm as he examined his notes, much akin
to a cat.

“~Honestly? I’m doubting it, the rats didn’t have any physical reactions and stayed alive for weeks
till I released them.~”

“~May I taste it?~”

Harry scrunched up his face worriedly, Jörmungandr was an almost one thousand year old basilisk,
so if there was even a small chance of the potion hurting the snake, Harry didn't want to take it.

“~I would really rather you didn't actually.~”

“~Hm. Coward.~”

Jörmungandr slithered off, leaving a flabbergasted and slightly confused Harry in his wake.

...What?

That's what you get for not appreciating the king of snakes in his entirety, he would have been
more understanding had you visited sooner.

Bloody hell Tom, would you stop lusting after snakes for five bloody minutes.

No.

Harry turned back to the bottled potion, holding it up to the light and studying it’s consistently once
more. He squinted, turning the phial around and watching the low light refract through the murky
liquid. It was strange, he felt like he had seen something similar before, he got deja vu over the
coloring and consistency every time he saw it. Swirling the potion around in its confines, Harry
pulled it away from the light and shook the bottle slightly, contemplating his creation’s
consistency.

He remembered, inexplicitly, a potions textbook filled to the brim with scrawling notes and
anecdotes, of Hermione’s jealousy, of the Slug Club.

The potion’s coloring was almost identical to the golden hue of felix felicis.

Blaise sat in History of Magic, skin spelled purple from Victoria's hissy fit that morning.

Loki’s command to take someone’s life had finally sunk in.

He remembered, just the year prior, when he had gotten incomprehensibly angry at Harry for
willingly letting another student get hurt, and how he was now expected to do much much worse
than that. The most unsettling part of his newfound task was that he knew that he felt horrible
about the idea-that it was going against his base morals-but that there was something in him that
was muting the feelings, something that made his morals nothing more than an afterthought.
Vines tightened around his soul.

Blaise didn't want to kill anyone, but he also wanted to... needed to. There was something inside of
him that he could recognize as his own voice saying that it was against everything he had ever
believed in, but there was a pressure around his neck that said the opposite.

“Purple suits you.”

“Piss off, Greengrass.”

She snorted, adjusting the grip on her quill as she settled back in her seat. Daphne and him had
been getting along like a house fire over the past couple of months, as Harry remained in the
platonic doghouse and Tracey chased after Theo like a lost puppy. The Greengrass heiress had a
humor that was both sarcastic and sardonic-something that he could appreciate in his current state
of mind.

“What's got your pantaloons all in a twist?”

She was still a bitch though.

He slid further into his seat, glaring through Professor Binns as he ranted on about something
unimportant. “Nothing, you’re just more annoying than usual.”

He could hear her shift, the skirt of her uniform falling over one knee, her boney elbow resting on
his shoulder as she studied his expression carefully, as if a particular squint of his eyes would
reveal all his troubles to her.

“I’m the least annoying person you know.”

“Tell that to my dead aunt Maurice.”

She actually laughed that time, and he glanced at her in amusement as she snorted in a very
unladylike fashion. Daphne was a particular brand of absurd, seeming so posh and put together till
you crack the outer layer and she reveals her ridiculous, impish personality underneath. He enjoyed
it, truthfully, as anyone who could fool the masses with such a bold faced lie as she did daily was
obviously the best prankster on the planet and deserved his unyielding respect.

“I bet your dead aunt Maurice doesn't know why you're so grumpy.”

She was still nosey as all hell though.

“Well since she's dead I'd say she has no business knowing.”

Daphne leaned closer, poking him with her quill, no doubt drawing something obscene on his
cheek, “well since I’m alive, I’d say I have some business knowing.”

Flowers bloomed in his stomach, blush as red as rose tainting his cheeks.

“Well, since you're so annoying I'd say you don't, actually.”

They quickly died, shriveling up as the bile dissolved their delicate petals.

She pursed her lips, finishing off her drawing and patting him comfortingly, “oh well. If you're
going to be a dick, I feel it is imperative that you have a sign somewhere warning others of your
mood.”
She leaned away from him, facing the front once more, the mischievous gleam in her eyes dulling
as she took in Binns’ lecture. Blaise glared at his desk, the penis drawn messily on his cheek
taunting him like a fleeting kiss.

Vines. Vines twisting and coiling up his esophagus and through his lungs as they constricted and
grew stronger, blocking his airways and wilting any flowers that may grow.

He had more important things to do than fall in love.

“What do you reckon has Harry running off all the time?”

Theo and Draco sat in the Hogwarts library, the former pouring over twelve different tomes at the
same time and the latter lying on his stomach on the floor, in a state of fleeting but aggressive
depression. Theo glanced at him, concerned for his friend and his sudden drop in mood.

Closing his book carefully, Theo contemplated how to answer the question. “I can only count
about three times he's run off in the past month, that's hardly enough to warrant any worry. He's
probably just in the loo.”

“Harry would have told me so we could go together, this is something different.”

The second Harry had left, speeding off after getting some letter or another, Draco had felt an
immediate drop in… everything. He was exhausted, angry, despondent… it was as if all the
happiness had been sucked out of him. It felt impossible to function and Draco was certain it was
the absence of the Potter heir that was doing it.

“In the same stall?”

“What?” He turned to look at his friend, incredulous, “are you daft? It's a loo, not a public
bathhouse.”

Theo rolled his eyes at him, turning back to his books, “well maybe he needed to go snog a girl in a
dark corner and couldn't bring you with.”

Searing hot anger rushed through Draco like a storm, and the book Theo was holding burst into
flame.

“Fuck-”

As the teen was extinguishing the blaze, Draco sunk further into the library floor, mood only
worsening. He didn't know where Harry was, he didn't know why he needed the other boy nearby
to feel happy, but there was an ach in his chest that wouldn't leave and he hated it.

If this is what love is like, I have to sincerely apologize to my parents.

Draco could admit that he was on the cusp of loving Harry, but he was so terrified of the prospect
that any sort of reaction to the realization had been immediately stomped down. There was a
feeling of irrevocable sorrow that followed the concept of not having his affections returned, and
Draco couldn't comprehend what he would do if it became a reality.

“Theo, do you know what love is?”

A raised eyebrow, his finger turning the page of a slightly burnt book.

“Not the love that your feeling, no.”

 “There's a difference between this and other love?”

Theo looked at him in a way that seemed almost… pitying.

“I think you need to talk to Harry about this, not me.”

Fire burned brazenly in his core, unstoppable and destructive without the arctic chill of Harry’s
too-long fingers holding it back. Draco’s annoyance and anger built to a crescendo, and sparks
leapt from his fingers and bit at the legs of a nearby chair. He was burning up, destroying himself.

“Sorry I took so long-uh… Dray? What are you doing on the floor?”

Draco glanced up, warm green eyes obstructing his vision of everything else. His chest cooled
immediately, and the smell of smoke and peppermint drowned out the dust of ancient libraries and
untold secrets.

“He’s moping.”

A chuckle, skin wrinkling around viridescent eyes as he laughed. Tanned fingers clasped around a
phial of golden liquid.

Stormy gray eyes dilated, and a raging inferno tapered off into the flicker of a candle flame.

There were more important things than love, like a boy’s teasing smile, or the sound of his voice
cracking when he laughed. An arm bracing smaller shoulders, assured voice whispering numbers
in the dead of night. The smell of smoke sunk into woolen clothes tickling at his nose. Clumsy
hands pulling the sleeves of his jumper up in the middle of winter, assurances that he just feels too
warm in the freezing temperatures. Dark hair falling all about the place, shining eyes obstructed by
a lightning bolt racing down the tip of his nose. Leather jackets, painted nails.

There were more important things than recuperated love. Things that couldn't be replaced after a
rejection steals them away, and Draco wasn't going to give it all up just for the knowledge of if
those glowing green eyes wanted him back or not.

Because he was selfish, and would burn himself up to see that smile every hour of the day.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter 50!!! It's a little shorter than usual, but I wanted something lovey dovey
(angst, basically) instead of plot heavy, though the plot is still thrown in there
somewhere.
 The Edge of Oblivion
Chapter Summary

Last minute plans are made as children scramble to prepare for the beginning.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Mother,

I have come to a conclusion that I need your guidance on-

He frowned, and threw the parchment to the side, pulling out another.

Dearest Mother,

How are you? I have been-

“No, you idiot, that’s stupid.”

Mother and Fathe-

That was also scrapped, there was no way on the good green earth that he was going to discuss boy
troubles with his father. Draco sighed, rubbing his face frustratedly, trying to figure out why this
was so difficult.

Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're asking her for advice about confessing your unyielding
attraction to the one you fancy? Who just so happens to be Harry bloody Potter? His rhetorical
question was met with his own sardonic snort, as he leaned forward in his seat and planted his head
firmly on the ink splattered parchment, convinced that if he hadn't already rubbed ink into his face
during his previous dramatic groan of frustration, he certainly had now.

Anger swelled through him, as it often did when he was without his best friend, and Draco grabbed
up all of the scattered parchment, lighting them aflame-he needed to release the anger in some way
or he would surely explode.

“Oh-what's the point.”

He dropped the faintly glowing ashes to his desk and huffed tiredly, staring down at them with
hatred. Even if he managed to keep Harry’s name out of the letter, his mother was bound to figure
out exactly who he was referring to in all but five seconds. She would then write back a letter in her
beautiful calligraphy that manages to be both reassuring and whooly unhelpful, and then proceed to
mosey down to his father's study and gossip about it for precisely three hours-likely over a glass of
brandy.

Draco knew his parents well-too well, some would say, as after his rather sheltered childhood-and
he knew that they would be of no help even if they tried.

Defeated, Draco snatched another parchment from his desk and settled down to write about his
completely drama-free school year, his irritation subconsciously leaking out and singeing the
parchment's edges.

Daphne Greengrass was not a fool.

She had been born and bred to be a business woman, brought up as the Greengrass heiress in line
for an ever increasing fortune and flourishing business. Her upbringing and promising inheritance
drew suitors like bees to honey, and an environment such as that bred women of an ironclad
fortitude. Her mother had been of a similar childhood, and one of Daphne’s earliest memories was
of the woman taking her up in her arms one night, when the servants were all gone to bed and her
father was working away in his study. She was just a child then, still not quite understanding as the
warrior of a woman whispered harsh words of truth in her ear.

“Be strong, Daphne, or be destroyed by those who wish to own you.”

Her mother had molded her a set of armor forged of unyielding steel, and her father further
embellished it with gems and lace.

He was a good man, the Lord Greengrass, and assured of himself and of his family. With a
determined set in his jaw, he went about life with a firmness that soothed those of strong will and
made everyone else a tad nervous. He had come upon her kicking up a fuss one day, when she was
a moody child of seven, and swept her up in unwieldy arms, kissing her nose with a small smile.

“Pretend to be an angel, my little demon, or they will tie you down as if caging a beast.”

Her armor was molded from the blood and tears of the generations of women before her, and
accented with the gems and laces of her family's wealth.

Her father had made people admire her, and her mother had made them wary to do anything but
look.

Her armor hadn't crumbled or cracked till she made her very first friend, a girl born of scandal and
repreve with plain brown hair and strikingly beautiful caramel eyes dipped like candied cherries in
wine. The gem-encrusted armor rehardened and melted again as the days went on, and she became
accustomed to the times in which it melted to a puddle at her feet, the diamonds and emeralds
shattering across the floor as she threw her head back and laughed.

Daphne didn't mind. She loved the burning fires of retribution in Tracey Davis’ eyes as she spoke
of justice and chaos and dying for the romance of battle. She adored the mischievous tilt of Blaise
Zabini’s mouth as something went irrevocably wrong because of him. She snarled at the sharp
nails of Draco Malfoy as he hissed empty promises of pain at her as she grappled for her wand. She
was unwittingly empowered by the cold steel of Harry Potter’s voice as he lectured on about
politics and morality and the human experience. She listened, fascinated, as Theodore Nott proudly
blabered on about his most recent research topic.

They made the vulnerability worth it-made the melted armor pooled at her feet worth it. She stood
face to face with the looming figure of Heir Hadrian James Potter, scared out of her wits after he
had driven off a dementor with just his words and icy breath, but still demanded answers from him.
She stood by Blaise just the same, knowing that the others were bothered by her boldness but held
firm as her friend grappled with matters he still refused to speak of. And years ago, on a glittering
red train, she looked Tracey Davis dead in the eyes and swore to stand in front of her and take
everything that slytherin dared to throw in her place.
Daphne hadn’t changed over the past two years, she had never been an untouchable piece of
beautiful, crystallized armor, but as she fell in with this stupid, fun, obnoxious little group, she was
finally able to reveal who she had always been, had revealed who she might just have really needed
to be all along. Her armor was useless to her now, the wits and pure nerve of a true Greengrass
heiress were the only things that she needed any longer, and Daphne refused to set her true self
aside because Harry Potter decided to be a major bloody dick and refuse to tell her why exactly he
wanted her to break into the Gryffindor girls dorm room with him.

“Daphne, I promise that this is important, and-”

“Then tell me why, Potter.”

He had approached her after classes had ended on Friday, only two days before Halloween, and
requested a private conversation with her immediately-much to Draco and Blaise’s chagrin. He had
then explained then, in no uncertain terms, that he needed her help to get into the gryffindor girls
dorms. Naturally, she had asked why, and (naturally) he had avoided the question.

“It is for a personal reason that-”

“Why exactly, Hadrian James Potter, do you insist on taking me as a fool?”

He winced first at the tone, and had then looked at her with an expression of incredulity mixed
with frustration, “Daphne, I only keep approaching you for these things because I know you aren't
a fool, it would have been much easier to just ask Tracey, but-”

“So if you think I'm that brilliant, why won’t you just put on your big boy trousers and tell me why
you find it imperative to break school rules?”

Harry groaned, rubbing his hands down his face, “are you really going to do this, Daph?”

She raised her chin higher, craning her neck to glaire heatedly into his eyes, “Only Blaise and
Tracey are allowed to call me Daph-and yes, I am.”

He let out a long, drawn out sigh of frustration. She smiled, that was a sign of victory.

“I am breaking more than just school rules by doing this, because I'm stealing something of great
value. That is why you can't know, because you need plausible deniability if things go south.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Explain. Everything.”

She waited a moment, “Please?”

Harry looked at her, really looked at her, and Daphne felt swallowed up in green eyes far too old
for the face they accompanied. There was, quite suddenly, a gleam in them that had her on edge, as
if the boy across from her had taken off a mask-for just a moment-and revealed the truth
underneath. As if he had peaked out from behind his own set of armor.

“I’ll be stealing a ministry distributed time turner from Hermione Granger, and I would be
extremely appreciative if you helped me.”

Daphne Greengrass was not a fool.

“Fine, but only on one condition: I get to use it as well.”

“Deal.”
Daphne may leave her armor pooled at her feet when around friends, but there were forces at play
that she would need it to shield against, and Harry seemed to know exactly what they were.

She wanted in.

“Why him?”

Blaise sat on the cusp of the forbidden forest, his back to a familiar large boulder, his eyes
watching impassively as a green snake slither up his leg.

“You wanted, desperately, for him to live not one year ago. It is a true test of loyalty to be willing
to throw that away for me.”

Justin Flitch-Fletchy.

The muggleborn boy had never spoken a word to Blaise, and was wholly ordinary, but the idea of
his blood on Blaise’s hands still filled the teen with dread. This was an innocent victim who he had
gotten up and defended the mortality of to his best friends, and he was going to kill him.

Infantile roots began to take hold in his bones, digging into the marrow.

“How long do I have to... to do it?”

The second snake wrapped around his torso, meeting its twin at his pelvis.

“Hmmm… you must do it before February.”

The deep purple satin petals of belladonna flowers crept up his throat, lodging themselves between
his tonsils and tongue.

If he ever wished to speak of this, it would cost him.

“It will be done.”

Dark hair like that of a raven’s feathers flew about in the wind unearthly, accompanied by a
twisted, cackling laugh.

Blaise couldn't discern what was his magic and what was the sickly green of his god’s.

He couldn't discern if he was the one laughing or it was his god.

It didn't matter regardless.

Who was he, but a vessel for greater forces?

Theo could feel the chilly breeze of autumn tickle his nose as he laid in the grass, the leather jacket
he stole from Harry’s closet without the boy's knowledge doing well to keep him warm as the
weather moved sullenly into winter.

“How do you like the necklace, Theo?”

Tilting his head to the left slightly, he opened his eyes and observed the most baffling creature in
existence: Luna Lovegood. She was constantly following him about the place, and seemed
perfectly fine with his apparent annoyance with her. Truthfully, Theo had tried very hard the first
week of knowing the girl to understand her, but quickly found himself too overwhelmed with her
sheer ridiculousness and opted to simply observe the chaos as it came. Things were easier on his
already overloaded mind when he did that.

“It's fine.”

She had continuously gifted him little bobbles and dodads to wear, and while they were ridiculous,
he couldn't bring himself to refuse the presents, or to not wear them.

“Just fine?”

“The definition of ‘fine’ is: something of high quality. Therefore, I have just said that I consider
this necklace made of cork,” he held it up to the light, as if displaying a carefully crafted diamond
necklace from the elizabethan era to a group of intrigued museum goers, she giggled, “-to be more
delicate and intricate than most of the jewels in my families vault.”

She smiled broadly at his words, “Oh good! I was thinking of making another for myself so we
matched, which string color would suit me best?”

She held up a jarring red thread that appeared muggle in origin, and some other monstrosity that
was likely torn off an old sock.

“Neither, just use the same string as mine.”

She bobbed her head in an unrestrained reproduction of a nod, and set the offending strings aside,
grappling around in her bag for the rest of the pleasant aquamarine thread that was currently twined
around his neck. The wind blew across his cheeks once more, and for a fleeting moment, Luna’s
cloudy grey eyes betrayed her true emotions, only for a moment, before it was gone. He saw it all
the same, and acknowledged the pained expression with growing dread.

“What's the matter?”

She looked at him, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. Luna was always so cheerfully
sorrowful, it was sometimes hard to realize she suffered from the same affliction he did. Theo had
first seen the truth of its toll on her only a week after they met, when he had turned from his book
to find her staring off into the middle distance as if entranced, whispering softly of gem encrusted
armor and vines wrapped around a bloodied heart.

She had been wasting away from their curse for far longer than he had.

Her eyes were always cloudy, slightly unseeing as she looked on at a snippet of the future or a
ghost of the past, never fully in the present. Not till right now, as the wind chilled his cheeks and
tousled her hair. She looked so real in that moment, as a tear escaped those milky eyes, her pupil
nothing but a pinprick of darkness in the backdrop of a stormy day, she looked horribly-incredibly-
real, and it terrified him.

“Harry is going to fall on Sunday… on Halloween.”

His right eye melted from the deep chocolate he was born with into the sweetened honey of his left,
lightening and darkening and testing the bounds of its own capabilities. He despised his sight, he
loathed the curse that led him to the door of merciless green eyes, but in that moment-that horrible,
twisted moment-he was thankful that he hadn't been cursed like Luna. Grateful that the knowledge
of the future and the inevitable didn't plague him through the hours and minutes and seconds of his
life as it did to her. He felt indebted to the gods for giving him that small repreve, that his eyes still
held a sharpness that proved he wasn’t wandering into the future too far. Not yet, no-not ever
 would he disappear into an incomprehensible infinity as she did.

“He’s on the edge of oblivion, just as we all are Luna. We have to fall and hit the ground and
destroy ourselves before we can ever hope to become whole again.”

She sniffled, rubbing those murky, ever-unfocused eyes with the back of her hand.

“What if he doesn't hit the ground?”

Clouds floated across his vision, blocking out the sun and diverting its rays onto themselves.
Greedy things they were, clouds. Always taking away the sun and giving rain in return.

“We’ll rip him out of the sky, and send him tumbling back to earth, our very own Icarus.”

Theo didn't know why, or how, but he could feel the shift in the air with her. He could understand
a small portion of what her eyes showed her, of what would soon be coming on the horizon. He
would be the sun if he had to. He’ll burn up everyone's wax wings till there was nothing left but
bits of feathers and burn scars from false promises, and then maybe-just maybe-the clouds would
part before him and he could meet the moon at last in a stunning solar eclipse.

“We’re all teetering on the edge Theo, and I'm worried how you'll manage to deal with us, since
you’ve already fallen.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm ready to tear your heart out, throw it to the floor, and do
the tango with Fate on top of it as you watch on and thank me.
 Shattering
Chapter Summary

Harry shatters.

Chapter Notes

Warning: Depiction of an aggressive PTSD episode and memories of an abuser.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The day of Halloween was a cold one in the highlands of Scotland, and the students moving about
the place huddled together in groups to keep warm, the airy halls of Hogwarts letting in far too
much of the chill. For a small group of troublemakers, the chilly weather was a welcome
distraction, and they gathered in a forgotten room to finalize their plans.

In another part of the castle, two seers whispered about the coming collapse with hushed voices,
fingers frozen and eyes wary.

“I can't believe you two are actually going against your own house for the sake of some measly
prank.” Daphne Greengrass, an heiress of high standings and a generally unimpressed expression
sat primly on top of a dusty desk, glancing occasionally around the abandoned classroom with
distaste.

“Oh please, house loyalty means nothing over the opportunity to prank the entire school in one
go!” Fred Weasley lounged across a dusty old couch, tinkering away with some sort of muggle
technology that he had bastardized for his own uses.

“Yea, and it's not like we particularly enjoy Granger all that much. Stealing her time turner and
then getting to use afterwards? It’s a win win!” George Weasley added on his brother's reply as he
kicked his legs up onto the desk Daphne was sitting on and grinning roguishly at her. She
harrumphed, and turned her nose up at him.

“I am simply communicating how loyalty is an important virtue to have-”

“Oh sod off Greengrass-”

“-if any of us actually valued loyalty, we would be in hufflepuff.”

“Stop with the squabbling, you lot.” Harry Potter shut the door with a quiet click, locking it behind
him. The three settled down on his prompting, acknowledging his authority in the room as he set a
large chest onto the teacher’s desk at the front of the room.

“Your tools for the evening, lads.” He gestured to the chest, and the twins bolted up-throwing open
the lid and digging through the various prank items inside with undisguised glee.

“How exactly did you manage to get those two roped in on this as well?” Harry stood besides her
with his arms crossed, watching the twins with something akin to amusement.

“We met by chance at the beginning of the month and became business partners.”

She raised an eyebrow, “care to go into a tad more detail, Potter?”

“This is brilliant.”

Harry looked over the marauders map happily, glad to have finally been reunited with it. The twins
were blathering on about his father and his friends, and all the while gesturing aggressively with
their arms.

“They’re our heros-“

“-absolutely incredible that you’re related to Prongs-“

“-can I get your autograph, by the way?”

“-the enchantments are brilliant, your father was incredible-“

“-actually, can I name my firstborn after James Potter?”

He traced Draco’s name with his finger, noting that the boy was sitting next to Neville in
arithmancy. Strange, he didn’t think those two would ever be capable of existing in the same
stratosphere without Draco throwing something and Neville turning into a wet blanket. It seemed
that either Draco had found room in his heart for the Longbottom heir or hufflepuff was suiting
Neville much better than Harry could have ever hoped.

“I just can’t believe it, the marauders legacy standing right before us!”

Who Harry guessed was George swooned into his brothers waiting arms, the both of them sighing
dramatically, the low wand-light adding to the dramatic flamboyancy.

“Right then, gentlemen. What do I have to pay you to give me this?”

Harry was absolutely NOT parting with the map, and he would hand over what was left of his trust
vault if it meant he could keep it.

“Payment?” George cracked open one eye, a very slytherin look overtaking his face, “why,
whatever do you mean?”

Harry could smell the trouble from where he stood four feet away, and stiffened slightly, his
shoulders squaring as he prepared to bargain.

“We have no such use for something as fleeting as money, good sir.” It was Fred that time, who
sat his brother back up vertically with a flourish, the light from his wand revealing his equally
conspiratorial features.

“Well, what would you like then, chaps?” Harry folded the map up carefully, eyes squinted slightly
at the pair as they shared one of their infamous looks. They turned their backs to him then,
hunching together and whispering quietly under their breaths. Even with his ever advancing
hearing, Harry could only make out snippets of what seemed like a business proposition. After
some time of that, the twins turned back around and smiled devilishly in synchrony. Still as creepy
as ever.

“We would like to… propose a bit of a deal, with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, “well then, what are your terms?”

“So, basically, you supply them with whatever they want and in turn you use them as distractions
whenever you fancy a little fraud and embezzlement?”

Daphne appeared incredulous at the prospect, he grimaced.

“Well when you put it like that, you make it seem like I'm going to start a coup d’état.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far but this ‘deal’ of yours is certainly illegal in some respect!” Throwing
up her hands, exasperated, Daphne shook her head and slid off the desk, ushering over to the twins
chest of fun and peering over the side as well, seemingly trying to discern if any of it could
potentially get them expelled.

“Oh, none of this is illegal, we wouldn't be able to use it on the teachers or students otherwise.”
Fred seemed to think that would reassure her in any way, and Daphne seemed about ready to ask if
Harry had ever given them something that was illegal, when the boy in question cleared his throat.

“While I would certainly enjoy a conversation about our occasional toeing of the legality line-''
Daphne's eyes narrowed, “-I'm afraid we really should get to finalizing the plan. We only have
eight hours till the feast starts, and we all need to be completely prepared for when that time
comes.”

The twins looked more excited than serious, as their role was basically ‘piss everyone off and
cause problems for long enough to distract all of the teachers’ which was very doable for them, all
things considered. Daphne though, looked nervous.

“I just don't know if she’ll fall for it, Harry. How can you be sure she even tolerates Brown?”

Daphne would be taking polyjuice infused with Lavender Brown’s hair in order to lure Granger to
the Gryffindor commons and open the door. From there, Harry would imperious her, and make her
take Daphne up to her dorm and give her the time turner. Harry remembered from his last life that
Hermione explained at the end of the year that she never wore the time turner on the weekends, as
McGonagall had her adhere to a strict code of conduct with the artifact. Harry would be look out, as
the protections on the stairs scanned your mental gender, instead of physical, so Harry couldn't just
take the polyjuice and waltz up there himself. That had been his original plan, but after studying
similar enchantments on the slytherin girls dorm entryway, he came to the realization of the
enchantments true nature, and was forced to make a last minute change in plans. Harry didn't like
being lookout, but Sirius was bound to show up as well, and the animagus wouldn't take kindly to
anyone else but him in the common room so blatantly.

“Brown is her dorm-mate, it doesn't matter if they even like each other, as long as you can
convince her to go to the common room’s entrance, everything will work out just fine. I'll obliviate
the entire experience from her mind afterwards anyway, so no harm done.”

One of the twins tuned into the conversation, “and about Lavender, how can you be sure she won't
be around during all of this?”

Harry smirked, Lavender Brown had been hit with a stunner that morning, and was currently sitting
in his pocket-having been transfigured into a pocket watch. He would be using said pocket watch
to stay on schedule during the heist.

“I took care of it, don't worry.”

While the twin terrors looked all too interested in what he constituted as ‘taking care of it’, Daphne
was still rather nervous about her crucial role to play in the heist.

“Yes yes that's all very lovely, thank you Harry-but all I know about Brown is how to replicate her
personality and ticks. I haven't a clue what to say to Granger that would make her want to go to her
dorm!”

Harry pat the girl's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting display, “she got a cat this year,
real ugly thing named Crookshanks, just tell her he's been hurt or some such.”

Daphne seemed moderately less nervous, and the twins launched into a long drawn out recreation
of their brother and Granger’s last argument over the cat supposedly eating scabbers, complete with
a very emotional reenactment of the supposed death scene.

Harry watched them with an amused smile, nudging Daphne with his elbow when she rolled her
eyes.

I hope things go smoothly tonight.

I'm sure it will all work out, Leech.

Harry sat comfortably at the slytherin table that night, his features betraying nothing of his own
inner turmoil. Regardless of what happened tonight, none of it could even start until Daphne tipped
over the first domino.

He slumped marginally in relief as the supposed Lavender Brown sped into the great hall,
appearing worried and frazzled. Daphne was an impressive actress, he noted with happiness. The
Lavender impersonator gripped Granger's shoulder and started whispering something in her ear,
and the girl bolted to her feet. The two of them quickly sped from the hall, Daphne just barely able
to keep up with Granger’s near run.

Go time.

An explosion rocked the room, and Harry whipped his invisibility cloak over himself just before
the glitter started raining down on the feasting school, sprinting from the room as a bastardization
of the already wretched school song started to blare from an unknown source. It was pandemonium
for the five seconds that he was still in the hall, but the noise and mess diminished immediately as
he fled into the hallway, the doors shutting firmly behind him.

They had a good thirty minutes till all the pranks would be finished deploying, and another
seventeen after that for the twins to be hunted down and reprimanded. With a three minute long
dead sprint to the Gryffindor common room, they had forty five minutes to spare for Daphne to get
the time turner from Granger and for him to obviate the girl, and then all they had to do was use it
and get the hell out, avoiding their past selves and slotting back in their seats as if they never left,
hopefully without the polyjuice wearing off or Draco noticing Harry had been missing for longer
than a few minutes at the most.

Harry put his long legs to good use when sprinting up the stairs to the seventh floor, glad that the
paintings couldn’t see him up to no good under the cloak. He managed to catch up with the two
girls on the fifth floor, and kept close behind them, tugging on Daphne's sleeve (their
predetermined greeting) so she would know he was there.

It took only another minute and a half for them to reach the portrait, and Granger practically hissed
the password in her haste, sprinting into the passage with the two slytherins close behind. Harry
just barely managed to grab ahold of her arm and cast imperio before she reached the common
room proper, and they stood in the wide passage for several moments to catch their breath.

“I am… never going to do anything involving running for you ever again, Potter.” the voice of
Lavender Brown came out cold and spiteful, and Harry laughed a little before realizing she was
serious.

“Absolutely reasonable, I’ll try not to drag you into any more cardio.”

Hermione Granger said nothing, as she was under imperious and incapable of doing so.

“Right then!” Harry turned to the imperioused girl, focusing on controlling her actions even if they
betrayed her mind. “Take… Lavender here to your shared dorm and give her your time turner, do
everything else she asks of you as well.”

Granger’s eyes were glazed over and unfocused as she turned and started walking stiffly into the
common room, the polyjuice Daphne following quickly after. Harry made sure the painting frame
was propped open a little for Sirius to gain access if he did indeed decide to nab Pettigrew, and
made his way into the commons proper.

… and stopped dead in the entryway.

Memories lept to the forefront of his mind. Memories of lazy evenings spent lounging about the
common room, playing chess and shirking off on homework. Memories of laughter and sadness
and family that was not bound by blood but strong all the same. Memories of Hermione’s silly
laughter as he lost another game of chess and Ron’s steady hand wrapped around a rook.

Lies.

The memories of a place he had once considered his haven were twisted with the deceit and
betrayal and lies.

Harry was back in his first life, back to that small little boy with a scraped knee and lopsided
glasses. The gryffindor common room looked exactly as it always had, and he stumbled into the
entrance as he fell into his past, a feeling of numb revulsion buzzing through his body and ripping
away at his self control. A long since buried feeling of fear settled into his stomach as if he
swallowed a brick of lead. A buzzing tingle of adrenaline traveled from his brain and into the tips
of his fingers, numbing his ears and making him shake. His flight instinct kicked into overdrive,
his desire to run overriding all common sense, but something vile still keeping him bound firmly in
place.

He cracked, splintered, and shattered. Harry’s knees hit the plush carpet with a muffled thud, his
fingers brushing against the wool gently-caressing the soft tresses as his mind unravelled.

Weakness.

Fear.

Cowardice.

He was a child. A terrified, beaten, broken little boy with big green eyes, only still breathing
because he needed to live just long enough to die by the right hands at the right time.

Who am I. Who was I. Who should I have been?

Harry realized, in a horrible moment of clarity, that his second life hadn't even begun-not really. He
was still the same scared little boy from his first, with the only difference being the removal of
compulsions and potions and the addition of a few stronger players in his corner, but he hadn't
changed. He simply couldn't.

Harry couldn't become anything more than Dumbledore’s pawn till the man saw fit to finally keel
over and die.

An unearthly howl ripped through his mind, a demon screeching out in anger and hatred. He
tunneled, focusing onto that animalistic side and gripping it with both hands, grasping at the strong,
powerful wendigo and begging to be made indestructible. Begging to become untouchable.

When he had met with Luna in September, in the astronomy tower, Harry had been on the cusp of
this destruction, of finally realizing that nothing separated his first and last life because he was still
the same, that he was still trapped in a chess game as nothing but a lowly pawn; but he had held the
fracturing pieces together with tape and glue and sheer determined ignorance. He had turned his
back on the truth-had locked it up in the recesses of his mind to be ignored and allowed the
wounds to fester and grow more destructive and deep than they would have been before.

Now though, the lock he had placed was broken, and Harry dug deeper into himself, trying to
escape the pain and anguish and weakness. Wanting desperately to just stop feeling.

The entire room exploded outwards.

He didn't want to see it anymore, didn't want to see the prison of his first life and the ghost of his
second. He didn't want to see the taint-the vile, twisted cage-that had kept him willingly compliant
for much of his life.

Martyr.

Sacrifice.

Tool.

That's all you are, Harry Potter, a tool in the hand of a more worthy being.

He heard a scream, and a chain was hooked around his neck.

“Bloody hell Potter, what part of discretion do you not understand-”

Everything went black.

Daphne was knocked off her feet by the tremor as it passed through her, and she knew immediately
that something was Very Wrong. Turning to Granger, she performed what she hoped to be a good
enough obliviation to cover her tracks before sprinting down the rest of the stairs, finding the
common room in a state-that being nothing more than ash.

She cursed, fumbling for the golden chain she had wrapped around her neck only minutes prior.

Harry sat on his knees in the entrance way of the room, staring out at the carnage unseeingly. She
didn't know what had happened, but Harry was in no state to function past breathing from the looks
of things.

A crash allerted her to a section of the roof giving way, and Daphne impulsively screamed,
ducking from falling debris as she clambered over to Harry, who didn't seem to have even realized
that the entire bloody tower was going down.

“How the hell can one bloke have the magical reserves needed to blast the bloody foundation off a
magically fortified tower?” She grasped his shoulders, wrapping the time turner around both of
their necks and fumbling for the tiny nob, glad that she had learned how to use one in preparation
for this.

“Bloody hell Potter, what part of discretion do you not understand?”

She started turning, and the past twenty minutes rewound itself.

She sighed, relieved, and then groaned as Harry proceeded to pass out, slumping against her.

“Bloody-you better compensate me for all the trouble you've made today, Harry.”

Yanking the chain off of him and shoving it back down her gryffindor uniform collar, she levitated
him up into the air, pulling the invisibility cloak from where it lay next to them and situating it
over his prone form, herself still being under polyjuice and therefor free to do as she pleased in full
view of the magical paintings. She crept from the room, darting past snoring paintings and
occasionally glancing worriedly at the invisible and unconscious teen. It was ten minutes of tense
silence as she slowly levitated Harry down to the slytherin commons, her mind running a mile a
minute as she quickly came up with a workable solution to this unseen variable. Most of the
paintings in the dungeons wouldn't snitch on her for being there, so Daphne felt assured in being
able to bring Harry back to his bed. Hopefully, with the pandemonium of the Weasley twins
pranks, no one would notice their disappearance for the night, and the pure chaos that would be
created if the gryffindor tower truly did fall would assure them of complete innocence through
everyone's pure panic. Sirius Black’s reputation for explosive magic would also come in handy, as
the destruction of the tower would no doubt be quickly written off as his doing.

Whispering the password to the common room entrance, Daphne sped quickly up the stairs and
into the boys dorms, hunting down the third year boys room and floating Harry onto his bed,
ripping the invisibility cloak off of him as she went.

She stood, her eyes closed and heartbeat drumming in her ears for several moments, gathering
herself after breaking at least four school rules, committing a punishable crime, and aiding in her
friend’s unintentional terrorism.

Mum would be proud of you Daphne, but you need to get away with it first before you’re able to
tell her.

Her eyes opened, a determined set to her jaw as she threw the cloak around herself, intent on
gathering up all their friends, making sure the idiotic twin terrors were firmly in the blame, and
tying up the loose ends.

Draco was in the process of hiding under the slytherin table with the rest of the smart people when
a horrible pain had him doubling over in agony. It felt as though his soul was being flayed alive.
No, not his soul.

“Harry-”

He was out from under the table and sprinting out of the great hall near instantaneously with his
realization, dodging fireworks and glitter and what have you in his effort to follow the
immeasurable pain to wherever the other boy was.
Something’s wrong with Harry.

He had never moved that fast and likely wouldn't ever again, adrenalin and sheer,
incomprehensible fear made the pain from over exertion go numb as he bolted down stairs and
through passageways. He raced around a particularly sharp corner and collided into an invisible
force, nearly toppling over only a floor away from the slytherin commons.

“Malfoy!”

He whipped around, panic flooding his base instincts as Greengrass threw off an invisibility cloak.
They stood there, calm blue eyes meeting panicked grey ones, and a decade long feud was set aside
for just a small, wavering moment.

“He's in your dorm.”

Draco was off like a rocket, not even bothering to register that Daphne seemed to know what
happened and how and why. Focused purely on getting to Harry as fast as he physically could.

The door to the dorm slammed open, and he was across the room and onto Harry's bed in an
instant, hugging himself to the prone form of his best friend and feeling as though he was about to
shatter. His magic lashed out around them, and his wings beat against their confines, the feeling of
utter helplessness taking hold and pulling him further into Harry's own suffering. Draco could feel
it, could feel that something was horribly, awfully wrong with Harry’s soul, but had no idea what it
could possibly be or how to fix it.

What do I do?

Fire raced across his fingertips as he melted closer to Harry’s side, trying-subconsciously-to shove
the heat onto shattered glass and melt it all back together again.

“Harry-Harry please what is going on?”

He buried his face in the crook of the taller boy's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and
trying desperately to ground himself in reality long enough to think clearly.

Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-bump

A steady heartbeat assured him that whatever had happened wasn’t affecting the boy physically,
and Draco took small reprieve in the knowledge that if anything, Harry was still breathing-still
living.

His ears were bombarded with the sudden and loud entrance of several worried voices as people
filtered into the room, and he clutched the unconscious teen tighter, wishing to just be left alone
with him-left alone to try and mend the ache.

“Everyone, get out.”

“Theo-“

“We’ll go to my dorm to talk about this mess Daphne, but there’s no reason for us to be in here.”

“No way in hell am I-“

“Blaise, shut up. We’re leaving, right now.”

And then it was quiet once more.

 Draco relaxed marginally, grasping for one of Harry’s hands and holding to it tightly, ignoring the
pain in his chest and the tears in his eyes.

Fire alone is not hot enough to melt glass, but it might just soften the sharp edges.

Chapter End Notes

If you don't understand what happened, I don't completely blame you, as this chapter
has about as many metaphors as actual substance (lol self burn) so I'll explain what
exactly just happened:
Harry has PTSD, and in the process of gaining occlumency, was able to shove all of
the emotions and memories that were connected to that PTSD aside to be ignored. Of
course, ignoring it does a great deal of shit when you finally pay attention to it again,
and seeing the gryffindor common room-a place that he spend time in with his friends
and betrayers, brought all of that back to the forefront of his mind and he couldn't
handle it. He had almost done this in the astronomy tower, which I described as
cracking or splintering, but hadn't fully managed a complete breakdown like this, since
all he did was remember the feelings, not actually sit in the main room where all the
memories were formed.
Harry's greatest fear is NOT weakness, it is being under Dumbledore's control. With
the realization that he couldn't truly become anything other than that while
Dumbledore was still alive, he mentally shut down-preferring unconsciousness over
confronting the reality of his situation.
While I wouldn't consider this chapter to be the worst thing that will ever happen to
Harry, it is where I have marked the start of his emotional and mental decline, as it is
the root cause of his emotional agony for the rest of... well pretty much the rest of this
fic, at least till he kills the root of the issue and is finally able to begin healing.
 Aftershocks
Chapter Summary

A tower crumbles and everything else follows.

Chapter Notes

Me: *manic laughter* Are you ready???

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Previously:

Draco relaxed marginally, grasping for one of Harry’s hands and holding to it tightly,
ignoring the pain in his chest and the tears in his eyes.

Fire alone is not hot enough to melt glass, but it might just soften the sharp edges.

Hermione Granger shook herself, glancing around the gryffindor common room with confusion.
Unfortunately for the poor girl, Daphne had never actually practiced the obliviate spell, and had
accidentally erased the past week from her memory, instead of the past hour. This exceptional gap
in her memory caused Hermione to focus all of her attention on trying to figure out why she was
suddenly in the common room instead of in astronomy as she remembered last. Her confusion
allowed her to momentarily ignore the current state of the room around her for the brief handful of
seconds that would have been considered the opportune time to get out, and the structure reached
its moment of collapse just a millisecond before she finally lept into action.

Hurling herself down the last few steps and into the commons proper, Hermione stumbled over
fallen and falling debris, the roof caving in as she fell over herself to escape. Many unfortunate
things took place in that moment, the first being the irrationality curse taking effect at that very
second-as it was created to do-as well as a piece of timber cracking and collapsing downward onto
her left leg, trapping her under it and rendering the girl immobile. The third (and arguably most
damning) thing to happen to the girl was Peter Pettegrew, who-having been woken from his nap
during the initial explosion-was scampering down the stairs from the boys dorms, jumping over
falling rubble that blocked his way to safety. Following Pettegrew was Crookshanks, who was far
too focused on trying to attack the rat and then escaping to see that his owner was very clearly in
distress. If the rat had not come running down the stairs in that moment, the cat would have most
certainly noticed that Hermione was there and trapped. Alas, the girl was ignored and both animals
were out of the passage just in time to escape completely unharmed.

Hermione was not so lucky.

Her jumbled and confused brain was further sullied by her overwhelming urge to scream and panic
instead of thinking rationally to find a mode to escape, the irrationality curse stamping down what
sharpness her mind still held as her hysteria grew. Flailing about the place and screaming,
Hermione yanked at her pinned leg, trying to dislodge it but only working to injure her skin as it
scraped against the rough wood.

“HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!”

She started to scream out into the empty room, terror gripping her voice. Down the hall, several
Professors that had been running up from the Great hall quickened their pace, now sprinting as
they realized someone was clearly stuck inside the collapsing tower. Minerva McGonagall
recognized the voice with horror, and whipped out her wand to cast several spells, which flew out
of her wand as ropes of pure magic, shooting through the air and latching onto the wards of the
castle, holding what was still left of the tower’s defenses in place and hopefully buying them more
seconds of time till it collapsed.

As the professors passed a shadowed staircase, a large grimm crept forward with caution, trying to
discern what was happening. Sirius quickly got distracted however, as a very familiar rat darted
through his legs, followed by a large ginger cat. He made chase after the two, quickly catching up
and lunging for the rat, nabbing the squeaking thing in his jaws-holding just hard enough to draw
blood, but not enough to kill. Crookshanks quickly dubbed Padfoot a non-threat, and trotted along
with him as he made his way happily down the rest of the stairs, intending on removing himself
from the school as fast as possible now that he had what he came for.

As this was happening, the floor of the gryffindor commons started to collapse from the middle
outwards. The girl trapped just barely three feet from the exit screamed again, being unable to do
anything other than watch with horror as the floor beneath her began to crumble.

“Miss. Granger!”

McGonagall threw open the portrait hole, lunging forward to grab the girl as she slipped
downwards, but was stopped in her tracks and ripped backwards as Severus Snape-who had rushed
forward from the back of the group with shocking agility-gripped the back of her robe collar with
his left hand and pulled her towards him, saving her from a perilous fall as the floor below her gave
way. Nearly simultaneously, Filius Flitwick half threw himself over the edge to cast a softening
charm on the third year girl, just as she slipped from the ledge and plummeted seven stories to the
rubble below.

The professors watched with horror as the entire interior of the common room collapsed, the upper
floors shaking more aggressively with the increased instability.

“Dear god…” Snape was sheet white, still holding fast to McGonagall as she stared blankly at the
area Granger had just unwillingly vacated.

“Do you-do you think she lived?” Pomona Sprout questioned mutley, gathering the shocked
Minerva from Snape’s arms and handing her a calming drought, comfortingly rubbing the older
woman’s back as she drank it.

“Call Poppy to the first floor, I will need her assistance.” Stiffening his shoulders as he spoke,
Snape designed to not reply to the woman as he cast a series of complicated charms on his person
and jumped off the edge, floating slowly to the rubble-filled floor below. As he did so, Septima
Vector rushed off to alert the mediwitch as Flitwick waved his wand in wide circles, stabilizing the
upper floors for the time being-though if he halted the movements for even a second, the dorms
and towers walls would no doubt collapse onto the two people below.

“Come now Minerva, this is not a time to be going into shock. Chin up dear.” Sprout pulled the
woman away from the ledge, leading her down in the direction Vector had run off to.
Now down among the wreckage, Snape quickly found Hermione Granger's prone form lying under
a large block of stone. The girl's hand was the only thing visible under the dust and debris, and
Snape grasped her wrist, feeling for a pulse hurriedly. Sighing in slight relief, he found the girl was
alive-if only just-and quickly set to work removing the offending rubble from around the injured
student. As he went, it became apparent to Snape that if Fillius had not cast the cushioning charm
when he did, the girl would be nothing but a splatter of blood and guts on the pale stone she landed
on. Even as it was, her condition did not lend her to an easy recovery.

Hunching down, Snape cast as many diagnostic charms as he knew, finding that there was simply
no good news of the girl's condition besides her being alive. Levitating Granger from her place on
top of the bloodied stone, Snape went to quick work healing the most pressing wounds, wincing
grimly at the large gaping hole left in her abdominan where the sharp point of a support beam had
skewered her.

“Severus! I’m here.”

Poppy Pomfrey rushed to his side as he listed off what he already knew of the muggleborn’s
condition, and she joined him in his efforts of healing the abdominal wound with vigor.

“Should we move her?” Professor Vector stood on the other side of the girl, keeping the levitation
spell steady as the other two worked.

Poppy shook her head, her eyes not leaving Granger’s stomach, “her condition is too dire. We need
to stabilize her first.”

As the professors worked away, a grimm and ginger half-kneazle made their way out of the school,
the wriggling form of a large rat in the dog’s jaws. The dog broke out into a faster trot once he
reached the open fields that marked the passage between the school and forbidden forest, and the
cat matched his pace with gusto, apparently having found a more favored companion than the near-
dead girl currently getting her guts regrown.

Daphne Greengrass sat primly in a chair, her arms crossed and a steely gaze locked onto the three
people across from her, seemingly awaiting a reaction from them.

“So let me get this straight-” the group of Slytherin third years were crowded in Theo’s dorm
room, and had listened in shocked silence for the past several minutes as Daphne tersely but
effectively explained just what in the ever loving fuck was going on.

Theo was not taking it well.

“-the two of you stole a ministry owned time turner, and just... accidentally blew up Gryffindor
tower in the process?”

Theo seemed incapable of deciding if he should be impressed or horrified. Blaise looked like he
was about to propose.

Daphne scoffed, incredulous. “Of course not, I merely took it from Granger’s hands. You can
hardly call it stealing if she willingly gives it to you. AND the entire thing was Harry’s idea, so I
hold absolutely no moral obligation to take the fall from it… also, Harry blew up the tower all on
his own, and I’m nearly certain it was on accident.”

“Nearly?!”

The heterochromic teen looked on the verge of a serious mental breakdown-or cardiac arrest-as he
clutched his shirt and stared slack jawed at the Greengrass heiress.

Blaise started clapping, “either way, that was absolutely brilliant love, cheers.”

The tall teen had a manic grin on his face and a greenish tint to his eyes as he hugged the shorter
girl to his chest celebratory. Tracey laughed and whooped as well, clapping with barely restrained
glee as Theo made a wheezing noise from the back of his throat.

Luna said it would be bad but… but this?!

He ran his hands down his face slowly, watching with a bewildered expression as Blaise jabbered
on excitedly about the Weasley twins’ attack on the great hall. Daphne seemed insistent on her part
of the heist being a rather small one, a pink tint of embarrassment marring her cheeks.

“Oh bloody hell…”

Falling onto the nearest soft surface, Theo felt the onset of shock weigh heavily on his shoulders.
Blaise reveled in chaos, and obviously didn't see (or ignored) the parts of this new situation that
stood out like blood on marble to Theo. Rubbing his face, the tired teen contemplated the entire
plan from start to finish, trying to discern what was making him so uneasy. One part of it stood out
as particularly odd, and he bolted up from where he was laying to lock eyes with Daphne.

“Why.”

She raised a brow, “what?”

“Why would Granger just… hand the time turner to you? Even if you were polyjuiced as Lavender
Brown-it just doesn't make sense.”

She stiffened, glancing at the door as if considering if she could escape. Theo’s mind leapt into
overdrive, going over the rushed explanation she had given them in a matter of seconds. He hissed
in air through his teeth, blood draining from his face as he realized the most likely option.

“One of you cast imperious...”

“Theo-”

“Don't you ‘Theo’ me, Greengrass.” He jumped to his feet, stalking over to the girl as she reared up
to defend herself, “you are aware that the unforgivables are-well, unforgivable. Right? You do
understand that if you were caught it would have been a one way ticket to bloody azkaban.”

“Only if we got caught-”

“To hell with that! ‘If you got caught’ fuck off!”

Shoving Blaise out of the way as the boy maneuvered to get between him and the glowering girl,
Theo shoved his finger right in her face and hissed low and threatenly.

“Do you have any idea how ssstupid of an idea that was?”

She reared back as if slapped, eyes blown wide. Theo stuttered, realizing that his voice had an edge
of parseltongue to it that he simply couldn’t explain or comprehend. They stood there in shocked
silence till a large boom made them all jump.

“That sounds like it came from the ground floor.” Tracey was gripping his sleeve tightly, her voice
shaking from the stress of the situation as she looked to the unchanged ceiling.
Daphne took that moment to speak up, “I knew it would be stupid and risky if I-or any one of us-
was to cast that spell, but Harry insisted that he had a lot of experience with it, and I trusted him not
to lie anymore.”

The dorm descended into chaos.

Ten Minutes Earlier:

Severus sighed tiredly, watching the pale face of Hermione Granger as the girl was settled down
into a bed in the hospital wing. It had been a tense half hour of casting for both him and Poppy as
they worked to save the girl’s life, but eventually her condition stabilized and the mediwitch felt
comfortable moving her to the hospital wing.

Minerva seemed more affected emotionally by the event than anyone else had, perhaps because she
had been leaned over the ledge enough to see the girl hit the ground, and was also being treated for
shock in a private room at the end of the wing.

“I need some brandy.” Pomina came to his side, sighing incrementally as she gazed down at the
shallowly breathing girl. Filius was still weaving his magic through the tower in the vane attempt to
keep it standing, but Dumbledore didn't seem to have high hopes for it, and was instead sending
professors up to the dorms with brooms to take the students belonging out before letting the entire
structure collapse.

He supposed it wasn't all bad, while the castle had been standing for nearly a thousand years, it had
seen its fair share of wars and battles; magic had fixed that tower time and time again-and it would
do the same tomorrow.

“I would happily join you, if it weren't for the spire about to come down.”

She laughed wearily, patting his arm as she moved away, “We'd best go search the rest of the
wreckage before that happens then, eh?”

He grimaced, but followed after her. From eyewitness testimony, Granger and another Gryffindor
named Lavender Brown were seen moving from the great hall just seconds before the Weasley
twins’ siege. Those who had witnessed the conversation they had prior to that said that something
had happened to Granger’s familiar, a cat named Crookshanks. However, not a single animal had
been found in the wreckage so far, as all of the familiars were either not in the tower at the time or
had fled once they smelt the unsteadiness of the tower. There was no sign of Lavender Brown
either, giving credence to the idea that she had either escaped the tower on time and was hiding
among the other students, or Sirius Black had kidnapped her.

Reaching the wreckage of the lower levels of Gryffindor tower, Severus made it just in time to
watch Dumbledore levitate the last of the rubble away from the ground floor. Severus strengthened
his occlumency walls as he neared the man, schooling his features incrementally.

“Did you find anyone, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly at his question, confirming that Lavender Brown was indeed
missing. Pomina sighed wearily, shaking her head with worry.

“The poor girl, I hope she’s simply hiding among the other gryffindors.”

The headmaster nodded sorrowfully, before looking back out at the carnage. “It certainly shows
Black’s loss of sanity that he would go this far.”
Severus halted, realizing something in a moment of shocking clarity. Quickly excusing himself
from the conversation, he marched the opposite direction from the pair, hearing an earth shattering
boom behind him as the remains of Gryffindor tower fell to the dirt after Filius let go of the spell.

He glared heatedly at nothing in particular as he marched purposely down to the dungeons.

Everyone believed that the attack was executed by Black, as he was already well known for having
a proclivity towards explosive spells, but Severus was unconvinced now. Black had the IQ of a
toad stool, and would arrive drunk to his own mother's funeral just to kick up a fuss, but he would
never be so brash as to demolish the tower of his own house. The man had been obnoxiously
prideful of the red on his robes during school, and even if he had fallen back to the dark of his
heritage, Severus simply couldn't comprehend the man tarnishing something he was so proud of in
such a way.

Which, of course, meant that it was one of his slytherins.

Blaise Zabini was the first that came to mind, as Severus knew that the infernal child got on with
the Weasley twins like a house fire, but he didn't take the Italian as one for blatantly attacking
another house. Pranking it silver and green? Most definitely, but never something of this
magnitude.

Besides, something this cataclysmic and well executed would require not only the right
connections, but pure nerve, utter brilliance verging on genius, incredible magical strength, and a
large amount of gold.

That left only one person.

His robes billowed as he stormed through the slytherin boy’s dorm hall, and he halted quite
suddenly at the door of Theodore Nott’s room, hearing loudly arguing voices inside. Throwing
open the door with a bang, he looked out at the pale faces of four of the most bothersome children
in his house.

“Where. Is. Potter.”

Deep in the confines of a boy's carefully enchanted trunk, a small square of purple silk slipped off
of a crystal skull obediently, slithering out of the protective runes carved on top of a dresser and
onto the floor. The skull pulsed once, and the incurved eyes started to glow faintly with light, the
interior of the cranium filling with swirling magic. It pulsed once more, and a few wisps of gold
and green light leaked from the reflective stone, swishing and rippling playfully through the air on
an upward path to the outside world.

As the green and gold magic slipped through the enchantments on the trunk and into the free air,
Draco Malfoy tightened his hold on Harry Potter and sniffled softly, cheeks tear stained and eyes
heavy as he started to nod off. The wisps of death magic twined together and dipped through the
air, floating along as if a feather on a gust of wind.

Lengthening out into a longer, singular string of light, the magic formed the outline of a snake, and
slithered carefully across the chest of Harry Potter. The now firmly asleep Draco didn't notice as
the snake of death magic slipped between Harry’s open lips and into his mouth, quickly
disappearing down his throat.

As Severus Snape burst through the door to Theodore Nott’s dorm, the snake shrank and
compressed into a worm of highly concentrated magic. It squirmed and dipped through the cracks
of Harry’s fracturing mind on a direct course to his magical core. Tom Riddle watched it, eyes tired
 and cautious as it slithered straight into the boy's damaged soul.

Deep in the enchanted trunk, the skull pulsed a third-and final-time, as the purple silk swished
hurriedly to cover it back up once more. Harry's core pulsed in unison with the crystal skull, and
the painful gash along his soul caused by his magical outburst sutured shut as if nothing had ever
happened. For a moment the quiet returned, and the room was filled with nothing but the soft
breathing of the two boys as they slept.

That was until Harry’s eyes flew open, blown wide but unchanged except for a tinge of gold
apparent around his pupils.

Magic can heal the soul, but not the mind.

Chapter End Notes

I had to take yesterday off from updating to figure out exactly how to write this
chapter, and I'm glad I did because I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.
PS. the soul is synonymous with the magical core in this story.
 Convalesce
Chapter Summary

Recovery of the soul // repressing of the mind

Chapter Notes

I'll be completely honest, I really struggled writing this one. On one hand it was really
necessary to bridge a gap between last chapter and the next, but I also didn't want to
make it some sort of hodge podge mini-chapter or something, so I rewrote it a good
four times till I was happy with it.
Warning: torture, voldemort.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sirius Black sat in the shrieking shack, staring straight ahead of him at a pudgy man tied up in a
chair. The man was unconscious, and bleeding from a wound in his side-bite marks from his
capture, Sirius assumed. Peter looked worse than he had expected, and it was obvious that the past
twelve years as a rat had done the man no favors. Sirius had just finished setting up the anti-
animagus runes around the property, and was now impatiently awaiting Peter’s return to the
waking world, so that the real fun could start. His knee bounced, his dissatisfaction at the current
inactivity obvious as he gripped his stolen wand tightly in one hand. The half-kneazle that helped
him catch the rat sat purring at his feet, licking its paws and generally acting as a cat does. At first
he had worried it might also be an animagus, but kneazles were unnaturally smart after all, so
Sirius decided to take its cat behavior as a sign that it really was just an animal.

“Ughhh…”

Peter was making a rather pathetic attempt to wake up now, and Sirius was dully considering a
more aggressive approach than just waiting patiently. His restlessness bordered on anxiety as his
knee jumped in a steady rhythm, the stolen wand tapping against his chair. Glancing out of a
broken window next to him, Sirius forced himself to calm down marginally, taking in the empty
fields around the shack with sharp eyes, there wasn't a dementor in sight.

Sirius had been contemplating this moment as he roughed it out in the woods, hell-he had been
considering just what he would say to Peter every day of his stay in azkaban. For the first few years
he had considered just killing the bastard, but his contemplation turned far more spiritual the longer
he stayed in the cell. He had started hallucinating one day, a hot day of summer where the black
bricks of azkaban burned his skin unbearably hot, and he got blisters racing up and down his back
from his skin cooking in the sun. The god of peace had stood before him, messy black hair and
laughing hazel eyes greeting him like an old friend, robes of white and gold dancing in an invisible
breeze. The god who looked like James Potter had told him that quiet execution of the accused was
the only option if he seeked true revenge. Sirius had cried that day, wishing desperately for his
brother as the sun bore down on his shoulders. The next day he had hallucinated once more, the
blistering heat sticking sweat to his brow as the light played tricks with his failing mind. It had
been the goddess of war this time, a woman of fiery red hair and angry green eyes who stood
before him in blazing warrior regalia. A valkyrie of the sun gathering the souls of the fallen into her
arms with a stern word of assurance. The goddess who looked just like Lily Evans had told him to
kick the bastard’s ass.

Lily had always known best.

A chair scraping made Sirius turn jerkily, and he watched with glee as Peter unsuccessfully
attempted to free himself from the thick ropes that held him. He hadn't even noticed the man had
woken. Gripping the stolen wand he held tighter, the Black heir prepared for one hell of a
performance.

“Petey!”

Pettegrew whipped his head up, eyes wide and nose twitching, “S-sirius! You-you escaped
azkaban, I heard?”

The man seemed to want to play this off as a casual conversation between two old friends, and the
azkaban escapee was more than willing to oblige. Sirius’ grin sharpened from friendly to hungry,
and Peter squeaked, shoving himself back in the chair and falling to the floor, wiggling in a
pathetic attempt to escape.

Sirius laughed, an unhinged look in his eyes as he watched the rat wriggle.

“Ah, so you heard about that little jig? I have to say, it was far easier than I expected.”

Getting up from the window, he prowled forward and violently yanked the chair back up into a
sitting position. His face nearly an inch away from the sniveling man, who tried to get as far away
as he could with his limited movement.

“Do you know why I stayed so long in that hell, Petey?”

Pettigrew blubbered, shaking his head and begged apologies. “I’m sorry-I’m sorry, Sirius please-”

“Well? DO YOU?!”

“I-I don’t! I don't!”

Sirius brought his arm back and punched Peter hard across the face, sending the chair clattering to
the floor once more. Huffing, he brought his foot back and kicked as hard as he could into the
man's pudgy stomach, making Peter wheeze and beg even harder. Empty platitudes, it was too late
for forgiveness.

Sirius took deep breaths, attempting to calm down marginally as the rat wriggled pathetically and
sobbed.

“We’re so different, Peter. Do you know how?”

Getting down on his hands and knees, he lay parallel with the man's face and stared deep into his
eyes.

“N-no.”

Sirius remembered baby Harry, just a little bundle in his arms breathing softly. Then he
remembered hard green eyes and long legs. An undercurrent of danger palpable in the air, a silver
tongue. Harry Potter had been robbed of the happiness he rightfully deserved, and Pettegrew was to
blame for his new reality.

“I would rather rot in hell than even think of betraying James and Lily. You know that, yes?”

A shaky nod from Peter.

Sirius nodded as well, getting up off the floor as he did so, “Well, I did my time in azkaban-in hell-
as penance for ever suggesting you as secret keeper.”

He sniffed, gripping the back of the beat up chair and pulling it back into a sitting position one
final time.

“Now, Peter, have you repented recently?”

Sobs were the only response.

“I'll take that as a no. Well! It's your lucky day then, mate. Now I'm no priest, but we can work
something out, I'm sure.”

Sirius’ smile was sharp, an unmistakable gleam of insanity in his eyes and he wiped his stolen
wand forward, a cutting curse slashing deep into the flesh of Pettigrews left shoulder and upper
arm, flaying the man’s arm to ribbons. He screamed out in pain as Sirius let out a laugh that
sounded more howl than human.

“Now don't you worry Petey,” he cooed gently as he cast a concentrated bombarda into the man's
other shoulder, watching with grim satisfaction as it exploded outwards, “I've got plenty of time,
and we can make sure you feel closer than ever to your creator.”

He reached forward, his hand wiping a splatter of blood and a shard of bone off of the man’s cheek
tenderly, teeth sharp and eyes fiery.

“No amount of prayer can save you from hell, Pettegrew.”

If anyone was close enough to hear inside of the shack, they wouldn't be able to discern the
screams of pain from the howling winds. As it was, no one came anywhere close regardless.

“Where. Is. Potter.”

All argument in the room halted, and the third year students gazed back at him dumbly, all shocked
at his sudden arrival, but smart enough to keep their mouths shut regardless. Snape glared out at
the four, noting with distaste that each and every one of them were keeping their faces blank of
nothing but their initial surprise at his arrival.

Slytherins were always so very hard to interrogate.

“If you don't tell me where that imbecilic child is you will all be getting very strongly worded
letters sent home to your parents.”

None folded, and his gaze sharpened.

“I will only repeat myself once more-”

“I'm right behind you, professor.”

Snape whipped around, locking eyes with the tall boy as he came out of the dorm on the opposite
wall. He blinked, acknowledging that yes, Harry Potter was certainly right behind him now.
Gathering himself, the professor stepped backwards and schooled his features, instinctually
unsettled by the boy's tone and stature. The third year’s eyes sharpened, and Snape felt a deep
feeling of dread wash over him. The boy’s eyes were hard-too hard-and seemed to stare deeper
than possible into his, as if they already knew all of his secrets and were content in waiting
patiently for him to spill them all at his feet. Severus strengthened his occlumency walls
subconsciously, straightening his spine into a ruler.

The staring contest was broken as the boy’s troublesome friends whispered to each other heatedly,
continuing their argument in a quieter tone. Potter glanced over his shoulder to look at them
curiously, and Snape took that moment of weakness to strike.

“Potter, why exactly did you blow up the gryffindor tower?”

Daphne Greengrass could be a hufflepuff on her loyalty alone, whipping around from where she
was quietly fighting with Theodore Nott to defend in Potter’s fabricated innocence. “You have no
grounds to-”

“Quiet, Miss. Greengrass.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and the girl seethed, glaring at the back of his head indignantly as he
turned back to Potter, who had yet to move from the door frame he had come from. The boy tilted
his head, and Snape stiffened incrementally.

“I apologize professor,” his voice was like silk embroidered with malice, “but I have no
recollection of ever blowing up or conspiring to blow up any section of Hogwarts at any time.”

The boy was too poised. Too regal as he answered questions as if batting flies. Severus felt the
unease niggling at the back of his mind turn into thinly veiled distress, his instincts telling him to
get out of the conversation as quickly as possible. He felt cornered, as if being scolded by a more
experienced adult in an area he was not knowledgeable in. The inferiority was something that he
had only felt in the company of the dark lord, and the uncomfortably familiar feeling brought
memories of blood red eyes to the forefront of his mind. He began edging away.

“May-may I ask where exactly you were during the Weasley twins’ siege on the great hall this
evening?”

The boy raised an eyebrow, as if unimpressed with the question. Snape visibly recoiled this time.

“Sleeping, sir.”

Severus considered his options with shocking speed, the impossibly green eyes so unlike Lily
Evans boring into his skull all the while. On one hand, him and the Potter spawn had been on
relatively good terms through the past two years, and the boy had shown himself to be an
exceptional student deserving of the praise people lavished him with. On the other hand, he was
nearly positive that if Black hadn’t been the one who destroyed Gryffindor tower, it was somehow
Potter’s handiwork, and Snape had no particular means to prove it besides his gut instincts unless
he made the boy confess. There was, however, the current situation, where he was almost positive
that Potter had either finally gone insane or was possessed in some way.

Choosing survival over spite, Snape nodded stiffly, “you would do well to keep a proper sleeping
schedule, Potter.”
And then he fled, the idea of drinking himself into a coma with Pomona Sprout growing more and
more tempting.

Tom let out a breath through Harry’s nose, slowly returning control to the the boy as he slunk back
into his mindscape. Tom had been ready when Harry finally woke, and had quickly and efficiently
wrangled control of his body from the boy before his erratic magic lashed out and attacked the
sleeping Malfoy heir beside him. Tom had to then-once he heard the obnoxious drawl of Severus
Snape in the hall-delve deep into his less enjoyable memories to adopt Voldemort’s mannerisms
and overbearing personality once more. It wasn’t the best situation, and Tom felt that he was
making a fool of himself all the while, but Snape didn't run from much except those more powerful
than him, and Tom needed the meddling man out of Harry’s field of reference as fast as possible.
He was far too observant.

Harry, take control now.

The boy groaned, his head was throbbing. Shaking himself slightly, Harry opened his eyes to find
his friends gaping rather obnoxiously at him. Theo was pale and looked on the verge of collapse,
his artificial eye glowing faintly as if he was checking for anything external that could be wrong
with Harry. Tracey and Blaise looked mostly confused, but Daphne had an expression of
understanding on her face, seemingly deciding what had just happened for herself. Useful.

He gave her a wiry grin. “You're not the only actor among us, Daph.”

The girl in question whacked his arm, cussing him out quite profusely before hugging him tightly.

“You're reimbursing me for all the trouble you've put me through tonight, Potter.”

He laughed, uncomfortable.

“Get off him you-”

Draco had awoken, it seemed. There was a rather forceful shove, and Daphne and Draco fell into a
familiar argument quickly, pointing fingers and hissing threats. The others seemed to relax at the
relatively normal display, and Blaise stumbled over to hug him as well. Tracey joined in quickly
after, but Theo merely caught his eyes, sending him a we’re talking about this later look. Harry
nodded in response, patting Tracey’s head as she pulled away and started babbling on about just
what the weasley twins had gotten up to in the great hall.

Harry looked to Draco carefully, noting with slight worry how his hands shook and his eyes
glanced every few seconds to Harry. Something had happened that scared the boy.

Tom was muttering something about cleaning up the ruins, and Harry mentally winced at the
carnage of his mindscape. His occlumency barriers were somehow still holding strong, but the
mental Hogwarts was in tatters, and some parts would have to be completely rebuilt. He could
hardly remember what had happened, but if it was bad enough to warrant this much carnage, then
it had to have been life changing.

This isn't even the worst of it.

What else is there?

That imbecilic brute of a creature is up in the headmaster office, tearing the place to shreds.

Harry didn't need to take the plunge into his mindscape to confirm that the wendigo was indeed
destroying the office, and seemed intent on eradicating every last hint of Albus Dumbledore in the
room.

Leave it, I don't see any harm in what it's doing.

Well, sure, but what of when it gets bored and needs to prance through the castle? I do live here
you know.

We’ll worry about that later.

Blaise was still hugging him, and Harry pat the boy’s back comfortingly. This was the first time
Blaise had shown any sort of emotions besides sarcasm and anger towards him in two months, and
Harry decided that he must be forgiven for his misdeeds.

“I’m sorry for keeping secrets, mate.”

Blaise snorted, “I'm sorry too, I was acting childish.”

Tracey huffed, butting into the conversation with a look of superiority on her face. “Honestly, both
of you were.”

Harry managed to last the next hour with his friends as they all talked over themselves to try and
clue him in on the moments he had missed from the evening-complete with Theo and Daphne’s
ongoing fight and the possibility of the Weasley twins being expelled. All the time though Harry
only half paid attention. He felt disjointed, and was barely able to register that he had apparently
blown up the entire bloody gryffindor tower in his haste to remove it from his field of
comprehension.

As they finally started to settle into bed, Draco had seemed to want to say something, but when
Harry prodded him about it the shorter boy said it was nothing and rolled over in his bed, a wing
curled over himself as the other stretched out off the bed. Harry accepted this with a quiet apology
for scaring him and settled down as well, blowing out the candle on his nightstand. It didn't make
either of them feel any better.

It wasn't till three hours later that Harry was finally able to start processing things, his eyes staring
blankly at his canopy as he took in the destruction of his mindscape. His library of memories was
in tatters, and the important ones from his time in the gryffindor tower were missing, supposedly
being held captive by the wendigo still wreaking havoc. Harry secretly didn't mind that he couldn't
remember what had happened that night, the feelings associated with the time were still his to
comprehend and he didn't enjoy them in the slightest.

The entire bloody tower… no wonder Snape was so pissed.

He was likely just jealous he hadn't managed it while he was in school, I know I am.

It didn't feel right, like he had changed something irrevocably in those moments of anguish, is this
what Fate had planned for him?

I blew up the gryffindor tower.

It was an incredible show of utter, incomprehensible, insensible idiocy-how did he manage to make
something as small as the gryffindor common room into something so big to warrant a reaction of
that magnitude? Utter idiocy, he should be better- was better than that.

Harry felt strange, out of place in his own body. There was a tightness in his chest that still lingered
after the initial event, and as he came down from the adrenalin high that had woken him up in the
first place-Harry felt empty. He could still attribute his scatter-brainedness to his partially
destroyed mindscape, but this settling feeling of nothingness felt inescapable, as if it was a new and
instrumental fixture in his life that he couldn't dare escape.

From across the room, Harry heard Draco shift, mumbling something indistinguishable under his
breath. He smiled softly at the noise, settling deeper into his covers and mentally sorting through
the mess of his memories. He would fix everything with Tom over the next few days, and once the
wendigo finally designed to return his memories he would face them head on. How bad could they
be?

The inescapable darkness in his chest still lingered.

That night was a rough one for Gryffindor house, as the students gathered with sleeping bags in the
great hall, having no tower to return to. Lavender Brown was still missing, presumed kidnapped
after a headcount confirmed that she was not among the students. (Harry had grown rather fond of
his new pocket watch, and had decided to keep it.) Hermione Granger’s condition was stable if
dire, and Madam Pomfrey was not positive that the girl's left leg would survive, having been
almost completely crushed under falling debris.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was insistent on not contacting the girl's parents until the
mediwitch was positive the girl would have lasting medical effects on her person. Pomfrey obeyed
her employer dutifully, as she always had, and returned to the hospital wing to tend to her patent.
Minerva McGonagall slept till the early morning, waking with the sun. She took her coffee black
and returned to grading papers and preparing for the school day, a hard set to her jaw the only
indication that she was at all affected by the previous night's events.

The gryffindor tower was in shambles for two more nights after that, until the ministry sent in a
team of able bodied professionals to rebuild it from the inside out. Gryffindor house moved back in
on the first wednesday of November, with the exception of two of its members. Hermione Granger
was in a medically induced coma, her wounds far too close to being fatal to risk movement from
the girl if she woke. Several search parties were sent out to the forbidden forest in the hopes of
finding Sirius Black or Lavender Brown, but nothing was found. If anyone was to search the
shrieking shack, they would find the horribly mangled corpse of a man already presumed dead for
over a decade. Sadly, the only one to venture into the shack was Remus Lupin, who would not be
returning there for almost another month, as the full moon was on the twenty ninth that November.
Funnily enough, the only thing the search parties managed to find was the centaur pack, who
swore to their stars that if Sirius Black was anywhere in the forest, he would have been dead by
their hands the second he stepped foot into the woods.

Harry Potter paid little to no attention in his classes, as he usually did, and instead stared blankly
off into the middle distance, as if somewhere else. Most of his friends watched him closely with
growing alarm as he became less and less present as the days dragged on, seemingly attempting to
escape reality whenever an option presented itself for him to do so. The boy had strange bouts of
lucidity however, in which he grew cold and hostile as he completed assigned work with shocking
speed, writing essays in a flowing script that was not his own. Severus Snape began avoiding the
boy like the plague whenever these changes in personality occurred, and was often seen downing
hangover-relief potions each morning at breakfast.

Harry’s condition continued to worsen as the days went on, it all coming to a head one day when
Draco woke early in the morning to find that the boy was not in his bed, the covers thrown messily
about and deep gashes as if an animal ripped it apart.
 Forgetting leads to remembering. Remembering leads to repeating.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter is going to finally have some progress timeline-wise. I honestly didn't
expect for the Third Year Halloween arc (as I've dubbed it) to go on for three chapters,
but here we are.
 Sequelae
Chapter Summary

Recovery is not an upward slope. Regression is always an unfortunate possibility.

Chapter Notes

Warning: mentions of gore, detailed descriptions of medical amputation.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry was having trouble focusing.

In fact, he had noticed that ever since halloween he had been unable to focus onto anything
happening in the present, always seeming to fuzz out of conscientiousness, only refocusing back in
when Draco shook him or Tracey pinched his hand. He went to bed the first Friday of November
and immediately appeared in his mindscape, which was steadily getting worse and worse as the
week dragged on. Harry sighed, wishing it was safe for Tom to speak to him in person.

While his breakdown on halloween had destroyed much of his memory library, and a good portion
of everything else, the issues had been negligible and fixed within a few days. However, the
wendigo was becoming a larger problem than he had originally anticipated, destroying his mind
faster than he could fix it. The spirit was agitated and aggressive, attacking anyone that came
within reach of it, as well as forcing a winter blizzard into being and covering everything in ice.
The creature could control weather, yes, but its ability to make it snow in his mind was negatively
affecting his focus and much of everything else, the fuzziness he experienced benign due to this
mental blizzard. Tom was no longer able to converse with Harry either, as the wendigo considered
him a foreign threat and had attempted on several occasions to break into the chamber in an effort
to attack him.

To be rather blunt, Harry’s mind was freezing over, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

Opening his eyes, Harry looked up at the towering creature that stood before him. It clutched his
memory of that halloween night in one hand- refusing to hand it over regardless of his pleading.

“Please stop this.”

His mother’s cries, a familiar old man's sigh, and his own screams were the answer.

The wendigo was using vocal mimicry as a way to communicate, and Harry hadn't understood that
at first, thinking it was just toying with him. After trying to communicate with it constantly for that
event week however, he quickly realized it was using sounds from his own memories to explain its
emotions to him.

“I can't function with my mind like this, my friends are worried.”

Long, yellowed claws reached up from where they brushed against the snowy earth, piercing the
skin of his collarbone gently as a hunched spine dipped further, concaving unnaturally as a warm
tongue dripped icey saliva on his face.

Harry was freezing.

“Let me remember, please, even if it kills me, I need to know.”

He hasn't felt this cold in a long, long time. Harry took a deep breath, shivering.

The claws lowered, scratching a deep gash into his chest. His blood crystallized instantly when
exposed to the icy chill. He couldn't even feel it.The snow was up to his upper thighs, his shoulders
and back caking on more and more of it as the blizzard became more and more aggressive. He was
blacking out in his own mind.

Harry wasn't prepared for this, simply couldn't comprehend the power this spirit wielded, he
wasn’t old enough or strong enough yet.

He realized then, in a moment of harsh clarity, that the wendigo had dropped the memory gently
into his outstretched hands. He looked down at it with growing horror, thoughts and feelings and
sharp glass tearing into him like claws made of ice.

His mother sobbed, the demon lunged.

Saturday came with the first snow, and Harry woke up early that morning, finding himself
sprawled out under a grove of twisted trees deep in the Forbidden Forest. Memories came back to
him with harsh clarity, and a tree close to him cracked straight in half along with them, his magic
reacting to the memory in a muted but still destructive way.

Weakness.

Fear.

Cowardice.

He was a child. A terrified, beaten, broken little boy with big green eyes, only still breathing
because he needed to live just long enough to die by the right hands at the right time.

Who am I. Who was I. Who should I have been?

Harry realized, in a horrible moment of clarity, that his second life hadn't even begun-not really.
He was still the same scared little boy from his first, with the only difference being the removal of
compulsions and potions and the addition of a few stronger players in his corner, but he hadn't
changed. He simply couldn't.

Harry couldn't become anything more than Dumbledore’s pawn till the man saw fit to finally keel
over and die.

An unearthly howl ripped through his mind, a demon screeching out in anger and hatred. He
tunneled, focusing onto that animalistic side and gripping it with both hands, grasping at the
strong, powerful wendigo and begging to be made indestructible. Begging to become untouchable.

When he had met with Luna in September, in the astronomy tower, Harry had been on the cusp of
this destruction, of finally realizing that nothing separated his first and last life because he was
still the same, that he was still trapped in a chess game as nothing but a lowly pawn; but he had
held the fracturing pieces together with tape and glue and sheer determined ignorance. He had
turned his back on the truth-had locked it up in the recesses of his mind to be ignored and allowed
the wounds to fester and grow more destructive and deep than they would have been before.

Now though, the lock he had placed was broken, and Harry dug deeper into himself, trying to
escape the pain and anguish and weakness. Wanting desperately to just stop feeling.

The entire room exploded outwards.

He didn't want to see it anymore, didn't want to see the prison of his first life and the ghost of his
second. He didn't want to see the taint-the vile, twisted cage-that had kept him willingly compliant
for much of his life.

Martyr.

Sacrifice.

Tool.

That's all you are, Harry Potter, a tool in the hand of a more worthy being.

Harry gasped for air, the pain in his body and the agonizing feelings of his memories resurfacing
doing nothing but overwhelming him. Turning onto his side, Harry coughed, droplets of blood
splattering onto the inch of snow he laid on. His head thumped against the freezing ice, breathing
unsteady as he gulped down air. Everything hurt, it was so very reminiscent of his first
transformation that he knew instantly what had happened.

“Ughhhhhh… fuck.”

He coughed again, spitting a mix of mucus and blood into the warming snow as he hacked up
something foul that was lodged in his throat. He ached horribly, the bone deep soreness from his
first transformation coming back full force, though the demon seemed to have found food this time.
Harry coughed again, his mouth hanging open as he continued to clear the horrid taste of organs
from his mouth and throat. He felt on the verge of vomiting, and in a fit of slight panic grabbed a
handful of snow, shoving it into his mouth and chewing roughly. It cleared up a bit of the taste of
death from his mouth, and he grabbed several more handfuls in an attempt to tamp down his
nausea.

Calming down eventually, he was able to steady himself and think rationally. Turning onto his
back once more, Harry laid there in a heap pitifully for a time, his breathing slowly steadying. He
listened to the morning birds with a feeling of tired acceptance-this was bound to happen
eventually, it was simply bad timing that his mind was also in a dilapidated state before and during
it. Thinking back, he remembered now how he had practically begged the spirit to take control and
fix everything. No wonder it had stolen his memories, his go-to defense mechanism was to simply
forget the pain.

Yea, this isn't happening today.

“Death, a little help please?”

Death materialized into being, glare prominent in his eyes as he looked down on Harry with thinly
veiled frustration. The god’s clothes were askew and leaves had invaded his perfectly quaffed hair.
He looked about ready to destroy something, whether it be a tower or an entire universe. They
made eye contact, and a glimmer of sympathy shone through the anger.

“Rough night?”

Regardless of his current state, Harry still found it in him to sass the death god, deciding that
violence was his mood of the day. Athimus didn’t seem to even hear him, gold-green eyes hyper-
fixated onto Harry as he aggressively smoked a cig.

There was a beat of silence as Death narrowed his eyes further into slits, before he finally ran out of
cigarette to smoke and dropped the butt, crushing it underfoot as he stomped over to Harry.

“Do you have any idea-shut up,” Harry's mouth clicked shut, “-do you have any idea how difficult
it is to obliviate an entire herd of centaurs while they are in the process of hunting down a large ice
demon?”

Harry really hoped that was a rhetorical question, as he stared at the god wide-eyed. What the fuck
had happened last night?

“Uh… not particularly.”

Death’s eye twitched, “Really. Fucking. Hard.”

“Well it couldn't have been that hard, you are a god after all.” Harry laughed nervously, not really
liking the look the god was leveling at him, “...well I'm not really the one you should be mad at
either was, it's not like I can control the thing!”

The look increased in intensity, and Harry would have been running in the other direction if he
could move, “look kid, I get that this is new for you, but-shut up-you do have a natural domination
over the wendigo, don't let it walk all over you.”

Harry felt like he was being scolded, “You're joking! You have seen the state of my mind at the
moment, yes? It attacked me during a time of weakness!”

Death rolled his eyes, dropping to the snow in front of him and lighting another cigarette. “No
offense kid, but you've always been a wreck, despite being impressively good at hiding it-even
from yourself.” Harry pulled a face. “-but it's still your mind, and you control what affects it or not.
Actually-not everything, but-well, you get the idea.”

“I don't, actually.”

The death god stood suddenly, looking relatively fed up and considerably exhausted, “you know
what? Fine, call me when you’re done being a brat.”

“Oi! Wait-and… you're gone.” Harry sighed, grumbling something along the lines of ‘bastard gods
think they’re above me’ and attempted to remove himself from the clutches of gravity.

Despite the pain in his… everything, Harry managed to roll over onto his stomach again and groan
pitifully for a few more minutes, feeling like utter horseshit. It took another excruciating half hour
for him to muster up the energy just to slump up against the nearest tree, and by that time the first
rays of sunlight were peaking out of the leaves.

“You seem to be in quite the predicament, son of darkness.”

“For fu-piss off Bane.”

The centaur in question preceded forward instead, picking up a pair of bloodied antlers from the
dirt.

“These are not ordinary deer antlers, would I be correct in assuming that you have been
possessed?”

Harry got himself into a better position against the tree, pressing his cheek into the smooth bark
with a grunt, “‘m not possessed.”

Bane shook his head mournfully, “it is a sad day when one is unable to fully meld with their inner
beast. It was most certainly possession, son of darkness, a transformation such as this is not meant
to be uncontrollable or painful of any sort.”

That made Harry pause his efforts to stand, thinking very carefully about the centaur’s words. The
goal of his creature inheritance was to one day have his human and wendigo sides melded into one,
so it made a certain amount of sense that as he was separated from it currently, the shift would put
him through a great deal of pain. He supposed that it must be similar to the difference between
werewolves and animagus, as werewolves lost their human minds in a painful transformation while
animagus didn't. The goal seemed to be to start with the mind and shifting patterns similar to that
of a werewolf and end with abilities more akin to an animagus.

“Well that's certainly very unfortunate for me but, sadly, I can't do much to fix it.”

Bane seemed like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, “do you wish for my
assistance? I can retrieve a soothing balm from the herd if it would ease your suffering.”

Harry grumbled a ‘fuck, yes please’ as he grappled with gravity and uncooperative muscles. The
centaur nodded (though Harry couldn't see from his position) and galloped back off into the brush,
leaving the Potter heir to his lonesome once more.

Collapsing back into the snow, Harry settled to simply wait for Bane and hope no one came along
to find him napping in a snowy clearing surrounded by unknown organs and considerably
underdressed.

“Mr. Potter… what on earth are you doing out here.”

Harry was having a very bad morning, it seemed, and turned to glare hatefully at Snape, who was
standing a yard away with a weary look.

“Sleeping, obviously.”

Tom confided in him that Snape was not-so-subtly terrified of him currently, and likely wouldn’t
say a thing about this to Dumbledore just on principle, but as Harry was in a position of
considerable suspicion regardless of the man's fear, he would likely have to obliviate the professor
regardless.

Snape seemed torn between scolding Harry for his cheek, or hightailing it out of there as fast as his
disused legs could carry him. All the blood standing stark against the snow was probably leaning
him more towards the latter.

“... In the snow?”

Harry grunted, shifting into what could be considered a sitting position and contemplating his
options. Telling the truth was immediately eliminated, but most of the lies he could come up with
were shoddy at best and obviously made up at worst.
Ignorance it was, “I suppose so sir, as I went to bed in my dorm and woke up out here.”

Snape looked down at Harry’s legs, grimacing at them worriedly. Harry didn't bother looking, he
was 95% bruise at this point, his legs were probably pure purple.

“Were you mauled, perchance?”

Harry was actually the one who had done the mauling, and was tempted to do it again-no sharp
claws necessary-if only his muscles were more cooperative. As it was, he wasn't in a good enough
state to do much other than grouch at the man while lying in a heap on the ground.

“Potter, I asked you a question.”

“Well, bully for you sir.”

Snape appeared flummoxed, a strange cross between wanting to instinctively snark back and being
utterly confused with how his morning could have possibly taken this turn; in all fairness, Harry
felt similarly about his entire life, and could certainly sympathize with the man. Harry heard the
galloping of horse hooves distantly, and sighed in relief, glad that Bane would be returning with
the balm soon. Snape was much less comforted. Whipping around, he wrenched his wand from a
secret pocket in his robes, pointing it haphazardly in random directions.

“Oh calm down, the centaurs like me.”

“Those beasts don't like anyone, now stay still, Potter.” Snape hissed through his teeth, eyes darting
through the trees in an effort to catch movement of the ‘beasts’. Harry rolled his eyes, wincing as
he shifted against the tree he leaned on. This would be a phenomenal time to obliviate the man
while he was distracted, but Harry didn't have his wand and couldn't muster up the magic from his
reserves to summon it.

Blast.

The day couldn't get much worse really, that was one plus he supposed. Though... Harry grimaced,
Fate could always one-up herself given the proper motivation, best not jinx it. Settling back to
watch, Harry felt a small repreve from watching Snape spin around like a buffoon, eyes darting
from suspicious bush to slightly shady patches of trees, as if Voldemort himself was going to jump
out of the bushes and attack them.

“Good morrow, prince with half blood.”

Harry wheezed out a laugh as Snape’s eyes narrowed in on Bane, who looked all too pleased with
himself. It was an interesting twist on the self-appointed title, that was for certain, and Harry
wondered if Snape would consider hunting down his old potions textbook just to change it.

“Centaur… stay where you are.”

Harry made an effort to stop laughing, as it disturbed his ribs somewhat, and was now eyeing the
circular container in Bane’s hand greedily.

“Don't be shy mate, hand it on over.”

Snape looked as though he was either going to throttle Harry or leave him for dead as Bane trotted
up to the boy, who took the paste with only mild difficulty. Harry had no idea what to do with it,
and decided to rub a bit of it on his exposed thigh to see what would happen. It began soothing the
muscles of his leg instantly, the bruises fading into nothingness. He quickly got to work slathering
it on the most pained portions of his body. Snape watched him with wary eyes, seemingly trying to
figure out what sections of this situation that were beyond his circle of knowledge, and having
rather pitiful results it seemed, going off his constipated expression.

Bane pawed the dirt, taking back what was left of the balm from a considerably less pained Harry,
who watched with mild interest as his skin soaked up the silky substance till there was none of it
left.

“I ask that you make a considerable effort not to become possessed again, son of darkness.”

Grimacing, Harry jutted his chin pointedly in Snape’s direction, as the man became considerably
more invested in eavesdropping on the conversation. This was turning rather quickly from a
‘probably have to obliviate Snape’ situation into a ‘definitely have to obliviate Snape’ situation.
Harry was counting the seconds till he had enough magic in the tank to wandlessly summon the
elder wand, and prepared for dodging uncomfortable questions till then.

Bane seemed to realize belatedly that what he just said was likely not the best thing to remark in
the presence of a Hogwarts professor, and gave Harry an apologetic look before galloping back into
the woods.

I'm going to shoot that bastard in the leg next archery lesson, just for the mess he’s left for me to
clean up.

Harry studied Snape’s expression with growing impatience. If the man was going to take this long
to start questioning him, then either Tom had been doing better to scare him than Harry originally
expected, or the man was just particularly stupid in anything besides potions and being an
annoyance. Harry was in a bad mood, so he was leaning more and more towards the latter.

On Severus Snape’s end, several things were going through his mind as he tried not to look at the
bloodied teen before him. The centaur’s words lended the child to being possessed by some sort of
evil spirit, and with his uncomfortably familiar personality lately as well as the spacey behavior
lended Potter to being possessed by Voldemort, which was a serious cause for alarm. While usually
Snape would have gone running to Dumbledore a week ago about his worries, that would have
forced him to explain why exactly he had interrogated the boy in the first place, which would open
up several unsavory avenues for the headmaster to travel. Hell, the only reason the boy hadn't been
forced into a red tie was the sorting hat’s insistence that gryffindor wouldn’t survive with the Potter
heir among their ranks (what Dumbledore had taken that to mean was that the boy was so Slytherin
that he would taint the house’s virtues. Snape eventually realized that it meant the little demon
would kill every last one of the lions within the first few hours).

Regardless, the boy seemed lucid at the moment, and not at all Voldemort-esque, so all that was
left was to carefully move him from the bloody snow he sat on to a private place to rest, preferably
far away from Madam Pomfrey and her casual breaches of patent confidentiality.

The boy had been indignant about the idea of being swaddled up in Snape’s coat like a baby and
carried through the school, but it was necessary to get him safely back to his dorm. Potter gripped
and whined from underneath the thick fabric as he was floated along by Snape through the empty
halls, seeming quite bothered with the idea of being indisposed.

Upon reaching the dorms, Snape sighed heavily at the panicking Draco Malfoy, who was near
cardiac arrest as he grasped at Potter’s torn bed sheets.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you would design to not further ruin already destroyed bedsheets, I shall return
your companion to his bed once he has been convinced to take a soothing bath.”
It took far more convincing than would be expected, but eventually a cleaned Harry Potter was
swaddled up once more, this time with a considerably stressed Draco Malfoy keeping watch to
make sure he didn’t run off.

Severus needed a drink-no, not just a drink, he needed to rob a distillery.

The hospital wing was a hellscape of perfectly pressed, threadbare sheets and a strange smell of
sanitizing spells mixed with an underlying taste of iron in the air that never truly left. Madam
Poppy Pomfrey darted around one particular side of the room, preparing for a very necessary
amputation. Hermione Granger’s leg was far too gone to save-despite her efforts to save it over the
last week-and Madam Pomfrey planned to amputate it at the knee in precisely ten minutes.

As she carefully set up the proper potions and carving tools for the job, the mediwitch jolted down
a quick note to the headmaster, warning him that the girl’s parents would need to be notified of her
condition now that it was proven to be dire. Signing the parchment, she sent it off with one of the
school owls and sighed, picking up one of her smaller tourniquets and preparing for the
amputation.

Sanitizing the area just above the girls knee of the girls left leg, Pomfrey slipped on the tourniquet
and began tightening it, stopping only when she was sure the tightness was optimal for stopping
most of the blood flow, but not enough to injure the blood vessels that would remain after the
amputation. Assured that the leg was properly walled off and the girl wouldn’t bleed to death,
Pomfrey gathered her wits and grasped the medical scalpel off of the tray next to her. Settling in,
she began cutting away at the skin, patting down the wound with a cloth as some blood bubbled to
the surface.

While your typical mediwix would turn up their nose at using muggle techniques for any sort of
solution, Poppy Pomfrey was a halfblood whose mother had been the daughter of a world
renowned muggle heart surgeon, and the woman had insisted she got a muggle medical degree in
some respect. What Poppy had realized during her college experience was that magical operations
had the goal of ‘getting all the bad stuff out willy nilly and dealing with the repercussions with
magic’. Which, sure, was a fine strategy when you had the resources and magical power to fix any
internal bleeding or organ damage you inflict on your patent by using cutting curses to remove their
liver, but a school mediwitch most certainly did NOT have that kind of salary.

Therefore, Madam Pomfrey settled into her muggle teachings for most of the surgeries she
occasionally had to perform.

Reaching for another, thicker knife, she prepared to cut through the muscle. Due to the many
staircases in the school, she expected that most of her students had fairly strong leg muscles, but
was surprised to find that Miss. Granger had particularly well-traveled ones, almost as if she ran
about twice as much as the other students.

Likely due to that time-turner nonsense, no doubt.

Time-turners would do well to have an age requirement on them, in her humble opinion, as
whenever a student was given one, it almost always landed them in the hospital wing to be treated
for stress.

Nodding at her handy work, she grappled for her medical saw and began sawing at the bone that
had finally been revealed, careful not to agitate anything in the process. It was delicate work, and
much much more efficient than the magical way of doing amputation, which could be made far
more effective by the simple use of anesthesia.
 Madam Pomfrey had many qualms about how magicals went about their medical treatments, but
supposed it was none of her business what others did. That was a fatal flaw of the woman, and a
very good reason Albus Dumbledore hired her. For all Poppy Pomfrey’s brilliance, she never once
thought to butt into anything. If her employer requested that compulsions be placed on an infant,
she would oblige. If a girl needed medical care of the standards of St. Mungo’s, but the Headmaster
insisted she be the only to treat her, then the mediwitch would wash her hands and tie a smock
around her waist. If a child was obviously abused, she would make note of it in her ledger and
never say a word.

Waving her wand, she vanished the now completely removed leg, mumbling suturing spells under
her breath as the stump was stitched up, and quickly wrapped in healing potion soaked bandages.
The girl could likely get a believable prosthetic if she wanted, but she would have to heal from the
other severe wounds and be purged of the draught of the living death that raced through her system
first. Considering her job done, Madam Pomfrey looked up to see that the owl had returned. Taking
the note from its beak, she read that the Headmaster wished to wait for the girl to wake till
notifying her parents. Shrugging, the mediwitch jolted down a few notes on the girl's condition into
her ledger and started cleaning up the bloodied tools around her.

Madam Poppy Pomfrey was a brilliant doctor, of that there was no doubt, but she horribly inept in
helping people.

Chapter End Notes

This one was a bit more lighthearted, and helped transition from the Halloween Arc to
the rest of the story, and also started hinting at the winter break, which won't be
coming up for a ways, but foreshadowing is a superior literary device like that.
(no, I won't tell you what is foreshadowing and what isn't, the ambiguity is half the
fun)
Also, if anyone's pissed off at the Madam Pomfrey bashing this chapter has, just note
that on the Harry Potter wiki she is consistently noted to not ask questions even if they
would be important in helping someone heal and just doing her job o questions asked,
I'm working off of her own characterization with this one.
PS. Can you guess what the wendigo was saying with those three particular sounds?
 We Didn't Start the Fire pt.1
Chapter Summary

Tensions rise as hormones, creature inheritances, and incomplete soul-bonds clash

dangerously.
The smell of death overwhelms everything else.

Chapter Notes

Ok people, I've been peer pressured into giving everyone a nice, angst free chapter
today.
(lmao just kidding, that's not how we do things here. Now let's commit some arson,
shall we?)
Warning: depictions of rotting corpses, mentions of torture.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Life went on, with the only notable change being Harry’s more constant lucidity and Draco’s ever
increasing levels of stress. The short boy was constantly and consistently at Harry’s side, gripping
the outer sleeves of his school uniform as if he was the only thing keeping Harry from running off
to do something stupid that would no doubt make a mess of things.

In all honesty, he wasn’t that far off in his assumption.

The first Hogsmeade visit of the year landed on the 20th of November, a Saturday that showed the
full effect of winter on the school, with snowfall glancing of long eyelashes and temperatures ever
dropping. Harry didn't bother wearing a jumper, settling instead for his trademark leather jacket
that he had finally stolen back from Theo and a thin, distressed band t-shirt. His friends,
alternatively, wore a good five layers and a frankly obnoxious amount of warming charms.

“You'll let me have that jacket of yours if I get too cold, yea?”

Blaise, seemingly trying to one-up Harry, was wearing a single black turtleneck and thin-looking
black slacks, seemingly trying to blend in with the shadows. If that was his intention, the
aggressive shivering was doing his stealth no favors. However, if it was an aesthetical choice, he
appeared to be thoroughly regretting it by the time they had passed their permission slips off to
Flitch and gotten onto the carriages.

“Why? So you can get away with being an idiot by profiting off my ingenuity?”

Draco snorted from under his scarf, his mittened hand fisting the thick leather of Harry's right arm
sleeve. “Live with your hubris or die, Zabini.”

The Italian grouched about English weather for the entire ride, tempting Harry closer and closer
towards more murderous exploits. As it was, Draco’s hold on his jacket was the only thing keeping
him from at the very least lunging across the carriage to knock some decorum into the snooty boy.
Harry had certainly become more lucid after his ‘conversation’ with the wendigo, but that didn't
mean he was in a particularly good mood now, as he had been feeling rather irritable ever since
Snape had forced him into bed-rest on the first Saturday of the month. Ever since that day, the
professor had been annoying and nosey, always watching him closely and jumping at any hint of
strange behavior or whatever it was he seemed keen on watching for. Harry was starting to
appreciate Tom’s interference with the man less and less as the days dragged on.

The only plus side of the past week was that Granger was still stuck in a medically induced coma,
and would stay that way for the foreseeable future. He was much more comfortable showing off in
class without her there to make a fuss about him ‘cheating’, and the teachers seemed to appreciate
the peace and quiet from her insesnt showing off just as much as the students (though none of them
would ever admit to that due to their professional positions as her professors, though the only way
Snape could get any more obvious about his obvious pleasure was if he wore around a sign with
the words ‘Hermione Granger deserves to get her mouth sewn shut’ painted boldly across it).

There were always downsides to these things however, as the girl’s absence seemed to snap
Weasley into high gear, as Granger was a good 85% of his impulse control. It was a feat in itself
that Harry had managed to keep Draco on a tight enough leash to make sure he didn't maul the
ginger, and an incredible act of self control to not do the mauling himself.

As it was, Harry felt that he had reason enough to have a short fuse.

On the part of short fuses, Draco seemed to become less and less held together as the days went on,
and Harry was concerned the young teen would eventually snap and set fire to something-likely a
big something, if he was going off the sparks dancing across the boy’s exposed skin. Harry could
attribute a good portion of Draco’s stress to his own, as while they did seem to have a soul-bond, it
had been only fully realized on Harry’s side. This led Draco to naturally be a bit of a mess, which
alarmed Harry incredibly, but he had no discernable way of fixing the problem, as he wasn't
entirely sure why Draco wasn't just accepting the bond in the first place. Perhaps he didn't actually
know about it? If that were the case, his parents were either making a considerable effort not to let
him know (and considering their track record on keeping important things from their son, Harry
really couldn't put it past them), or the Malfoys had never found it prudent to get the boy a bloody
inheritance test.

Harry grumbled at that idea, he had talked to both Theo and Daphne about that particular
possibility (without actually bringing up soulmates in Daphne’s case) and got similar answers: it
was ridiculous to even think that the Lord or Lady of a family would ever hand an heir ring off to
their child without being absolutely certain that said child was even magically in line for the
bloody title! Daphne had quite a bit to say about the Malfoys in general-most of it being quite bad-
and regarded the idea of them potentially not getting an inheritance test done on their son to be an
insight far worse than joining with Voldemort. Harry considered this a bit of an over exaggeration,
and Theo did indeed prove to be better equipped at handling an impartial view of the prospect.

“The Malfoy line is infamous for always producing male children, there hasn't been a female
Malfoy to actually be born to the line since 1397. It has to do with an ancient blood enchantment
one of the original Malfoys put on their bloodline when the family crossed over from France into
Ireland, likely put in place to make sure that their family would always produce viable male
offspring.”

Theo shifted slightly in the library seat, his mismatched eyes boring into Harry’s skull. “I would
say that the Malfoys have only got to keep this blood enchantment in their system for so long is
because once it finally became public knowledge-which was long after blood enchantments became
illegal-the magic was already weaved into their genetic code, and therefore irreversible.”
He looked back down at his book for a moment, contemplating something before setting it aside.
“Due to this, the wedding vows that keep two people intertwined in marriage also recognize the
ancient magic in a Malfoy’s blood, and naturally work with the enchantments to weed out any
potential adultery. If a woman wed to a Malfoy man falls pregnant with another’s child, the
offspring is female, no matter what. Many cheating wives have been found out that way, so it truly
is a tried and true method in assuring just which heirs are bastards or not.”

Harry had been enthralled by the concept, and it explained perfectly why Draco’s parents likely
never bothered with an inheritance test. Since Draco was male, there was no possibility that he
wasn’t the heir, so there was no reason to seek confirmation from the goblins.

He jolted as the carriage stopped abruptly, being pulled from his thoughts. Shaking his head, he
quickly moved to get out of the cramped space. Hopping down to the snow, he turned to see Draco
was the next one to get out. Moving instinctively, he grabbed Draco from under his arms and
hoisted him to the ground as well, finding it rather easy due to the height and weight difference.
Harry didn't realize this was probably the wrong way to go about things until Blaise started
laughing and Draco kicked his shin, hard.

“Oi!”

“Prat.”

Harry rubbed his leg, questioning expression on his face as the shorter boy blushed horribly.
“What’d I do?”

A smack on the back of the head from Daphne was the only answer, and he stumbled after the
already moving group as they started on a stroll through the town. Draco got over his anger quickly
enough and grabbed for Harry’s sleeve again, grumbling about giants and muscles or something.

Hogsmeade was just as brilliant as he remembered it being from his last life, and Harry took a well
deserved sigh of relief as his rag-tag group of friends moseyed along the cobbled streets. Tracey
darted ahead a few yards to window shop, snooping into the shops through fogged up glass and
trying to discern what secrets each one held. She would then spot something outrageously
expensive, sprint back to the group, and try to beg each of the richer heirs among them into buying
it for her. With not much luck, she would then return and start the cycle all over again.

Blaise was seemingly looking for someone, eyes glancing around to each huddled up group of
Hogwarts students. Harry's eyes narrowed, the boy’s gaze seemed to linger on Hufflepuffs
especially, was he looking for someone?

“Harry! Oh Harry there was such a lovely little matching set of earrings and necklace over
thataway, it was only 300 galleons, won't you buy it for me? As an early christmas present!”

He winced, three hundred galleons for some flimsy jewelry? He would rather just get a good look
at it and transfigure a rock or something and be done with it.

Now that was a thought.

“Tell you what, Trace, if you show me the bloody thing, I'll transfigure you a pair.”

She squealed, and started dragging him (and by extension Draco, who was still clutching Harry’s
sleeve firmly) off to a hideously pink jewelry store that appeared to be in a perpetual state of
valentines day madness. Draco mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I'd sooner
shave my head then step foot into that monstrosity’, which made Harry snort loudly.
Tracey either didn't hear the boy or chose to ignore him, and instead shoved Harry’s face against
the glass and pointed at a rather pretty teardrop necklace with matching earrings. For such an
obnoxious store, it was stocked with relatively high quality and attractive pieces. Luckily for him,
the whole set was rather simple as well, and he made quick work of a few pebbles Tracey handed
him. While they wouldn't last as long as the permanent transfigurations Tom could pull off, he was
confident that a decade or so would be long enough for Tracey to eventually get bored of or lose
the jewelry.

“There you are.”

He dropped the delicate chain and matching silver hoops into her outstretched hands, getting a
happy ‘you're the best!’ and a peck on the cheek in return. Harry rubbed the spot grumpily, wishing
people would just ask before forcing affection on him. He didn't notice the angry glimmer in
Draco’s eyes or the fire glancing across his fingers.

Harry really needed to get more observant with people’s emotions, or his obliviousness might come
back to bite him one day.

All Draco could pay attention to was Tracey’s lips planting firmly on Harry’s cheek, as well as the
roar of a forest fire as it tore through his self-control. Even Harry’s icy presence couldn't stop him
from overflowing with an unfamiliar anger that made him want to reach out and flay Tracey alive.

Gripping Harry’s sleeve tightly, he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down before something
bad happened. As he did so, Harry dragged him back to the group, obviously oblivious to Draco’s
quickly souring mood.

For such a genus, he sure can be stupid.

Draco tried to rationalize his frustration and bring his internal fire back down to a reasonable level
of heat. It didn't work that well, as Tracey seemed insistent on obnoxiously admiring the necklace
and earrings she now sported, dangling them in Greengrass’ face like they weren’t just measly
pebbles.

Deep breaths, Malfoy. She’s just a scandal baby, her parents likely couldn't shower her with
expensive jewelry like the rest of you. It is perfectly reasonable for her to admire relatively
expensive jewelry. Harry is nice, he went for a cheap alternative. He didn't actually buy her
expensive jewelry. Deep. Breaths.

He tried to replicate the breathing exercises Harry had him practice in the forbidden forest during
October. He calmed momentarily, rationalizing his anger and stamping it down as if a particularly
unpleasant bug under his heel.

Tracey is obviously interested in Theo, and Harry never shows interest in anyone. She does not
want him, he does not want her. Deep. Breaths.

The raging forest fire was contained momentarily, and Draco breathed one more sigh of relief.

This can't keep happening to me.

It was becoming next to impossible to focus on anything except for what Harry was doing or who
Harry was talking to or figuring out what the stupid beautiful idiot was going to do to get himself
nearly killed this time. Perhaps he’ll make some trousers out of fish and wade into grindylow
infested waters? Draco honestly wouldn't put it past the boy, if by some miracle Harry managed to
live to adulthood, Draco would heavily consider the possibility of higher powers being at play.
Perhaps there was a ‘what will Harry Potter do next?’ bingo going on up in the heavens, it would
certainly explain a few things.

Honestly, if Draco wasn't already basically albino, he would be getting grey hairs.

Breaking him out of his stupor was a shout from Blaise, as he was pulled along by his ear. “Oi
Daph, you're not forcing me into that pink prison!”

The Greengrass heiress seemed intent on doing so regardless, and Blaise was rather forcefully
shoved into Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. The poor bloke.

“Right then, are we splitting up? I've got to get more quills anyhow.”

Rather quickly Theo was off, with Tracey following closely behind. The girl's crush was rather
obvious if your last name wasn’t Nott, so everytime the two interacted was painful for everyone
else, mostly because of Tracey’s obvious pining and Theo’s obvious ignorance to the fact.

Draco sighed incrementally, this was shaping up to be a rather straining trip, who knows what
might happen now that the only thing holding Harry back from doing something foolhardy was
Draco’s considerably smaller body.

“Snuffles?”

He looked up to the boy, confused, and followed his line of sight to a frankly massive wolf, which
appeared as though it had been caught at the scene of a crime. It was black, and mangey, quite
obviously a mutt, and since it was prowling around the back of Honeydukes like some sort of omen
of death, he could only assume that it was going to be a problem.

It also looked extremely guilty about something, or as guilty as a dog could look.

That was not a good sign.

“You know that dog?”

Harry nodded, a peculiar look on his face. “Yea, I found ‘im in Surrey this summer.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose, “you mean that muggle area an hour from london? The one that's in Britain
and not… Scotland?”

“Thus my confusion, Dray.”

The dog gave out a whine before taking off in the other direction, Harry quickly making chase.

“Bloody-”

Draco cursed his taste in men before following the pair as fast as he was able, but Harry had always
been absurdly athletic for a guy who never seemed to exercise, and his obnoxiously long legs
helped keep him a considerable distance from the Malfoy heir.

“I'm going to rip you a new one once I catch you, Potter!”

Harry darted over a fallen log blocking his path, now firmly into the forest and seemingly on the
path to reach the shrieking shack. He kept a steady pace that managed to match Padfoot’s, jumping
over rotting wood and the occasional poorly placed boulder. He had been meaning to talk to the
man, but other than shadows of a wolf on the edge of the forbidden forest or the occasional howl in
the dead of night, it seemed that Sirius had been keeping a much lower profile than he had in
Harry’s last life. While that was good in some respect, it made things difficult when he actually
wanted to find the bastard.

He realized that bolting off with Draco right there to bear witness was most likely not the best
thing to do, as the shorter boy had been making a considerable effort to keep Harry from doing
anything of considerable substance. Hell, he hadn't even been able to test his mystery potion on
anyone yet because he had to beg permission just to walk the bloody halls on his own.
Realistically, Harry understood the other boy’s anxiety, and felt quite a large amount of guilt over
making him worry, but there were things that he needed to get done; and sitting around pretending
to be the picture perfect snooty slytherin was not the way to go about doing said things.

Leaping over a precarious bolder, Harry whooped with glee, this was what he had been missing the
past week: adrenalin.

“Come on now Snuffles, no need to run!” Padfoot woofed in reply, speeding up as Harry laughed
gleefully.

It seemed like Draco couldn't get his wish of having Harry stay out of trouble for much longer than
a week at a time.

The forest ended abruptly and Harry found himself sprinting out into a familiar clearing, the
shrieking shack merely a couple acres away. Padfoot skidded to a stop, and Harry nearly fell over
him in a pitiful attempt to do the same. The grimm whined and darted to the left, running off to a
different path that would eventually lead back to Hogsmeade. Harry almost followed chase, but
stopped, instead just watching the old dilapidated shack on the distant hill carefully, the grimm
sprinting back into the woods as if Harry was still following after.

Something felt strange about the shrieking shack, even from this distance Harry felt the need to go
closer, and so he did, ignoring Padfoot as he ran back and tried to pull Harry the other direction.
The animagus whined and growled, tugging at Harry’s trouser leg and generally being annoying,
but it only made Harry more assured in his need to press on, even as Draco’s familiar yelling
assaulted his ears.

“Bloody hell Potter, get away from that thing, it's gone mad!”

Harry sighed, grabbing Padfoot by the scruff of his neck and summoning a collar and leash.

“Here, hold onto this.” Passing the leash to Draco, a struggling Padfoot was collared and forced
still as Harry continued forward.

“You’re not really going up there, are you?”

“I'll be right back.”

Harry broke out into a jog, ignoring the crazed barking from the grimm or the struggling curses
from Draco as he fought to keep the dog still. All of that became background noise as he jumped
the pathetic fence that lined the property and ran up to the half destroyed front door, slipping
inside.

His nose was automatically assaulted with the smell of a decaying body, making him stumble back
in shock. There lied a corpse, that was certain, though who it was he could only guess. It appeared
to have been tortured rather heavily, lacerations flaying its reddened skin and cutting deep into now
visible organs. Rats and flies and maggots crawled over the vast majority of the skin, eating at the
face and eyes and fingers. He gulped down air, gagging at the smell, as he poked his head out into
the fresh air.

This was not what good human meat was supposed to smell like.

Throwing his arm over his nose, he crept forward, his curiosity over who it could be overriding his
nausea. Dead and decomposing bodies didn't bother him, but by merlin did that smell foul, in such
a cramped space the rotting smell had been left to seep into every crevice and take over the place,
having no way of escaping the house.

Bending down, he reached for the left arm, already having a clue of who this could be. Grasping
the fabric, he pulled the sleeve upward, revealing reddened skin and aggressive lacerations.

And the dark mark.

Harry coughed, stumbling back as the putrid smell seemed to surge towards him. The corpse was
Pettegrew then, that explained how Sirius knew it was there. He didn't feel much sympathy for the
man, though Padfoot could have been smarter about the placement of incremental evidence
towards his exploits. Regardless though, Harry didn't have enough respect for the rat to have any
inclination to bury him, and could understand if that was the reason he was left to rot here by Sirius
as well.

It was rather rude to leave such a nasty-smelling present for Lupin though.

A whine sounded from the door, and Harry looked to Padfoot, who whined again.

“Good on you, Sirius.”

There was only a brief moment where the stared at each other, before the animagus took off out the
door. Harry sighed, for supposedly being a Gryffindor, Sirius could be quite the coward when
facing emotional family issues. Though that did seem rather on brand for the Black heir, all things
considered.

Harry closed his eyes and thought, his arm still covering his nose, he should probably just leave,
there was nothing worth taking from the shack and Pettegrew deserved to rot. Before he was able
to do a thing however, Draco shoved through the door, cussing at the rotting smell.

“What on circe’s green earth-”

The shorter boy stumbled, throwing his arm over his nose as he made direct eye contact with the
corpse. Harry could see the very moment something snapped in him, and fell backwards on instinct
as sparks danced across the other boys arms.

“Dray-”

Flames surged forward.

Draco was… so tired of always having to chase after Harry.

The blasted dog had nearly managed to yank his arm out of socket, and Draco, feeling vindictive,
just let the mutt go, trudging after it angrily as it sprinted up to the blasted shrieking shack. His
agitation was skyrocketing, the snow underfoot melting instantaneously as the heat pulsing off of
him warmed the surrounding air several degrees. He jumped the fence, jogging slightly as the
stupid mutt ran back past him, tail between its legs.
 “Stupid thing…”

He mumbled more harsh words about Harry and his impulsiveness and how he really should have
just let the bastard run of to get killed as he moved to the dilapidated front door of the shrieking
shack.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

“What on circe’s green earth-”

It smelt like nothing Draco had ever registered before, foul and unearthly in a way that was so
unlike how life was supposed to be. Throwing his arm up, he came face to face with death. It was
incomprehensible, the smell itself made his eyes water, but that reddened skin, the caked blood…

Gods, there were so many bugs.

No one ever said that about rotting corpses, how much filth surrounded what should have been a
pure thing. A departed soul being bastardized and spit on by decomposition, left as nothing more
than grotesque meat and organs. Flesh falling off the bone as rats scurried about and decimated the
already morbid scene.

Something snapped inside him, and all the stress unfurled into wings of fire.

His vision was overtaken by red.

Chapter End Notes

Everyone talks about possessive Harry, but did they ever consider jealous Draco? Hm,
thought so. Also, this is going to be a two parter, because I've realized that (this being
a pivotal point in Harry and Draco's relationship) I need to add as much detail to the
ensuing chaos as possible.

Now, I promised an analysis of what the wendigo meant with the specific sounds it
used last chapter, and I wont dissapoint:

His mother crying-The memory of his mother pleading for his life is still a traumatic
one, and here it represents not only emotional anguish, but traumatic memories.

An old man’s sigh-Dumbledore, enough said, the man was the core reason for Harry's
breakdown and the reason the wendigo insisted on keeping the memory as well as
trashing the headmasters office.

His own screams-Harry's internal pain, this shows how the memory of gryffindor
tower would affect Harry once he remembered it, and shows the wendigo's reasoning
for keeping the memory from him. The spirit and Harry may be (mostly) magically
and mentally separate from each other, but the wendigo still reacts to more heightened
emotions of Harry's and does things to negate the effects said emotions have on him.

In the end, the wendigo basically said, "this memory is emotionally agonizing, and
holds things about Dumbledore that would reawaken a lot of internal pain for you, so
nah I don't really want to give to back, sorry squirt."
 We Didn't Start the Fire pt.2
Chapter Summary

Fire can burn away at more than physical things, they can burn away inhibitions and
self-security, tearing away at carefully placed walls till there is nothing left but raw
skin, bone, and emotions. Fire can also be freeing, allowing previously hidden secrets
to be thrown headfirst into the limelight.
This fire however, took far more than it gave.

Chapter Notes

Alternative summary:
Harry gets roasted by Draco, both literally and fIguratively.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Previously:

No one ever said that about rotting corpses, how much filth surrounded what should have
been a pure thing. A departed soul being bastardized and spit on by decomposition, left as
nothing more than grotesque meat and organs. Flesh falling off the bone as rats scurried
about and decimated the already morbid scene.

Something snapped inside him, and all the stress unfurled into wings of fire.

His vision was overtaken by red.

Harry fell to the floor, his panic combining with a surge of adrenalin snapping a connection into
place, a blizzard rising up from somewhere deep inside his heart. Throwing his arms out, ice shot
out and encased his body in a protective dome of thick ice. He heard it crack loudly as the waves
of fire rolled off of Draco. Harry grit his teeth, somewhat losing himself to the spirit as his wendigo
surged up to double his efforts and stay safe.

“Draco! Damnit Dray, it's just a bloody corpse.”

He could see the fire was still blazing outwards from Draco’s body, who appeared through the
splintering ice to have fallen to his knees. Harry grunted, pushing against the glacial dome in an
effort to get somewhere other than the wooden floor, which was cracking and charring quickly
regardless of his efforts. His mind started racing, what could he use besides his own ice to stop the
fire?

Think damnit. You’re better than this Potter.

If he didnt work fast, the fire would blaze out of control and (if the roof didn't cave in first) he and
Draco would either suffocate on the smoke or-in Harry’s case-burn to a crisp. Rolling onto his
stomach, Harry felt the beginnings of antlers press through his skin.
God DAMNIT you piece of shite this is NOT the time.

“Okay Potter, you can make ice out of basically nothing, what else can you freeze and make
useful?”

Pressing both hands into the rickety floor beneath him, Harry fortified the planks with ice, creating
something of an igloo with no exit that was melting and freezing simultaneously, as the heat on the
outside and the cold on the inside fought against each other.

Fire burned up oxygen to create carbon dioxide, which was asphyxiant, meaning it could
extinguish the fire if there was enough of it in a concentrated area. The problem with that was that
the carbon dioxide was escaping the house instead of staying in place and extinguishing the blaze.
So, if he set up a thick enough ice dome around the shack, it was reasonable to assume that he
could just let the fire burn itself up with no harm done, the shrieking shack was rather pitiful
anyway, so the only one losing anything would be Lupin. The only problem with that idea was that
he would have to first remove himself from the shack and then deal with the likely possibility of
Draco suffocating to death from lack of oxygen, or the shack collapsing in on him.

“That’s a no then-ah hell.”

He slammed his hand onto the side of his see-through igloo, shoving the ice magic outward and
fortifying a section that was about to melt through. There was also the possibility of trying to get
Draco out before he put up the dome, but there really wouldn't be any point of trying to put out the
fire if there was no one inside that needed saving.

“Okay, so I have to put out the fire instantly, not just by letting it go out by lack of oxygen.”

There were a few possibilities, but most of them involved encasing the house in ice which had
already been proven to be a shite idea.

Think Potter, THINK.

“This is fine-” a flaming beam crashed down onto his igloo, “-dammit! You literally studied
chemistry and the periodic table for an entire bloody year just to spite Tom, you know this shite,
just think.”

Carbon dioxide when frozen forms dry ice, which is extremely good at putting out fires, and would
work much better with his skill set than the gas state would be. So, technically, if he managed to
gather up enough of the gas, he could reasonably expect to make a good portion of dry ice and put
out enough of the fire to make himself a path towards Draco and safety. In the event that oxygen
continued to be relatively available he could consider the fire an infinite supply of dry ice, and just
keep making more of it. The only thing to do, of course, is confirm that Draco was done being a
human candlestick.

A glance towards the boy proved that the fireballs shooting out of his body had tapered down into
flames flickering off his now exposed back, wings, and arms. If Harry could probably send him
tumbling out of the door a mere foot away, but considering the rather large and rather hot support
beam that was currently trying to burn a hole in his igloo, that was unlikely to be all that good of an
idea.

Trying to calm down as his magic worked aggressively to keep him safe as the-equally aggressive-
wendigo tried to wrangle control away from him, Harry started expanding the ice igloo so that
there was more space for him to work with. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and slought out
the carbon dioxide in the air outside of the bubble, working mostly on instinct as his magic urged
the molecules closer and closer together by freezing the gaseous compound. It needed his full
attention, as Harry honestly didn't know if it would even work, so the amount of time he had till his
igloo of safety fully melted became shorter and shorter. Once he got the hang of it though, he
quickly started seeing steaming ice form above the flames in the air, gathering more and more
mass as the hot carbon dioxide rose to meet the quickly cooling molecules above.

“Alright Dray, hold out a few more seconds for me.”

He was so close to having enough ice to clear a path towards the boy, and was about to move it all
into a workable path when his heart dropped to his stomach, a large cracking sound alerting him to
the igloo splintering under the fallen beam. He had no time to react as another crack shattered the
left side of his protections, the still-burning beam falling fard onto his left shoulder. Wincing
against the pain, Harry started to move, his magic understanding his intent and throwing what of
the dry ice had been created in a path towards Draco. He was moving as it hit the floor, barreling
through the quickly narrowing path towards the door. He heard another crack from above and felt
a glacial wind slam into his back, throwing him forward just as a large beam fell into the spot he
vacated. Reaching out, Harry grit his teeth as his hand closed around Draco’s burning arm, yanking
the both of them out of the collapsing building and into the snow. Harry threw the other boy back
first into snow, the fire on his back, shoulders, and wings fizzling out as the frozen water
enveloped them.

Harry didn’t give himself enough time to celebrate the near brush with death, even if he wouldn’t
die from the fire, it would still burn like a bloody bastard-as the pain in his hand and shoulder were
any indication of. Grabbing the still quite hot shoulder of Draco’s prone form with his not burned
left hand, Harry lifted the boy easily enough and threw him over his uninjured right shoulder,
trekking quickly down the snowy slope and far enough away from the blaze to consider it safe.

Letting Draco fall to the snow in a heap, Harry collapsed as well, finally letting himself feel the
pain from his injuries. His right hand was viciously burned from literally sticking it into fire in
order to grasp ahold of Draco, and he doubted that episkey-which was only really meant to heal
minor injuries like a broken nose-would do much for second and third degree burns like the ones
on his hand and shoulder. Using ice to sooth the pain was also out, since the cold would only injure
his cells further, so Harry settled to use the unyielding pain to fuel his intense annoyance with
Sirius Fucking Black. It would be a pain in the ass to brew the burn-healing paste one handed, and
until that happened he would have to somehow get the considerably naked Draco some clothes and
repair his own, as well as wrap the burns.

Making sure not to touch the snow with his right hand, Harry slowly climbed to his feet, noting
with morbid relief that his shoulder was so burned that his nerves had been destroyed past the point
of pain, and while the edges still stung his hand was the only thing that really felt all that injured.
Even with the nerve damage syphoning off a lot of the pain, he was still not in particularly good
shape, and he glared half heartedly down at Draco, trying to be mad but not having it in him.
Sighing, long drawn out and tired, he trudged over to the treeline in search of sticks to transfigure
into proper clothes for the boy, shrugging off his ruined leather jacket as he went. Glancing down
at the thing, he noticed with distaste that Draco’s fire had somehow melted the cheap metal of the
decorative spikes into his shoulder, and Harry felt extremely unenthusiastic about attempting to
pull the slowly solidifying metal and leather from his partially destroyed flesh.

Whatever, magic could heal most wounds, and it was really of no consequence if it ended up
scaring anyway, he had more important things to worry about than another potential
disfigurement.
Theo could feel to his bones that Draco and Harry were getting up to something potentially lethal,
but couldn't bring himself to try and hunt them down and put a stop to it.

Instead, he continued to ponder his classes as he strode through shelves of stationary, occasionally
picking up elaborate quills and enchanted journals. Nothing held up to his standards however, and
Theo was feeling more and more sure that he wouldn't be buying anything after all.

His classes it would seem, were relatively fine, all things considered, except for the small detail of
Trelawney being a complete and utter psycho. The woman had taken one look at him from behind
her massive glasses and instantly dubbed him a ‘soul tortured by fate’ whatever the hell that meant,
and from that day forward seemed insistent on trying to get him to admit to all of his rather
upsetting visions.

As it was, Theo really did NOT enjoy her class.

It wasn't even that Trelawney was a bad teacher-even though she was-it was just that she was so
sadistically insistent on having him relive horrible experiences in a way of proving to the rest of the
class that divination wasn’t complete and utter hogwash. Considering that the woman herself never
remembered her visions-something that Theo found highly suspect in its own right-but she seemed
to latch onto any other seers as if communing with a celebrity, which was not only obnoxiously
unprofessional but just downright rude, he honestly believed the rumors of her being a hack.

If Theo didn’t need a NEWT in divination, he would have stormed out by now, but it seemed he
would have to grin and bear her nonsense for another four years.

Theo sighed, picking up another ornate quill made of an unnecessarily large and gold encrusted
eagle feather. Honestly, the only people who actually wrote with quills like that were pompous
prats, a Malfoy man, or both.

“Found something interesting?”

He turned to Tracey, who was looking over his shoulder at the quill with curiosity.

“Nah, just an early birthday present for Draco.”

She snickered as he carefully placed it back on the shelf, eyes following the movement as she
studied his face.

“Have you been sleeping well, Theo?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he went to bed earlier than three am, “yea, why?”

“You've got some rather nasty undereye bags.”

She then pointed the out with her finger, as if he didn’t already know.

“Probably just my naturally unappealing appearance.”

She screwed up her nose, looking him up and down as if proving a point, he raised an eyebrow in
response.

“Very funny, pretty boy, now are you sure you’ve been getting enough sleep?”

“Positive.”

She looked like she didn't believe a word he said, but instead of pressing him simply rolled her eyes
and strolled off to another part of the store, humming a song off-tune as she went. Theo turned
back to the quills with a slightly more sour mood, his fingers brushing across the feathers. The
feeling that Draco and Harry had done something potentially lethal came back full force, and he
wondered if it was such a good idea to leave the mentally unstable and emotionally constipated
soulmates alone together.

“Oh merlin…”

Turning sharply, he made his way to the door, hoping that he could find them before something
burned down.

Harry watched the shrieking shack fall into a heap of burning wood with a feeling of tired
acceptance, observing the gnarled old kindling as he wrapped summoned bandages around his right
hand. His shoulder would be hard to cover on his own, but once Draco woke up the boy could help
him with it. Grunting, he used a well placed cutting curse on the bandage, stuffing the end into the
wrap so it would all stay firm.

A pitiful-sounding whine came from a few yards away to his left, and Harry glanced towards
Padfoot, who had been chained up on a tree for what Harry had dubbed ‘timeout for the idiot’.
Honestly, it was the man’s own fault for coming back to the scene of his crime with witnesses in
tow, and it was breaching on insanity to come back to see if all was a-okay when Harry was so
obviously burned and extremely pissed off. He glared at the mutt, who covered his eyes with his
paws and continued to whine.

If Sirius was hellbent on committing murder, the least he could do was be smart about it.

Harry looked down at his mended leather jacket with a sigh. He had managed to fix the melted
hole in the leather, so all he really needed to do was find some metal to permanently transfigure
into some spikes so it would be complete again.

There was a groan to his right, and Harry threw some trousers and pants in Draco’s direction,
trying to forget the sight of the boy’s rather exposed rear end. There was some shuffling as the
sleepy Draco pulled them on, grumbling about ‘everything hurts’ and ‘it's so bloody cold’ and ‘my
balls have been sucked back up into my bloody pelvis’. Harry snorted at that one.

“What the ‘ell happened... Harry?”

The boy’s words were slurred, and the taller teen silently passed a warm jumper and coat over
instead of answering, grabbing for the summoned bandages he had dropped to the snow. Sirius
whined again, eyes still covered by his paws.

It was quiet except for the rustling of fabric as Draco got dressed in the warm clothes, still
grumbling on about the cold and his wings and other such inconsequential things. He became
considerably more lucid however, when he looked up to see Harry peering down at him with a
horrific and obviously lethal burn on his shoulder.

That sight sent the poor Malfoy heir into panic mode.

Sure, Harry couldn't really die from injuries, and as the burn didn’t hurt anymore from the nerve
damage, he was feeling relatively alright, but third degree burns were extremely vulnerable to
sepsis, which could very easily kill someone. Luckily for Harry, he was immune to disease,
infection, and pretty much everything else, so sepsis wasn’t a concern for him. Unluckily for
Harry, Draco didn't know that.
“Harry-fuck, what happened?!”

Draco seemed like he wanted to reach out to the (frankly, horrific looking) burn and help some
way, but they both knew he had no idea how to do any healing spells and Harry had never bothered
since his first life, so Draco just stood there looking more and more stressed.

“Well… You saw a corpse, went ballistic, and burned down the shrieking shack while we were
still inside.”

Draco went a worrying shade of ashen gray, whipping around just as the last of the shack’s frame
fell to the dirt with the rest of the rubble.

“Oh merlin…”

“I got us both out before the entire thing went down, but a beam fell on my shoulder at some point
and the arm I grabbed to pull you out was on fire, so you got me pretty good in that respect as
well.”

Harry was quickly realizing that he should stop talking and start comforting, as Draco wobbled
slightly, staring down at Harry’s bandaged hand with horror.

“I-I did that…?”

Harry winced, he was awful with emotions. “No-shite. Listen, I can't even feel my shoulder and I
chose to grab you of my own volition. It isn't your fault that your magic lashed out after you saw
something upsetting. Alright? Dray? You can't blame yourself for this.”

“Of course I can!”

“Dray-”

“I'm not free from all guilt, Potter. If something is my fault, fucking let it be MY FAULT!”

Harry reared back as if slapped, watching with wide eyes as Draco paced around in the snow like a
wounded animal, obviously scared but more vindictive than Harry had ever seen him.

“You seem to have a good enough grip on your creature, which must just be bloody fantastic-”
Harry winced, thinking of the budding antlers hidden by his hair. “-but this veela is messing with
me FOOKIN mind okay?! I don’t know what the fookin hell ’m supposed to do when every little
hint of anger makes me go fookin’ BALLISTIC!”

Harry had never seen Draco angry, and couldn't quite comprehend the sudden change from his
usual Queen's English to something... well he wouldn't say it was Cockney but it was worryingly
close-and was frankly too shocked to really register anything besides the fact that the boy was, in
fact, very angry.”

“Draco I know you're mad-”

“Oh ‘m mad am I?”

Yes, and worryingly cockney.

“Listen-”

“You’ve got a bloody bone showing through tha fookin burns in yer shoulder and ‘m jus’ supposed
to fookin’ listen-”
“Merlin Draco-”

“What the absolute hell is going on over here!?”

They both whipped around, catching sight of an erate Theo storming up the path towards them.
Harry felt dread pool low in his chest. Great, now two short, angry boys will yell at him in tandem
as his skin rots. Lovely.

“Theo-”

“What the hell happened to the shrieking shack?” He looked to Harry and raised his eyebrows in
alarm. “-and what the hell happened to you?”

Harry sucked in air through his teeth, explaining quickly and all in one breath, still slightly scared
of pissing either of them off further. “Well, Draco burned the shack down while we were still
inside and now his accent is changing… please help.”

Theo looked completely baffled, glancing over at Draco with something akin to surprise. “I
thought your mother made you take lessons to correct that-”

“Oh shove off, Nott.”

“Lessons?”

Theo took a breath. “Well when we were kids he had this nanny-”

“I said shove off!”

Harry took a step back, looking between the two considerably shorter boys with trepidation. He
could barely handle the new monster that was angry Draco, and he honestly doubted that he would
survive getting in the middle of him and Theo. If they wanted to scream it out, Harry was happy to
run the other direction at this point, his burns were really starting to bother him.

Theo however, seemed even less inclined to want an argument, and just turned from Draco,
focusing his attention onto Harry once more.

“You know what? I don't want to know what sort of shite you lot have gotten up to, but I’ll be the
responsible one and clean up the mess. Now, we are getting you-” he pointed his finger at Harry, “-
to Professor Snape so he can heal those burns, and you-” he turned and pointed to Draco, “-into a
warm bath so you can calm the ‘ell down.”

Harry grumbled a bit, the less Snape knew the happier he was, but as this really only related to
Draco’s creature-which Snape already knew of-he was less concerned about revealing the situation
to the man. Regardless, Snape probably had some burn-healing paste lying around somewhere
anyway, and Harry would really prefer not to have to brew it himself. Draco, who was thankfully
calming down as well, nodded stiffly.

“Would one of you at least help me wrap this?”

The other two boys seemed to realize in tandem that his burned shoulder probably shouldn't be
exposed to the leather of his fixed jacket, or the air. Theo snatched the bandages from Harry’s
outstretched arm, and had him sit down on the snow as he firmly wrapped the shoulder.

Harry stood once he was finished, pulling the jacket on slowly as to not stress his muscles, Theo
nodded absentmindedly.
 “I’m sure the others will understand if we leave early. Gather up your things you two, we’re
leaving, now.”

Theo waited for Harry to untie Padfoot as Draco stood there blankly, foot tapping as he gave the
animagus one more pointed look before he darted back off into the wilderness.

"Done?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming..."

Theo started forward, and the other two followed soberly behind. Draco sank into a quiet,
reflective mood as Harry fidgeted.

He looked to the shorter boy, feeling that he haven't said enough, hadn't explained as he should
have. Tentatively, he reached out with his left hand. “Dray…”

“What.”

He winced at the tone, but pressed on. “Even if you are at fault for this, I just can’t put the blame
on you, because… because I do understand Dray, it's eating me alive.”

Gray met green, fire met ice. Draco sighed, and met Harry halfway, grasping his outstretched hand
firmly.

You can put the blame on your own shoulders, but others will always be there to help carry
the burden.

Chapter End Notes

Introducing......... Genus!Harry at his best! I wanted to show off some of Harry's more
muggle science inclined knowledge and how it can benefit him in the magical world. I
honestly had a lot of fun researching if this was actually possible with the magical
powers the two of them have and since the science checks out it I can reasonably
confirm that Draco and Harry now have a combo move: Dry Ice Machine.

Also, as I doubt it was explicitly said in the fic, I'll just say it here. I like to think that
Draco had a nanny as a child with a thick cockney accent, so he had to be kept so
secluded from people growing up because his accent was utterly atrocious. I've
allowed that headcanon to bleed over into this fic since its just too funny and also
helps soften the emotional pain slightly, but I don't think I really made that explicitly
clear.
 Inconsequential
Chapter Summary

If you realized that you were a stepping stone for greater forces, would you submit to
your fate, or fight against it tooth and nail?
It seems that parts of Tom Riddle would disagree on the answer.

Chapter Notes

Warning: Gore, descriptions of 4th degree burns, idk there's a fight scene in there too
(does that really need a warning tho?)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Professor Snape had looked unbelievably tired when the trio of third years trapezed through his
door, appearing as if they were just out of a war zone. Snape had seemed about ready to drink
himself into a coma when they had explained what had happened, and had actually pulled out a
bottle of firewhiskey when Harry revealed the extent of his injuries.

“With all due respect, Mr. Potter, how the bloody hell are you still lucid?”

Harry shrugged his good shoulder in response, his left hand still grasping Draco’s firmly. “To be
completely honest sir, the nerve damage is doing wonders for my overall pain.”

After a shot glass of Ogden’s finest, Snape sat him down on a stool and carefully examined the
wounded shoulder, cursing under his breath occasionally as he went.

“Well… not only do you have rather large patches of copper and leather melted into your charred
flesh, but most of the skin, fat, and muscle surrounding your collarbone, including your
supraspinatus muscle, have been either completely destroyed or heavily injured. I would say with
the exceptional heat of a Veela’s fire, as well as the metal spikes on your ridiculous jacket, you’re
facing grotesque fourth-bordering on fifth-degree burns. If it weren't for your magic somehow
keeping your skin from decaying right off your body and the considerable amount of nerve that
you possess, I would suggest you go the easy route and just get the entire chunk of injured tissue
amputated, and by extension your arm. Sadly, since you always insist on being difficult, I suppose
you’ll need a fair amount of muscle, skin, and nerve regeneration potions along with extremely
potent burn paste instead. And, honestly Potter, it would shock and astound me if you managed to
walk away from this without a painfully obvious and obnoxiously large scar covering most of your
shoulder and collar, regardless of what I may be able to do to heal you.”

Harry winced, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant prognosis, but not unsurprising considering the
circumstances.

“I suppose that's fair.”

Draco croaked, “you bloody wot?”

The boy had gone ashy, and Theo looked as though he was going to be sick. Harry honestly didn't
blame either reaction, but didn't really know what to say in regards to them. He shrugged again,
watching with interest as his exposed collar bone moved with the motion.

“You ok mate? Having a scar that big would be rather… well, big.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “if you haven't noticed Theo, I am well versed in living life with large
visible scars maring my flesh. At least I can cover up my shoulder if it gets too much attention, my
face is fat out of luck.”

Snape seemed to agree with his thought process, and while his two friends contemplated his words,
the professor started to jolt down what ingredients would be necessary to bring up from his storage.
Harry didn't expect the other boys to fully understand what it had been like for him to have a huge
scar trailing down his face for his entire life, so he didn't feel all that insulted that they had never
thought about it. Snape seemed to understand though, which was a strange thing to say, but having
the mark of a madman on his arm would give credence to that sympathy at the very least. Thinking
about it, Harry supposed that he himself had been branded in a similar way as the Death Eaters
had, except as an opposition instead of a follower of Voldemort.

“Right then professor, do you have all the needed potions or should I wait here while you brew
them?”

Snape raised a single eyebrow. “Muscle regenerative is costly in both my time and money, Potter.”

“So shall I pay upfront or just send the bill to gringotts?”

Snape muttered something about rich kids before kicking the other two slytherins out, saying that
it was unnecessary for them to stand around and dot on Harry as he was getting treated. Once the
door had been firmly slammed on the boys’ faces, the professor slunk off to a side room, no doubt
to plunder through his healing potions for the necessary balms and brews. As he did so, Harry
looked down and started to unwrap his hand, wanting to observe the burns on his palm for any
changes in their condition. Examining the tender skin, he found that besides some redness and a
considerable amount of swelling, it was doing just fine.

“Don’t tell me your hand is injured as well.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Snape, “it's just a second degree burn in the very least, my shoulder is
much more of an issue.”

The door to the side room slammed shut as Snape raised an eyebrow, carrying with him a large
array of phials filled with varying hues of potion and one jar containing a thick, orange paste. The
professor glanced at Harry’s palm with something akin to annoyance, before uncorking the jar and
handing it to the boy with a sneer. Harry just thanked him and set it on his knee, using his left hand
to slather his right palm and fingers in the thick paste. As he did so, Snape prepared the various
potions for consumption, occasionally voicing his distaste of having idiotic morons in his house.
Harry executed a considerable amount of restraint in ignoring him.

Wiping his fingers of the paste, he put the lid back on the jar and set it on the nearby desk, taking
one of the potions as it was handed to him. Gulping it down, Harry grimaced, it was a horrid
yellow color and tasted like bottled sweat, so it was likely the muscle regenerative. Snape took the
phial and replaced it with another one. Harry looked at it with a constipated expression, it was the
nerve regenerative, lovely. The potion would work instantaneously, sewing his nerves back
together and quickly mending the burned tissue. The only problem was as his nerves started to
heal, they would quickly realize that something was Very Wrong and start sending all sorts of
signals to his brain, all conveying that he was supposed to be in an obnoxious amount of pain.

Basically, it was liquid agony when you had an injury as large and lethal as his.

“Oh just drink it, Potter.”

“With all due respect professor, piss off.”

He took a deep breath, before chugging down the foul, gritty liquid in one gulp. Clenching his
teeth together, he squeezed his eyes shut as he started to feel the full extent of his injuries for the
first time.

You have survived the cruciatus curse, you can survive one measly burn.

Harry grunted, and cracked an eye open in an effort to adapt to the pain. Taking a deep breath, he
winced slightly as his visible collarbone became much less cool and much more horrifically
painful. Momentarily victorious in his fight against his pain tolerance, Harry handed the empty
potion bottle to an incredibly impressed Severus Snape, who wordlessly replaced it with the skin
regenerative. That one went down much easier, and Harry got to enjoy the feeling of his muscles,
nerves, and skin renotting back together.

It, truthfully, was incredibly unenjoyable.

“I suggest, Mr. Potter, that you attempt to keep Mr. Malfoy calmer in the future.”

Harry glanced at the professor, watching the man as he slathered the thick burn paste onto his
slowly healing shoulder.

“Duly noted.”

After being shoved out of Snape’s office, Draco bombarded him with questions about his injuries,
asking if he was ok, or if he was going to die, or if his shoulder was healed now-the typical
worried Draco nonsense. Harry had insisted that he was just fine, and that Snape had said he would
be all healed up within the week. His words seemed to placiate the blond in some manner, though
Harry continued to be watched carefully during his week of recovery.

And what a week it was.

All of the school had heard about how the shrieking shack had mysteriously burned down, and
how there had been an ‘unidentifiable’ human corpse inside. Upon inspection by the ministry, it
was found that the corpse sported a dark mark on its left arm, and the auror force descended into
chaos. Many people (including the minister) wanted to brush the charred body off as Sirius Black,
and they almost did till a particularly sharp auror pointed out that an autopsy might prove without a
shadow of a doubt that it was indeed the azkaban escapee. As it was, the auror departments
forensics division (which was pitiful and woefully underfunded) had worked tirelessly the entire
week and had yet to come back with anything conclusive.

Hogwarts was ripe with rumors about what had happened, gossip ranging from the shack actually
being a dragon nest, to Black having been killed by any number of people as penance for his
crimes, included but not limited to: Hadrian James Potter, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and
(oddly enough) Ronald Weasely. It was theorized that that last name had been snuck in the rumor
mill by the boy himself. In the end though, only slytherin house was aware that Harry and Draco
were somehow responsible for the fire, and they only knew from the rather obvious burn paste the
taller of the two slathered on his shoulder and hand every morning and night. It also helped that
head of house Severus Snape had held a house meeting, explaining that the two were involved in
some way and that he would string them up by their toes if they said a word to anyone. Suffice it to
say, the Slytherin house was both intrigued and warry of the two, much to Draco’s displeasure and
Harry’s indifference.

Only the small friend group of third years knew exactly what had happened that day, as Theo had
forced Harry to explain why exactly he was injured to his worried friends. Strangely, Blaise and
Tracey had been relatively uninterested in hearing about their brush with death, finding the muggle
science Harry had implemented to be a bore. Blaise had silently noted that Harry’s creature had
some sort of correlation with ice, but then ignored everything else that was said. Daphne however,
was absolutely enthralled by the prospect of ‘dry ice’, and wanted to know all about it’s properties
and how it was made. Harry happily sent Hades off to get one of his chemistry books, and
promised Daphne she could read as many of his muggle science books as she pleased.

“Do you know where the seven deadly sins originated from?”

Harry glanced at Luna, mirroring Theo’s equally confused expression.

They were out in the snow, enjoying the cold weather by huddling around the human heater that
was Draco Malfoy. Harry didn't feel all that inclined to try and get warm, but he was the closest to
Draco regardless. None of the three boys had originally expected to run into Luna out there, but
Theo had somehow noticed the tiny girl jumping to get her shoes that were stuck up in an old tree,
and once Harry got them down for her the group all gathered around said tree to enjoy each other's
company.

The Nott heir shifted in place, rubbing his neck uncomfortably as Luna’s innocent doe eyes stared
back at him expectantly. “They appear in christian faith occasionally, yeah?”

Luna nodded, then shook her head. “Yes and no. Of course they are in christianity, used as
harbingers of destruction or other such tosh, but they don’t originate in religion.”

Harry and Theo shared heavy looks, apprehension rising steadily as Luna reared up for an excited
rant. The little second year was a gem, and they both loved her dearly as friends, but she was rather
bonkers and tended to know things about topics that she would be much better off not knowing.

“Oh who gives a shite, Lovegood.”

Draco lounged across the snow, his head resting on a neatly folded cloak right next to Harry’s
thigh. The boy’s mood had been sour towards anyone other than Harry lately, seemingly trying to
keep anyone who could potentially be a threat away from the tall teen, much to Harry’s chagrin.

Theo shot the dramatic boy a nasty look, before turning back around and smiling encouragingly to
Luna. “I’d like to know all about it Luna, please say more.”

She beamed, rubbing mittened hands together in excitement. “Well, seven is a magically powerful
number-as I'm sure you know-and for thousands of years it has had very evil connotations. Have
you ever heard the muggle curse ‘you are the seventh son of a seventh son’? It is actually meant to
plague a person with misfortune because it’s double seven-and! If someone does end up being the
seventh son of a seventh son, they are supposed to have special powers like healing or some such,
really fantastical things like that! Well anyways, I was looking through my mother’s old trunk over
the summer, and found a book about magical numbers and such-but that's not important. Half of
the tome was dedicated to something called the Seven Devils Theorem!”

She paused, watching the three of them with wide eyes, Harry made a ‘go on’ motion with his
hand. Her excited smile got wider, and Harry felt a certain amount of warmth at her momentary
lucidity.

“The Seven Devils Theorem states that as the sins are bred from people, so if you gather seven
people who inhibit the sins’ traits, you will be able to create a group that not only symbolizes the
seven demons, but also embodies them!”

Harry binked, “embodies them…?”

Luna’s eyes bore into his skull, “you know, the people become devil incarnate in a sense.”

Theo seemed deeply concerned about what the girl was saying, and had a look in his eye that
suggested he was drawing a few revolutionary conclusions. Harry could only guess what he was
thinking of, perhaps it was Daphne’s prideful nature, the burning retribution in her eyes as she
looked down her nose at you. Or maybe he was thinking of Draco’s fire, of his anger and burning
wings and wrathful outbursts. Or it could be Luna’s wispy stature, her slumping shoulders and
sleepy eyes. Or maybe…

Well, Harry didn’t let himself entertain the thought any further.

“That’s nice, real morbid and all that, but what’s your bloody point?” Draco grumbled into his
folded cloak, watching tiredly as his hands melted the snow resting in his palm. Luna ignored his
tone, continuing her explanation.

“Well it just sounds awfully fun don't you think? If I had six friends that were willing to take part in
a black magic demonic ritual with me, I would certainly entertain the prospect.”

Harry choked on his own saliva as Theo lunged forward and slammed his gloved hand over her
mouth, Draco started laughing.

“You can't just say things like that.” The Nott heir hissed between his teeth, his hand still
obstructing Luna’s ability to speak. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if
one of the professors had overheard you saying something like that? Even talking about black
magic is practically writing ‘I support Lord fucking Voldemort’ on your forehead!”

Harry was impressed with Theo’s ability to say Tom’s old moniker, but Draco seemed to find much
less appropriate, his eyes steely and narrowed onto the boy.

“Don't say that name, Nott.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What-Voldemort? You don't want people to say Voldemort? That name,
Voldemort, is something you don't want someone to say? Voldemort, that's what-”

Now Draco was the one to slap a mittened hand over someone’s mouth, cutting Harry off in the
middle of his sarcastic tirade. They shared a look, and Draco glairing heatedly at the teen as Harry
dared him to respond to the taunting. Theo sighed, removing his own hand from Luna’s mouth.

“The name isn't something to fear Draco, just the man.”

Draco whipped around, eyes hard and tongue sharp. “The Dark Lord is a monster, not a man, and I
can fear whatever or whomever I like.”

Monster.

Weren't they all monsters in some form or another? Sure, Voldemort was filth that deserved to be
smeared underfoot, but Tom Riddle was a rather… well, again-they were all monsters in some
form or another. Hell, Harry was more monster than human, and Draco quite literally had wings
growing from his back. To say that Voldemort was a monster was an insult to monsters
everywhere.

Luna smiled at Draco kindly, grasping Theo’s gloved hand as she did so.

“All monsters have at least half a soul. So I don't believe Voldemort qualifies for the title.”

As the other two boys grappled with trying to understand her words, Harry’s eyes narrowed in
thought. He had certainly noticed a shift in Tom after he had supposedly absorbed the diary, though
he had brushed the personality shift off till nearly a decade later when Tom felt it prudent to bloody
tell him about the absorption. The idea had credence however, was the loss of so much of his soul
the reason for Voldemort’s insanity? It explained why Tom was trying so desperately to absorb the
other shards, as he now understands the ramifications of horcruxes on his mind and wishes to
correct it in some manner.

He met Luna’s eyes and nodded, silently showing that he understood what she meant, she smiled
sadly in response.

“You’re being difficult, brat.”

“Sod off, you old coot.”

Tom groaned, glaring across the table at Gaunt Ring Tom, who met his eyes with similar hatred.
Despite the horcrux having been created just as the real Tom Riddle had become Head boy, he had
an air of utter arrogance that was difficult to match. Not only that, but the cup horcrux was very
much in agreement with him on the subject of who was more deserving of being the main soul, and
Tom was finding that he hated the pair more and more by the day. Luckily the diadem was, at its
core, a scholar, as it was created when Tom had been traveling the world and still had hope of
becoming the defense against the dark arts professor instead of a murderous dark lord, and was
leaning more in Tom’s favor. The locket, to his annoyance, was practically the same as the Ring,
and despised him with a fiery passion.

As it was, Tom was having some difficulty with his soul shards.

“First of all, I'm only seventy, and you're a little shit who should have no argument in this.”

The Ring screwed up his face nastily, “Why? Since my journal decided to bow down to a lesser
force I now have to as well?”

Tom’s eye twitched, “No, because you are a hormonal teenager with an ego the size of Russia.
Now are you going to meld with me or shall I be off…?”

Regardless of his horcruxes being difficult, Tom also needed to deal with the dictatorial reign of
the wendigo that he now had to live with. He hadn’t spoken with Harry in almost a month, and he
had no bloody clue what was going on with the boy. Every time he did so little as peek his head out
of the door separating them, he could hear the fast approaching screeches of the spirit, and didn’t
want to know what would happen if he waited a few seconds longer for it to arrive. Tom honestly
doubted that the snot-nosed brat across from him would hold up in a fight against one of the
greatest predators known to wizardkind, and was tempted to see what the wendigo would do to
him.

“You are weak, hiding away in the cranium of a child you should have killed in infantacy.”
Or perhaps he would just strangle the little shit and be done with it.

Tom rolled his eyes, leaning back in the plush armchair he inhibited. “What does that say about
you? You are aware that this ring of yours is a deathly hallow, yes?”

The horcrux narrowed his eyes, but nodded anyway.

Oh lovely, we’re finally getting somewhere.

“So you understand that you belong to the master of death?”

A slower, more cautious nod.

“And who might that be?”

An angry glare. “That child is undeserving-”

“Oh just admit you’re a means to an end, horcrux of mine. You are a stepping stone for greater
powers and you should be proud of that.”

The ring sprang to his feet, prowling around the coffee table between them like a lion about to
lunge at a gazelle. “I crawled out from the mud to become something great, something timeless.
You look at me, look at who I have become, look at the king of Slytherin, at Lord Voldemort
himself, and say that he is inconsequential?” The teen hissed threatenly, eyes glimmering with
hate and destruction. An inferno in the making, a demon crawling up from the pits of hell to wreak
havoc on the world. The young man continued. “You are Tom Riddle, a filthy little halfblood
bastard with nothing but half of your soul and a corner of someone else’s mind to occupy.” The
words were spat like venom, as if unclean and foul in the mouth of something much fouler. “Just
watch and wait, you little coward, and you'll get the honor of seeing me rise again.” Pale hands
pressed firmly into the arms of his chair, insanity addled eyes boring into his own, “~and you
won't be able to stop me when I pry the deathly hallows out of your dear Harry Potter’s cold dead
hands.~”

The threat sat in the air and stayed there, angry eyes boring into identical calm ones. Tom raised an
eyebrow, unimpressed.

“If you wish to threaten me, please do so with a scenario that is actually plausible. Really, do you
expect me to believe you are capable of killing him? That you could ever hope to kill the human
embodiment of an immortal cockroach?”

Tom smiled, twisted and cruel and showing the full extent of decades upon decades of horrible
actions and unspeakable horrors. Leaning forward, his eyes gleamed a glowing red of his years
upon years of black, satanic magic. He hissed low, whispering words of truth as the world
imploded behind his eyes.

“~He destroyed me, destroyed Lord Voldemort as a child of one, what could you possibly do
against him?~”

An arm pulled back from where it had gripped one of the chair’s arms, swinging forward and
socking him straight in the jaw. Tom laughed, he had always returned to his muggle roots when
particularly angry. The arm pulled back again, and swung, knocking his head back with the force
of the punch. Tom started to laugh harder.

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!”

 He let the boy have his temper tantrum, sitting back and laughing as the horcrux threw more and
more punches. There was no point in fighting back anyway, he would heal soon enough, and a
black eye was nothing if it meant he got to watch his younger self lose control.

“Are you angry that I’m right? Are you bothered by the fact that we exist on borrowed time?”

“~SHUT UP!~”

He laughed, laughed long and loud and monstrously as the twisted little shard of soul screamed
with fury. A fist cracked against his jaw, dislocating it and making the laughter more garbled as he
choked in pain. He hacked a cough, and lunged forward with a shout, swinging his arm with
greater velocity and sending the teen tumbling to the floor, he felt his knuckles crack on the
impact. Throwing his head back, he breathed a deep breath, giggling with glee. Tom gripped his
jaw, snapping it back into place in one fluid motion before standing, looking down at the groaning
boy with disgust. Prowling forward, he pulled his foot back and kicked the horcrux as hard as he
could in the stomach, watching as he instinctively curled up in response to the bowl. The young
man coughed wetly, scrambling to his feet as he lunged at Tom with raised, bloodied fists.

This was his nature, fighting and screaming and clawing for victory. Blood and fury and hatred,
nothing calm and cordal to it. Tom dodged, bringing his elbow down onto the teen’s collarbone
hard, feeling it snap with a satisfying crunch. A leg kicked out and swiped his knee, and he fell to
the floor with the boy. What started as a stiff conversation quickly turned into an all out, savage
brawl.

Inconsequential indeed.

Chapter End Notes

I missed writing Tom, an even more so missed writing crazy, batshit insane Tom who
watches the world burn while beating up a separate part of his soul for no good reason
other than teen!Tom is a little bitch and deserves to get his stupid pretty face beaten
black and blue.
 Your Life is Worth More than Morals
Chapter Summary

Blaise lays his choices at Daphne's feet, she makes a decision for him.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

This first of December brought an icy chill that swept through the airy castle as if on a warpath,
and as the seconds crept father from November the quiet night was filled with quiet voices as
children warmed their beds with quilts and charms, chattering over hot cocoa in homely common
rooms. Professors settled into their offices, lighting the hearths with the wave of a wand as they
graded papers or wrote out the next month’s lesson plans. Deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts sat
Severus Snape, busying himself with potions as sleep continued to evade him, dreams of red eyes
and green lights haunting him in the dead of night. Up in a tower sat an old man, plotting away as
the heat of a phoenix who sat perched on his shoulder warmed his ancient skin. A tabby cat with
the markings of spectacles around her eyes curled up tightly in a low back chair, sleepily kneading
a decorative blanket and purring gently as a fire crackled. The only one still wandering the halls
was the caretaker, Argus Filch, who shambled along the freezing corridors with a steady footfall,
grumbling about the cold as Mrs. Norris darted along ahead.

Of course, Harry Potter haunted the halls as well, but only the winter storm outside would bear
witness to his exploits.

The wind howled ferociously as the door to the hospital wing squeaked open, an invisible figure
slinking inside silently. The door was then shut with a quiet click. Inside the infirmary was nothing
but rows and rows of beds, only one of which was occupied. The snow outside beat against the
windows as quiet steps clicked against the pale stone underfoot. There was the sound of shuffling,
before a tan hand with unnaturally long fingers appeared from nowhere, as if brushing aside an
invisible curtain, as if space itself was parting like silky fabric. Held aloft in the hand was a phial of
shining, golden liquid, which swirled and glimmered in the light of the moon.

Another hand revealed itself from the invisible fabric and uncorked the phial, before reaching to
the back of Hermione Granger’s neck to hold her head aloft. The hand holding the phial closed in
on the girl, the sleeve of a night shirt peeking out from behind the curtain of empty space as more
of a person was revealed. The girl's lips were parted, and the golden liquid was poured down her
throat, the hand holding her neck massaging the potion down.

Both hands retreated, the muggleborn’s head resting back down onto the pillow as if nothing had
happened, with the hands disappearing from sight. There was the sound of shuffling which was
almost drowned out by the wind, before the hand appeared again at the foot of the bed, this time
holding a wand aloft. The wand was waved in a complicated pattern, a gray light shooting out and
hitting the girl right in the chest. The hand raised higher, and shot off the same spell to the
windows above the girl’s bed. Disappearing once again, the hand and wand vanished into the
empty space as soft footfalls moved from the bed to the door, which soon creaked open just enough
for someone to fit through, before closing with a quiet click.

Hermione Granger’s chest glowed with a shimmering golden light, before dimming back into
normalcy. The infirmary quiete for just a moment as the world seemed to hold its breath… till the
wind gave another strong shove against the windows, finally succeeding in its effort to get inside as
a particularly weak lock broke off as the window slammed open, snow and ice streaming into the
room like freezing water splashing across hot coals.

An alarm sounded in the quarters of Madam Poppy Pomfrey, and the woman woke with a start,
scrambling out of her bed and into the infirmary just in time to see another three windows get
forced open by the unnaturally strong winds. Gasping slightly, the mediwitch waved her wand
towards the glass, frowning in confusion as the large paned windows groaned with effort against
the wind, but didn’t budge.

Cursing under her breath, the woman wrapped her nightgown tighter around her body, speeding
over to the prone girl who was receiving the brunt of the cold and snow. Waving her wand once
more, she groaned in frustration as the girl’s body resisted her magic. Grunting, she yanked at the
bed, finally succeeding in doing something useful as she pulled the bed along, wheeling it away
from the snow and setting the metal headboard against an opposite wall. Leaving for just a
moment, Pomfrey returned with several blankets and quilts, layering them onto the girl in an effort
to adapt to the new issue as it presented itself.

Waving her wand a final time, the mediwitch sighed with relief as a protective sheen enveloped the
girl, protecting her from the snow but not the chill.

“Good enough for the night, I suppose. My apologies in advance, Miss. Granger.”

Considering her job done, Madam Pomfrey spared an annoyed glance to the windows that were
still held firmly against the walls by the bracing wind, contemplating how unnatural the storm
seemed to be. Patting herself down, the woman quickly sped off to her quarters once more, wishing
to get out of the cold that the infirmary was now subjected to. Shutting the door with a click, she
didn't consider the unnaturalness of the storm any further, or her inability to cast anything on the
windows or comatosed girl, either not caring enough or too tired to contemplate anything further.

Harry Potter slunk down the hall, fingers coated with crystalized ice as he bent the storm to his
will, teeth sharp and dangerous as he grinned devilishly.

Alright Granger, let’s see what this potion can do.

Ginny,

I hope your second year at Hogwarts is treating you well! You seemed so very homesick last
year, I’m glad that things managed to become easier to bear. Either way, I miss you and your
brothers terribly, and beg that you all would please come back home for Christmas this year.
I know that you want to stay at the school, but with Sirius Black running around I feel that it
would be safer for you to come home for the hols, regardless of what the ministry says about
his potential corpse.

On another note, while I know that he seems intimidating dear, you really must speak to little
Harry Potter sometime! I've heard from the headmaster that he seems very lonely in
Slytherin, and your brother certainly doesn't help by always antagonizing the poor boy. He
could do with a good friend and a warm shoulder to lean on, just a suggestion!

With all my love, Mum.

 ~

Mum,

Thank you for the chocolate fudge, Ron stole a lot of it though, could you send some more?
I've made friends with a few girls in my year, and Percy is nicer to hang around now that
he’s bogged down with Head Boy duties, so I’m more or less well enough. It's absolutely
frightful what happened to the tower though, but I’m worried about Hemione Granger more
than Black actually breaking in, she still hasn't woken up and Ron is just as rude and loud as
before! I never realized how pleasant he acted with her around till the accident, do you think
he fancies her? You know none of us want to come home for the hols, Hogwarts christmas is
far too special to pass up, though I do miss you and christmas dinner at the Burrow terribly.

Potter seems nice enough from a distance, but whenever I approach him he gets a nasty look,
like I’ve insulted him in some way! I think the slytherins are telling him things about our
family, since he doesn't seem to like me or Ron all that much. Though, I have seen him
talking to the twins a few times, I wonder how they managed that? Anyway, I would love to
be friends with him, but how am I meant to talk to someone who obviously doesn't like me?

-Ginny.

Sweetheart,

I’ve sent a letter to your brother to stop eating your fudge, hopefully he stops that nonsense
now. I’m so sorry about that dear! I've inclosed another batch with this letter to make up for
it. It's good that you’re making friends! Though I ask that you tell Percy to slow down some,
he doesn't seem to know when to take a break from his studies.

In the case of Harry Potter, I’m so sorry that he seems to dislike you love! I know children
can be cruel, and that Malfoy boy he’s always hanging around must be an awful influence.
However, that just means that he needs you more than ever, you could set him straight dear,
of that I have no doubt.

Much love, Mum.

Mum,

Thank you for the fudge, Ron seemed awfully cross as he watched me eat them, but he really
needs to slow down with the food or he might start putting on weight! He’s almost as tall as
Potter as is, which is quite impressive (have I told you how tall Harry Potter is? I barely
come up to his elbow!). Anyway, I tried to get Percy to go on a stroll around the black lake
with me, but he refused. I don't think anyone but you could get him to put down his
homework and relax.

I want to go talk to Potter, really I do, but I can never get to him without having to first go
through a bunch of mini Death Eaters to do it! I wish there was a way to get him to like me
immediately so I don't have to keep waiting for him to be alone, it's hard to talk to someone
when they have so many evil bodyguards!

Love, Ginny.

P.S. The strangest thing happened last night, the winds outside were so strong that they
apparently burst open the windows in the infirmary! When the mediwitch got in there early
this morning, the entire place was covered in several feet of snow, and the strangest part was
that someone had cast several anti-countercurse spells on the windows so it was impossible to
cast anything on them. Isn't that odd?

Dearest,

Ronald is in need for a healthy diet anyway, from Percy’s letters I have been told he eats
nothing but meat and sweets. I worry for his health if that's all he's having for meals. I had
no idea that Harry Potter was that tall! It's quite strange, as while James had been above
average height Lily was never a particularly tall woman, I wonder where he gets it from?

Speaking of which, I have found something that might help you gain his affections-as well as
his trust-quite quickly! Now I know you’re young, but it's awfully obvious that what you are
feeling for the boy is love! Just pour three drops of it in his pumpkin juice, I’m sure
everything will workout in your favor dear.

I love you!

-Mum

P.S. That is certainly bizarre, perhaps it was a prank gone wrong? Either way, I wouldn't
worry too terribly about it dearest.

Ginny looked down at the small box that had come with her mother's letter curiously, pulling away
the pink ribbon that was tied firmly around it. Grasping the lid, she lifted it up and peered inside,
gasping softly at the contents before hurriedly re-covering it and racing up the stairs, bolting from
the common room and up into her dorm. Peering around the room, she sighed in relief as she found
that her dorm-mates were nowhere to be seen-likely still at dinner or walking about the castle.
Locking the door, Ginny jumped onto her bed and closed the curtains ightly, cutting off the view in
and allowing herself some extra privacy.

Opening the little box once more, the girl pulled a small, pink glass bottle out from where it had
been nestled in its protective casing, reading the label that stood out blatantly against the mother-
of-pearl sheen the liquid sported.

Amortentia.

While not expressly illegal, she would get into a world of trouble for attempting to use a love
potion on the heir of an old house like the Potters. Something about line theft or other such tosh.
Ginny scoffed, if the potion was just going to make him realize how good she would be for him,
then was it really taking away his free will? Her mum always spoke of how wonderful and caring
she was, Harry Potter deserved someone kind and pleasant that would love him and keep those
slytherin death eaters away.

Ginny had spent her entire childhood reading about Harry Potter, the children's books about his
adventures had been her lullabies and entertainment all through her early years. Her mum was a
constant source of comfort and support as she learned of his unfortunate sorting, and never once
called her crush silly or impossible-quite the opposite in fact-as her mother worked tirelessly in an
effort to make her dreams of a relationship with the boy more and more possible.

Turning her attention back to the potion, Ginny contemplated just what to do with it. There was the
issue of quantity of course, as her mother had said only three droplets, despite that being an
obnoxiously small amount. She could only guess that her mum wanted her to slowly push the
effects onto him-probably because using too much would make the effects overly obvious to an
outside observer and more likely to be discovered as fabricated. However, Ginny wanted to be
absolutely certain he would actually speak to her, and considering that Potter currently looked at
her as if she was the mud on his boots, Ginny decided that five drops would be much more
effective.

Sighing, she set the bottle back into the box carefully, leaning over and nestling it between her
diary and candy stash inside her bedside drawer. Settling against her headboard, little Ginny started
to plan. It would be difficult to get the potion into his pumpkin juice, perhaps she could just put
some into mum’s chocolate fudge and owl it to him?

Leaning back further, Ginny daydreamed of green eyes and wedding bells, not thinking for even a
moment that her plan might fail her, or that her mother was playing her right into dangerously sharp
claws.

No, as Molly Weasley happily pottered away at the burrow, dreaming of large mansions and vaults
filled to the brim with gold, she didn’t stop to consider that giving her twelve year old daughter a
powerful love potion was foolhardy, too excited at the prospect of assuring that her family returned
to the riches she grew up with. The Prewetts were a wealthy, strong family, and her fall from grace
still filled Molly with quiet fury. Oh yes, Molly Weasley had been planning since day one to have
her daughter become Lady Potter, and her efforts seemed to have finally bore fruit. She had read
Ginny's letter and immediately jumped on the girl’s obvious crush, packaging up an amortentia
bottle with the utmost care and sending it off with a carefully worded letter.

No, the thought didn't even cross her mind, and as the Weasley women plotted away, Fate moved a
pawn one space forward, waiting patiently for it to be ultimately taken by the man opposite of her.

Death grinned savagely from across the table, willfully moving his king into position-as if a snake
poised to strike-the black sheen of the chess piece stark against his pale fingers. Fate and Death
disagreed occasionally on the nuances of this new timeline, things like who should die and who
would be allowed to live, but both could attest to this poor chess piece's fate being firmly set in
stone.

The Weasley women dreamed, and a white pawn fell from the game board with a resounding thunk
onto the cold stone floor below, its death as absolute as it was inevitable.

Blaise paced through the dorm room, biting his nails as the seconds dragged on. It had been a…
trying fortnight since the first Hogsmeade visit, and as the days slipped into December he started to
feel the full effects of not fulfilling the necessary sacrifice. Loki had warned him that the longer he
waited the more he would hurt, but Blaise hadn't realized the extent of that promise until he started
vomiting up vines and bloodied flowers in the loo between his classes.

Daphne had noticed his distress, and had attempted to interrogate him at Hogsmeade through the
guise of dragging him off to Madam Puddifoot’s. It had been an agonizing half hour that he sat
there in the uncomfortable wicker seat as she tried to glean any sort of information from his
dilapidated condition and glassy eyes. He had repeatedly said that he was just sick, that he needed
to sleep and that she was infringing on his right to get a viral infection by insinuating that it was
anything but that, and that she was awfully rude for insinuating that he was up to anything devious.

Eventually, she had stormed off after screaming “I'm just trying to help you, Zabini!” leaving him
shivering and angry as he tried to tamp down the bile slowly rising up his esophagus. Blaise knew
she didn't believe a word that he said, and-knowing Daphne-she wouldn't stop till she knew what
was truly going on.

Truthfully, if he had just gotten over himself and done the deed a month ago none of this would
have happened, but he had put it off in the guise of needing to prepare, and now he was running out
of time. His nerve was wavering. Blaise started to question if it would be so bad if he let time run
out-let the vines rip his heart to pieces. Would death be preferable to murder?

In a fit of guilt and desperation after she had ignored him for two entire weeks, Blaise had asked
Daphne to meet him in his dorm, saying that he needed to talk to her.

He needed to tell someone. Blaise knew that Harry probably would be understanding-hell, the
crazy bastard would probably be supportive. It wouldn't surprise him if Harry had a bloody skull
collection of his past murder victims. That was the thing though, he needed to know the thoughts of
someone who he was certain had morals stronger than steel-someone who would tell him what was
right or wrong. Loki spoke with twisted words and double meanings, it was impossible to discern
between what he was actually thinking and what was just Loki was hissing platitudes in his ear.

So, he was going to come clean to Daphne, and tell her everything that had happened over the past
year. Not only because he hated being ignored by her, but because he wasn’t going to last much
longer if he didn’t make a decision soon, and her disgust in him would no doubt make the decision
for him.

“Blaise?”

If only he could build up the nerve to actually speak.

She closed the door behind her, the click of the lock as it slid into place synonymous with the
thump of dirt on his half-buried coffin. He swallowed thickly, his foot thumping against the shag
rug nervously as he met her eyes from across the room. Daphne looked deeply concerned, her dark
blue eyes watching him with caution from the door. He heard a hiss, a question whispered from
behind him as if testing the air. He knew that Daphne didn't hear it-knew she couldn’t hear it-but
he winced all the same, as if the twin snakes would reveal his past and future sins to her.

“I-” he swallowed, trying not to bite his nails as she stepped further into the room. “I need some
advice.”

She nodded slowly, cautiously, as she settled down at the foot of his bed, watching him fidget
where he stood, her hands poised in her lap as if discussing business deals with a potential investor.
Ever the businesswoman.

“I can do advice.”

Blaise nodded jerkily, rubbing the back of his neck as his foot continued to tap. The hissing raised
in volume.

“If-well if you had to choose between doing something you thought was wrong-but that would
keep you alive-or doing the right thing at the expense of your life, what would you do?”
Daphne’s gaze sharpened, her spine stiffening incrementally.

“Blaise… are you in danger?”

“No! I just-well… what would you do?”

He needed to know, if anything, he needed to know this one thing.

She stared, as if trying to figure him out. His foot kept tapping, subconsciously trying to drown out
the hissing as it got closer and closer. Daphne moved to rise from her seat, and Blaise was forced to
stand there and watch as she walked slowly towards him-as if trying to soothe a wounded animal-
and grasped his left hand gently. Turning the back of his hand skyward, she looked away from his
eyes to observe the tattoo, brushed a soft finger over the knotted snakes sunk into his skin. His
breath hitched, holding back tears as his world threatened to collapse.

“Is he testing you?”

Blaise felt as though vines were tightening in his lungs, making it difficult to breath as she
observed his mark with careful eyes. It just wasn't fair, how was it that out of all the people who
seemed to care about him, the only one to actually worry was the one person he was absolutely
certain would be disgusted by his past, present, and future actions. Harry would just be intrigued by
everything that was happening to him, questioning Blaise about the logistics of sacrifice, ever the
scholar but never a comfort. Theo would no doubt just call him a fool and walk away, too sure of
his own superiority to warrant Blaise the time of day. Draco wasn’t even an option-neither was
Tracey-they were both too focused on their own goals to worry about whatever he had gotten into.

He nodded stiffly, feeling her grip tighten around his fingers.

“What kind of test.”

“Daph-”

“I need to understand the entire situation before making a decision, Blaise.”

He took a breath, his resolve being turning on its head as he prepared to back down-to run away.
Quite suddenly however, the vines receded from his lungs, almost as if granting him permission to
speak. Go on, see what she will think of you, it said, as his fears of her disgust and revulsion
bubbled to the surface. He swallowed, taking a deep breath and-

told her everything.

It was like a dam had burst, every little thing that he had done since summer break before second
year tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. Finding the little green book, his great great
grandfather’s words, Harry hunting him down only to give him support, the three pledges, his
seclusion over the summer and how he felt locked in his bedroom, how he felt sometimes where
noone was around and the emptiness sent him back to that prison cell. He found himself sitting
cross legged on the floor with his head in his hands, blubbering on about how he felt that everyone
he knew except for Daphne herself was slowly floating away from him, how he felt that he was
being left behind to flounder with nothing but Loki for comfort. How he had been coughing up
leaves and tiny little flowers stained with blood since October. How he had been told to either go
against his very nature or suffer the consequences of not following through. She sat with him, face
unreadable but eyes devastated as he poured his heart out into the rug beneath them.

When he was finally done, and all he could do was silently cry, she hugged him softly, humming
an unknown tune as he rested his head in the soft skin of her neck.
“Blaise, if you’re truly asking what I would do if I were your shoes, then I can tell you that, but I
want you to understand that what I would do is not what I want you to do.”

He nodded jerkily, taking a shaky breath from the crook of her neck. He needed to know.

“My answer is quite simple: I would end my life in a heartbeat if it meant sparing someone else’s.”

He wasn't surprised, she was more hufflepuff than slytherin at times, if anyone would burn
themselves up to keep another warm, it would be Daphne.

“-but that’s me, not you.”

“Then what is me?”

She pulled away, her eyes piercing into his soul as she spoke, “listen to me Blaise, your life is
worth far more to me then any sort of moral compass I may wield. Sure, I might be willing to
sacrifice my life to save someone, but never yours-never your life.”

He stared, confusion bleeding into realization as she continued. “I wouldn't say that I would do the
same as you have done, because I firmly believe that I wouldn’t be able to ever pledge to a god, but
I know you decided that it was what you needed, and if this is what you have to do then so be it.”

She leaned in close, her hands gripping his with a ferocity that shocked him.

“Your life is worth more to me than what is good and bad, and if you need to kill the mudblood to
live then I will happily give you the means to do it.”

There was a certain kind of morbid irony that overtook him as she handed him a sharp ritual
dagger, having returned from her dorm after leaving him for a short time. She explained that, on
Harry’s request, the both of them had found and subsequently opened up an old weapons room
somewhere in the castle, and she had taken the dagger from there for a ritual that she had yet to
perform. The knife, which was curved like a scythe and practically dripping with dark magic, was
supposed to be for ritualistic sacrifices, and would kill morbidly if smoothly.

“We all make decisions Blaise, and sometimes the path we choose is difficult, and we need to lean
on someone else as we walk them.”

Soft fingers. Kind eyes. Sharp blade.

“I’ll always stand next to you, even if what stands on your other side is something that scares me.”

The dagger felt familiar in his hands, and he remembered the kitchen knife his mother wielded to
slice her fourth husband to ribbons. Blaise remembered how he had wished to never become like
her, how he had wanted to be able to say his family’s sins didn't define his own. He remembered
the red liquid staining the ancient marble below husband number five as he collapsed into a pool of
vomit and crimson bile. Poison and daggers. Blood and bone.

“I know this is hard for you, but if you really are getting destroyed from the inside out for letting it
go on so long, I won't let you put his death off any longer.”

It seemed that murder coursed through his veins, and the sinful blood of his ancestors would
eventually seep into his skin and take root there permanently, regardless of how fast he ran from it.

She closed his fingers around the hilt, her gaze sorrowful but ever determined.
 “I may be willing to sacrifice myself to save another, but I won't ever let you do the same.”

Cold metal gleamed in the low light.

Twin snakes hissed happily from the shadows.

Chapter End Notes

In all honesty I think that Blaise and Daphne are shaping up to be the most tragic
couple in this fic. Sure, Harry and Draco are a hot mess and Luna and Theo are just
chaos incarnate, but... well, spoilers (〜￣▽￣)〜
P.S. The reason Loki backed down so suddenly is cuz he knew Daphne would
eventually be supportive of the stabby stabby business once getting the full picture, I
don't think that was super obvious but an explanation into that smack-dab in the
middle of a touchy feely moment would have been kinda jarring.
 Baby, it's Cold Outside
Chapter Summary

December falls away in a flurry of school work and an increasing need to know the
drama that one is not privy to.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry had noticed a shift between Daphne and Blaise, of a closeness that came seemingly out of
nowhere. He watched with mild amusement during classes and meals as they plotted away at
something, their heads bent together conspiratorially over notes or food as if they were speaking of
normal things and not some plot or another. Going against his better judgement, he left them to it,
instead focusing inwards onto himself as midterms approached at a speedy pace. Weeks seemed to
bleed together, and as he went about the daily passings of life, Harry managed to get quite the
curious picture of what was going on behind the scenes.

Granger had woken up the day after he drugged her with the potion, and had almost immediately
had complications with her injuries. Along with a rather nasty phantom leg, she went nearly
catatonic with shock at the reveal of not only her missing limb, but the rest of her injuries, which
ranged from the nearly healed scar that had once been the spot in her abdomen where she was
impaled, to deep gashes and long-healed broken bones. What made her the most agitated however,
was the knowledge that she had been in a month-long coma, and had very little time to prepare for
the ensuing exams.

Of course, her agitation grew to monstrous amounts when it was finally realized by both her and
the teachers that her time turner was most certainly missing. It had been assumed that, with the rest
of her luggage, it had been moved safely from her dorm with the rest of the house’s things when all
of Gryffindor tower was being evacuated of personal items, and the realization that it had likely
been destroyed in the catastrophe was one met with a considerable amount of stress. Time turners
weren’t handed out all willy nilly by the ministry after all, and considering how much time and
effort went into creating them, the Department of Mysteries would be far more than a little cross
with the idea of having to replace it.

It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore had first tried several avenues of brushing the ‘destroyed’ time
turner's lack of existence under the rug, but all seemed to fail quite quickly. It likely didn't help
matters that Granger was being forced to either drop a few classes in order to gain a manageable
schedule that wouldn’t make a time turner necessary, or request a second one herself. Naturally, the
irrationality-curse ladened girl was quite firm on the latter option, and had seemed to have caused
the teachers endless nights of arguments and drunken rages over the idea. Considering that several
cloaked ministry officials had been seen going in and out of the hospital wing, Harry could only
assume that the government had eventually found out about their lost artifact, and were in the
process of questioning Granger about it. Harry deeply hoped that she would get expelled for the
whole mess, but severely doubted it, she was too far up Dumbledore’s ass for that concept to even
leave the planning phase.

Regardless, Harry himself was using the time turner itself to its full potential, spinning about the
place for various exploits and generally feeling very smug while doing so. With his memories of
Halloween fully restored, he had taken several days to rewrite his plans for the third bloody time,
going over what had happened and the realizations that he had had with thinly veiled disgust in
himself. It was getting exhausting, trying to figure out how to do things while also knowing that
there were gods out there that knew exactly what he would eventually do, who were only a word
away but unlikely to say a peep.

He had decided though, that Dumbledore would have to go much sooner than anticipated. Harry
would have preferred going up against the bastard when he was much, much older-an adult,
preferably-but he was slowly realizing that he wouldn’t survive to see his twenties if he went with
that cautious of an approach.

“Blast it all…”

“Wot?”

He glanced in Draco’s direction. “Nothing, sorry.”

The other boy shrugged, going back to his charms homework.

He and Draco had seemed to patch things up well enough after the ‘shrieking shack incident’ as it
was being called, and while the shorter boy had been snippy with… well, everyone, he wasn’t
burning down buildings, so Harry considered it a step in the right direction. Regardless of that
though, the soul bond was becoming more and more of a problem for them, and Harry severely
doubted now that Draco even knew about it. The constant itch at his magic was incredibly
annoying, and he was sure that Draco was receiving the brunt of the discomfort-considering it was
his side of the bond that wasn’t connected. However, Harry had no idea just how to go about
telling Draco about it, as he was not one for emotions in the first place and believed that he would
just make a bigger mess of things. Hilariously, he had actually gone to Theo for advice on it, and
the bastard had laughed at him.

“You think I’m capable of giving relationship advice? Who exactly do you take me for?”

Harry grumbled, his cheek in one palm as he slouched against the couch. “You're a better option
than what I’ve got, which is my own malfunctioning brain and considerable lack of knowledge in
relationships. And you've got a… face, I bet the ladies and lads fall over themselves like hungry
wolves to get a piece of you on the daily, you've got to have some sort of knowledge bouncing
around up there.”

Theo rolled his eyes, placing a well-worn bookmark into his most recent obsession, which
appeared to be something about alchemy. Harry glared at the book and then the boy holding it,
this bastard really had to stop figuring things out.

“Listen mate, I'm about as approachable on a good day as you are on a bad one, I'll admit that
I’ve-what did you call it? Got a face? Yea, I've got one, but I’m not finding all that much use out of
it.”

Harry resisted the urge to point out Tracey’s apparent obsession with his hair, or Luna’s almost
constant presence, not wanting to deal with the ensuing rant about all the reasons neither of them
are interested in him-Harry had heard it far too many times already.

“Well you’ve had to have read books on the psychology behind romance, maybe you could point
me in that direction? I'd likely find more use out of something like that anyhow.”
“I haven't, and I don’t want to become your own personal library directory, so if you’re really that
interested in psychology, you can go find something yourself.”

Harry had left the conversation annoyed and bookless, too stubborn to actually look for something
useful in the library but still wanting to be mad about it. Looking about the dorm room in which he
now sat, Harry found himself feeling stifled.

Huffing, he fell off of his bed, muttering something about taking a walk to Draco before throwing
on his cloak and disappearing from sight.

“Be back before dinner.”

“Yes mum.”

“Oh sod off.”

He chucked, pulling the door open and closed slowly while making ‘OooOOOooooOooo’ noises as
he did so. Draco finally looked up from his parchment, watching the door move on its own accord
with an unimpressed look on his face.

“You’re such a muggle sometimes, you know that Potter? Now get out of here before I try and
throw a shoe at you.”

“Yea yea I'm going.”

Sirius was also a matter of… serious debate around Hogwarts, as the burnt corpse from the
shrieking shack had indeed been ‘confirmed’ to be his. Harry highly suspected that Fudge or
another equally idiotic politician had given the foresentics department a hefty raise to say that it
was Sirius. Considering the amount of burnt fat on the corpse, Harry doubted anyone in the
underfunded department actually believed it. As it was, Sirius being a dead man actually gave him
a lot of leeway later on in life, and Harry wanted to hunt the bastard down at some point during the
next few months to have a long chat about how to properly dispose of a body, among other things.
Harry didn't expect the man to be easy to find, but (as he was slowly learning) the more he gave in
to the wendigo’s wants the easier it became to use it’s powers. He was already employing those
abilities in several different ways, the most notable attempt being the first of December, when he
finally managed to control the weather without needing to be in the throes of a near-death
experience. He hadn’t been quite positive that it would work, but was absolutely floored when it
did, and spent many of his extra hours with the time turner attempting other things. He had gotten
awfully decent at weather manipulation, and had been using that to make it as cold as he liked
outside, mostly because he was still feeling vindictive against Sirius and that the colder it was the
more comfortable he felt. Voice mimicry was slow going, as he couldn't just think of the person
and speak, he had to either know their voice well enough to replicate it, or have eaten their voice
box. Because of this rather unfortunate requirement (which was likely due to his own human magic
holding him back, as wendigo were not known to have that kind of weakness), he had only
managed to fully mimic Draco and Pettigrew’s voices, which didn't do much for him except
amusement at making Draco’s voice admit he was short.

Harry sighed, finally reaching a door into the outside. Pushing it open, he trudged through the cold,
his mind returning to the various things he had to do now that his mindscape was (mostly)
reconstructed and the wendigo was (mostly) under control. One of the first things on that mental
list was to figure out if Tom hadn’t gone absolutely batshit insane in the chamber, as the wendigo
had been forcing him to stay cut off from Harry and by extension the rest of his mindscape. The
second thing was to make sure Tom didn't kill him in the process of explaining all that had been
happening in his absence.
Harry didn't really have anything else to do past that point, as he still wasn't entirely convinced he
would survive the encounter with his father.

Instead of thinking any harder about it, Harry turned his attention to the wendigo as it prowled into
the forefront of his mind, hissing and screeching quietly and generally making its presence known.

I really need to come up with a name for you.

He received a laugh that sounded something like Draco’s in response.

Is that a yes?

No answer, he was going to assume it was indeed a yes.

Reaching the treeline, Harry picked up his pace, sludging through the snow in what he expected
looked like a pained shamble instead of a jog. Looking back, he focused hard and sent a surge of
magic out, feeling the wind answer obediently, brushing across the snowy landscape and sweeping
the proof of his footprints and their path towards the forest away as if never having existed.
Nodding happily, he continued on, occasionally jumping fallen logs and giant boulders in his effort
to keep moving in the snow. He had been trying to find Thasin, as while he wasn't all that worried
about the snake, the centaurs had been saying things about her diet that were both confusing and
potentially damaging to the forest’s ecosystem. He had initially heard ‘fairy-eating snake’ and
thought they had lost their marbles, but after reading about the consumption of magical creatures
by muggle animals and the effects it had on their DNA, he had been more open to the idea of
hunting her down.

“Point me, Thasin.”

It had been months since he had last seen her, the last time being the night he went to meet Luna in
the astronomy tower at the beginning of the year, and apparently she had grown a tad since then.
His wand swung around for a moment, as if thinking about it, before locking onto something to the
north-west of him. Carrying on, Harry kept an eye out for any movement that might be something
dangerous, green eyes scanning the frosty underbrush for a now-magical snake of considerable
length. Originally, he would have laughed at the idea of trying to find a snake in the middle of
winter, considering the fact that the animal was cold-blooded, but Bane still spoke of her various
attacks on the wildlife even now, so he could only assume that she had gotten over her genetic
drawbacks.

“~Hmm… something smells familiar.~”

He halted in place, turned slowly while glancing upwards to the tree’s canopy. He watched,
flabbergasted and a little scared, as a very large and extremely colorful snake weaved her way
around a low-hanging branch, tasting the air with curiosity. Thasin had… well to be completely
frank she was bloody massive, at least seven feet long. Just… absolutely, obnoxiously, impossibly
long for her species. When he had first met her, the snake was the average length for a california
garter, that being three feet, and hadn’t grown at all until the previous school year, in which she
notably gained a foot. This, however, was just absurd, not only did her length have a rather
dramatic change, but so did her coloring. He observed her with baited breath, making note of all her
changes before even daring to blink. Her bright red head, who’s color trailed down and turned into
something of a blocky, geometric pattern as it traveled down her side, had turned from a rather
gaudy neon to something resembling Tom’s eyes, and the long neon stripe of blue that traveled
down her back was now distinctly glowing, as if storing excess magic from her meals. He
wondered if her organs had also changed to absorb magic, it would explain how she had managed
to grow so long, as it took a certain kind of gland to absorb another creature’s magic after killing it.
“~Hello Thasin.~”

Her head swung in his direction, tongue darting out as her eyes gazed unseeing over where he was
hidden by the cloak.

“~Harry? Where are you?~”

Cautiously, he pulled the cloak off, watching as she reared back slightly in shock. They stared at
each other for a moment, before Thasin slowly moved from the perch, silently wrapping around
Harry’s neck, shoulders, stomach, and really just trying to cover as much of his body with her own
that was physically possible.

“~Harrrryyyy... I missed you!~”

“~It's good to see you Thasin. Merlin, you've grown.~”

“~I'm not done yet,~” she tasted the air again, this time nearly an inch from his nose, “~and
neither are you it seems~”

Harry laughed, “~I would hope not.~”

He stayed with Thasin for a few hours, explaining some things that he had been doing and relaying
a message to her from the centaurs that basically said ‘stop eating all the fairies, you're ruining the
ecosystem, you menace’ or something to that effect. She seemed to believe that she would be fully
grown by that summer, and requested that she be taken back to Surrey with him instead of going to
Malfoy manor when that time came. It was a ways off, but he agreed nonetheless, even if hiding a
seven foot long snake in his room would be something of a struggle.

Leaving her to the cold and wilderness, Harry threw his cloak back on and trudged through the
snow, feeling the need to return to Draco grow stronger by the second.

Midterm exams passed like a light summer breeze for Harry, and with it came the loss of his
friends as they all boarded the Hogwarts express to go back home for yule. Harry had opted to stay
for the holidays, as his family had decided to run off to Hawaii of all places to celebrate Christmas.
It had taken some strongly worded letters from both ends of the argument, but in the end he won
and was allowed to stay at Hogwarts. There was no way Harry was going to leave his winter
paradise to go burn alive in Hawaii, regardless of what his aunt had to say about the beaches there.
He was already having to deal with his incomplete and rather agitated soul bond stretching the
distance between him and Draco, which was already shaping up to be something only a few rings
down from unbearable.

To take his mind off of the impending catastrophe that was his not-even-existent love life, Harry
threw himself headfirst into his side projects, which ended up being a continuous battle between
studying Granger in the hopes of figuring out the golden potion, hiding from Ginny Weasley as she
had (for some reason) decided that stalking him was a fun pastime, and trying desperately to get on
good terms with his demon.

It was shaping up to be a very stressful Christmas for Harry Potter.

This was embodied perfectly on Christmas day, as Harry woke up to a mountain of presents and a
prominent headache. Stumbling down the stairs with a cup of black coffee and the presents floating
along behind him, he slumped down next to Victoria White, who was glaring quite angrily at
another girl in her year that Harry had never bothered to learn the name of, who merely cowered in
response.
“Merry Christmas, Potter, or would you rather yuletide-or maybe even hanukkah? We’re all so
very inclusive and respectful of other people in Slytherin house after all.” Her glare sharpened at
the unnamed girl, who winced. An argument about blood status then, lovely.

He took a long, drawn out sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter taste as he looked down at his
respectful pile of presents with mild curiosity.

“No offense White, but if you paid me half a million quid just to say I gave a shite about the
holidays, I would lie to your face and use the money to wipe my arse.”

The girl looked about ready to proclaim him a messiah, when the dungeon bat himself strode into
the room, looking all the world like he would prefer to dance starkers in the winter snowstorm
outside instead of grace them with his unwanted presence.

“If you would exercise some tact in your choice of words Potter, I would be eternally grateful.”

“I'm sure my mother could say the same to you, sir.”

The reply made the potions professor stumble in surprise, but (skilled occlumens that he was)
Snape showed no outwards reaction to the jab besides a raised eyebrow and a grunt. Harry chided
himself mentally for such a flub, knowing that there was no way he should have known that Snape
had called his mother a mudblood.

Whatever, oblivivation is still an option I have yet to exploit.

“Moving on, children.” Snape stood, appearing just as self important as he probably felt, holding
court over two pre-teens and one sleep deprived time traveler. “The headmaster has requested that
everyone eat Christmas breakfast in the great hall this morning, considering that very few people
have stayed at the school, he hopes that it would be used as a way to bridge gaps between houses.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, in his current (incredibly agitated, and uncomfortably Draco-less) state he
was more likely to kill someone in another house than play nice, and he already decided to consider
the breakfast optional.

“This is not an optional event.”

Not with that attitude.

“Oh what's the headmaster gonna do, expel us on the grounds of bad camaraderie?” Shockingly, it
was actually Victoria that spoke up against this ruling, appearing about as appreciative of the
‘house unity’ as Harry felt.

Snape raised an eyebrow, “you are free to gain as many detentions as you wish, Miss. White, but I
will be cross if this willful rebellion of yours sullies our chances at the house cup.”

“And then you’ll, what, give me a detention? Or perhaps take house points?”

The unnamed girl snickered, before being silenced by White’s icy glare. Snape, long suffering and
used to snooty rich kids, simply rolled his eyes.

“I am the messenger, not the executioner, Miss. White. Do as you will.”

And then he was gone, swirling out of the commons as if his cape was made of spider silk,
dramatic and expensive and far beyond what was necessary for keeping in heat.
Harry rolled his eyes at the man’s antics, chugging down the rest of his coffee with a sigh.
Groaning at the concept of movement, he reached for his first present of the day. Theo had gotten
him a self help book, which he immediately threw into the nearest fire with a grimace. Blaise had
sent along a pair of winter boots with a note proclaiming to get a life, and Daphne had gifted a
matching set of winter gloves. It seemed the pair had correlated their christmas presents, how cute.
Tracey, alternatively, had sent him various muggle tank tops, with a note saying that he needed
more winter apparel, she was shaping up to be his favorite (besides Draco). He set all of the clothes
aside, looking lastly at the small box that held Draco’s present.

It appeared to be a wooden ring box, held together with a small ribbon and not much else. Tearing
off the neat bow that held the two pieces flush together, he popped off the lid to reveal a small
note, which said nothing except for ‘put it on’. Glancing at the contents, Harry smiled slightly at
the piece of jewelry inside.

While the two of them had gotten in the habit of painting their nails matching colors, and they
already had the earrings tying their appearances together, neither of them had broached the subject
of magical jewelry since Lady Malfoy gifted him his bracelet last christmas, which he still wore
every day. However, there was a large array of metals that could hold enchantments and some
such, so it was very popular to enchant jewelry for special things. One of the most recent
developments in jewelry enchantments was an exciting strane of communicative charms, which
allowed for a modicum of different communications through jewelry. The simple but elegant ring
inside of the box appeared to be one such enchanted adornment, though he had no clue what it
could be communicating between him and Draco.

Mentally shrugging, Harry pulled the ring out and set it onto his right pointer finger, directly
opposite of his invisible slytherin heir ring. Jolting slightly, he felt the familiar thumping of a
heartbeat strum through the ring, picking up as its pair on Draco’s finger registered that it was
being worn.

“Bloody hell.”

It seemed that Draco was just as obsessed with heartbeats as the wendigo was, as Harry sat and felt
the steady thrumming vibrate through his skin with something akin to shock. After nearly a week
without the other boy, Harry felt a sort of incredible relief wash over him at feeling his heartbeat.

“Oh that’s nice, what kind of gems are those?”

Victoria was admiring the ring with careful eyes, unknowing of the thumping heart that pulsed
through it. Harry looked at it with her, just now observing the inlaid stones and what they could be.
Realizing very quickly, he rolled his eyes at Draco’s predictable poshness.

“They’re the three birthstones of June.”

Draco was only about a month older than him, and had on many occasions flaunted the three
stones of June with the idea that having more than one birthstone made him better than the rest of
them. Truthfully, pearl, alexandrite, and moonstone were all relatively average stones, and the
quantity of them didn't really make them any better in quality, but Harry didn't want to say
something like that in the hearing range of a boy who was perfectly capable of throwing fireballs at
his face. Moonstone was quite pretty, sure, but that was besides the point.

“This ring is actually one of a pair, I believe the other one has rubies inlaid as well.”

Rubies were for July, and that observation was more of a guess, considering that Draco likely went
with birth months for the rings, going for a symbolic meaning of some such tosh. Either way, the
familiar thrumming sent a wave of calm through his soul, and he slouched against the plush couch
happily, feeling more relaxed than he had the entire week of yule break.

The relief from feeling Draco’s heartbeat almost immediately turned to intense agitation as he
watched Ginevra Weasley sit down next to him in the great hall, her stupid ginger hair whacking
him in the face as she wiped it around in a way he was sure she thought was sexily, but just made
her look stupid since she was, well… twelve. Deciding that he would sooner eat literal dog shite
before acknowledging her existence, he turned back to the front and waited for the food to appear,
executing considerable self control as her eyes bore a hole in the side of his head.

In the end, no power on earth could make Snape allow rule breaking and loss of decorum in his
house, and the three unwilling slytherins were carted off to the great hall under the orders to play
nice or get made into potions ingredients. Trying to distract himself from the ensuing agony that
would soon befal his already unpleasant morning, Harry focused onto Victoria and Luna, who had
sat down together and seemed intent on ignoring each other. It seemed that some people were
made of too many sharp edges for even Luna to deal with. Which was honestly lucky for the rest of
them, Harry couldn't imagine a world with those two teamed up that didn't end in a blaze of fire.

“You’re Harry Potter, right?”

Deep breaths Potter, you lived with Tom Riddle in your head for over a decade, you can survive
this one, agonizing conversation.

“Yeah.”

He instantly regretted even speaking, as the girl seemed to jump on the chance to be an absolute
menace.

“My name Ginny-well it's actually Ginevra Weasley, but Ginevra is such a pretentious name you
know? Anyway-what's it like in Slytherin? I hope you don't mind me saying but you don't seem
like a Slytherin to me-much too sweet.”

I'm going to tear out your stomach and feed it to you.

“-but that's just what I think, do you ever wonder what it would be like to be in another house? I've
always contemplated what it would be like, I think I'd make a nice Hufflepuff, I'm really loyal like
that.”

She giggled in a way that grated his ears, fluttering her eyelashes as Albus Fucking Dumbledore
watched them happily from where he sat on his stupid golden throne, apparenly having decided to
submit Harry to the seven layers of hell simultaneously.

“Anyway, I've always thought you were cool but never got to talk to you before now, so I thought
it might be nice to break the ice and give a present of goodwill! It's also for christmas spirit and all
that.”

He glanced down at where she held out a parcel of Molly Weasley’s famous fudge.

Blast.

If there was anything he regretted about his last life the most, it was not getting the recipe for that
brilliant bloody fudge before he croaked. Harry had been addicted to the stuff before going cold
turkey during his hunt for the horcruxes, but the memories of the taste still came to him on
occasion, deep cravings leaving him bothered and unsatisfied. To be completely honest with
 himself, Harry had contemplated breaking into the Burrow on numerous occasions to try and find
it, the woman had to bake cocaine into the bloody things for them to be as addictive as they were.

“Cheers.”

Even his incredible hatred of the Weasleys and all they stood for couldn't get in between him and
that chocolatey goodness, and he practically snatched the parcel out of the girl’s hands, setting it
protectively onto his other side in case she decided to take it back. He missed the conspiratorial
look on her face, mainly because he wanted to put the bitch out of his mind as quickly as physically
possible.

As the small group at Hogwarts finally tucked into their breakfast, Death looked down at the fallen
chess piece with interest, smiling as small cracks began to reveal themselves on the otherwise
perfect surface, the white marble slowly fracturing as the clock started to tick down to zero. The
time till utter destruction speeding up incrementally as a multitude of factors converged to seal a
girl’s fate.

“How utterly devious of you, babe, I’m impressed.”

Fate smiled, cold green eyes gleaming under the low light.

“I aim to please.”

“Hardly.”

Chapter End Notes

I haven't done a chapter like this one in a long time, (that being compressing a month
into one chapter) but to be completely honest, dragging December out would be a
waste of everyone's time, as I never planned for it to be anything all that special. The
real fun begins next chapter, when the students come back on the train ;P
(helpful reminder that Blaise has till the end of february to kill Flitch-Fletchy, and
Daphne is forcing him to speed up his process for his own good.)
 The Devout
Chapter Summary

Rome didn't fall in a day, but Troy most certainly did.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco had been having, by far, one of the worst yule breaks of his life.

Not only had he been forced to come home by his mother, but Harry had stayed at the school-
adamantly refusing to galavant off to Hawaii or, merlin be damned, just spend the hols at Malfoy
Manor with him.

That was all that was bothering him really, the loss of Harry from his side, and the knowledge that
his only reason for being in a truly wretched mood was the loss of a near-emotionless bastard with
a (well deserved) genus complex over the span of a two week period. Hell, he had to put a
considerable amount of self control into not trying to force Persephone to carry him back to
Hogwarts. For circe’s sake, he was a wreck.

“This can't go on.”

He needed some sort of reprieve from the humiliating agony that he was facing for a whole
fortnight, needed repreve for what was no doubt his penance for ever dairing to fall for the
beautifully perfect monster that was Hadrian James Potter.

“The gods must want me dead in the earth before my majority. They’ll likely toast to the coming
festivities that my self-induced murder produces.”

“You mean suicide, Dragon.”

“Quiet mother, I am trying to lament.”

She smiled at her needlepoint, pretending not to glance to where he was thrown across the couch.

“My apologies. What is causing you to lament?”

“An infinitesimal annoyance that has seen fit to befall me with a terrible amount of discomfort.”

The annoyance being a considerable lack of Harry Potter, and the terrible discomfort being an
inconsolable ache in his chest and unbearably sleepless nights.

“My, if I had any doubts upon your character, I could almost say you appear troubled, my dear
son.”

“If I am not troubled, then Helen of Troy was not beautiful.”

“Goodness, you've resorted to greek mythos. Tell me darling, what is the trouble in which you
feel?”
His ‘troubled’ feelings were partially because of missing Harry an unnaturally large amount, and
being bothered that he missed Harry said unnaturally large amount. As it was, a considerable
amount of his problems seemed to stem from a severe oversight in which he allowed Harry to stay
at the school despite feeling in his bones that the taller boy belonged firmly at his side instead.

“Homesickness.”

He settled further into the plush couch as his mother’s tinkling laugh breezed through the lounge.
“I truly hate to agitate you further, Dragon, but you’re at home.”

He groaned, stretching out and waving his hand as if lazily replicating The Creation of Adam with
his own body.

“A different home, mother, one that is irritatingly mobile and maddeningly stubborn in where it
wishes to go.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Are you Helen, my dear, or do you chase after her like Menelaus?”

“I'm afraid this is not an equitable situation.”

“So you are Paris?”

“Gods no!”

The metaphor was running away from him it seemed, and Draco grumbled unhappily as his mother
laughed.

“I cannot help you with limited knowledge, Dragon.”

“I don't wish for help, I desire pity.”

She sighed, shaking her head as she returned to her needlepoint. “Well you are certainly succeeding
in that goal.”

“Shall I raise a glass to my own brilliance?”

She rolled her eyes at him, watching with amusement as he pretended to raise an invisible glass to
the heavens. Toasting to the gods as if he was not Icarus and Harry were not his wings.

“Or perhaps you are Narcissus and the object of your affections is his pond.”

“Of course not, I would never steal such a title from you mother.”

He sat, glaring at his presents as they sat, unopened, only a foot from his outstretched hand. His
father’s insistence on them all opening their gifts together had combined horribly with his rather
nasty habit of sleeping in.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Lucius Malfoy meandered into the room, his long hair put
up in a messy bun and morning robe frumpled as if just thrown on in a rush.

“Good morning, you both.”

“Good morning dear.”

“It is near noon father, please design to cast an alarm next yule.”
Lucius glanced to his wife questionly, she waved him off with an exasperated smile.

“Come now Draco, it’s barely ten. Now stop your lamenting, you have presents.”

He did indeed, finding with mild disgust that Theo had gotten him an anger management book,
which he promptly threw into the fire the moment both his parents looked away. Blaise, to his
pleasant surprise, had gifted a rather elegant set of regency-style tunics, which he was positive
Tracey would call ‘pirate-esque’, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. The girl herself had
given him an unholy amount of muggle sweets, all of which would rot his teeth in no time at all.
He snacked on something called a ‘Hershey’s’ as he tore open a letter from Greengrass, after
waving his wand to cast a few detection spells to make sure it wasn’t jinxed of course. Peering
inside, he pulled out a letter slowly, and opened it.

Malfoy,

You continue to be an utter disappointment, congratulations in continuing your mediocrity.

Go eat mud, you useless pig.

Unpleasantly, Heiress Daphne M. Greengrass.

He was pleasantly surprised that she hadn’t added anything like the venomous snake from his tenth
birthday, or the wasps nest like last year, and felt slightly guilty at the obnoxiously large amount of
electrified glitter that he had designed to shove into a small, timer-detonated gift box for her.

Ah well, she can yell about it on the Hogwarts Express.

He reached for his last present, one that had Harry’s familiar elegant scrawl across the wrapping.
With excitement, he ripped it open, peering down at a small book in confusion.

Soul Bonds: an Eternity of Inconveniences with only Moderate Payoff

Just as he was about to question the odd title, a thin silver ring inlaid with rubies that rested on his
left ring finger started to heat up, a familiar heartbeat thumping steadily through his hand and into
his arm like little beats of a drum. Harry’s heartbeat was different from anyone else’s in that
regard, it was uneven but strong, as if it was simply an... imitation of a heartbeat that wished to
make a catchy beat instead of pump blood. He adored it though, the steady rhythm bringing him an
embarrassingly large amount of comfort.

The book was set down for a moment, Draco ignoring it to instead enjoy the feeling of Harry’s
heart beating through his hand, the cavernous hole in his chest diminishing slightly as he relaxed
into the couches cushions.

Harry sped up to his dorm quickly after the christmas breakfast, exhausted and irritated with the
constant chatter (and horrendous flirting. Honsely, the girl was twelve, someone needed to tell her
to cool it). Shrugging off his cloak, he sighed, standing in the middle of the dorm and trying to
calm down, attempting to steady his irritated and jittered mind with only his logical mind and
Draco’s steady heartbeat.

Throwing himself onto Draco’s bed, he settled into pillows that smelled faintly of peppermint,
feeling his muscles finally relax as he melted further into the plush feather pillows. With a sigh, he
shifted onto his back, pulling apart the small parcel of Molly Weasley’s fudge happily. Grabbing a
square of the heavenly chocolate, Harry nearly got a bite off until stopping, breathing in slowly as
his eyebrows knotted together.

Sitting up, he sniffed the fudge with rising confusion, trying to place the smell that waffed off of it.
It smelled of peppermint, with a distant whiff of what he could only describe as pine and Draco’s
hair gel. He sat there, slightly perturbed for several moments as he tried to place the odd smells. It
was strange, those kinds of smells were rather mundane, but all things that he associated with…
His back stiffened, eyes widening as he put together the oddly specific aromas.

“That psycho bitch roofied my fudge with amortentia…”

Of course, it would have been stupid to attempt even without him being Master of Death, but his
immunity to compulsions and by extension love potions made the attempt not only foolhardy but
incredibly insulting to his intelligence. Draco’s heartbeat picked up pace some, he could only
assume the boy was off playing quidditch or something.

Draco...

He felt a surge of hatred towards the youngest Weasley then, an inconsolable need to utterly
destroy her and everything she stood for. It was one thing to try and control him with potions,
something that already sent shocks of revulsion through him, but it was another thing entirely to
try and take him away from his soulmate.

He felt his bones snap, a familiar tug at his muscles as his legs broke and shifted slightly as his
wendigo reared up and roared. It was an assurity, a deafening promise of destruction that rattled
through him like a battle cry.

Not yet! Not now, there are too few people here.

He felt the quiet more than he heard it, the lack of an answer enough in its silence for him to
understand the reply. He breathed out a soothing breath, wincing as his bones cracked back into
place. He was furious-hell, he was on the brink of destroying everything in sight with a magical
outburst that would no doubt send the dungeons crashing into the bed of the black lake, drowning
the three people currently inside. He didn't though, focusing instead on his breathing as he
attempted to keep his head. It was foolish to try and murder someone when there were so few
people around to be witnesses, he needed to collect himself and begin to think it through.

“Unless they can't tell if she was murdered or mauled…”

No, he had to be smart-he had to plan. Harry was far from a fool, and found great insult in his own
anger-addled thoughts, this was no way to go about killing someone, and it was idiotic to think he
really could, especially when he didn’t even know her schedule-or when she would be alone.

“Focus Potter, begin a file and start planning, you were going to kill her anyway, why not speed up
the process.”

Yes, this could work in more favors than just his own, and it wasn’t as if Sirius could be blamed
for the death if he was already considered dead, so that was hardly a worry. He would study her,
pretend to at least tolerate her for the time being, and then strike when it was most beneficial to do
so, likely when everyone who was smart enough to figure him out were focused on other pursuits.
How hard can it be to murder someone in cold blood? I’ve already done it once before, and I was
an idiotic first year then. Yes, he would have to plan some more, but he had been doing that since
before he could walk, planning was how his life was structured, and destruction could be found
well enough in the structure he created.
Yule break had flown by for Blaise, a tense christmas and a wretched new years breeding a speedy
but harrowing break from school. After a particularly nasty argument with his mother, he had
suddenly found himself aboard The Hogwarts Express, shooting off to the school with a velocity
that made him stressed. They were going so fast, and while he was sure that they wouldn’t get to
Hogwarts until several hours later, he still worried that he was running out of time-worried that
things wouldn't be said and done till they arrived in Hogsmeade.

Truly though, the Express was the exact same as it always was, but Blaise could feel a change in
atmosphere as he stood out in the open air, waiting on the pullman observation car at the back of
the train. Daphne had been insistent that the car was a new addition put in just that summer, and
therefore had yet to completely settle into the train’s enchantments and wards. If he got the job
done out there, and simply threw the body off the back, there would be no way to trace it back to
him.

That is, if his friends managed to keep his alibi sound.

Blaise took a deep breath, he had a little less than a month till February first, and he was feeling the
full effects of waiting so long. There was a constant wriggling in his stomach, as if snakes were
writhing around inside of his organs. Sharp pains he likened to snake bites stung at his lungs and
heart, creating a constant burn as he breathed or ran. He felt agonized on most days, and near the
brink of death on others.

“Hannah?”

He stiffened, a cheap invisibility cloak he stole from his mother’s closet before leaving slung over
his shoulders and head moving with him. He didn't think that the letter would actually work, but
Daphne had been insistent that Parkinson was positive that Flitch-Fletchy had a crush on Hannah
Abbott, so a love letter was sent off in the hopes that it would lure the boy out to the secluded spot,
allowing Blaise to do the deed without the worry of prying eyes.

Justin Flitch-Fletchy shut the door behind himself, a precast charm Daphne had cast on the door a
half hour prior springing into being, locking the door and fogging all the windows so that no one
could look out and see anything but vague shapes. He held the ritual dagger tightly in his hand,
knuckles white and breathing uneven.

In my body I coexist with infinity.

He didn't need to say the chant out loud, Loki heard it regardless.

In my mind I am enveloped by impossibility.

Justin stepped up to the ledge, his hands resting on the cool metal as he looked out to the passing
pastures.

In my soul I harbor eternity.

His steps felt softer than air, as if walking along an invisible cloud. The sound of hissing and
snapping and bubbling and gods, that laugh surrounded him. It was a comfort and a stimulant and
monstrously twisted all at the same time, and the brush of steady fingers against his slowly raising
arm felt like an assurance more than a threat.

In myself, I am devout.

Noises threatened to bring him to the brink of insanity, Blaise’s jaw clenched, pushing back against
the excitement and twisted enjoyment that he knew was not his own. He carried out this duty out of
loyalty, but his tricks were never to be made at the expense of another's life, Daphne had assured
him of that.

“The act of doing something for another is not the act of doing it for yourself.” Daphne met him at
the train station early, her long blonde hair floating along in the wind. “Your actions are not
reflective of who you are unless you allow them to be, so don’t!”

A voice, a whisper and a shout and a hair-raising cackle rolled up into one brushed against his ear,
the ghost of a grin over his shoulder.

“Now.”

He swung his arm down, the sound of skin slicing apart getting drowned out by the boy’s choked
gurgle, the knife striking strong and true through the side of his neck.

Blaise felt it immediately, the familiar magic reaching out to grasp a hold of the muggleborn’s
core, pulling it right from his body as he slowly lost energy and blood. Blaise ignored the fuzzy
feeling as he yanked the dagger out with a squelch, before cutting downwards once more, as if
slicing wheat in a field. The incision went in further, he reached up, grasping the boys hair and
pulling his head back hard. He grunted, hearing a resounding snap as the boy’s spinal cord severed
with the yank backwards.

Not even thinking, Blaise grabbed the boy’s pant leg and pulled up, watching as his body fell over
onto the tracks below, tumbling along before settling onto his back, the blood seeping from his
neck unseeable except for a pinprick of red on a sea of gray. The body got smaller and smaller as
the train threw itself along at a fast pace, his death going unnoticed and body yet to be found. It
was doubtful they would find him until the train returned to the station the next morning, and
Blaise hoped the train driver wasn’t able to stop in time before running the corpse over-it would
sabotage any attempt to figure out how he died if the train lacerated the body enough.

He stumbled back, a symphony of strange feeling and magic swirling about him as Loki seemed to
almost play with the dead boy’s stolen magic.

Dead. He’s dead.

Stolen magic?

His brain was fuzzy, the pleasurable buzz of new magic racing through his body and making the
tips of his fingers tingle. Stumbling into the outer wall of the train car, Blaise managed to keep his
head enough to keep his hold on the borrowed dagger as he fell onto the metal flooring underfoot,
the invisibility cloak somehow managing to still cover him completely as he slumped against the
wall. He didn't even notice, his blood pumping a mantra through his ears as his body was
overtaken by a buzz that blocked out all other feelings. He was hot, sweating through his clothes
despite the icy winter chill around him, the feeling of his core heating to the point of bursting
making him groan softly in some semblance of pain.

His mouth went dry, spots and shadows dancing across his vision. He caught sights of flowing
blonde hair and unnaturally green eyes. Is that Harry? He couldn’t be sure, nothing looked quite
right, but there was someone there, calling out to someone maybe? Were they there for him? Did
they figure it out so quickly?

His heartbeat picked up, and in his delirious state Blaise felt the need to shout out, but something
held him back, and he instead curled closer in on himself, the bloodied dagger in his hand
grounding him to some semblance of sanity.
Feet and hands splashed across his vision, pretty lights and strange flashes darted about and made
his jumbled thoughts even worse-more displaced and confused than ever. But something held him
still on that cold metal floor, and he could do nothing but sweat as the new magic sank into his
skin. Eyes blown wide and body shaking as he curled up tighter under the safety of invisibility,
cotton pushing out of his ears as strange lights and familiar people crossed his vision.

Back in Hogwarts, a tall boy jerked up from where he sat at an old desk, tinkering away deep
underground. Looking skyward, Harry searched for the feeling that had disturbed his concentration
with narrowed eyes. There was something strange going on, a shift in familiar magic that he could
just barely place.

“Death.”

“Hm?”

“Has Blaise done something?”

The god picked up the nearest vial of golden liquid, observing it with mild interest. “Now what
could ever bring you to that conclusion?”

Harry narrowed his eyes further, “I feel something different, and I can't explain how so it must be
your fault. Now spill.”

“Hmmm… it seems your connection to death is growing, I hadn’t expected you to be able to feel
your friend commit a murder so early in your life. Interesting.”

The tall boy rose, gathering up scattered pieces of parchment as the god leaned back against the
ancient walls. “So that’s what those two were planning... I should have asked to help out.”

“You would’ve taken the fun out of it.”

“Oh tosh…” he sighed, pretending to not be bothered by being left out of the murder plot. “I’ve got
the annihilation of my past regrets to plan as it is, I probably would have gotten in the way.”

“That’s an odd thing to call Ginevra Weasley.”

Harry froze, impossibly green eyes glowing with anger. “But fitting, as I'm sure you know.”

“She can't be a past regret if she is a present displeasure.”

“Leave the philosophy to someone who cares.”

Death shrugged, watching as his master stormed off, no doubt wishing to continue planning in his
dorm, away from the cold walls of a forgotten library. It was interesting how things had played
out, the other two had already changed things for the better as Harry was left to grow far worse
than Fate had ever planned for him. Death worried that the magical separation from his soulmate’s
soul was doing far more harm than he initially expected, and had taken a few liberties in pushing
Draco in the right direction. Sure, swapping out Harry’s original christmas present with that book
was a tad obvious, but it seemed that he needed to be as blunt as physically possible with the boy to
get anything across.

Golden green eyes faded from sight as Harry crawled out of the chamber, his heart heavy with
anger and mind occupied with plans upon contingency plans, the stress of the world on his
shoulders as he fell deeper into a desire for revenge.
Chapter End Notes

This chapter holds two of my favorite sentences I've ever written, both spoken by
Drarry. I will immortalize them below:
Draco, in regards to his emotional state: “If I am not troubled, then Helen of Troy was
not beautiful.”
Harry, in regards to an attempted drugging on his person: “That psycho bitch roofied
my fudge with amortentia…”
I feel that these are both accurate depictions of their personalities.

Also, I realize that this chapter takes considerable knowledge of the legend of Helen of
Troy to understand some of the references, and a lot of you likely have better things to
do with your brain cells than I do, so I'll write out a brief summary below for anyone
interested:

Helen was the most beautiful woman on the planet, and married to King Menelaus.
Aphrodite promises her to this guy named Paris after what was called Judgement of
Paris, which is a whole other can of worms so I won't even get into it. Paris takes her
on off to Troy and war happens. Menelaus sends the considerably underpaid Achaeans
out to reclaim her in the Odyssey (we all had high school english, I'm sure you know
how that went). So those poor bastards go running all over the place trying to find her
cuz that's Menelaus' beau and Paris is a little bitch boy anyway so fuck that guy (or is
he? this is kind of a Persephone/Hades story y'all, the ambiguity of Helen and Paris'
relationship is kinda legendary in itself). Some more war happens and by then Helen
gets with Paris' much hotter brother Hector, who despite the unfortunate name is a
total hot jock and worth much more of her time. After Paris and Hector both croak in
the insanely popular but very brutal Sacking of Troy, she gets with the third brother
and honestly at this point I doubt anyone is still reading so I'll just stop here :P
 The Master of Death
Chapter Summary

As the Hogwarts Express returns to the school, students scramble to reunite with their
friends and lovers.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Blaise woke in a cold sweat, his body tangled up uncomfortably in the fabric of his mother’s
invisibility cloak. Wriggling pathetically for a moment, he attempted to clear the cotton out of his
ears as bright lights flew across his vision, confusion muddling any thoughts that may have leaked
through. Taking a gulp of air, his head thunked against the cool metal under him, his eyes screwed
up and breathing starting to steady. His mind began to slowly clear, and his ears finally started
registering Daphne’s worried voice calling his name.

“Blaise? Bloody hell where are you-”

“Hmfh… ‘ver here” He kicked a leg out of the cloak, watching as Daphne ran over and yanked it
off of him, pulling him up into a seating position as she did so. Blaise noticed that his hand still
clutched the curved dagger tightly, his knuckles white and muscles tense around the handle. He
held the blood-encrusted blade to the light, trying to make sense of it as his thoughts still tried to
jumble together into some modicum of sense, his sight still somewhat blurred. Daphne sighed
tiredly, prying his hands away from the thing and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Why are you sleeping out here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She whispered quietly in
his ear, her warm breath brushing against his chilled skin as he settled his head into her shoulder.
All of his muscles relaxed, the feeling of her hand rubbing his neck comfortingly making him
nearly sag in relief.

“I don't know, something strange happened to my magic. I think… I think I may have blacked out-
I’m sorry for worrying you.”

She banished the dagger, cleaning any blood from his hands and shirt as she did so. “It's alright
Blaise, don't worry yourself about inconsequential things.” She looked into his eyes, gaze soft and
almost pleading as she searched for something within them. “We have an hour or so till we get to
Hogsmeade, get back under the cloak and follow after me.” She didn't seem to find what she was
looking for, and pulled him to his feet wordlessly.

He was still somewhat tired and very out of it as she led his invisible form back to the
compartment, their friends only looking somewhat confused when he revealed himself from
underneath. As it was, no one in the compartment could get shocked very easily anymore, and
didn’t seem all that curious about where he had gone. It was rather hard to be surprised about small
things like that if you were in a constant vicinity of Harry Potter after all, it seemed they were all
immune to strange things now.

However, one of them was almost infamously nosey, and Draco raised an eyebrow at them from
where he was perched on the luggage rack. The lucky bastard was still small enough to fit in the
weirdest places. “And what were you two doing with that thing?”

Blaise practically collapsed onto the nearest bench, leaning back and letting out a tired sigh. His
bones ached uncomfortably, but there was a bubbly warmth that raced through his stomach, as if
someone was impishly tickling up his side. Blaise felt lighter than ever before, his fingers lightly
flexing around nothing in particular as he relaxed back into the plush seats.

“Stuff.”

Theo snorted from where he lounged across one of the seats, his body leaning haphazardly off it
and appearing on the cusp of falling off, the window’s ledge the only thing helping him to keep
balance. He flipped a page in whatever it was he was reading, smirking as if a joke had been said.
“Oh sure, ‘stuff’. I suppose that's why Daphne joined you for said ‘stuff’? Or why it took her so
long to come back after leaving to help with the ‘stuff’? Or maybe-”

“Alright alright we get it Nott, they snogged. How scandalous.” Draco stretched out languorously,
his toes barely brushing against one side of the overhead as he pressed his hands against the other
wall. Blaise blushed angrily, not wanting to argue against the… rather solid alibi, but also wanting
to defend himself against the obvious teasing. Daphne had no such qualms however, and ripped off
her shoe and threw it at Draco, the outsole preceding to slap him right in the face.

“Oh that's it-”

“You deserve what you get, Malfoy. Do you have any idea how long it took my mum to get all that
glitter out of our throw pillows?”

“Well it serves you right, sending me that wasp’s nest last year!”

Blaise groaned, thumping his head against the wall as a spectacular fight ensued. He really wished
Harry was in the compartment, the taller boy would no doubt have something interesting to say
about the fighting; it was just boring now without Harry's amused quips ever so often. Glancing
over to the precariously balanced Theo, Blaise realized that someone in the cabin was suspiciously
absent.

“Oi, mate, where’s your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“Tracey.”

“Oh… she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Sure. Answer the question.”

Theo shrugged lamely. “Hell if I know.”

There was a crash, and Blaise dodged a flying purse as it ricocheted off the wall behind him and to
the floor. His eyes were still trained suspiciously onto Theo, squinting as if attempting to gleam any
differences between his usual appearance and how he was now. There was definitely something off
about him, Theo looked sickly, and kept squinting at his book-as if the light hurt his eyes.

“You alright mate?”

Theo blinked a few times, as if trying to process his words. “Wot? Oh-yea I'm fine, just have a
headache.” He smiled assuredly, if a little pained, and attempted to return to his book. Key word
being attempted. There was a yell as Daphne crashed into the seat next to him, scrambling up
immediately and full body tackling Draco to the floor. Blaise blinked the spots from his vision,
wishing his eyes would stop acting up.

“Have you been drinking enough water? I heard that can make you have a headache.”

The Nott heir’s smile sharpened a little, his shoulders curving in on him as he waved his wand to
cast a silencing charm on the compartment, ensuring that no noise would escape the small room.
Just as he did so, Draco screamed with fury, flames flickering across his skin as he hurled a ball of
fire at Daphne, who smoothly dodged. Blaise threw up a shield around them, ignoring the fight as
Theo rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I think it's just stress. Don't worry yourself.”

Blaise instead decided to keep pushing, releasing his shield as a splash of water glanced off of it.
“What kind of stress?”

Theo’s eye twitched. “You really aren't helping much mate.”

Someone’s expensive-looking dragon leather boot flew at them, just barely missing Theo as it
smacked against the wall between them. Daphne let out a shout of frustration and lunged at Draco,
who dodged the other direction.

Blaise threw his hands up in mock-surrender, leaning a bit to the left as a spell smacked against
where his head just vacated. “Fine fine, so sorry for being concerned about your well being.”

Theo glared a little, before returning to his book, casting a lazy shield as a small ball of fire flew
towards him and smacked harmlessly against it.

Truthfully, Blaise was feeling extremely odd, as if his entire existence had been altered slightly. He
felt like he was coming down from a high, some sort of unnatural warmth settling low in his
stomach as he did. His magic had fully merged with Flitch-Fletchy’s, becoming something just a
few shades different-just a few shades off, and he felt that he had been irrevocably altered along
with it. Perhaps something besides his magic had also changed. Closing his eyes, Blaise tried to
reach out to Loki, hearing nothing but a satisfied hiss from over his shoulder, echoing his own
feelings of cautious contentment.

He groaned one final time, opening his eyes to watch as the two fighting blonds finally started to
cool off, quite literally in Draco’s case. The boy had been splashed with a liberal amount of water,
and steam rolled off of his skin as he huffed angrily. Daphne had been cursed purple, and stood
imposingly over the slightly shorter boy, holding herself with elegance despite her absurd
appearance. Blaise smiled, she never failed to look stunningly terrifying in every situation.

Waving his wand aggressively, Draco dried himself off completely, glaring at the girl as he
returned to his perch in the now quite empty overhead. Daphne whipped around and raised her
eyebrow at Blaise expectantly, who proceeded to return her skin to it’s normal peachy color with a
flick of his wand. She huffed in a way he was sure was supposed to be poshly, but in her frazzled
state appeared more grumpy than anything. Slumping down next to him, she propped her head up
on his shoulder, mumbling something about stupid human sacrifices and stupider Malfoy heirs. He
chucked, resting his own head on hers as she pulled her legs up and rested fully against him, the
compartment returning to silence as its occupants settled down. A hand brushed over his eyes, the
hissed command to go to rest breezing past his face. He followed it gladly, closing his eyes and
allowing sleep to take him once more.

The first thing Draco saw upon stepping off of the Hogwarts Express was an angel, standing tall
and proud as the sun shone down on him, the rays like a beacon of light showing off God's greatest
creation. The glimmer of spikes which decorated the shoulders of a studded leather jacket struck
his eyes and made Draco squint slightly, the tall boy waving as he grinned dangerously from his
spot at the treeline. The ever-bright green eyes caught his own and widened in excitement, long
fingers playing with a jeweled ring which sat firmly on his right pointer finger. The smell of smoke
brushed across Draco’s nose, brimstone and sulfur and warm decay combining together to form the
tantalizingly attractive but lethally dangerous aroma that encapsulated who the tall boy was in his
entirety. Draco took a shuddering breath as those impossibly green eyes held his gaze, and the
unearthly creature winked roguishly at him.

Ah, his mistake, it was just a demon with a pretty face.

Hurling himself through the snow, Draco stumbled over himself in his effort to get to Harry,
sprinting past other students as Theo halfheartedly called after him. Harry met him halfway, his
arms outstretched as Draco lept for the familiar comfort they provided. Strong and steady hands
settled on his hidden wings gently, and Draco nearly collapsed in relief, clutching desperately to
the taller teen’s shirt as he was finally, finally home.

“Hullo.”

“Mhm...”

He didn’t grace the bastard with a reply, feeling vindictive about the last two weeks and his
displaced anger over being forced away from Harry. Pressing his cheek further into the boy’s
chest, he relaxed in the tall teen’s hold as the familiar heartbeat thumped out an unknowable
rhythm. Harry’s chest rose and fell methodically, and Draco once again thought of how unnatural it
felt, as if it was just a half-assed imitation of breathing-as if only lazily pretending to be real. Did
he even need air?

“Evenin’ Harry.”

“Theo hey… you look like shite.”

Draco glanced over his shoulder, realizing for the first time that his friend looked utterly
exhausted, his eyes sagging and skin sickly. He squinted, contemplating Theo's odd state before
mentally shrugging and returning to Harry’s delightfully chilly embrace, unbothered by whatever
seemed to be his issue.

“Didja miss me Dray?”

He craned his head up, locking eyes with the devil himself… and stuck out his tongue. “Not in the
slightest, I'll have you know.”

Harry merely raised an eyebrow, appearing unconvinced. “Really? I had assumed by your letters
that you spent the entire break lamenting about your incredibly unfair life using some modicum of
mythology references.”

Blast it, he has me figured out.

Draco scoffed, cautiously pulling out of the hug to cross his arms indignantly. “Oh please, you
must be projecting your own intense loneliness onto me, I've never heard something so ridiculous
in my life!”

“Oh really?” The drawl sent an electric shock down his spine, Draco focused very hard on Harry’s
earring and determinately not his stupid, smug, beautiful face. “Why is it, then, that I’ve received
several letters from you, all saying in progressively more aggressive ways that I am a fool for
rejecting your offer to hole up in Malfoy Manor with you and your parents?”

“I was simply having fun for the hell of it, I was awfully bored you know.”

Just as Harry was about to reply, Blaise stumbled into him and nearly sent them both tumbling to
the cold snow underfoot, cursing all the while. As it was, Harry ended up grabbing a hold of his
shoulders and keeping them both steady, righting Blaise into a standing position as he did. Draco
didn't know if he should be indignant or impressed, so he settled for appearing somewhat
constipated instead, opening his mouth to say something sassy or rude.

The look in Harry’s eyes made him pause though, and he squinted at his best friend with
undisguised curiosity. There was something almost… calculating behind Harry’s eyes as he
observed Blaise, his pupils mere pinpricks as he helped the dazed teen to his feet. Draco found an
uncanny resemblance between the look and various others that he had observed before, all of which
had been pointed to one of Harry’s various experiments. It was the gaze of a bored genus that had
just found a new and exciting thing to study, and Draco felt unnerved with the possibility of Blaise
being fascinating enough to warrant Harry's intrigue. Was there something different about the boy
that no one but Harry had picked up on?

“You alright there mate?”

Draco pulled himself back from his thoughts as Blaise blinked in slight confusion. “Yeah sorry, I
think I'm coming down with something.”

“Are you sure? You look a tad uhh…” Harry made a weird motion with his hand. “-well you seem
a tad sloshed mate. Have you been smoking? Eaten something you shouldn't have recently?”

Blaise blinked a few times before waving him off, stumbling back over to Greengrass, who
appeared to have taken the role of fussy mother for the time being as she checked him over for any
signs of intoxication.

“You really think he’s smashed? There might be something going ‘round you know, since Theo’s
also gone through the ringer.”

Harry made a face, throwing an arm around Draco’s shoulder and pulling him along with the rest
of the group. “Nah, I can usually tell the difference between when someone’s sick or when they've
gotten tweaked out on something. Blaise seems high on hallucinogens if I’d have to wager, but
that’s mostly a guess.”

Draco didn’t really want to question how Harry knew something like that, deciding that he
probably just got bored one lazy summer week and researched it obsessively till something else
came up. Making an ‘hmm’ noise, he left the conversation where it lied, observing the crowd with
mild interest. Looking farther ahead though, Draco nearly jumped in surprise as he made eye
contact with the youngest Weasley, who glaried hatefully at him from where she stood at the
treeline, Draco raising an eyebrow in response. Sure, he had antagonized the chit’s idiot brother on
more than one occasion, but that was hardly grounds for incensed glares. She seemed to huff, her
eyes moving away from him and eyeing Harry with interest.

Oh.

...Ohhhhh.

Yeah. Not happening, you red-headed, indigent, slag.

Wrinkling his nose with disgust, he pointedly grabbed a hold of Harry’s arm still slung causally
over his shoulder, pulling the boy’s arm closer as he raised both eyebrows in mock question at the
girl, Harry subconsciously leaning closer in response to the tug, obviously not paying much
attention. She glowered, spinning on her heel and storming back to the castle.

Mhm, that's what I thought.

Harry sighed satisfactorily, keeping a careful eye on Blaise as the boy stumbled ahead of them,
Daphne watching with concerned eyes. He had felt the exact moment Blaise had killed the
currently unknown person on the train, and Harry was not only extremely curious about how he
had gone about it, but incredibly insulted that not only had Harry been left out of the plot, but
Daphne of all people had been brought in on it. He had nothing against Daphne mind you, it was
just that she hardly seemed the type to go about a murder effectively.

Oh who am I kidding, I’ve only killed one person in this life and it didn’t even stick.

He felt a tug at his sleeve, and subconsciously shifted closer to the warm boy under his arm, his
entire left side becoming encompassed in the heat. It was a wonder how Draco managed to trudge
through the snow without melting it all into a puddle, as his body temperature always seemed to be
near unbearably hot. Glancing around at the other students as the disjointed stream of people
coming off of the Express began to thin, he caught sight of a familiar ginger head moving quickly
back to the castle. His brow furrowed, what had Weasley been doing out at Hogsmeade? All of her
brothers had stayed at the castle, she had no reason to be down there.

Unless…

His eyes narrowed further, the contemplative gaze turning spiteful. It seemed that she had felt it
prudent to stalk him from a distance, what a pity. Pulling Draco closer, Harry gazed up at the
quickly approaching castle with something akin to annoyance. He would feel considerably stifled if
the Weasley chit kept trying to be a bother.

“Hey Harry?”

Glancing to his right, he met eyes with Theo, who still looked awfully sickly. “Do you mind
having a chat with me for a moment?” He glanced at Draco, “in private?”

Harry nodded, cautiously peeling away from an annoyed Draco, who was making a considerable
effort to not make a fuss about it while obviously wanting to. Branching off from the clump of
students they had been in, Harry slouched down slightly to get level with Theo, who seemed jittery
at best and near manic at worst.

“What’s this all about mate?”

“I-” he rubbed his neck, eyes somewhat glazed over as he stared off in the middle distance, “I think
I'm going to have a vision soon.”

Harry cursed quietly under his breath, already running through the symptoms of a nearing vision
with rising agitation. He was getting incredibly annoyed with Fate and all the nonsense she was
getting up to, he did have a life to live in spite of her after all. From what he could tell, Theo hadn’t
had any sort of seer-like episodes since the summer, and the streak had been doing wonders for the
boy’s emotional stability, as well as his own.

“Alright-ah, shite… okay, is there anything I can do to help? Any sort of...” he gestured vaguely,
“-something that I can do?”
Theo groaned, “bloody hell, why do you think I would bother telling you if I didn't think you could
help?”

“Oi! I'm a scientist, not a scholar. That’s your job.”

“Oh sure, this coming from the sorry bastard who spent an entire week obsessing over jellyfish of
all things just because they don't have brains.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I was attempting to figure out how you work, the brainless tosser that you
are.”

The shorter boy winced, rubbing his head in soothing half-circles. “Honestly? I wish I was
brainless at this point, it would be a considerable improvement.”

Harry’s irritation dissipated, and he rubbed his friend’s back comfortingly as he led him back to the
group, who had lagged behind to wait on them. “Come on then, I'm sure you can take a kip before
dinner.”

The wind tousled his hair, a cold chill rushing through him as the distinct sound of a train racing
across tracks to an unknown location filled his ears. He opened his eyes, watching as Blaise crept
forward under a silky cloak. Theo took in a breath, and watched as his friend’s arm swung down in
an arc towards a boy’s neck, the familiar squelch of something sharp severing skin making him
wince. The dagger was removed, before slicing through the air once more, sharp blade gleaming
in the sun dangerously as it returned to the boy’s neck. Theo closed his eyes, the scene macabre
and sorrowful, as if the grim reaper itself had possessed Blaise in order to carry out it’s work. The
gurgling of someone attempting to yell out as blood filled their mouth and lungs reminded him of
his second year, in which this scene played out very differently. He breathed in the winter wind,
watching the countryside fly past as blood splattered against oxidized metal.

“He has support now, someone to lean on… how cute.”

He stiffened at the voice, recognizing the cruel woman’s amused taunting for what it was. Blaise
stumbled back as a boy’s corpse fell over the banister, tumbling along across the tracks as Blaise
stumbled into a wall, breathing heavily as strange magic swirled around him. His eyes appearing
clouded and confused, not at all like the twisted amusement that Theo had once observed from his
vantage point curled up in a dark corner, watching as Blaise happily and viciously stabbed
someone in the back. It was fascinating, the teen was fighting back against his god-at least
somewhat-showing that he still wanted to hold some semblance of himself in the process of
carrying out Loki’s word.

“I'm sure you're proud of him, the difference between the possible and what had happened is the
most telling with him.”

Theo understood now, the dream he had in second year was a mere possibility of what the future
could hold, his friends’ actions defined what would really happen. Did that mean that things had
changed for the others too?

“Are you ready to see what came of our little angel?”

The world swirled, and suddenly his vision was swarmed with red. Theo whirled around, hearing
the distant sound of Harry grunting in pain. It was hard to tell though, the sound of wood crackling
and fire roaring nearly overwhelming the quiet noise. Looking down, Theo watched as the boy
threw a large beam off his shoulder, sprinting across a small path cleared through the flames that
surrounded them, tripping over himself and lunging out of the way of a falling beam. Still
sprinting, Harry grabbed Draco around the arm and yanked him through the smouldering exit.

“I wonder what would have become of Hogwarts if the angel managed to burn that astronomy
tower to the dirt. Or perhaps what would have happened to his... reputation?”

Theo ignored her, following the two as he watched Harry throw his soulmate into the snow. He
remembered his vision from second year, of course, he could remember the feeling of fire licking
harmlessly at his heels as the veela burned it all down. Would Draco’s inheritance have come to
light if that had happened? He looked out at the expanse of white as Harry panted tiredly, looking
down at the sleeping blond with tired adoration.

This day could have marked Draco’s destruction, but instead it was Harry who had been thrown to
the wind.

Theo observed the horrifying burn that marred his friend's shoulder with wide eyes, his collarbone
visible through the charred flesh. Harry looked... unbelievably tired, peering down at Draco with
exasperation-as if this was a daily occurrence. Theo realized then, that Harry was still human, and
he had done all of that without batting an eye. He clenched his jaw, remembering how he had
scolded the boy for his bravery, considering it foolhardy and idiotic. Had they truly allowed Harry
to so obviously sacrifice himself on the daily for nothing more than annoyed reprimands? Were
they all gripping his hand, expecting their leader to continue on without acknowledging the child
underneath? Had Harry ever been allowed to be just a boy? He took a shuddering breath, this was
not the catalyst, but it was a hairline fracture in an already decimated mirror.

“Poor Harry Potter, he never gets exactly what he wants, does he?”

The open space shifted and bent, instantly transforming into a darkened hallway, the sound of a
girl’s quiet breathing taking up the silence. It was Hogwarts, not a dorm like it had been once, but
the stifling atmosphere was the exact same. He turned, watching the girl get coaxed down from the
safety of her dorm and into the darkened halls.

“At least he’ll have thought it through this time. I had worried about his bluntness before.”

A quiet whisper pulled the girl along, a gentle serenade akin to a siren’s song leading her through
the empty corridors, and the young child followed it dutifully, as if in a trance. He watched the red
hair swish along as she turned into the great hall, following the tantalizing whisper to her doom.

He felt no fear over this scenario, he was separate from it. Theo realized then, that he wasn’t
connected to these events anymore, they were more solidified-more real than he remembered his
first dream being. They didn't have that edge of potential unreality to them, they were all proven to
be true and over with already.

Except for this one.

This one had yet to play out.

But it would.

“It's such a shame really.”

He heard a short shriek, the quiet whisper turning into a menacing howl. The girl’s sudden scream
was cut off quickly by gurgling, and Theo winced minutely, closing his eyes and simply listening to
the tearing of flesh. He didn't bother peering into the hall, already knowing what he would find. He
didn't need to watch it a second time.
“I actually had hoped Harry would change, just a little, for the fun of it.”

Small hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him down to a lower level as the cold green eyes lit up
in the darkness. He took a deep breath in, and watched those eyes turn suddenly from the twisted
destruction to an impossibly vibrant gold-green, the hands on his shoulders growing larger as the
person in front of him rose to monstrous heights. This was a completely different creature-a
different being, completely foreign to Theo and out of his realm of influence, and the deep, soothing
voice that spoke next proved his thoughts right.

“But sadly, death never changes, and my master is much the same.”

He felt comforted, the person-no, the experience in front of him so unlike the last that it was
completely foreign. A large hand brushed gently against his brow, an apology for past regrets
ghosting across his face. He could feel his mother then, this creature before him knew her in her
entirety, he was sure of it. He breathed in, this was the End rolled up into some shambling excuse
of a god. This was infinity given form. This was the end of life, and the creation of destruction.
This, was Death.

“You can't save them all, brave warrior that you are, you must let this happen.”

“I don't want to.”

It was a quiet admission, just barely audible over the morbid sounds of tearing flesh and breaking
bones that wafted through the empty corridor, creeping along with the tangy smell of iron. If that
was truly Harry, if that monstrous thing was truly his friend, then Theo had truly failed him. The
creature was indistinguishable from pure greed, so unlike the lazy perfection that was Heir Potter.
Had Theo truly let him fall so far from what he could have been that this was all that was left?

“This was always his fate, you can't change how he craves destruction, and you shouldn’t force
him to suffer by trying.”

A tear slid down his cheek, the hand brushed it away.

“I know. I understand how it hurts you to allow this, but he will be better for it. Let him finally
merge with the monster inside of him-allow it to encompass him, and it will pass over you with
nothing more than a whisper.”

There was no pain this time, no lessons to be learned from mind-numbing agony, just the quiet
sounds of eating as Harry fell into oblivion. He could only listen to Harry crash, the realization
that his friend was reaching a catalyst beyond Theo’s own comprehension boring down on him as
if the earth tipped off of Atlas’ shoulders. He could only stand there and let the universe take his
friend. Let it take the boy who had already given so much to them, had already saved and killed
and destroyed for them.

How much was too much?

It seemed they had crossed that line for Harry already, and there was no going back from it.

“Will he live through this? Please, please tell me that much.”

The End didn’t speak for a moment, as if it was contemplating what to say.

“As it stands, I'm afraid the real Harry Potter has yet to truly exist. This all must happen before he
is ever capable of living… Survival is all he knows at present.”
 Theo felt that it was partially his fault. This should have been obvious from the start, how could he
have been such a fool to not realize the full extent of his friend’s suffering?

“We see what we want to, not what is the truth. Ignorance is human nature. You never had a
chance of saving him from this, it was already decided on in a lifetime that has been long since
destroyed.”

The truth of the words stung, the quiet admission whispered from the mouth of eternity stabbing
into his soul and festering, bloody and red with anger. This was not what he needed to know, he
couldn’t look Harry in the eye once this was said and done. How was he supposed to go on
knowing that the thing in there was Harry Potter when he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it?

“All I have left to say Theodore, is to be cautious, and to be kind...”

“Because sometimes, all we can do is watch.”

Chapter End Notes

Harry: *chuckles* I'm in danger

I think this is the first time I've not posted for two days in a row, feels a little weird, but
I've been working on my other project some and school exists, also the fact that this
chapter was *stressful* cuz its so chock full of foreshadowing and double meanings
that I needed a while to even figure out how I was going to word some things while
still making it interesting

P.S. A lovely reader named Dr. Z is making a really cool fic based on the last chapter,
I highly recommend anyone curious to go check it out. It should be linked up below ;P
 Sutured Lips Sink Ships
Chapter Summary

The biggest burden a seer must bear is the necessity to keep their fat mouth shut.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Previously:
The truth of the words stung, the quiet admission whispered from the mouth of eternity stabbing
into his soul and festering, bloody and red with anger. This was not what he needed to know, he
couldn’t look Harry in the eye once this was said and done. How was he supposed to go on
knowing that the thing in there was Harry Potter and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it?

“All I have left to say Theodore, is to be cautious, and to be kind...”

“Because sometimes, all we can do is watch.”

Theo woke with a start, his breathing choppy and uneven as cold sweat dripped from his brow. The
dorm room was dark, impossibly so, with the only light coming in from the crack under the door,
and the only noise being his own short breaths. His chest heaved, wide eyes darted around the
room. He looked desperately for the soothing golden-green eyes or, merlin be damned, the cold
twisted ones. Theo tried reaching back out, tried begging for more explanation, but no one
answered. The room was quiet, and still.

He would gain no more explanation from his tormentors.

He breathed in fast through his nose, tears quickly escaping his eyes as he rubbed at his face, skin
around his eyes sensitive and puffy. This wasn’t supposed to happen, visions or dreams were never
supposed to be this obvious-never this concrete. The finality of it made his already fragile control
crumble to his feet in a heap, the utter helplessness weighing on him like gravity did to Icarus. His
left eye throbbed, the artificial gold feeling far too real and far, far too familiar for comfort. It felt
as though that creature, that faceless eternity-Death, was watching, gold and green swirling around
his peripherals as the God of Gods was sighing in disappointment. He screwed his eyelids shut,
pressing the heels of his hands down into the sockets and making splashes of color and dots appear
in his vision.

“All we can do is watch.”

He choked back a sob. “I don't want to watch damn it, I want to help.”

But that was not an option allotted to him.

Theo didn't go to dinner that night, and instead wrote a short note to the house elves to deliver him
a modest snack-something that could be eaten on an uneasy stomach. He sat in bed, munching on
crumbly saltines as the silence and darkness overwhelming him and his thoughts, the truth bearing
down on him as he stared out at the nothingness that surrounded him. Theo couldn’t bring himself
to light any lamps, he didn't want to be yanked from the darkness into the reality that he was
awake, Theo wanted to be able to pretend he still had time. The light would upset the careful
balance between dream and reality that he sat in the middle of.

When Crabb and Goyle finally lumbered in, the soft candlelight from the hallway disrupted his
calm and sealed his fate. Theo clutched at his sheets, it was already curfew it seemed.

“Oi, you alright in there Theo?”

Harry’s voice felt like a splash of freezing water against his back, every panic receptor he had
springing into action as he curled further in on himself. “Fine.”

He heard something akin to grumbling before the door was closed, his two dorm-mates lighting
small candles in which to see their various activities. Theo relaxed minutely, pressing his head into
his pillow and attempting to block out all light and sound. He wished to return to the limbo he had
been encompassed in only seconds prior, the inky black that promised nothing but nothingness. He
took a deep breath of air as Crabb lumbered into bed, the gentle flicker of a candle getting snuffed
out as he did. Only one patch of light remained till he could return to assured infinity.

There was nothing that he could do to help Harry, and even if there was it seemed that trying to
help would only do more harm. He curled up into a ball, knees hugged to his chest as the sound of
quiet movements filled the room, Goyle was getting ready to settle in to sleep as well it seemed.

“Watch.”

His left eye burned, almost... glowing in the low light as strange ambient magic clashed
dangerously with his own. Whatever the End had truly been, if it had been Death or God or
destruction incarnate, its magic was so foreign to him that coming into contact with it was sending
spikes of pain racing through his body. It was different from the twisted green eyes, different from
the assured pain that followed with them. The End’s magic was utterly wretched and vile, but also
pure and absolute. It’s existence in his mind for the few minutes that it held court within him was
enough for his own core to react dangerously in response. He felt chilled to the bone, his arms
shaking as the waves of confused revulsion crashed through him.

“Watch and revel in the infinitesimal absolution that will become of him.”

Theo shuddered, the thoughts running through his head faster than he could comprehend them. The
aftershocks like waves in an uncertain sea. He was not all-knowing, and the woman behind the
twisted green eyes was uncertain in her story, she changed things at the drop of a hat and with little
reason. But the End, but Death… it took everything, and as it brushed a hand gently over his cheek,
Theo could feel his ancestors comforting him along with it. The infinite reach of time stretching
forwards and back had lightly touched his cheek-had comforted him-and the knowledge of that
froze him to his core.

The voice it had spoken with however, was far more horrific than just its existence. Theo could
barely comprehend the thing having human form, he could barely fathom it existing at all, but its
voice had been so chillingy familiar that he couldn't doubt what it was.

Death had spoken with Harry’s voice, much older and deeper and infinitely infinite in comparison,
yes, but the low drawl and quiet, soothing whisper were all the same.

Why did infinity have the voice of Harry Potter?

Why did it speak as if they were not the same creature?

“But sadly, death never changes, and my master is much the same.”

He took a shuddering gasp of air, the last candle finally flickering out as Goyle settled into his bed.

Why was Harry Potter being fashioned as the master of eternity?

Luna skipped through a daze of pretty lights, the glowing outline of every person she passed
fluttering along the edges around her vision. Luna had loved looking at magic when she first
discovered she housed the talent, and she had often simply sat out in the wilderness and watched as
the sharp definition of a fawn melted away into warm hues of subtle magic. She loved it so much
that she had forgotten how to stop, and now walked through the daze of brilliant colors and clouds
and feelings, unseeing of the solid lines of a physical form. She knew she was no better than a
blind woman when seeing things with magic, as when observing them she could only see specific
shapes and colors flit across her vision, always unknowing of what their physical form could
possibly appear to be. Truthfully, Luna thought that it was a welcome change, seeing the magic
instead of the body allowed her to understand people and places and things in a way completely
unlike others could. Sure, she had difficulty reading magical books sometimes, as all the library
books seemed to be charmed to the gills so heavily that she can't see past the thick tendrils of
magic to make out the words, but literature had never been her cup of tea, and watching the magic
as it interacted with the environment was much better, in her opinion. Besides, Theo could always
just read something to her if need be.

She hummed slightly as she settled down at the Ravenclaw table, reaching out for a soothing white
blur she easily identified as scrambled eggs, how there were magical chickens was anyone's guess,
she could only assume there was some sort of enchantment cast on them. Harry Potter’s magic was
fascinating, and she enjoyed spending hours and hours on end contemplating it. His heart-the core
of his being-was a small pinprick of gold and green, as condensed and concentrated as a neutron
star. He was on the cusp of collapsing into a black hole, always on the brink but never quite there,
and she couldn't wait till he did eventually collapse, the eventuality keeping her on the edge of her
seat. Everything in him would change. Branching out from the neutron star that was his core, were
thick tendrils of silver-his magic-which splayed out and lashed viciously at anyone he disliked, but
wrapped comfortingly around those he loved. His magic appeared much different than his core,
revealing a clear divide between who he truly was and who he showed himself to be. Luna hoped
that his core could suck up all that silver magic and spit it out golden green, that a gaping black
hole would soon form and force him to greater heights. She was excited for the fall now, at first
she had been unbelievably warry, but now she couldn’t wait.

Luna then glanced at the Slytherin table, her eyes as wide and unseeingly seeing as always. Draco
Malfoy’s magic was completely different from Harry’s, the tightly woven strings of black stitched
together in a geometric pattern, all rolled up into a ball of perfect darkness. His core was black as
night, and right through the middle of it was a shocking slip of fiery red breaking through the
starless sky. His magic branched out from the ball of darkness, and grew dark and cruel and red
with heat. His magic was like hot coals, the dark and the fire and the incredible warmth forcing out
of his body and into the open air. He was one of the few people who had enough magic for it to
constantly weave around their body instead of inside it, and she often had difficulty figuring out his
true form instead of the waves of black that he seemed to exist as. His voice was sharp and jaded,
but his magic warmed her all the same.

Her gaze wavered, eyes widening further as she moved down the line of familiar shapes and colors
to a welcome sight. Blaise Zabini was another oddity that she observed often, though she could not
say that she had ever spoken to him before. His magic was not his own in some respects, and on
occasion he seemed to be strangling himself in an effort to tamp one part down in lieu of another.
On one hand, he was a carefree blue, his magic more so clouds then tendrils, and the happy mists
of laughter and sun swirled and dipped in constant motion. On the other however, he was sickly
green vines, his magic palatable and near-touchable. Those twisting vines of earthly green never
failed to set her on edge, as the dense magic wrapped tightly around the happy blue clouds,
tightening and condensing them into ice. She worried about the clouds often, and worried if they
would be completely destroyed soon, but today she had found with no small amount of glee that
the wisps of blue had lost form, becoming stretched and light-too thin for the vines to properly
grasp. She hoped Blaise Zabini was finding an equilibrium in himself that would allow the clouds
and vines to coexist in harmony. She wished him the best, and smiled as the blue and green danced
in an odd sort of jest.

Her favorite core however, was the one taken residence in Theodore Nott. Ever since she laid eyes
on it on the very first day of her very first year, she had been so completely and utterly taken with it
that she couldn’t properly look away from it on occasion. His magic was a warm brown-like honey-
and dripped through the air in much the same way that the sweet substance did. His core, which
settled deep in his stomach, was a firm rock of deep brown, which began to crack and fracture like
honeycomb as you moved further away from his center, the molten browns and golds slowly
leaking from the rocky center. It was steady, his entire body moving in assured but lazy drips of
sweet sugar. She loved watching his magic as it moved slowly through him, like a current of half-
molten rock, and often spent hours wasting away just watching his magic swirl and slide in the
form of who he was.

Luna didn’t need to see what people’s physical features were to understand who they were. She
hadn’t seen the expression of laughter on someone's face for years, but the pulse of energy or flick
of a light tendrel of magic was far more than enough to understand how they felt. So when she
observed her boy of honey stumble into the great hall that morning, his magic nearly frozen in
place from an invisible chill-as the warm honey had crystallized painfully throughout his body-she
knew something was very very wrong. She quickly followed him out of course, after a breakfast of
watching and waiting for him to finally leave. It was sunday after all, she would have plenty of
time to figure out what was wrong. Twirling out of the great hall, she hopped along behind him as
he stiffly walked to the Hogwarts library, the crystallization and fractures cracking and shifting as
if a man of stone was attempting to carve himself joints.

“Hello Theo!” she chirped, watching his crystalized magic crack and warm slightly as he turned to
her, his relief in seeing her palatable in the air and his reaction obvious. She smiled winningly.

“Oh! Luna, how are you?”

She smiled, skipping faster as to match his stride, “oh I’m lovely. How are you though? You seem
awfully solid compared to usual.”

His aura was confused, the light browns churning in minute puzzlement, as if she was a riddle yet
to be solved. She was familiar with this particular emotion, as it often overplayed his ambient
affection whenever she spoke. Luna often wondered if he was just dense or particularly bad at
puzzles, as she seemed to be an improbability he could never seem to figure out. She didn't know if
she should be flattered or flabbergasted, and settled to be somewhere in the middle.

“More solid…?”

“Mhm! It is very worrying really, has something happened?”

Ah, there it is. He was crystalizing again, the cracks sealing back up as he was reminded of what
was stressing him.
“It’s nothing you should worry about Luna. I’m fine.”

She hummed, extremely unconvinced and already plotting how to warm him up. “I've noticed you
get solid whenever worrying about Harry, has he done something stressful lately?”

“You… you aren't talking about physically solid, right?”

She snorted, “no silly! Magically solid, you're usually very in the middle of solid and liquid-not
anything like a gas though-you’re very mixed between the two, but right now you’re all solid! It's
very disconcerting you know.” Theo’s confusion, which had only been somewhat apparent before,
was now very clearly defined, and as his analytical brain jumped into overdrive, his magic started
to churn faster in response-breaking up the crystals as it did.

“I have no clue what you're on about Lu, sorry.”

“Oh it's alright Theo! I understand your confusion completely and appreciate it.” His core pulsed in
amusement, the warmth and movement breaking up even more of the pesky crystalized honey and
melting it back into normalcy. She smiled at his soft laugh, cheeks warming as he physically
relaxed, his magic copying the feelings instantaneously.

“Well that's good, though I would generally prefer to understand what you mean when you say
things.”

“But that takes all the fun out of it!” She hooked an arm around his, finding wool where she
expected sticky sweet nectar. It was difficult sometimes to remember that people weren't made out
of just their soul, Luna made a mental note to touch people more often to remind herself of that
fact. Theo breathed out a sigh.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Of course I do. Now, what is making you so solid, Theo?”

He didn’t reply, but his molten honey heart kept churning and melting and returning her honey boy
to his proper brilliance. She considered it something of a considerable improvement. Glancing
down the hall, she watched as a clump of people breezed past, their cores airy and gentle as they
giggled to each other. Her soul was white as snow, and for years had been just as wispy and gentle
as theirs had been, but in the past year it had clumped up into particles of snow-as if dragging her
down to the earth with them. Luna liked the change, things felt crisper now.

“I had a bad dream is all.” She turned back to her honey boy, his warm molten brown returning
completely, with only a few clumps of crystals floating about. Not perfect, but not everything was.

“A bad dream about Harry?”

“Mhm.”

She thought of Harry’s core, of his near-black hole of a core. She thought of how it would suck up
every spare piece of magic in the air and hoard it for itself, how it would make Harry so much
stronger but so, so different.

“Change is good sometimes, if you can adapt to what it brings.”

She had been terrified when she started to make the shift from nearly-invisible wisps of white to
gently falling snow, but she had been so much better for it. Luna was sure Blaise Zabini was
terrified when his cloud of blue started to loosen and slip from the confines of his green vines, but
it would be better for him. Change does not mean the end to the good, and destruction did not mean
the end of all things.

“What if you can’t adapt?”

She thought of her father’s core, thought of how it was simply a dimly glowing light of yellow on
the backdrop of leaded black. Grief did horrible things to a person-and even worse to their soul.

“I suppose... we’ll have a problem then.”

She loved her father, and she loved her mother’s memory just as much. Luna remembered the
death as if it had just happened, of the assured flick of her mother’s wand as she said the damning
words. Remembered the explosion and the thunk of Pandora Lovegood’s body as she fell to the
cold floor below. Luna hadn’t been able to see souls then-hadn’t even figured out how-and had
watched the scene play out with horror splashed across her young face, tears in her eyes and heart
in her lungs. Luna was glad that she had been unable to see her mother’s soul wink out of
existence, that she hadn’t been able to see the life drift out of her like a wisp of smoke. Her father’s
core however, had traveled at a slow enough decline for her to watch as it stagnated each and every
day, falling further and further from its once sunny brilliance.

“Very reassuring, thank you Luna.”

She clutched the soft wool of his jumper tightly, leaning slightly into him and attempting to smell
the warm honey that was Theodore Nott.

“Don't worry Theo, he’ll be just fine, I'm sure of it.”

Harry fell back into the normalcy of Hogwarts with relative grace, returning to classes as if nothing
was amiss, and continued to work on various projects on the side as he did so. It was easy enough
to ignore Lupin’s looks of longing or Dumbledore’s bothersome twinkle, Ginny Weasley’s
unsettling eyes or Theo’s weary gaze. He noted it all down as intriguing, but to be put on hold till a
later date, choosing instead to revel in Draco’s warmth or joke about with the noticeably more
carefree Blaise, sneak about and make issues with the twins or play terse chess with Daphne. He
didn't notice Tracey’s suspicious absence from most gatherings, or if he did, the acknowledgement
left his mind far too quickly for him to make any true note of it. What would the girl possibly be up
to that would warrant his worry anyhow?

As soon as it arrived, January was swept away in the warming winter winds that he desperately
clung to, February creeping through with the first cautious signs of spring. The tragic death of
Justin Finch-Fletchley was made public sometime around the end of January, though Harry barely
made note of it. His shoulder had healed up nicely, and all that could be seen was the burn on his
palm was the loss of any fingerprints on his right hand, which he truly considered a bonus. His
shoulder however, still had a rather jaring burn scar, which covered all of his left shoulder,
collarbone, and the base of his neck, tearing across his skin as if the very fire that had put it there
was screaming across his flesh. Everytime he took off his shirt, Draco went pale and quiet as he
observed the burn, obviously blaming himself for the injury. Harry rectified this issue by only
undressing in the comfort of the baths, knowing that Draco’s peace of mind far outstriped
convinience. Other than the occasional assurance that, ‘yes Theo, I am just fine, thank you for
asking’ the weeks passed with nothing more than a whisper of slight notability.

It was February third when the first hiccup of the new year revealed itself, the passing of time
making note of itself like a banshee in the dead of night.
“They’re officially recalling the dementors then? I thought Black’s been dead for months now!”
Harry halted in place, turning to watch the two hufflepuffs as they continued their loud chatter.

“Yeah, apparently the minister was really cautious about calling them back to Azkaban for some
reason, do you think the ministry can even control the freaky things?”

“Hell if I know, I'm just glad they'll be gone.”

Harry narrowed his eyes as the two boys moved out of his range of hearing, turning a corner as he
was forced to keep moving by Draco’s incessant tugging at his sleeve. He turned, matching
Draco’s shorter stride with only mild difficulty as he contemplated the news, Blaise’s loud voice
getting firmly blocked out as he thought. It was good that the dementors were leaving of course,
but it represented the ministry's official waving of the white flag in regards to the search of Sirius.
Of course they knew the charred body they found in the Shrieking Shack wasn’t actually his, and
they likely were well aware that it was indeed Pettigrew’s, but that kind of news would not only
rock the very foundation of Great Britain, but could spell doom for Fudge’s campaign. As it was,
they had likely come to the correct conclusion that Sirius was innocent, and were quickly trying to
save face.

He sighed minutely, even if the minister or, hell-the auror department knew that Sirius was
innocent, they were obviously never going to grant him trial, and while Harry was in no need of a
proper guardian in this lifetime, it was best for his conscience if Sirius was freed. Further
solidifying the idea was his realization that the man was likely the only person from his last life
that had truly been on his side.

And Dumbledore let him be killed for it.

It was the right thing to do-help Sirius be freed of course-but considerably impossible given
Harry’s current status as Heir. Sure, if he could take up the Slytherin lordship-or even the Potter
one-it would be a walk in the park to get the man freed, but as he was? A thirteen year old half-
blood with deep pockets and considerable fame? Well, he could attempt it, but with everything else
going on it would be considerably more difficult than he prefered. Either way, the press coverage
of the case alone would make Dumbledore (and many others) descend onto him like a swarm of
locust, and Harry had yet to get the old bastard out of his position as Harry’s magical guardian,
which currently had him tethered to the headmaster’s every beck and call (not really, but if the man
really wanted to make Harry’s life difficult, he very well could).

As it was, he would have a much better time doing as was done in the last life and hide Sirius away
someplace. Though preferably in a house that he actually liked.

“Draco, your mother is pleasant enough.”

“Stunning observation, Harry.”

“Oh sod off, do you think she would be willing to take a rather large request from me?”

Draco looked a tad nervous, “I suppose it depends on what it is.”

“Could you give me her owl address?”

“Certainly.”

“Brilliant, don't worry yourself too much about it then.”

Sirius went bonkers having to live in Grimmauld Place, but he would go considerably more
bonkers roughing it out in the woods. Narcissa Malfoy was his cousin and (relatively) pleasant to
Harry himself, and while he wouldn't in a million years expect the woman to ever be willing to
hide Sirius in one of the Malfoy homes, it would be quite easy to request the keys to one of the
nicer Black homes, he was the second in line and heir presumptive after all, that held a rather
decent amount of sway as it was. Harry had no doubt she would fight him on the concept, but they
were both slytherins, it would be simple enough to come to an agreement.

If push comes to shove, I can al ways imperious her an d come to the same result.

The hardest part of this plan was, of course, getting Sirius to agree to the whole stint in the first
place. Harry found it doubtful that the crazy bastard would agree to live in anyplace his equally
crazy family had lived, and would likely just stick to the woods if given a choice. As it was, Harry
could be very persuasive if agreements could not be met.

“Honestly, those two are just obnoxious.” Harry was broken from his musings by Draco’s annoyed
voice, and he followed the boy’s line of sight to Daphne and Blaise, who were talking with their
heads bent together, giggling occasionally. Harry squinted in confusion, since when did Blaise
giggle?

“What do you mean?”

Draco scoffed at him, appearing flabbergasted and disgusted, though Harry could only guess which
emotion was pointed where. “Those two are very obviously flirting, and I find it revolting.”

Harry glanced back at the two, watching as Blaise brushed a hand along Daphne’s shoulder, and
how she raised her own to meet his, their hands awkwardly tangled together as they giggled. He
raised an eyebrow, could that even be considered flirting? There was a considerable lack of words
being exchanged to make it anything more than obvious pinning.

“I don’t see the issue.”

Draco sputtered, “don't see the issue? This is a clear breach in tact! They are just standing there
and-and touching!”

Harry turned the raised eyebrow onto his soulmate, “so touching is the problem?”

“Yes!”

“I distinctly remember a rather... touchy habit of yours.” He glanced down to where Draco
clutched Harry’s inner sleeve tightly, the fabric of his uniform crumpling slightly under the stress.
“Or have you forgotten where your hand is currently placed?”

Draco’s sputtering gained volume as his face gained a blush, his eyes darting anywhere but Harry’s
face as the taller boy grinned in amusement.

Cute.

“Th-this is completely different! Firstly, the only reason I hold onto your sleeve like this is so that
you don't wander off! Something that you are quite privy to, might I add.” Harry wasn't convinced,
squinting slightly in mock question as the rather impressive blush crept further down the shorter
boy’s neck. “And-and they are obviously flirting, this is just a-uh, it's just a thing!”

“A thing?”

“Y-yes.”
 “Hmm… so you would let go of me at any time with little to no qualms?”

Harry tried very hard not to laugh as Draco appeared conflicted, obviously trying to choose
between letting go of Harry’s sleeve right then and sparing his dignity, or keeping his hold and
admitting defeat.

Turning suddenly, Draco determinalty stared center front, having found a third option, which
appeared to consist of ignoring Harry’s existence while still clutching his sleeve. Humming again,
Harry turned to look at Blaise and Daphne, who were now officially holding hands, fingers
interlocked as they grappled with this new step in their apparent relationship. He watched as Blaise
nervously rubbed his shaved head, the soft stubble granting some sort of therapeutic feeling as a
blush painted his cheeks. Daphne had her eyes pinned firmly to the floor, corners of her eyes
crinkling in happiness as a smile seemed to be permanently fixed to her face, glittering eyes
glancing occasionally up to the embarrassed boy clutching her hand like a lifeline. Harry smiled,
the uncertainty of firsts always seemed to overplay the actual action, caution and confusion seeping
into the minds of two people and making everything just a little off-just a little strained. It was
strange though, he had felt that uncertainty plenty of times in his first life, but never in this one-
never with Draco-he was always assured… both of them were.

Glancing back to Draco or, more accurately, the back of Draco’s head, he contemplated everything
from the incomplete soul bond to the click of the other boy’s perfectly polished shoes against the
stone below. There was something gratifying about soulmates, something familiar that made you
immune to the awkwardness of firsts. He wanted to say something, wanted to breach the paper-thin
wall between their souls and force some sort of connection on Draco’s end, help him understand
just what that connection was, but didn’t know how-didn’t know if he even should.

He chose instead to carefully pry the boy’s fingers from his sleeve, replacing the fabric with his
own hand, his much larger palm nearly enveloping Draco’s considerably smaller one. The Malfoy
heir went stiff, before lagging back a moment, just long enough to brush arms with him. There they
walked, calmly and with no outward change like Daphne and Blaise, already comfortable with
being connected at the hip.

It wasn’t much, and it certainly wasn't flirting, and their heads weren’t bent together and they didn't
blush. It felt just as it always did, and no one who passed by even glanced at their now intertwined
hands, the occurrence of Draco dragging Harry along too common to warrant even a whisper of
gossip. Harry hadn’t expected anything to feel different though; he hadn’t expected the warmth to
double or his cheeks to flush, and it didn't, because this was Draco, he didn't need to feel flustered
to feel happy, he didn’t need physical touch to feel the near-completion of the soul bond as their
hearts reached desperately for each other. Physical limitations were so fickle when your entire
being was wrapped up in another, holding hands just wasn't comparable when you were so focused
on an almost. Harry clutched the warm hand tighter, wishing he would just say something-just
break the wall and feel true satisfaction-feel the euphoria of a complete soul bond. But he didn't,
and instead settled into the gentle, warm touch and familiar heartbeat. Acknowledging the
incompleteness but not acting to rectify it. Not knowing how, or if he should.

It wasn’t any different from as it always was, but it was good.

It was good enough.

Not quite what he wanted, but good enough.

Chapter End Notes

I'm sorry that this is, once again, a day late. My girlfriend was feeling sad a couple
days ago when I would have been finishing this chapter, so instead of writing I played
minecraft with her and had to finish it yesterday. I would say I regret my actions but
that would be a lie :P

In regards to Luna and how she sees: Luna can still see inanimate objects that haven't
been embedded with magic just fine, and things that have been enchanted or
something just show that they have the magic on them. The only thing that she really
struggles to see is people, as she is only capable of seeing their magic (she doesn't
have this problem with muggles or squibs) and heavily enchanted books because she
can't read the words. I have been contemplating several different avenues to take
Luna's eyes, as I am sticking to the idea that each seer has something wrong with their
physical eyes, and finally settled onto perminate magic sight (or whatever you want to
call it lol). The idea is based somewhat on Harry's ability to see in the fic Blindness by
AngelaStarCat, which to this day stands as my favorite harry potter fic of all time. If
you have read it, you might occasionally find subtle influences from the
characterizations from that fic in this one, but only lightly (except for Luna's eyes,
which are basically a shitty rip-off lmao (I'm sorry AngelaStarCat, it had to be done)).
It is a Harmione fic if you are swayed away from that particular ship (as am I
generally, but really this fic makes it SO good ok) and honestly? I've yet to read
something that comes close to how much I adored it, so if you have an afternoon to
spare please go read it! Ahem, but anyway: I think all of this (except for the book
recommendation) were explained pretty well in the chapter itself but you can never be
too sure sometimes, I just want to make sure the ability is properly conveyed to my
audience!

P.S. Every Luna POV and scene I write is always brainstormed to the song Bamboleo
and finalized to From Eden, because the pure chaos of Bamboleo is necessary to get
her natural absurdity down pat, and then the soothing romantic vibes of From Eden
are then brushed along to polish her personality off as chaotically wistful. (yes, every
POV is written to a general vibe of song (Harry is 80's punk exclusively, Draco is
chaotic/horny classical, so on and so forth) so that the personalities fit accurately. And
yes, there is never any music playing when I write Dumbledore POV)

Edit: A lot of people have been asking so I'll just say it here in the notes. Blindness is
on fanfiction.net, and here's a link to the first chapter <3:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10937871/1/Blindness
 An Angel's Halo
Chapter Summary

Valentines day rounds the bend, and with mysteries piling up and no method to solve
them in sight, Harry submits himself to an angel's touch and unsteady heartbeats.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry watched the subtle movement of breathing from where he sat behind a desk, contemplating
the various ways that a human took in nutrients to live. The first was food, obviously, which was
eaten and then digested, the necessary compounds and minerals going separate ways from the
waste. The sugars and carbohydrates and proteins all going towards the necessary processes that
make the body function. Then there was water, which made up 70% of the human body. Water
which is necessary for so many things in the body that one would die so very quickly without it.
Then, of course, there was air, which is required for respiration and transfer of heat and transfer of
blood-for oxidation of the blood-which allowed for consciousness and exercise and cellular
respiration.

He watched Draco’s back rise and fall, the steady breathing of sleep forcing him to realize how far
gone from human he had become.

Harry ate, he desired food and water and got tired and slept and his heart still beat but it was
skewed in some way. He hadn't fully realized it until he held Draco’s hand and ghosted a finger
over the ruby-inlade ring and observed the jerky, nonuniform beat of his own heart. If he was
normal, the beat of his heart could have lended him to have either a severe case of arrhythmia, or
perhaps even a heart attack.

That was it, either he had a disease or was in constant risk of keeling over.

He stood, moving from the desk to the bed and settling down, watching the steady, rhythmic
breathing with careful eyes. Obviously, Harry couldn't comprehend either possibility being even
remotely true, so he gathered his knowledge (both muggle and magical) and attempted to come to a
different conclusion. He breathed, just as everyone did, and when he paid attention to his breathing
it was just the same as everyone else's, but that didn’t mean that it was always like that. It was very
possible that he breathed just as irregularly as his heart beat. So, he ran tests, as one did when
contemplating their body’s own ability to function properly.

Ba-bum… ba...bu-bu-bu-bum.. Bum-bum..um-bum

Holding the ring on Draco’s sleeping hand, Harry felt for his own heart, sitting propped up against
the headboard as it thud and shuttered and broke over and over again, as if it was lazily pretending
to work the way it should-like it was bored of the typical steady thumping and decided to make a
tune with his circulatory vascular system’s main component. His heart, effectively, didn’t seem to
be doing its job-or even needing to! He couldn’t comprehend his own breathing in any capacity,
but knew somewhat that it was likely his respiratory system wasn’t functioning properly either. He
didn't get out of breath-no matter how fast he ran or for how long-and duels always left him feeling
just the same as before, his breathing just as steady as it would be when relaxing.
This is… worrying.

Harry felt that he might be slightly downplaying the fact that his heart and lungs were, quite
obviously, obsolete and therefore unnecessary to his continued survival. Was he dead? Dying? It
was hard to say because he was actually feeling quite good, relatively speaking, and likely wouldn't
have even realized that something might actually be wrong unless he had found out about the
irregularity of his own pulse. Sure, he had the discomfort of an incomplete soul bond to contend
with, but the likelihood of that minor annoyance being equatable to a severe case of heart
arrhythmia combined with chronic bradypnea was incredibly low.

Alright, so it is slightly above worrying. Disturbing perhaps?

He reached for Draco’s bare back, brushing a hand down the temporary runic tattoos that kept his
wings from sight, contemplating his new-found medical issue. They were napping-at least Draco
was-in the dorm while Blaise ran about in preparation for valentines, which was the next day.
Draco had quickly fallen asleep, rocked into slumber by the teen’s worried ranting, not interested
in the least about which shirt Daphne would prefer over another, or what conjured flowers would
look best in her hair. Harry was likely even less invested in the conversation, but had been
theorizing about the possibility of him also not truly needing sleep, and had been hypothesizing
about how exactly he could test it without the potential dip in his marks if it was proven that he did
indeed need sleep to function, so he was firmly awake in spite of his disinterest.

Do I truly need to eat either?

That idea was quickly brushed aside, even if his blood and breath were faulty, Harry was assured
that he needed to eat, his constant ravenous hunger proved that much. What he needed to eat
though, was on the table as potentially different from what he believed.

Humans needed sugar, carbohydrates, protein, minerals, fats, and vitamins to function at full
capacity. However, this did not mean that he needed all of that as well. Draco afterall, was far more
inclined to eat meat now that he had had his creature inheritance, and turned his nose up at
everything from pumpkin juice to broccoli, instead eating all varieties of proteins to survive.
Draco’s gastrointestinal system-his digestive tract-had altered itself with his inheritance so that it
was only capable of taking nutrients from meat, not being able to digest vegetables properly, and
his taste buds changed as well to reflect that. Harry could only assume that he himself had changed
with his inheritance as well, and his body’s systems were therefore altering in some way to reflect
that of a wendigo.

Now all that was left was to figure out what that meant for him.

He had ordered various books on wendigos, all written by the native tribes of northern America,
and all of which were riddled with legends and attacks but not much about the physical processes
of the animal.

Is it truly an animal though?

That was a question that tended to keep him up at night, as no one was completely positive of what
the blasted creature even was. Many believed that it wasn't fully corporeal, instead something of a
spirit that infected human bodies and altered them for its own purposes. This idea held credence, as
the demon seemed to be a separate entity in his mind than an extension of it, though he would have
to ask Draco or perhaps Lord Malfoy about their own personal experiences with their creatures.
Either way, Harry was starting to question if the possibility of his wendigo being a spirit or demon
of some sort was starting to bleed over into him. It would certainly explain why his heart seemed to
only do its job out of a sense of bored obligation, or how he wasn’t even sure he needed to eat
human food, but did it anyway to, again, fulfill obligation. Was he even gaining anything from
eating meals anymore, or would he only be able to gain nutrients from eating human meat?

The idea struck a chord in him, he had only eaten one person before, and while he was certainly
planning the unfortunate end of another, the act of cannibalism had always been rather unsavory to
him. There was a clear divide-to him at least-between occasional blood letting for the purposes of
getting a drink, and repeatedly and consistently eating other human beings. Though, perhaps once
he did it again, after having had his official inheritance, he would have a different opinion on the
practice.

Could it even be considered cannibalism if I'm not technically human?

Sure, a magical creature that attacked and killed humans was swiftly put down for their crimes, but
no one had ever killed a wendigo for eating a person-partially because it was suicide to even
attempt. Trully, could someone blame him for attacking if it was his only mode of survival?
Vampires could drink all different kinds of animal blood, and only the ones who purposefully
searched out human blood were reprimanded for it. Logically, he couldn't be held responsible for
his own search for nutrients, no matter how ‘immoral’ it was. Because really, immorality was a
subject that should be up for serious debate, as anyone could alter what fell under the term with
their own personal perspective. Voldemort didn't see anything immoral to an extent, so logically
the concept of immorality was flawed in the manner that it was subjective.

Draco continued to breath softly, Blaise tried on a twelfth outfit.

Harry sighed, his hand trailing from his soulmates back up to his head, taking a gentle fist of hair
and kneading the boy’s scalp with his fingers in soothing motions. These thought experiments were
getting him nowhere. Regardless of what he personally thought on the subject, the state still
outlawed ‘cannibalism’ even if he could prove that technically he hadn't been human during
consumption. Either way, he would still be doing what was necessary for his own survival,
regardless of what the ministry would say about it if they caught wind. If that involved willingly
consuming human flesh, then he would just have to get off his high horse and get it done.

Harry made a face, watching as Blaise attempted to comprehend the mind of his beau in order to
dress appropriately for a date that was now quite obviously going to be awkward to a fault. He had
proven without a shadow of doubt that his heart was likely unnecessary and therefore only still
beating (if irregularly and quite possibly cheekily) to bring Draco comfort, or in the very least to be
assured that his skin didn’t become unreasonably pale from the loss of blood flow. It was also
likely then (if it was irregular as he theorized it to be) that his breathing was nothing short of habit.
If he had stopped needing these important bodily functions on his thirteenth birthday, then it was
likely that not only was he horribly dense for not realizing it sooner, but that he would no doubt
need to convince his aunt against the yearly check-ups with their pediatrician that they always had
over the summer, as it was practically confirmed that the results would send the entire family into a
tizzy.

And I suppose ever going to the hospital wing is out of the picture. It was hardly a stressor in his
life-the hospital wing that is-but the concept of Dumbledore finding out about this... previously
unknown medical issue held far too many variables for Harry to bother even attempting to come to
a conclusive series of events that would follow the no doubt chaotic and awfully dramatic
diagnosis.

Draco muttered something about chicken in his sleep, Blaise checked out his ass in the mirror for
an eighth time. What it seemed to him was that, if the wendigo was truly a demon of some sort,
then it fed on human bodies exclusively. He was not so bold as to say that he was therefore only
able to gain nutrients from human meat, as he had lasted the months since his birthday relatively
fine on just an elevated level of nutrients. However, it was likely that the act of eating human flesh
gave him some sort of power boost that was necessary for his growth, or perhaps it allowed him
satisfaction? Considering the constant ache of hunger that he was now quite good at ignoring, the
idea had credence, though Harry was cautious to test it earlier than the time he had allotted for
himself. The concept of being full for the first time in seven months was an extremely tempting
one sure, but Harry hadn't gotten desperate enough to attempt something so foolhardy.

Draco grabbed for his hand and latched on sleepily, Blaise was contemplating using magic to make
his hair grow out, just to see what it would look like.

“Honestly mate, I think you’re overthinking this whole thing.”

The nervous teen held his wand aloft, looking into the mirror and turning his head one way and
another, as if questioning if he should attempt it. “Says you, I bet you’ve never even considered the
stress of a first date.”

Harry thought back to a sobbing Cho and winced minutely, glad that his first date had never
happened in this life. “True, but growing out your hair after never having it longer than a half inch
is going a tad far.”

“But what if she wants to run her hands through it!”

Isn't it thick enough for that to be near impossible? “What if she doesn't?”

Blaise grumbled, turning back to the mirror and appearing conflicted. “Alright, but what if we-uh,
well what if we k-kiss, and she wants to pull at it or something? My mum sometimes says that she
prefers men with longer hair so she can give it a good tug.”

“Well firsty, your mom’s a bit of an outlier, considering her rather large body count.” Blaise
winced, not knowing if Harry was talking about dead bodies or conquests. “-and besides, tugging
hair should be your job.”

Draco snorted loudly, waking up fully from his sleep as Blaise’s tanned skin went several shades
darker. “I'd like to see that, maybe you'll pull a few extensions out.” This promptly sent Blaise into
an indignant rant about the naturality of Daphne’s ‘golden trestles’.

The poor sod was whipped. As it was, Harry only felt mild sympathy as he watched Draco’s rather
defined back muscles stretch and contract, the shorter boy rising from where he laid to turn and
argue further with Blaise.

Perhaps they were all feeling the effects of the season.

The next day found Theo reading in the library, hiding away from the drama of valentines day and
wishing desperately just to get some bloody homework done.

Luna seemed intent on making that desperate wish impossible.

“Do you think the moon has feelings?”

She lounged, her tiny legs hanging across the plush couch as her hair splayed across his legs. She
held her father’s paper in her hands-The Quibble or something-and a strange array of multi-color
beads. She stared up at the ceiling with something akin to curiosity, moving her head back and
forth as if contemplating the shape and size of something. He made an effort to not look up, feeling
assured that he would find nothing but mahogany ceiling carvings and elaborate woodwork.
Instead, Theo looked into her not-quite-seeing eyes, contemplated what it was about the girl that
made her… like that.

“The moon is a large rock in space, which controls the tides and enraptures poets. It doesn't have
feelings because it is not sentient.”

“What if it was sentient?”

Theo took a very deep and very long breath, closing his eyes and contemplated how on earth this
utterly illogical person could have possibly ended up being his best friend. “Then I suppose we
shall remove our robes and frolic under the full moon each month with the werewolves and hope it
saves us from our dull, stressful lives.”

“Your dull, stressful life you mean.”

He tried, very hard then, to ignore the sparse few moments that Luna completely and utterly tore
him to pieces, her sass had come out in full force today it seemed. “Yes Luna, my incredibly
boring, inconsequential life.”

“I didn't say it was inconsequential!” she rolled over on her stomach, her weird sunglasses pushing
up her forehead as she snuggled his thigh. He pretended that his face didn’t heat up at the
affection. “You are just constantly and consistently stressed, and you really need to stop it.”

“Stop being stressed?”

“Mhm.”

Sounds awfully irresponsible.

“I believe, Miss. Luna Lovegood, that your logic is a tad flawed.”

She wriggled around like a worm for a bit, supposedly trying to get comfortable before finally
settling and staring up at some area in his stomach. He wondered what she was looking at that
enraptured her attention so often, besides the lint sticking to his robes.

“I don't think it is.”

“I suppose you wouldn't, considering that it is your logic.”

She trailed her cloudy eyes up from his stomach, following an invisible pattern to his face, where
her gaze settled somewhere to the left of his nose. Luna had yet to tell him the extent of her eyes’
damage, though as she often requested that he read books for her, Theo could only assume she
might have some sort of visual impairment. Perhaps she was farsighted? She likely would have
gotten glasses if that was the case.

“I think logic is flawed as a concept.”

His left eye twitched, the blasphemy of the girl’s words making him want to rant on about how life
could, quite literally, not exist without logic holding the universe’s chaotic elements together.

“Oh? Why is that?” He ground out, his voice heavy in sarcasm as she prepared to no doubt make a
mess of his entire world view.

Luna did not disappoint.

“Well, logic is naturally a tad finicky, as each person uses it in different ways. So, technically, the
use of logic can be, naturally, quite illogical. Therefore, the only way to be assured that you are
being logical, is by being completely illogical.”

He just stared, looking down at the insane little ball of a girl lounging across his lap like some sort
of absurdly smug kitten. “You're mental, you know that right?”

She giggled, and booped his nose. “Of course, honey boy.”

Harry stretched his arms up to the sky, his trousers rolled up to his knees and feet planted firmly in
the icy water of the black lake. Draco was a few paces ahead of him, water up to his mid-thigh and
trousers irreversibly soaked. They had spent the day lounging about outside, before moesing down
to the water, joking about their friends’ romantic exploits while ignoring their own. It was tricky
business, pretending that you weren't on the cusp of something with someone, but Harry managed
well enough, he hoped.

“Do you reckon we’ll find the two of them holled up in some corner, snogging each other
senseless?” For someone so supposedly disgusted by the acts of physical affection, Draco sure did
seem to contemplate it a lot.

“Blaise doesn't have the nerve, he’d probably just pass out if she tried.” The two of them worked
well together, but for as stubborn and ambitious Blaise could be, he was gentle hearted in truth,
preferring to go with the flow of things instead of against them. Daphne on the other hand,
flourished in harrowing environments, she was one that could fashion an army out of a few planks
of wood and a ball of twine, and watching the two of them fall over each other in an effort to pader
to the other’s strengths was not only incredibly amusing but a tad pathetic.

“You don't think he wrote a poem for her, do you?”

Harry looked past Draco and to the shimmering lake they stood at the precipice of, their feet
waded just far enough to assure them safety, but not enough to be considered satisfying. If the lake
wasn’t full of dangerous creatures and giant squids, then it was very likely that students would
swim in it whenever possible or comfortable.

As it was, no one had the nerve.

“If he did, one of us would have had to proofread it.”

“Mhm, fair point.”

He looked at Draco then, admiring his pale hair and fair complexion. Despite his sharp edges,
Draco was soft and warm, his biting personality doing nothing to sharpen the softness in his eyes.
Draco had calloused hands, but unblemished, revealing that he was skilled but cautious, making an
effort to not injure himself while still putting in greater skill and practice than needed. His chin was
pointy, his collarbone and cheeks sharp with definition, his nose pointed as if drawn with a ruler,
aristocratic and yet… gentle.

Harry blinked, and threw another rock into the lake, swallowing thickly and refusing to think any
further of long white eyelashes or pink lips. “I’m sure he managed well enough, his mother’s genes
had to have transferred over in some capacity.”

Draco grunted, “I don't know what ‘jeans’ are supposed to be, but her natural ability to seduce
those of the opposite sex has no doubt revealed itself in him, one way or another.”
Harry rolled his eyes, picking up a small pebble and throwing it lightly at the back of Draco’s
knees. “Why did you drop muggle studies again? It would have done you a great deal of help.”

“Because it was centuries out of date and full of puffs!” Draco replied with an indignant yell,
splashing around and fishing through the murky water for something to retaliate with.

“Oh of course, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with you not understanding the material though,
right Dray?” A pebble of slightly larger size whizzed through the air and smacked into his inner
thigh, uncomfortably close to more sensitive regions.

“Don’t be so idiotic, Potter, everyone knows I’m the smartest student of our year.” Harry kicked a
leg out, laughing as Draco screeched in anger as a splash of icy water surged upwards, enveloping
him in the freezing chill.

“Oh sure, say that to your fourth in year ranking, why don't you?” Draco decided to forgo all tact
and pulled his wand, sending a pulse of energy through the water towards him, which surged up
into a concentrated wave, crashing down on Harry and shoving him on his back, entire body
soaked as he laughed his arse off. Reaching out, Harry did the same but in the opposite direction,
effectively pulling Draco’s feet from under him and sending the boy crashing into the water with a
splash, bird-like screeches of indignation accompanying him on the way down. Draco seemed to
fumble a bit, before sitting up with a start, spitting water from his mouth as he glared at Harry, who
reclined back against the rocks below him, the water shallow enough to allow the relaxed stance.

“Tosser.”

Harry replied with another burst of magic, which sent Draco back into the water with a sputtered
shout. Laughing lightly to himself, Harry shambled to his feet and waded through the water,
watching as Draco resurfaced with a look of fiery retribution burning in his eyes. Harry allowed
himself to be pulled by the ankle into the icy water once more, arms and legs tangled up in
themselves and the two boys wrestled on the murky shore, attempting to keep their heads above the
chilly water long enough to breath before quickly getting dunked by the other.

Harry reached out with his magic and grasped hold of the coming tide once more, accidentally
sending both of them closer inland as he did, the man-made wave he inadvertently created sending
them tumbling for a moment before Harry felt the rocky shore at his back, and suddenly they had
resurfaced again.

He sputtered, rubbing water from his eyes and brushing aside the hair clinging there too,
attempting to clear his vision from the stinging water as Draco coughed. Once the pesky liquid was
wiped away however, Harry opened his eyes to find a sea of stormy gray, two stunning eyes
decorated with water-soaked lashes, the boy’s fair skin overtaken with an incredible blush. Draco
had ended up on top of him it seemed, the both of them a tangle of limbs and wet clothes and a
stinging, sudden clarity that rocked the very foundation of earth.

The clouds parted in that moment, almost as if on cue, and a gentle ray of sunlight fell down onto
Draco, illuminating his head like a halo. They were so close, he realized distantly, the other boy’s
breath sending puffs of air onto his face. Harry nearly wanted to reach out, wanted to grab his
soulmate’s waist and pull him closer, the waves gently lapping at their feet and warm breaths
mingling.

Instead he simply looked, his mind short circuiting as cold waves chilled his feet and warm hands
grasped his shirt.

Near-white hair, plastered to his face from the water and tousled from the waves. Pink cheeks,
 from the cold or embarrassment or merlin knew what else. Parted lips, wide eyes, long lashes.
Harry took a shuddering breath, realizing for-apparently the first time-how truly angelic Draco
Malfoy was.

Harry could hardly stop himself from saying it, the admission tumbling from his lips as if Fate
herself had forced it from his mouth, and he nearly sagged in relief for finally speaking the words
he felt so suddenly needed to be spoken-needed to be made known. Draco’s breath hitched, eyes
widening and blush deepening and merlin the world was near collapse, and he was just barely
sitting on the precipice of infinity, observing an angel in all its glory as the fiery sun in the sky
warmed him and the water at his back tempted to pull him into the ice he was so utterly and
completely a part of. Was melting worth this? Harry thought so, everything was worth destroying
for a chance to see such a breathtaking creature every day of his life. He took a shuddering breath,
and said the words again, almost as if to assure himself that this was real. That he was not
imagining what was sure to be the greatest sight on planet earth.

“I love you.”

Chapter End Notes

Me: *throws six horny teenagers into the void*

The void: ASDFLRIFDF baBieS dsfafjasd;kfhdj kis (* ￣3)(ε￣ *)
Me: now make me relevant.

Happy now? I've officially given you a chapter that is solidly 85% fluff. I feel tainted
and unsatisfied, but there isn't a lick of angst in sight, I hope you soft fools are satisfied
with my one and only attempt to make this story carefree in the least. (honestly, if you
want a soft story just go over to Earthy Heavens, that's where I throw all the beautiful
imagery and happy childhoods anyway.)

Jokes aside, I was actually not planning that last bit in the least, Harry was going to say
'you're beautiful' and that would be that, drama and shit was sure to follow but definity
not a decleration of fucking love. But I looked over the chapter, and then my extensive
notes, and a deep carnal sense that this is absolutely how their story needs to play out
overtook me and I preceded to rewrite a good portion of the next two years in order to
make this work because now it's happening and I'll damn all my plans to hell if it
means making it work.
 Things Left Unsaid
Chapter Summary

Harry has much that has been left unsaid, and decided firmly that action is better than
drifting apart from people important to him.

Chapter Notes

Reminder that Italics in the open are thoughts, italics in quotations are whispers, and
italics in quotations and these little squiggle lines ~ are parseltongue.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It had come completely out of nowhere.

Green eyes stared up at him as if he was a bird soaring over the infinite forests of a faraway land,
and Draco felt the onset of a forest fire raging away in his chest. Really, he had been just about to
get off the bastard’s chest, apologize for the upset, and lick his wounds while ignoring what
Harry’s firm body pressed against his own had felt like. But then that admission has come quietly
tumbling from the lips of the devil, and Draco had been shocked stiff in response, not quite sure he
had even heard him correctly. Maybe he had said ‘I loathe you’ or ‘get off me, you’ and Draco
had-like the lovesick fool that he was-completely misinterpreted what had been spoken.

But then, because apparently he hadn’t suffered enough in his thirteen years, the bastard had said it
again, his eyes widening with excitement and voice more sure than before, head leaned farther up
as if saying those words had breathed life back into a shambling corpse.

“I love you.”

It was unfair, first off, as those green eyes rarely held all that much excitement for anything, and
the undisguised happiness and trepidation they revealed in that moment was enough to send Draco
spiralling. It was also absurdly romantic, as freezing waves lapped at his feet and cold fingers
came up to rest cautiously at the base of his back. So really, it was perfectly reasonable of him to
need a few minutes to comprehend the sudden and aggressive shift in conversation, as well as have
a few well deserved heart palpitations.

What was he even supposed to say? Something along the lines of ‘I love you too, well-maybe, as I
have actually been putting a fair amount of energy in ignoring my feelings as I was quite sure you
didn't see me in a romantic light, but now that I am being faced with this dream-like scenario my
brain is currently going into shock and I'm going to need several minutes and a warm towel over
my eyes to manage a reply’. Draco took a deep breath of air, and watched as those big green eyes
stayed right where they were, patiently waiting. Harry was brilliant like that, always seeming to
know if he needed time and graciously allowing him all the time in the world.

So Draco gave himself a moment to think.

There was such a huge line between having a crush and actually acting on it, especially if said
crush was Harry bloody Potter, but there was something so extremely and obviously different
between the two of them that he could no longer ignore. Blaise and Greengrass had opened his
eyes really-how they interacted that was. Draco knew that he was utterly enraptured by Harry, and
would likely streak arse naked through the halls of Hogwarts if the pretty bastard told him too, but
he didn't act the way Blaise-or even Greengrass-did. He wasn’t giggly or flirty and he certainly
didn’t get all obnoxiously flustered at the drop of a hat, but there was a deep feeling of affection
that he carried around for the teen he was currently lounging across. His interactions and constant
physical proximity to Harry didn't give him butterflies, it just felt how it should be-how he should
be-there wasn't anything besides… satisfaction? He couldn't quite grasp the feeling, but completion
was close. Absolution? Even as he sat there, his nose nearly brushing against Harry’s own, he
didn't feel nervous about the closeness or unsure about the potential affection, just unease with
how he should answer.

Harry’s eyes roamed his face and shoulders, watching as deep red flames flickered into existence
across Draco’s arms, before fizzling out when a droplet of water ran across them. He still hadn’t
said anything. He was still laying across Harry’s chest as the boy very politely waited for a
response. Despite the cold water lapping at his toes and colder hands on his back, Draco felt as
though he was very near lighting the lake on fire. Harry still wasn’t looking at him, the distinct
creep of a blush crawling up his neck as he seemed to focus on just about anything else but Draco’s
eyes.

I really need to say something.

Draco relaxed his shoulders, and his forehead thunked gently onto Harry’s and he breathed a sigh.
“You do?”

He hated how vulnerable his voice sounded, so unsure and cautious, he also hated how fast his
heart was racing now that their lips were mere inches apart, Harry could obviously feel it.

What an utter embarrassment.

A hand left his lower back, reaching up and gently brushing against his jaw, as if testing the
waters. Draco leaned into it, feeling the constant heat he lived in dissipate some, as if lava had
dripped into the arctic ocean.

“Dray…” his eyes opened again, meeting the emerald green that looked at him with something
akin to worship. “I begin and end with you.”

Now that was just cheating.

“Stop that, you ponce.”

“Wh-stop what?”

He groaned loudly, shoving Harry’s face to the side as the taller boy laughed. “Saying poetic shite
like that! You know well and good how my poetic capabilities fare.”

Harry’s smile widened, and he leaned teasingly into the hand that was attempting to press him
under the icy waves. “What-that being that you are so utterly horrendous at being verbally
affectionate that a deaf man would wrinkle his nose at your attempt to serenade him?”

Draco rolled his eyes, shifting upwards onto his forearms and regarding Harry with an unimpressed
look. “I would word it very differently, but yes.”
Harry laughed, the sound like a sinful mix between an angels harp and the devil’s singing. “You're
awfully good at redirecting the conversation, you know.”

Draco felt lighter now that the silence had been broken, but still didn’t know quite what to say. He
had been cautious to label what he was feeling as ‘love’ even in his own mind, to attempt to admit
it out loud seemed to be rushing into things. Hell, he wasn't even sure he fully believed Harry when
he said that he really did, honestly and truly, love him. What was he to do, throw caution to the
wind and proclaim a love he wasn’t even positive he possessed to a person that he cared about
more than life itself?

“I-I fancy you… I suppose.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “you suppose?”

He huffed, “listen here Potter, I need far longer than the three minutes you’ve allotted me to
consider the ins and outs of my own personal affection for you, and even longer than that to decide
conclusively if that is, indeed, love.”

The excited gleam in Harry’s eyes returned, “but there is affection there, yes? You do fancy me?”

Draco’s already rather prominent blush deepened, bubbly excitement welling up from his stomach
and making him want to do nothing but lean down just a little bit and-

Stop that, you swine.

“Of course there's affection you twit, who do you take me for?”

The hand on his back pressed him closer, the other one coming up to touch his cheek again.
Harry’s eyes were sparkling with a devious excitement that Draco had never seen before, and the
sight nearly made him melt into the water below them. “Someone with very good taste in men?”
The tone was light, spilling from a mouth turned upwards into a giddy smile, as if Harry couldn’t
contain his glee.

“If you want compliments on your physical form, I'm afraid you won’t find them in me.” Draco
was attempting to cobble together some modicum of self respect, hoping that if he acted flippant
enough the blush would recede. All thought went out the window however, when Harry yanked
him forward into a bone crushing hug, cradling Draco’s head in the crook of his neck and rocking
slightly in the water, sending gentle ripples through the lake.

“I really do love you, Dray.”

He had never seen Harry like this, it was as if every little thing that his mind was usually occupied
with flew out the window to be ignored. Relaxing his muscles, Draco slouched into the hug, arms
maneuvering to grab at Harry’s sides as he pressed his face closer to the boy’s neck.

I love you too.

Lady Narcissa Malfoy,

I hope this letter reaches you well, and that you and yours are all in good spirits. I know this
is rather unclouth to come out and say, but I thought that it might be prudent to make my
placement in the Black lineage known. You see, upon my re-entry into the British Magical
world, it came to my attention through Gringotts that I was second in line to the Black
heirship, with Sirius Black being the Heir apparent. Through his death, I have realized that
the title has now fallen quite suddenly onto me. As you, Lady Malfoy, are one of the last
Blacks that are not disgraced or in Azkaban, I thought that it would be prudent to ask for
your personal opinion on the Lordship, as well as any properties I may inherit.

All the best, Heir Hadrian Potter

Heir Potter,

Think nothing of your bluntness dear, Draco is far worse I’m afraid. In fact, I daresay that
your letter was incredibly useful for understanding my son’s placement in the line. I had
assumed that he would be gaining the title, though it is unsurprising that you managed to
snatch it away!

On the subject of the Lordship, I am afraid to say that I know little about it. I was part of the
second branch of the Blacks, and because of that the option of becoming Lord was out of the
picture for me. However, all the Black properties were left in my care after the last lord
passed, so I may be of some assistance in that department. I am afraid that the only one
currently lived in by anything is the Black ancestral home 12 Grimmauld Place, which houses
a house elf. There is also a cabin in Northern Wales, though I do believe that Cassiopeia
Black is haunting it, so I doubt it is very pleasant to live in. Several other homes dot the
countryside, but sadly, I believe that the only other notable home is a beach house in France,
though I haven't been there in years.

If you feel so inclined towards taking a vacation, I believe that the France villa would be the
best.

Regards, Narcissa Malfoy.

P.S. Do you mind telling Draco to owl me? That boy has yet to do much other than request
sweets for all of January and February, I’m starting to think he doesn’t care for me any
longer.

Lady Malfoy,

Thank you for the kind words, I assure you that I understand exactly what you mean in
regards to Draco, he can be rather blunt on occasion. In fact, just the other day he insinuated
he appreciated my company less than I enjoyed his. I’m getting ahead of myself however, to
be completely truthful, I am still contemplating if I should keep hold of the Black Lordship,
as I already have two to contend with and a third seems much too stressful. As it is however,
I was actually hoping to see if there were any homes that were not in use, as I am unable to
practice much magic in the muggle area that I inhabit, and thought that a summer home
would be a pleasant for both myself and my family. In fact, I was actually planning to go
abroad to France this summer for private study, and would certainly enjoy having a home in
which family would visit me at. Do you think it would be possible for me to borrow the key to
the France Villa?
All the best, Hadrian Potter

Hadrian,

I was not aware that Draco could be so crass, thank you for bringing this to my attention, I'll
be sure to cut down on his favorite candy in the next care package as punishment. In regards
to the Villa, I have inclosed the key and address with this letter. I have no use for the place, as
the Malfoy family already has several much larger homes in better areas of France, so it
really is no trouble. I was not aware that you were heir of more than the Potter title, was the
inheritance not made public I wonder?

It is delightful that you are expanding your education to private tutors in other countries,
Draco adamantly refuses to do such a thing. I suppose he must consider it something of a
bore-he tends to do that with everything but quidditch and potions-I worry that he’ll turn
into Severus Snape before long.

Regards, Narcissa Malfoy

Lady Malfoy,

Thank you very much for the key and address, I will use it well. I hope that you would
reconsider limiting Draco’s sugar intake, as he gets rather grouchy when it is withheld. I
have in fact kept one of my inherited titles private from the public knowledge, as it is rather
controversial and I would prefer that it was left alone until I am confident my public image
will not suffer due to it. I'm sure I can trust your discretion in this matter.

In regards to Draco, I have no doubt that he will be a rather brilliant potions master, as I
struggle to keep ahead of him in the class on some days. The concept of him becoming
Professor Snape is a rather bleak one however, as I'm sure that Draco has much better hair
and personality.

It has been an utter delight to write with you Lady Malfoy, thank you for setting aside the
time for me.

All the best, Hadrian Potter

Sirius woke with a start, the sound of rustling underbrush and menacing hissing setting both his
human and dog instincts on edge. A whispered hiss wafted through the Forbidden forest, a reply
coming from somewhere to the left of him. Padfoot watched as the colorful, massive snake he had
seen on occasion lazily slither down the tree it rested on, tongue darting out as it hissed again.
Something replied, and Sirius watched with wide eyes as a very familiar cloak melted into
existence, an even more familiar boy revealing himself from under it. Harry reached up to the
massive snake and hissed again, the snake butting its head against his hand as he did, replying in
some manner.

Of course he’s a parselmouth, why the bloody hell not?

Regardless of his godson’s apparent parseltongue abilities, Sirius was glad to see him unharmed.
He had been near cardiac arrest when the Shrieking Shack had lit aflame, and his heart had
certainly stopped for a few seconds when Harry dragged himself and the Malfoy boy out of the
quickly burning shack, seemingly unbothered by the grotesque injury he sported.

“Go on then, go get him for me.”

Padfoot perked up and ear, watching from where he hid as the snake reared up and-

Oh merlin.

Quick as a viper, the blasted thing was upon him, almost too fast for him to realize what was
happening-certainly too fast for him to do much but yelp.

“Evening Snuffles-or Sirius, I should say?” Padfoot growled angrily, thrashing in the snake’s hold.
“Yeah yeah, you're real pissy I get it, do you mind transforming back to a human? Thasin wont
hurt you.”

Going still, Sirius considered his options. Sure, he could continue to thrash in the hold of a very
dangerous snake as his godson watched on, or he could attempt to have a potentially pleasant
conversation with said godson. Making his decision rather quickly, Sirius slowly reverted back to
human form, the snake unraveling and freeing him as he did. He looked up at Harry with wary
eyes, who raised an eyebrow in response. “Evenin’ Black, did you know you're a dead man?”

Sirius blinked, well that was one way to tell someone you're about to kill them. “Harry, listen to
me, I would never betray your parents-”

“I know that, you moron.”

He blinked… then blinked again. “I-sorry?”

Harry rolled his eyes, saying something to the snake with a tone that could almost be described as
sarcastic. The snake hissed in response, and Sirius got the sneaking feeling he was getting made fun
of.

“I suppose I should elaborate? You're a dead man to all of Britain, Black.”

He tilted his head in confusion, scrambling up into a sitting position as he did. “What the hell are
you on about?”

Harry reached into a satchel, pulling out a folded up paper and throwing it at him. “Funny that,
apparently the corpse in the shrieking shack was burned enough that the ministry decided it was
you.”

Sirius skimmed through the article on his ‘death’ as the boy spoke, eyebrows furrowed in thought.
It was rather insulting that the ministry thought he was Pettigrew, considering how much fat the rat
bastard sported in comparison. However, if people thought that he was dead, there was the distinct
possibility he would have an easier time walking around, that is if he managed to get a shower and
some new clothes.

“Is this why the dementors left a few weeks ago?”

“Yup.” Harry settled down on a nearby rock, his snake ‘Thasin’ winding around his feet and
making Sirius a little nervous. There were several things about this situation that felt wrong to him-
as if he was being let in on some plot but not privy to any of the details. The first thing that had set
him off was the seeming ease at which he had been caught, and the second being the rather relaxed
posture of his godson. Sure, he had met with the boy a few times over the year, but had never
spoken with him in any real capacity.

“How did you know it was me anyway? Did Remus tell you?” Harry made a face that insinuated
he didn't like the werewolf all that much, wrinkling up his nose as if he had smelt something foul.

“Hardly, I've had all but five conversations with that ponce.”

Ponce?

Sirius decided to put that to the side for the moment, along with the paper. “Right well… how is
your shoulder?”

Harry gave him an exhausted look. “Just fine, thanks for causing it.”

“Hey now, I didn't start the fire.”

“You did trigger it though.”

He didn’t have much to say to that, mostly because he had no idea what the kid was on about. He
had thought the fire had started due to the Malfoy boy being a veela of some sort, and he could
hardly be counted responsible for that kid’s malfunction. Sirius watched the snake flick its tail
lazily as Harry observed him with those eyes- so similar to Lily Potter’s... but not quite.

“I have a house for you to stay in and recover from azkaban.”

He blinked, the admission coming out of nowhere. A house for him? The kid didn't even know him
all that well, why was he galavanting around buying houses for him? “Harry-listen, you don't
know me well-even if I’m your godfather, you don't have to do this for me.”

“I could though, get to know you I mean.” The boy rustled through the satchel slung over his
shoulder, relaxed and seemingly unbothered by what Sirius was trying to say. “But you can't be my
godfather if you're dead.”

“I... Alright, good point, but-”

“The house is the Black Villa in France. Your cousin gave me the key under the impression that I'll
be using it this summer. As I already intend to stay in France for educational purposes, I consider it
your duty to take this key-” He pulled a silver key engraved with the Black crest out of the satchel,
throwing it at Sirius, who caught it deftly. “-and get the hell out of the country. I’m sure you can
figure a muggle mode of transport.”

“Now hold on just a bloody second-” Sirius reached forward, grabbing the boy around the wrist
and holding it firmly. “Now Harry, you'll have to back this up a smidge, as I'm still grappling with
the fact that you know who I am as-ah… Snuffles.”

The teen waved an arm in dismissal. “Oh it was obvious, a massive grimm shows up at my house,
seems oddly intelligent, and then randomly appears again at my school miles away in Scotland?
You weren't exactly subtle.” Sirius winced, realizing that Harry had a point.

Green eyes locked onto his own, a ferocity in them that made Sirius wonder just who was sitting
before him. There was no way this was just a child. “Listen Black, I didn’t know my parents, and
I’ve got no real reason to connect with the people they were close to, so I’ve hardly anything from
them and don't particularly care-I've made peace with being an orphan and don't intend to wallow
in it. Regardless of that though, you are someone that I think I would enjoy having in my life, and
you’ve already seen me at some low points, so I think that, as my godfather, you have a
responsibility to stay out of trouble for me, considering now that you're legally dead.”

Sirius nodded slowly, letting go of the teen’s wrist and leaning back with a sigh. He had killed
Pettigrew already, there was really nothing left for him to do at Hogwarts. There was no shame in
leaving and settling in France. He had seen his old bike in Hagrid’s shed a few months prior
anyhow, he could probably steal it and fly all the way there if need be.

The snake hissed something, and Harry replied quietly, standing up to leave. “Write to me, alright?
And don't be an idiot and die.”

Sirius smiled, watching as the colorful snake weaved through her master’s legs. “I'll try my best.”

Draco was woken to the sound of the dorm room door opening and closing. Peeking an eye open,
he watched as a tall silhouette appeared, a cloak shimmering into view with it.

“Harry?” He whispered groggily, pushing up onto his elbows as the other boy made his way over
through the dark.

“I’m here.” A cold hand found his cheek, and he leaned into it with a quiet hum.

“What were you doing out past curfew?”

“Being mischievous.”

Draco laughed quietly as a thumb rubbed his cheek soothingly. “Should I be concerned?”

“Well… Are you planning on going to France anytime soon?”

“Not particularly.”

“You'll be fine then.”

The room dissolved into silence, Blaise had also snuck out in the dead of night, likely to go snog
with Greengrass in the common room. Harry’s hand was as chilly as always, and his bed was
obnoxiously hot from his own body heat. Draco wondered, distantly, if the other boy would be
willing to crawl in and keep him cool.

“Harry…”

“Hmm…?”

Perhaps it was too soon for something like that, he had yet to even admit his feelings completely
after all. It wouldn’t be fair to ask something like that without having given all he could to this
(relationship? Cautious affection? Merlin, Draco didn't have the faintest clue what they were now)
… thing.

“... nothing, nevermind. Goodnight.”

Harry leaned down, and Draco felt the cool forehead bump into his own. Their breath mingled for
a moment, before Harry pulled away.

“Goodnight.”
Chapter End Notes

Alright, I think that filled my fluff quota for at least the next seven chapters, let the
angst comense!

Some potentially necessary clarifications: As Sirius and Harry's conversation is

through Sirius' eyes, he doesn't know the truth (obviously) so he will believe whatever
believable lie Harry throws at him. That is why harry is seen lying through his teeth in
several instances and Sirius takes it at face value (and let's be honest: he's off his
rocker, it won't take too much for Sirius to believe what Harry is telling him) The
timeline goes as follows: Draco and Harry finish their conversation from valentines,
and over the next week or so Harry and Narcissa exchange letters, then harry goes out
into the woods and gives Sirius the key and returns to the dorm. The next chapter will
be more about what happened in that week and the following month or so. Hope this
helps any potential confusion!
 Gossip, Blackmail, and Flannel
Chapter Summary

Harry waits patiently for the right time to act while Draco grapples with his inability to
do so, stumbling over cheeky letters and mysterious books as if he were falling from
the heavens.
Tracey, on the other hand, has discovered the joys of eavesdropping.

Chapter Notes

I was supposed to post this like two days ago but the entire state of Texas got an
abhorrent amount of snow and all of the electricity (and by extension internet) went
out and I couldn't even text people much less get online. My house has been below 50
degrees since then so my family was far more focused on not freezing to death (and
finding a way to get food when the roads were blocked off and icy and nothing was
working). We only just got power and internet back late yesterday night, which is why
this chapter is so much later than I planned.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry sat before the entrance to the chamber of secrets in his mindscape, chewing on his lip in
thought as the wendigo stood watch before him. It had been quite the shock when he had finally
managed to mosey down there only to find the blasted thing guarding the door between him and
Tom, growling aggressively and refusing to budge. Harry had watched for a time before creeping
closer, and now sat (quite unproductively) on the floor a meter or two away, attempting to figure
out just what the wendigo was trying to do. He had been planning on freeing Tom from his mental
prison, but was finding that he would be having little luck in that department, as his demon seemed
insistent on keeping the two of them separate.

“This is counterproductive, you know.” He was sitting cross legged on the cold stone, his body
leaned back and resting on his hands as he looked up at the massive creature. It made an
incomprehensible noise, something between a screech and a hiss which made his bones shake.
Harry could almost comprehend words among the hissing, but not quite, as if the wendigo was
attempting to communicate with parseltongue but didn't understand the language.

“You must have some sort of ulterior motive besides being a nuisance. If you told me what’s
wrong I might be able to help.” No answer. He sighed, unraveling his legs and letting them flay out
in front of him, his steel-toed boots barely brushing against the hooves of his demon. It wasn't that
Tom seemed all that stifled in his confindes-though he was no doubt going insane all on his own-it
was just that Harry needed to speak with the man about what all had happened during the past
several months, and it was impossible to do that if Tom was very clearly not allowed out.

“Look, how about you let me go in for say-merlin I don't know-fifteen minutes. Would that be
fine?”
No answer.

Harry groaned, letting his elbows buckle as he fell backwards with a soft thunk against the cool
stone below him. This was obviously going nowhere, the wendigo was holding firm about it’s
distrust of Tom (or perhaps its need to be annoying), and would likely never yield to his prodding.
At the rate this was going, by the time he even managed to weedle out a response it would be
daytime and he would have to go back to the school. Sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest to
meditate under the careful eyes of the centaur clan was easy enough with an invisibility cloak in the
dead of night, but during the day even the occasional brush of wind could make his position known
to anyone who happened to glance past where he walked. A pair of legs standing alone from a
body were always cause of alarm.

There was a quiet rumble from the beast before him, and Harry looked up to find it pressing a
spindly hand on the door, glowing eyes boring into him as if answering a question. He looked
closer, observing as bloodied claws scratched at the metal softly, just barely enough to cause a
physical imperfection in the metalwork.

“Use your words.”

The rumbling growl shifted into something akin to a hiss, and Harry slowly rose from his lying
position, peering at the door with narrowed eyes. The hiss sounded… unfriendly, nothing at all like
the slow drawl of Tom’s accent when he spoke the language of snakes or Thasin’s melodious tone
of voice. It seemed familiar though, familiar enough to send bolts of caution through him.

Is that… Voldemort?

“Is Tom getting up to something dangerous with the horcruxes in there?” It was a question to
himself just as much to the wendigo, who purred with satisfaction. Settling back on his haunches,
Harry observed the door in a new light. Tom was constantly talking with his horcruxes, attempting
to pull them onto the ‘right side’ or some such tosh. It was likely that several (if not all of them)
were just as megalomaniacal as Voldemort had been at his prime, if not worse. The wendigo had
never seemed all that concerned about it before now, so Harry could only assume that Tom was
messing with one of the more… temperamental soul shards.

“You'll tell me if it's safe to go in there, yes? The second he stops all that nonsense you’ll let me
pass so I can speak with him.” There was another satisfied purr, and Harry stood, nodding to
himself in thought. There would be no way to get to Tom until whatever nonsense he’d gotten up to
was over and done with, so there was no use trying till then. Eyeing his wendigo with mild distrust,
Harry started backing away from the beast with careful footfalls. They were on good ground now-
at least he thought so-and had more or less left each other alone, but both of them knew that the
wendigo would pounce on him the second his back was turned.

His foot hit the bottom step, and Harry began walking backwards up the narrow stairs and out of
sight, turning once he was sure he was far away enough to not warrant an attack. Speeding up to a
jog, Harry began to quickly ascend back into his own mind, thoughts of horcruxes and foolhardy
slytherins racing through his head.

Mother,

I know you and Harry have been gossiping about me-and don't you try to deny it, I found the
letters on his desk. I ask that you withhold from any further conversation with him that may
potentially lead to my future embarrassment. Furthermore, if you would exercise caution
when conversing with my friend on matters that involve me, I would be eternally grateful.

Now onto the subject which has spurred on this letter: I am reaching a point in my life where
I believe that an understanding of all types of traditional courting rituals should be well
known to me. For that, I would like to request your personal opinion on the history of same-
sex courting rituals, for perfectly educational purposes. It is my understanding that they are
rather intricate and differ widely from the more traditional relationship.

Your son, Draco.

P.S. Please send more pepper imps, the last care package was in worryingly low supply of
them.

Dragon of mine,

I have no doubt that you believe that I would have so little tact as to ‘gossip’ with one of your
dear friends, but believe me when I say that the conversations me and Mr. Potter had were in
regards to the Black family and had only mere passing mentions of you. As it is, I will
retaliate for your rudeness by sending Mr. Potter some of your baby photos. I hope you can
live with your penance.

While your attempts at subtly continue to be rather poor, much to me and your father’s
continued amusement, I would be more than happy to send you a book on the subject of
courting rituals for non-traditional marriages. That being said, I must impress on you that
you and Mr. Potter are far from such a conversation and I ask that you not ‘jump the gun’ as
muggles would say.

Hugs and Kisses, XOXO Mum.

P.S. No.

Mother,

You, quite literally, run a gossip club with other Ladies of the Wizengamot. It is not only a
bold faced lie but also a crime for you to say something so blatantly incorrect as to insinuate
that you are NOT a gossiping madwoman. Furthermore, if you send Harry any photos of the
time before I understood the necessity and art of posing, I will fly myself to the Manor and tell
you exactly how I feel about it to your face, Hogwarts wards be damned.

While I appreciate your enthusiasm, mother, I must repeat that this is perfectly academic
interest and that me and Harry could hardly be considered anything but friends in the
current climate. Again, I thank you for the book, even if I doubt that I will use it for anything
besides ACADEMIC INTERESTS. I repeat: academic interests. I have no intentions of
considering the ins and outs of the magical processes of a non-traditional marriage for the
potential of my own future marriage.

Draco.
P.S. Please?

Dragon,

I would hardly consider my bookclub anything gossip-related in the slightest, and I am quite
insulted that you would insinuate something so vile. As it is, I am afraid that I have already
sent Mr. Potter a copy of every photo I have of your first five years, so your threats are too
little, too late. Don’t worry, he promised not to show anyone.

See here young man, you can hardly be considered anything if not an awful hypocrite for so
blatantly and aggressively insinuating that I am a liar, when you have so clearly done nothing
but lie to yourself in regards to your ‘academic interests’. As it stands, I have neither the
heart nor soul to argue with you further, as I gain nothing from it but unnecessary stress and
a rather prominent headache.That being said, as I am your mother and I love you, I will find
it in myself to forgive your various and rather amusing transgressions.

Love, Mum.

P.S. No one likes a whiner.

Draco glared down at the letter, a severe blush staining his cheeks as he read its contents for the
fifth time. The voluptuous Lady Malfoy was nothing if not a horrid gossip, and he had no doubt
that she had had him all figured out months prior to their brief exchange of letters-likely over yule
break. He looked down at the large tome she had sent with her last letter, and promptly shoved it in
his trunk to be read when the others were nowhere in sight.

“Bad news?”

Jumping in his seat, Draco whipped around to find Harry closing the dorm room door behind him
with a quiet click. He watched, humming in quiet response as the tall boy shrugged off his outer-
shirt with an absent-minded air, obviously thinking of other things despite his question. The school
year was notable in how forgettable classes were, with days and weeks between excitement
blurring together in a mix of essays and strange looks from Professor Lupin. It was very odd to
Draco, as the man seemed relatively normal most of the time-if a little sickly-but stared at Harry as
if he was the next coming of merlin. Sadly for the professor, Harry seemed to despise him with a
ferocity that was uncommon for the usually relaxed and impartial boy.

Draco realized, belatedly, that he had yet to reply to the casual proding. “My mother simply sees it
fit to make me suffer on occasion.” He supplied, setting the letter to the side of his desk with a look
of disdain.

Harry nodded distractedly at the answer, pulling off his undershirt and giving Draco full view of
his back, as well as the reddened flesh of his left shoulder. Draco made an effort not to wince,
knowing that Harry had been making a conscious effort to change in the baths, away from where
Draco could see the wound he had caused-likely for his peace of mind, knowing Harry.

“Mothers are like that, from what I've heard.” The tall boy pulled on a thin muggle tank top, which
was so threadbare it was practically translucent, with the sides mere strings of fabric clinging
desperately to his waist. It was a near polar opposite to the magically tailored undershirt Draco
wore currently, which exposed his wings but not much else, and was a much thicker material.
Draco gulped audibly, double checking to make sure the blasted book was well and truly out of
sight. He turned back to Harry, attempting to get the conversation onto something that didn't
involve impossibly thin shirts and surprisingly defined stomach muscles.

“You seem more tired than usual, has something happened?” He winced when his voice cracked,
though the other boy didn't seem to notice it. Thank merlin. Harry shrugged on a muggle flannel,
which did quite a bit more to cover up his sides but still left Draco with a full view of his chest
and… stomach through the near-translucent fabric. He cursed his hormones for the millionth time
and turned back to his desk, fumbling around for something to occupy himself with as Harry fell
onto Draco’s bed with a sigh.

“I’ve been attempting to figure out a mystery that has been puzzling me for the better half of the
past year. But progress has moved from a slow crawl to nothing but theories and educated guesses
and I'm getting rather frustrated with the whole thing.”

Draco hummed quietly, uninterested. Harry had new mysteries to solve every other Tuesday it
seemed, this was hardly special. “What is it?”

“A potion I invented but can't figure out the use of.”

Draco turned towards the bed, interested. Harry hadn’t invented a potion before, it was reasonable
to be excited by the prospect. “You invented a potion?”

The taller boy pursed his lips, leaning back into the feather pillows and no doubt getting his
distinctive scent all over Draco’s sheets. The blond pulled a face, watching as his perfectly made
bed was frumpled beyond repair. It would be a nightmare trying to sleep that night if all he could
smell was brimstone and smoke, and he would no doubt get so uncomfortably hot from the
agitation and loneliness that he would end up casting a freezing charm on the mattress again. Draco
frowned, watching as Harry continued to get comfortable, stretching out like a cat and showing off
his obnoxious and steadily increasing height to the ever-stunted boy.

“I've invented two, though one of them is most certainly a highly dangerous poison. So-not truly
something with magical qualities... besides gifting someone the magical ability to perform
professional murder, I suppose.”

“And the other?”

Harry grunted, shifting as he reached into his trouser pocket to pull out a vial of golden liquid. “It
looks exactly like felix felicis, but if it's anything similar, the effects are far more subdued.”

Draco took the vial happily, turning it this way and that to observe how it shimmered in the light,
cataloguing it’s features with thinly veiled fascination. From the descriptions he had read of felix
felicis-which was said to have a golden and opaque hue-the potion he held could most certainly be
a rather nice example of liquid luck.

That didn’t mean it was though.

“What did you make this thing from?”

Harry messed up his hair, looking unbelievably cozy and extremely huggable. Draco made an
effort to not crawl in bed and see just how comfortable that flannel was. “Freely given Unicorn hair
and basilisk venom, combined into a solute of purified water and african sea salt.”

Draco blinked, staring down at Harry with something akin to shock. “And where-pray tell-did you
get freely given unicorn hair of all things?”
Harry grinned, staring off at the middle distance as Draco attempted to catch his gaze. “Gemma
Farley owed me a favor.”

Draco groaned, rolling his eyes and returning his gaze to the potion. It was well known in
Slytherin how the Farley family had been pandering to Harry all of the prior year, it made perfect
sense that their eldest daughter had needed to do him a few favors. The potion was a similar-if
identical-consistency and color to felix felicis, so it was likely that it was related in some way.
However, the simplicity of the potion set him on edge, as something that easy to make (even if the
ingredients are obnoxiously rare) clashed rather heavily with liquid luck’s six month brewing time.

He hummed, twirling the vial around in thought. Unicorn hair was well known for its healing
properties, as well as its faithfulness; his wand, for instance, had a unicorn hair core, and
Ollivander had noted that it would be extremely faithful to him due to that very reason. That was to
say, combined with the basilisk venom, there was really no telling what the hair would do.

“Can you describe how the potion is made?”

Harry nodded, “I mix the solute and basilisk venom together before adding the proper amount of
hair. Once that is done, the hair will fizzle and dissolve into the solution, and I have to stir it into
the entire thing as it does so to gain the proper consistency.”

Draco hummed again, running the properties of basilisk venom through his mind. The venom was
something so potent that a bezoar could not save someone from death if they were to be bitten, and
was generally considered the most effective way to kill someone by snake bite. However, to say
that it was the perfect poison would be foolhardy, as it would have to be injected into the
bloodstream to be of much use in killing someone. Snake venom was unable to survive in most
animal’s stomach acid, and if it was-well, the body likely wouldn't absorb it anyway. What ended
up happening was that the toxins would either dissolve or pass right through, though there were
some cases of snake venom being harmful if ingested.

“Are you injecting it into the body to test, or are you having creatures ingest it?”

Harry blinked, “wot?”

“Well since the basilisk venom is a venom and not a poison, it needs to be injected to be fully
effective.”

He blinked again, before slapping himself on the forehead and groaning. “MERLIN I'm an idiot.”

Draco sniffed, handing back over the vial as Harry grabbed for it. “Hardly, not many people
consider the venom of a snake to be anything but poisonous when ingested. However, since snakes
evolved fangs to bite things and not little cups to politely feed their venom to prey, it is safe to say
that stomach acid gets in the way of these sorts of things.”

Harry made a face, pocketing the vial as he shifted on the bed, long legs dangling off the side as he
attempted to take up as much space as possible. “I can't believe I didn't realize that, I literally have
a pet snake.”

Draco rolled his eyes, turning back to his desk and pushing things around in an effort not to fidget.
“You can't be a genius all the time.”

There was movement behind him, and Harry hopped off his bed to stand behind Draco’s desk,
peering over his shoulder to watch the impromptu tiding. “I can still be a genius while not knowing
everything about everything that has ever existed.”
“Doubtful.”

Harry leaned over him, observing how a blush began crawling up his pale neck. “Hmmm… I
suppose that makes you an idiot then, eh? Mr. fourth in year.”

Draco frowned rather aggressively, turning around and glaring at a cheekily grinning Harry. “I’m
sorry, don't you have a potentially lethal potion to test on innocent subjects?”

Harry rolled his eyes, turning away as his flannel slipped off his undamaged shoulder and pooled
around his elbow. “Fine fine, I know a dismissal when I hear it.”

He sighed, setting down the uncut quill he had been fiddling with. “Don't be such a drama queen
Potter, you obviously want something.”

Harry idled for a moment, staring blankly at Blaise’s bed as if it held some sort of knowledge of
the future. “I was just... wondering if you’ve thought about it.”

“Thought about what?”

“Love.”

Draco made a conscious effort to breath, looking down at the floor as pink dusted across his
cheeks.

“I-I fancy you… I suppose.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “you suppose?”

He huffed, “listen here Potter, I need far longer than the three minutes you’ve allotted me to
consider the ins and outs of my own personal affection for you, and even longer than that to decide
conclusively if that is, indeed, love.”

The excited gleam in Harry’s eyes returned, “but there is affection there, yes? You do fancy me?”

After that conversation, Harry had asked him to think about it-just to think about where his
emotions fell on the ‘love’ spectrum. Draco had only needed about an hour to sort himself in the
‘utterly enamored’ category, but-as Harry had said that day-he was horrendous at any kind of
verbal affection and was rather pants at admitting to that affection as well.

“I-I have, yes.”

“...and?”

Draco glanced to where the tome his mother sent him was hidden, and then to his bookshelf where
the book on soulmates was sitting, unopened and unread. He knew how he felt, and what he
wanted, but had no idea what the future of that decision could hold.

“-and I would like to ask for another month before giving my answer.”

Harry laughed quietly, head tilted in thought. “I'm not giving you a time limit Dray, take as long as
you need.”

He didn't want to. Truthfully, Draco would be perfectly content to simply fall into Harry’s chilly
embrace and stay there till his skin began to rot, but he knew that the tall teen deserved more of an
answer than that. Draco needed time to figure all the angles-to understand what life could be like
after Hogwarts for them.
He wanted this, but he also wanted it to last.

“Just a month-how about April twenty-fifth. I'll tell you then.”

Harry bobbed his head yes, and said something about needing to test the potion, before he
meandered out of the room, awkwardly pulling the fallen sleeve back up onto his shoulder as he
did. Draco watched him go with a feeling of quiet regret, wishing that he was better at this-wishing
that he was as assured in his emotions as Harry seemed to be.

Sighing, he stood, reaching for the soulmate book on his shelf and setting it onto his desk. It was
about time he figured out what Harry was trying to say with the blasted thing anyhow, there had to
be a hidden meaning-a cheeky code of some sort perhaps? Reaching down for the hidden tome
buried in his trunk, Draco set it down next to the newer book on his desk and sighed, trying to
figure out which one he should read first. Making a decision quick enough, he opened to the first
page of his Christmas gift and began to read.

Tracey watched as Pansy Parkinson rounded the bend, a pleased smile painted across her face as
she practically skipped down the hall. Catching her eyes, the shorter girl gave Tracey a wink,
holding up a familiar moleskine notebook for her to see. Tracey was leaning lazily against the
brick wall, and motioned the girl over with one hand as she bit into a pumpkin pastie.

“What is it?”

Pansy’s smile widened, and she flounced over to where Tracey stood with poorly hidden glee.
“You wouldn't believe what the Gryffindorks are talking about!”

Tracey raised an eyebrow, still chewing the pumpkin pasty and not to speak with her mouth full.
While in first and second year the two of them had gotten along about as well as a fish did with
open air, they had eventually succumbed to something of a truce in the earlier days of the school
year. It had been a quiet year for both of them, and as Daphne became more and more engrossed in
the boys’ nonsense, Tracey had gone off in search of something to spend her time doing.

That thing, apparently, had ended up being blackmail.

It hadn't started out her intention, but as Tracey wasted away in the library one day in search of
Theo or perhaps something interesting to read, she had come upon Parkinson with her ear pressed
up against the side of a shelf. When she was about to ask the crazy bint what she was on about, she
had been very quietly shushed and motioned over conspiratorially. Apparently, Pansy had been
listening in on a rather nasty breakup between one of the seventh years and a rather presumptuous
student aid who had graduated two years prior. Messy business, and-as the snooty girl noted-
perfect for blackmail. Pansy had written the entire exchange down in a little book with the date and
time and had dragged her off, explaining in a hushed whisper that she would stomp Tracey into the
dirt if she said a word about the blackmail book. Tracey had, of course, been immediately intrigued
by the practice, and asked if she could help gather information in her offtime. As the days dragged
on however, and classes loomed like a beacon of constant boredom, the occasional eavesdropping
had quickly dissolved in the two of them sneaking about and listening in on private conversations
near-constantly. Tracey had even gone to the extent of learning the disillusionment spell a few
years early after Harry refused to let her borrow his invisibility cloak, wishing for an alternative to
crouching in alcoves or peering around bookshelves.

She rolled her eyes at the shorter girl, grabbing for the little notebook as Pansy danced out of reach,
giggling with glee. “They're always talking about something Pans. Now spill!”
The book was placed primly in her outstretched palm, and the giddy gossip of a girl began to
explain. “Well, apparently Granger’s parents found out about her lack of a left leg, and wrote quite
the scathing letter to the Headmaster about how they weren’t being notified of such a grievous
injury. Muggles can be awfully prickly about that sort of thing apparently. Anyway, from the way
Granger’s been sobbing about it all day long, it seems they've decided to pull her from Hogwarts
once the school year is over and enroll her in Beauxbatons!”

Tracey’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline in surprise as Pansy squealed happily, obviously ecstatic
about the news. “I suppose Gryffindor won't be in the running for the house cup after this year
then? What with Granger being shipped off to France.”

She peaked open the notebook, flipping through the pages as Pansy replied. “Oh I'm sure we’ll
flounce them once that bitch is out of the way, what with Potter and Nott in our house.”

Some of the newer pages were filled with Tracey’s own chicken scratch, detailing all manner of
things ranging from which teachers are seen together the most to who was caught in a broom closet
with who. Pansy made a ‘gimme’ motion with her hand, and Tracey dutifully handed it back to the
girl, trying to remember when the next hogsmeade weekend was so she could get one for herself.

“Well either way, should we tell anyone? This is a big deal-for our year group especially.” Pansy
pursed her lips, seeming to think on it for a moment as she slapped a rhythmic beat into her hip
with the notebook.

“Hmmm… nope! At least not for now, it's way more fun to watch Granger have a meltdown about
getting pulled from school when everyone just thinks she's just being a brat. If they knew the truth
quite a few would be sympathetic. Besides, Gryffindors can't keep their mouths shut! The news
will be out by the end of the month at the latest-if she's lucky.”

Tracey took the final bite of her pastry, dusting the crumbs off her fingers as Pansy shoved the
book into her skirt pocket. “Still, we should at least tell the other slytherins.”

Her friend whined, stomping her foot like a child while Tracey shorted in amusement. “But half of
those idiots don't know how to keep a secret! I want to watch Granger stew in her anger for a few
weeks without them making her more indignant than she has to be.”

Tracey laughed, moving from the wall and down towards the common room, Pansy following next
to her. “Only you would bother with the nuances of different types of frustration. What does it
matter if she's indignant or pissy?”

Pansy looped her arm around Tracey’s, pulling her down the hallway at a faster pace as she
continued to chatter incessantly. “I know you're uncultured Davis, but even you should understand
the delight of watching someone stew in their anger instead of lashing out against the perpetrators.
She has nowhere to place her frustrations if her upset is pointed towards her parents in England!”

Laughing lightly, Tracey let herself get tugged along. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

Pansy’s head whipped around, single eyebrow raised and lips pursed in a smile. “Sadism is my best
feature.”

“Or your worst.”

“Says the simple peasant to a radiant goddess.”

Tracey didn't get to respond as she was suddenly yanked into an alcove, nearly shouting out as
Pansy’s hand slapped over her mouth.
“Mpfm-!”

“Shhh!”

Voices filtered down the hall, the sounds of two girls speaking quickly back and forth as a boy
input his own opinion occasionally.

“It just isn't fair! Mum said it would work-”

“But it didn’t. Don't you think that-”

“Shut UP Ronald! Anyway, mum promised that he would love me after eating anything with the
potion in it, but he still avoids me like the plague!”

Tracey pressed further into the alcove, shoving closer to Pansy in an effort to stay as far out of sight
as she could manage. Pansy, on the other hand, started grabbing for her notebook and a quill.

“Well perhaps he didn't eat them? You don't know if Potter even likes fudge, he might have taken
them to spare your feelings then thrown them away.”

Tracey sucked in a breath, grabbing for her wand to cast a disillusionment charm-just to be on the
safe side. Bloody hell, someone’s trying to drug Harry with a potion?

She cast the spell just in time, as the distinctive forms of two Weasleys and the limping Hermione
Granger came into view. Granger, despite getting a magical replacement for her missing leg, still
limped rather noticeably, as she was not fully adapted to the prosthetic.

“I don't know, he looked awfully interested in them, perhaps the dose wasn't strong enough?”

“I duno Gin, amortentia is pretty potent, right?”

Scrambling to stop Pansy from ripping out of her grasp to pummel the three, Tracey attempted to
get her rising anger under control as well. Amortentia! They're trying to commit bloody line theft!

“Oh what do you know about potions Ron, maybe it's just because he's so tall?”

“Well what's that got to do with it?”

There was the telltale sound of Granger huffing, “honestly! It's just like alcohol, the bigger you are
the more area the potion has to run through. Since he's so tall for our age, it may be likely that the
potion was too spread out to be effective.”

“Ohhh… So I should try again?”

Pansy had stopped struggling, and was now furiously writing in her notebook, the scratch of her
quill just barely quiet enough to go unnoticed by the three Gryffindors.

“It would be for the best. Though… you should try using something that isn't fudge next time, he
might get suspicious.”

At that point, their voices faded from hearing distance, and Pansy shoved out of her hold, stomping
out into the open like an angry bull. “The nerve! I don’t even like Potter that much but that was
just-the utter idiocy-that was attempted line theft! I can’t even comprehend how someone-the utter-
how could someone of pure blood sink so low!”

“Attempting line theft, Pans, they're going to try it again.”

 Pansy stopped her angry pacing, standing rim-rod straight as the gears started turning in her mind.
Quick as a bullet, she turned and darted off down the hall.

“Pansy wait-!” Running after her friend, Tracey reached out and nabbed her arm, groaning at the
girl’s angry look. “What are you doing?”

Pansy’s eyes were blazing with righteous fury, the pure-blood standards of tact she had been raised
to acknowledge and structure her life around bleeding through her base instincts. “What do you
mean ‘what am I doing’ we have to tell Potter! He may have weaseled out of their first attempt but
he might not be as lucky the second time.”

Tracey sighed, “Harry’s a big boy, he can sort himself out. As it is, I doubt he would have passed
up the opportunity to eat something unless he knew it was drugged, and since he isn’t under the
effects of amortentia it’s safe to say he probably already knows and just doesn’t care.” Tugging at
the girls sleeve, Tracey started pulling her along in the direction the trio went, an excited gleam in
her eye as she spoke. “Now come on, I want to see what else they’re getting up to.”

Chapter End Notes

I missed you all ;-; my back is healed enough to write this chapter, but chapters for the
next week or so will still be a tad sporadic (a chapter every two or three days probably,
I'm still resting so... ya know). Hopefully, after the next week the only breaks from
this fic I will be taking in the future will be for my own relaxation and not because I
absolutely wrecked my lower back muscles.
 A Father's Senselessness
Chapter Summary

Ron Weasley fashions himself into someone who could hardly be considered a fool,
toeing the line between what he had been taught and what he had learned. Sirius, on
the other hand, learns a valuable lesson about family.

Chapter Notes

Did you know that the spell tempus is actually a fan-made spell, and isn’t actually
canon? I lost my shit reading about that personally, how did something like that
become so widespread that people just assumed it was canon? (Or does everyone
already know all that and I'm just a big idiot).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione Granger was hardly an idiot. In fact, she could be considered quite the genius herself,
and would no doubt be well respected and admired if she ever managed ever got her head out of her
own arse. Ron grumbled from where he walked behind the girl and his sister, watching how his
friend limped down the hall at a steady pace. He wasn't an idiot either, though it seemed like
everyone liked to think he was, looking down on him like he was hardly worth the trouble. They
were all morons really, running around like headless chickens while Ron was right there, waiting
for someone to realize how crucial to the team he truly was. Ron prided himself on having quite a
bit more sense than the people around him, as it seemed that everyone he knew was obsessed with
jumping right into crazy plots and very sketchy conspiracies, never considering that it might be
beneficial to sit down and think over what they were about to do. Perhaps it was the chess player in
him, but Ron rather enjoyed planning out his moves five steps ahead.

“It would be for the best. Though… you should try using something that isn't fudge next time, he
might get suspicious.” Ron rolled his eyes, only half listening in on the conversation as he was led
through the halls. It seemed counterproductive to try and get Potter to love his sister; he was a
snake after all, having him love Ginny wouldn't change how much of a ponce he was. Ron thought
that it would be much simpler to just get the fucker expelled and his wand snapped, so they
wouldn't have to worry about him hexing their bits off if a plan went wrong. Truthfully, he was
certain he would have managed it if Hermione and the headmaster weren’t so aggressively against
the idea.

In truth, Potter wasn’t nearly as much of a headache for Ron as Malfoy was, and seemed content to
leave everyone well enough alone if they did the same. If the headmaster was worried about
anyone becoming the next dark lord, he should have his sights pinned to Malfoy. However, neither
the headmaster nor Hermione cared much about what Ron said, so the two of them were still
running around trying to come up with some sort of plan to get Potter on their side and away from
the dark. It only got worse once Ginny joined the fray, as she seemed to focus entirely on the
fantastical dream of having Potter as her beau. For some inconceivable reason, the chit believed
that Potter couldn't be anything but the ideal husband, and set out to make it happen, no matter who
told her it was a stupid idea. Oddly enough, their mum seemed to agree with her, and the girl was
spurred on by Molly Weasley’s hand.

“What could I even use besides fudge though? I only managed to get the blasted things to him
because it was Christmas and there were only ten or so students at school!” His sister’s whining
broke through his thoughts, and Ron groaned in annoyance.

“Oh come on Gin, just tell the house elfs to put it in his food or something, they have to do
anything that you ask them to do anyway.” He had taken advantage of the elfs’ loyalty ever since
the headmaster told him the little buggers would do whatever he asked, and while Ron had been
mostly using them to take weekend meals in bed, there were many other ways to take advantage of
the privilege.

Ginny and Hermione both seemed surprised that he had a good idea, and bent their heads together
to whisper about it. He grumbled at the dismissive attitudes, used to the two looking down on him
but still quite bothered by it. What would it take for him to get noticed for all he did for those two-
for all he did in the name of the light?

Ron stopped suddenly, head tilted to the side as he listened for the footsteps he was certain he had
just heard. If someone listened in on the two girls talking about amortentia, all three of them could
get in a world of trouble, even if the headmaster tried to help them out of it.

“Ron, what are you doing?” Hermione’s voice took on a shrill undertone, her unsteady footfalls
stopping as she turned to look at him. He ignored her, walking back the way they came and peering
down the hall. There was no one there, but that didn't mean that no one had been listening in. His
eyes narrowed, there were a lot of empty classrooms in that hall that someone could have darted
into.

“Ron!”

“... Coming.”

If someone really was listening in and reported them, he could always beg off as being an innocent
bystander and get off with milder consequences than his sister and friend. Sure, it wasn't very
honorable, but Hermione had a few screws loose and was a right bitch lately and Ginny had always
been a brat. If they got caught, it was their own fault for not listening to him.

As the three walked away, the disillusioned forms of Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis let out
identical sighs of relief.

It was a new moon when Sirius finally got it in himself to escape to France. He knew that,
logically, it would be much harder to drive his motorbike when there was so little light for him to
see with, but it would also be much harder for people to see him in the dead of night, so it was a
safety measure as much as it was a danger. Truthfully, he had spent so long as Padfoot that his
normal, human eyes allowed him to see at night much better than your typical wizard could, so he
hoped that that slight advantage would put him ahead of any patrolling teachers.

Creeping through the underbrush, Padfoot came upon the treeline of the forbidden forest, eyes
gleaming in the near-abyssal darkness. Sniffing the air, he took off in a fast jog towards Hagrid’s
hut, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be patrolling the grounds. The wind was howling,
which did a good job to mask any sounds he made, but would also make flying just that much more
difficult. Coming to a stop around the back of the hut, Sirius shifted back into human form,
keeping crouched as he crept along towards the back of the hut. He had seen the bike out of sheer
luck one day, prowling around as Padfoot when he came upon the poor thing. It was gathering
vines and dirt in a small field behind the hut, its once polished paint chipped and some-what rusted
as pixies made a nest in the muffler. His foot hit something metal, and he grabbed around for the
vague outline of his bike, cussing lightly as one of the pixies bit his finger.

“Little shites, come here you.” Grabbing the pixie by its wings, he made quick work of the nest,
shooing the little fuckers off as he did.

“Merlin… does Hagrid not know what bike maintenance is?” The bike would probably work just
fine if it was nothing but a motor and handlebars, but really, what was the purpose of having a
flying motorbike if not to look badass? Pulling the rusted bike from the dirt, Sirius yanked off as
much of the vines and underbrush as he could before slowly pushing it out of the field, trying to
get as far away from the hut as he could before taking off. It wouldn't do to alert Hagrid to his
midnight escape.

Hopping onto the torn seat, Sirius glanced behind him again to check that there was still no one
around, before turning the key. The motor shuttered for a moment, struggling to get moving as he
whispered quiet pleas under his breath. There was something akin to a whine, before a shuttering
bang, and the bike jumped into action, the motor purring back to life as he thanked merlin,
morgana, and every god on earth.

He breathed out a quiet breath, patting the slowly filling fuel tank, brushing a dirty hand over the
once-shiny finish. “That's it baby, just like butter. Alright now, let's get the ‘ell out of here.”

The bike was, obviously, enchanted to the gills in order to fly, but there were also a lot of fuel-
related charms on it that Lily had helped him create. The entire thing basically worked by fueling
itself off of his own ambient magic, and was especially attuned to his specific signature, so only he
could keep it running for an extended period of time. Not only did that make it just that much more
personal, but it would stop working once the tank was empty of his stored up magic, which was
likely why Hagrid had left it to rot-it just ran out of the trace amounts of his magic to use as fuel.
Hagrid probably just left it in the field after it stopped working, you couldn't do much of anything
with a bike that refused to run after all. Grunting slightly, Sirius closed his eyes, feeling for his core
and pulling the magic out of him and into the surrounding air. It was risky, since there was a
chance the bike wouldn’t take in all of the magic, and someone might be able to cast a detection
spell on the area and find out that he had been there. Sadly though, he was on a bit of a schedule,
and it was the quickest method he knew to power the motorbike. Luckily for him, the bike greedily
sucked up all the magic it could, and he could feel it wake up from its decade long slumber quick
enough to be considered excited.

Pressing down on the gas, Sirius felt the bike silently creep forward, rusted wheels somehow not
fighting the movement in the slightest-as if it knew he needed it to be quiet. Taking a cautious
breath, he pressed down harder, and felt the telltale sign of his bike slowly lifting off the ground,
gravity fighting with little avail to pull him back to the earth.

Flooring it, Sirius made a conservative effort not to whoop with glee as he shot off into the sky, the
invisible moon doing nothing to alert the people below to his newfound freedom. Wind whipping
through his hair, Sirius searched for the train tracks that would lead him back to London in the low
light, his eyes straining despite his superior sight.

“Come on… Come on... Shite, where is it.”

Wiping his head around, he searched for Hogsmeade instead, finding to his relief that he could spot
the distant lights of the small town from where he was flying over the forest. Angling his bike in
the right direction, Sirius settled in for a long trip, wind fighting his every move and creeping
feelings of magical exhaustion slowly dawning on the horizon as his bike continued to sap magic
from him.

“The things I do for you, Harry.”

As Sirius Black soared through the sky, his trajectory pointing him on the shortest path to London,
Harry Potter neglected his sleep, his brain occupied by the ever-increasing pile of mysteries that
had befallen him. Instead of lying in his warm, cozy bed, he was tinkering away in the library of
secrets, trying to figure out how the hell needles worked with little luck.

“Stupid bloody thing.” Truthfully, Harry had never found much need for needles, as his only
experience with them were with various shots in the muggle world, and he had yet to wield a
medical syringe himself. He had never even considered that there might be things magical people
needed to inject, as potions were always (to his knowledge) taken orally, but he found with surprise
that St. Mungo's had a wide array of syringes used to inject specific potions into patents. Luckily
for him, Harry managed to find a seller that would give him some used ones on the condition that
he didn't tell anybody where he got them. At first he had sniffed at the idea of using used syringes,
but as he was going to be testing the potion on common rats first and not people (at least, not for
now) he decided (begrudgingly) that typical medical practices could be discarded in the pursuit of
science.

“~Are you sure that is how you use those?~”

Jörmungandr peered over his shoulder, being very unhelpful and generally quite sarcastic as Harry
struggled with the stupid things. He grunted in response, twisting the handle a weird direction and-
“aha!” shouting in victory as the steel plunger began to suck the golden potion up into the barrel. It
had taken some prodding with his magic to get the blasted thing to start working as it should, as the
woman who sold them to him seemed content in not sending any sort of instructions as well, but it
seemed as though he had managed it regardless.

Turning to Jörmungandr, he held up the syringe smuggly, which was now filled to the brim with
opaque, golden liquid. “~Ready to torture some mice?~”

If snakes could roll their eyes, Jörmungandr just made a rather good attempt at it. “~I suppose.~”

“~You're a snake Jör, shouldn't the pain of rodents be good fun for you?~”

“~Mice are nothing but stir fry to the king of snakes.~”

“~Sure.~”

Settling down in his desk chair, Harry observed three mice scamper around the inside of the
conjured cage he had set up. They all looked the exact same, with the only noticeable difference
between them being subtle coloring in their fur. Picking at random, Harry levitated one up and out
of the cage, holding it steady in the air as he watched the syringe get to work. It was fascinating to
see the enchantments typically used for self-writing quills be altered to function with the syringes,
as Harry never really expected wix to be capable of such creativity. In the end though, magical
society prided itself in coming up with the easiest way to manage something, so it shouldn't have
been that much of a shock.

The needle of the syringe entered the squirming rat with a well-practiced precision that Harry was
positive he did not personally possess, and he watched with interest as a small amount of the potion
was squeezed into the creature, making the poor thing shiver as it took effect. The needle was
removed, and Harry levitated the rat down onto his desk, observing it carefully with his hand
poised to jolt down any notes.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, as the mouse shook itself off and started wandering around the
table, sniffing at papers and generally acting as a rodent should. However, it began to show signs
of anxiety after a few moments, seeming jittery and unsure as it scampered around, not very
assured in its movements and cautious of every little thing. Harry observed for several minutes,
watching how the feelings of unease seemed to double, till the mouse curled up in a little ball and
refused to move, its tail wrapped around its shivering form.

Harry hummed, intrigued if slightly perturbed.

“~What do you think?~”

Jörmungandr tasted the air, peering down at the conjured rat with pity. “~It is terrified, please kill
it.~”

He didn’t though, watching as the little mouse quivered like a leaf in a hurricane, wondering just
what this reaction could mean. Obviously, the potion seemed to mainly target emotions in some
form, which meant that it might have some sort of potential in the field of mental torture, in the
very least. He squinted, peering down at the immobile creature as if it could answer all of his
questions. He never had much of a need to torture people, generally finding it unsavory unless well
deserving. He knew quite a few people might benefit from that kind of a potion, as it could provide
a suitable way of torturing someone without the pesky problem of them eventually bleeding out,
but he still was unsure if these results were simply a reaction to physical effects or was the potion’s
intended result. Regardless, emotions were finicky at best, so there was a looming possibility that
the potion’s effects could show themselves differently in humans than it did in mice.

Picking up a quill, Harry hastily scribbled down a few notes about the first mouse before casting a
cutting curse at its neck, severing the spinal cord and instantly killing it. With another swish of the
elder wand, he banished all blood from the corpse and what else that had leaked onto his desk,
watching as the poor thing shriveled up, skin sticking to the bone with the loss of moisture.

He then flexed his fingers, waiting a moment before whispering in an unknowable language to the
mouse, moving his wand in a counter-clockwise motion as the wound was sutured shut and the
mouse’s heart began to beat again. It was still for several minutes, blood slowly beginning to return
into the shriveled body as he continued to coax the mouse’s soul back to the land of the living. The
tail twitched, and suddenly the little creature jerked upwards with life, scampering up and shooting
like a rocket towards the edge of the table, hitting the mouse-keyed wards he had set up around the
table and flying back with a quiet thump against the table. It got up, and started wandering around
as if nothing had happened.

“Hm.”

It didn't seem to be under the potion's effects any longer, so the potion was likely more centralized
into the bloodstream… or he just hadn’t waited long enough for the potion to spread through the
entire body. Grabbing the still quite full syringe off of where it was resting on the desk, he quickly
got it working again, levitating the rat back up into the air.

Harry tried several different avenues, eventually bringing out the other two rats and injecting the
potion into them as well, noting down how each reacted to it. Interestingly, each one seemed to
react about the same-that being with intense terror. Two of the rats were set aside to document how
long the potion's effects would persist, while the first was rather morbidly killed over and over as
he tried to figure out any sort of physical effects the potion might have, dissecting the small body
and looking for any organ or muscle damage.

“~It seems that all the effects are mental, strangely enough.~” He was speaking more to himself
than Jörmungandr, as the snake had settled down for a nap hours prior and was very clearly asleep
next to him, his massive head blocking Harry’s only mode of escape from his seat. Glaring down
at the living legend for a brief moment, he glanced back to the mice, watching with interest as the
two he had set aside huddled as far away from each other as physically possible in the small cage
he had set them in, burrowing deep into the bedding in an effort to hide. Tilting his head slightly,
Harry marked down ‘socially paranoid’ with his other notes, contemplating the aggressive shift in
personality as well as all other factors. There was really no way to figure out how the potion would
work in humans till he injected someone with it, but he worried that a physical injury like a needle
wound would be far too noticable and thus make people concerned for his potential victim’s
health.

Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes, contemplating what time it could possibly be. Draco’s going to be
ticked off if I sleep in tomorrow morning. He cast a tempus, finding with annoyance that it was
already, technically, morning. Lazily cracking his neck, Harry stood from his chair, about to
attempt to crawl around Jörmungandr before a sharp spike of pain through his skull made his knees
buckle, sending him to the floor with a thud.

“Bloody-”

He groaned lowly, gripping at his temples as a familiar screech reverberated through his head,
filling up every crevice of his mind and making his ears ring. Clenching his teeth tightly, Harry
took a short, choppy breath, eyelids pressed tightly together as the screeching tapered off into a
familiar hiss. He gasped for air, blinking away spots in his vision as he attempted to figure out
where he was, ears ringing and tongue bleeding from where he bit down in an effort not to scream.

“Voldemort-? What…oh.” Harry took quick breaths, coming down from the pain as he found
himself lying on the cold stone floor, head pressed into the bricks. It seemed that his wendigo had
decided to take an aggressive route in notifying him of Tom’s freedom. Grunting, he pushed
himself up onto his elbows, rubbing his head tiredly. “When I said to tell me when Tom was free to
go, I didn't mean like that.”

The hiss reverberated through his skull once more, quietly tempting him into his mindscape.
Sighing tiredly, Harry rolled over onto his back. It wouldn't do to leave his demon or Tom waiting,
Merlin knows what would happen. Closing his eyes, Harry sank into his mind, preparing for a long
overdue reunion.

Sirius sat in a familiar office in Gringotts bank, having snuck in through the Knockturn entrance. It
had been great fun making himself a nuisance until someone finally listened to his request to speak
with the Black account manager, but now he was exactly where he needed to be.

It had taken a lot of tricky wand work with a wand that only half responded to him, but Sirius had
eventually managed to land in a field near a muggle park, casting several rather unnecessary
disillusionment spells on his bike to make sure it stayed out of sight. He had worried about being
recognised in Diagon, so even if he was only planning to be in it for a few moments, he still cast
several glamours on his clothes and person. It ended up being unnecessary however, as once he
snuck through a rather rowdy and drunk crowd in the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon, it was clear
that the only people out and about that night were either sloshed to the point of incapacitation or
very near it. Still though, it was good to be thorough, and he felt assured in his anonymity when
waltzing into Gringotts’ Knockturn entrance.
His accounts manager, Goldtooth, peered down at his ratty prisoner’s uniform and filthy
appearance from where he sat behind the desk, clearly unimpressed in him. The goblins had forced
the glamours off of him the second he had moseyed into the place, so it was hardly Sirius’ fault he
looked near death. “I see you have managed to find your way back to civilization, Heir Black?”

Sirius grinned in response, tapping his bare feet against the cold tile below as he peered around the
impeccably clean office. “I'm still heir Black then? Well, that makes this easier.”

Sure, he could have gone straight to France, but from his memories of the beach house, the place
would be in desperate need of repair, and he had yet to find himself some clothes that weren’t rags.
Goblins were shockingly neutral in wizarding affairs, considering how intertwined they were in
wix commerce, and wouldn't be too terribly bothered by his being there requesting service. That
being said, since they didn't particularly care for the ministry either, Sirius could waltz into
Gringotts with little but a glance of mild disdain from any of the goblins and request to completely
empty his family's vault if he wished.

They also had no problem giving him the money, as long as they got a bit in the pocket as well.

“I would like to draw 1,000,000 galleons from the Black vault for recreation and renovation
purposes.”

Goldtooth raised a single eyebrow, “what sort of renovations?”

“Home renovations.” It was best to be as vague as possible with the little buggers, as while he
could certainly get away with galavanting around, the ministry could just as easily question
Goldtooth on any recent transactions and the goblin would tell them. That is, if they paid enough
gold, and considering the ministry tended to throw galleons around like candy, it was safe to say
they would get as much information as they wished.

“Hmmm…” His accounts manager shuffled papers around his desk for a moment, seemingly
attempting to find the proper documents before a familiar key was revealed from one of the stacks.
“Gringotts requests a 15% confidentiality tax along with the usual fees, due to your current public
image.”

That was unsurprising, hush money was quite typical of the goblins when they dealt with rich
criminals on the run. Nodding along, Sirius followed after the short creature and down to the carts,
happy to get the opportunity to use his family’s money to flee the country, as well as waste it on no
doubt frivolous expendages. After a short ride down to the deeper recesses of the old mines, Sirius
found himself standing in the Black vault, looking around in mild disdain at all the familiar
portraits and no doubt illegal dark tomes. He distantly registered Goldtooth’s movements, as the
goblin held up a small pouch in the air, nodding as thousands of gallons flew into it, no doubt being
counted out into the proper amount of money to the letter. His ‘confidentiality tax’ would likely be
put in a separate bag for the goblin to enjoy himself, unless they had a way to instantly place the
money in a separate vault. It didn't matter to Sirius any, as he cared very little about what happened
to the Black fortune once he was done plundering through it. Turning away from the goblin, Sirius
walked along through the vault, occasionally picking up something interesting or familiar. There
was a wide array of jewelry in the vault, most of it having belonged to his mother and ancestors,
and he pocketed all of the more expensive-looking ones in order to barter them off in France. He
left the books alone, not feeling particularly inclined to get his bits cursed off if the protective
enchantments were triggered. Rooting around through the back of the vault, Sirius found with no
little amount of glee that his family had the old wands of past Blacks stored back there, all thrown
into a large chest haphazardly. Rooting through it, he was shocked to find his own wand buried
there, along with his fathers. Who had put it in there, he wondered?
Standing, he cast a cautious lumos, finding with delight that the wand worked just as well as it
always had, with only sight pushback against him. Sirius pocketed it, and turned to leave when a
familiar bag caught his eye. It was nearly invisible among the old trunks and dangerous antiques,
but he recognized it all the same. Stumbling slightly, Sirius fell to his knees in front of it, brushing
a hand across the dust and revealing the worn black leather that laid beneath the age. He peered
down at his brother’s old school bag with quiet regret, reading the inset initials that proved who the
satchel belonged to without a shadow of a doubt. He didn't know what had come of Regulus after
his incarceration, but was aware the younger man had gone missing in ‘79. Sirius could only
assume that he had been killed for attempting to back out of being a death eater, likely after
realizing just what he was expected to do. Regulus had never been built out of the right kind of
stuff for that sort of work-the sort of hatred that was needed and necessary to be capable of actions
beyond belief-to be a follower of Voldemort. It had been quite clear to Sirius from a young age that
his little brother wouldn't make it in that sort of life.

Pulling back the worn flap, Sirius unabashedly rifled through the contents of the bookbag, finding
mostly school books and notes-the occasional trinket thrown in for flavor. A leatherbound book
caught his eye however, and he gingerly pulled it free from its confines, peering down at the black
leather and its gold accents. Brushing away the invisible dust, he opened it, squinting at the words
scrawled in an elegant font across the inner cover. ‘Property of Regulus Arcturus Black’ was all it
read, spelling out quite plainly that it was likely a journal or diary of some kind. Turning to the first
page, Sirius looked down at his baby brother’s familiar handwriting, the scrawl taking him back to
before Hogwarts, when things were simpler and much, much worse. Skimming the first few
entries, he found that the journal seemed to detail the comings and goings of the slytherin’s seventh
year at Hogwarts, normal things like school work or friends, nothing that hinted at the future death
eater or murdered deflector his brother had become. A droplet of water splashed across the page,
doing nothing to smudge the long-since dried ink. He wiped the tears away, grabbing the old bag
and its contents along with the journal. They were all he would need besides the money, he
wouldn't take anything more from his family but his own shame.

Walking back to the front of the vault, he caught Goldtooth’s eye and nodded at the goblins
beckoning. He was handed the small pouch, on which displayed the correct amount of galleons
across the fabric, enchanted to show how much money was left in it. “Here you are, Heir Black.
Now, if you would like to take up your title-”

“Hell no, Cissy can have it for all I care, send the next in line a missive.” Waving the question
away, he shoved the journal back into the bag, throwing out a modicum of school texts to make
room for the stolen jewelry and future items.

“That would be who you detailed in your will, which would be Heir Hadrian Potter-”

“Brilliant. Give it to Harry then.” Throwing the pouch of coins into the leather satchel as well,
Sirius stormed out of the vault, not bothering to look back at his family, turning away from the lot
of them for the second time. He clutched the old book bag closer to his chest, all but one of them,
that is. He wouldn't abandon Regulus again.

Harry opened his eyes, glancing around at his mindscape before darting down a hall, taking several
steps at a time on his way down to the chamber. His feet splashed into a puddle as he sprinted
through the cavernous space that marked the hall between his and Tom’s minds, slowing to a stop
as he locked eyes with the wendigo.

“...mornin’” It made a snorting sound he could somewhat compare to a horse, and stepped to the
side, allowing him a clear passage towards the circular door. Cautiously, Harry made his way
towards it, keeping his eyes firmly locked onto his demon so as to not let his guard down.
Reaching for the door, he hissed for it to ‘open’, and pulled on the handle till it begrudgingly
obeyed. And then, quick as a viper, he darted inside and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing
through the room as the demon screeched in mock anger.

Breathing out a sigh, Harry had all of two seconds to get his bearings before strong arms yanked
him backwards, a much taller man pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Throwing his arms
around Tom, Harry breathed in and nearly collapsed, clutching his father as if letting go would
throw him off into the abyss.

“You infernal child.” Tom pulled away, yanking him gently over to a familiar couch, muttering
about foolish children and idiotic demons. “What on earth has been going on up there?”

Harry didn't reply, instead staring blankly at the man as he tried to figure out what on earth had
happened. Tom looked like a wreck, his shirt rumpled and stained with blood as purple bruises
covering his face and arms. His jaw was the worst of it, looking swollen and messily relocated
after a sharp dislocation.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Tom winced, rubbing his jaw gently as he licked his lip. “I miscalculated how long it takes for
injuries to heal here, and got rather obsessed with... roughhousing with my younger self.”

Harry blinked, before squinting at the man in silent judgement, “you-I’m sorry, what?”

Tom rolled his eyes, pushing Harry down onto the couch before collapsing into an adjacent
armchair. “It was rather therapeutic, if barbaric.”

Oh merlin, he really isn't joking.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’ve
been beating the shite out of your horecruxes over the past few months? That's what you've been up
to?”

Tom sniffed, rubbing his injured jaw contemplatively, wincing as he pressed down on a tender
area. “You say that as if it is morally disreputable.”

“Because it is? What exactly was the purpose of doing something like that?” A victorian tea set
appeared before them, and Harry busied himself with making them both tea while Tom grumbled.

“In my defense, the ring has got to be the most self-centered, snooty, megalomaniacal monster of
the lot, and that is truly saying something considering all of the locket’s dysfunctions.”

Harry handed him his tea, sitting back with his own and watching as Tom attempted not to get the
blood dripping from his lip onto the rim. “Still, getting into a tussle with your past self-even if said
past self has a rather shite personality-is no way to go about things. Aren't you trying to get them to
agree with you or something?”

Tom winced, his tongue darting out to run over his split lip a second time. “That thing is beyond
my help, I would rather get my frustrations out on the little maggot than bother attempting to speak
with it a moment longer.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, sipping his tea as Tom attempted not to moan and groan about his various
injuries. “It seems he got his frustrations out on you as well.”
 The man rolled his eyes, the unholy gleam of red in his irises gaining a sickly hue, as if hell itself
was rising up from his soul. “Come now Harry, you don't think that little of me do you? That
pathetic little menace was nothing but a wheezing husk of soul matter once I was through with
him.”

Harry finished off his tea, leaning forward and pouring another cup as he contemplated his father’s
words. “You're making good connections then, what with all the senseless violence.”

Tom held up his hand, attempting to wiggle his left pointer finger with little luck. Muttering under
his breath, he gripped it and yanked, popping it back in its socket with hardly any indication of his
pain. “The senselessness was what was therapeutic about it, and I can't make any connections with
a soul so foolhardy that it refuses to see reason.” The man grinned, bloodied and monstrous as he
took a dainty sip of his tea. “Now, what have you been getting up to, child of mine?

Chapter End Notes

No mice were harmed in the making of this chapter.

Both of Harry’s father figures are officially free! I just realized while writing this note
that I had set up the chapter like that, kinda funny how events fall together sometimes.
This was a lot of fun to write, since Sirius is always a hot mess and Tom is just…
hot……… anyway!
 The Point
Chapter Summary

Harry attempts to walk a tightrope between selflessness and selfishness as he continues

to miss the point.

Chapter Notes

GOD why was this so fuckin hard to write it took like three days just to figure out the
timeline FUCK

Anyway hope you enjoy ヾ(￣▽￣)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You're not allowed to get mad.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

They were in a bit of a standoff, with Harry stalling as long as he could and Tom getting
increasingly concerned about the potentially lethal shenanigans that his son might have been
getting up to during his mental imprisonment. Harry bit his lip, contemplating his options as Tom’s
eyes narrowed into slits, carefully testing the boundaries between concerned and livid. On one
hand, he could tell Tom everything and get yelled at, or he could tell him some things and get
yelled at later when the man was destined to figure out all the crucial details Harry had omitted.

Perhaps I made a mistake coming in here.

“See… here's the thing-”

“What. Did. You. DO.”

Begrudgingly, and while wincing rather heavily, Harry attempted to give his father a short
overview of the past five months, attempting to brush over the nasty bits like the shrieking shack or
almost getting drugged with little avail. Despite wishing to be as brief as possible, his explanation
started to stretch on as Tom kept on motioning for him to continue or elaborate. It had taken an
impressive amount of self control on Tom’s part to not to interrupt at any point, and Harry was both
thankful and slightly impressed with the man for his patience.

“-of course, since she drugged it I couldn't exactly eat them, even if I likely wouldn’t be affected at
all, so I gave them to one of the upper years that was annoying me.” Tapering off with an
uncomfortable laugh, he sat back and watched Tom’s reaction. When there wasn’t one, the room
quickly descended into silence, and Harry was forced to sit there and smile (grimace) as Tom took
a long sip of his now slightly bloody tea. As Tom’s silence continued, Harry began to fidget again,
rubbing his thumb against the smooth porcelain cup in his hand as his toe tapped an unsteady
rhythm into the stone floor.
Sure, the shrieking shack had been a tad messy, all things considered, but he could hardly be at
fault for Ginny Weasley’s dysfunction, and he was already planning on dealing with it soon, so
there shouldn’t really be anything to get mad about. Realistically, Tom should be happy nothing
else happened during that time, as not only had Harry been forced to go about life on his own
without the man whispering in his ear, but the wendigo kept trying to be as annoying as physically
possible. Really, Tom should be impressed with his ability to keep calm under pressure, it wasn’t
his fault these things kept on happening.

“You're grounded.”

He blinked, the words cutting through the silence like a knife. “Wha-sorry?”

Tom was eerily calm, nodding assuredly as he took a sip from his cup. “You heard me. Grounded,
that's what you are.”

Harry made a strangled noise, staring with obvious confusion at the man as he sputtered, trying to
find the right words. “You can't ground me!”

“Watch me.”

He rolled his eyes, “sure-alright, okay fine,” he set his teacup down a little harder than necessary,
cracking it from base to brim as he glared up at the uncomfortably relaxed man across from him. “-
and how, pray tell, do you plan on enforcing this punishment?”

Tom’s eyes got steely, the hard glint of an angry parent overtaking his bruised features and twisting
them into something akin to sternness. “You are hereby banned from saving anyone’s lives for
precisely one year.”

Harry blinked again, jaw dropping in shock. Is he serious? Gathering himself, Harry adopted
something of a glare as he prepared to argue. “I'll repeat myself, since you obviously didn't hear
me the first time. How exactly are you going to stop me? You can't exactly enforce any rules here,
or have you forgotten who's mind you're sitting in?”

Tom licked his lip, sitting back with an infuriating look of victory splashed across his face. “I'm in
your mind, or have you forgotten? Now, I'm sure a child of your age and intellect would never
understand the inter-complexities of such a statement-” Harry felt a sudden kinship with the ring
horcrux, as the unconsolable need to sock his father in the jaw grew by the second. “-but as I exist
in your mind, it is as easy as removing one book from your library-or perhaps reversing a painting
so it faces the wall, and you'll be physically incapable of risking your life for someone else.” He
waved his arms around for emphasis as Harry scoffed.

“Sure, and why exactly is this such an issue for you? Saving lives can't really be the root of the
issue. Or... perhaps some of your more sadistic tendencies have bled through your self control?”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, pointing a broken finger in Harry’s direction as he
hissed in anger. “~It is an issue because you could have very easily gotten hurt-you did get hurt!
Just because you can’t die through injuries doesn't mean you should search them out!~”

Harry leapt to his feet, eyes glowing with green anger as flecks of gold danced through the air.
“~This is about the shrieking shack incident, isn't it? If you don't recall, Draco is my soulmate! I
couldn't just leave him in there!~”

Tom practically growled, standing himself and easily towering over Harry, who felt tempted to
open the door for the wendigo, who was scratching angrily at it-rearing up for a fight. “You know
what else he is? Fireproof! You however, are very much combustible!”
“That's besides the point!”

“That is the point!” Tom stalked around the table to stand over him, eyes blazing like hellfire. “You
do too much for no reason-that's the entire bloody point-you've done too much for too little and
sometimes for no good reason! When are you going to stop being so bloody selfless?”

Harry felt ice cracking across his skin, the quiet but nearby howling of the wendigo as it attempted
to react to his anger reverberating through his skull. “I am so far from selfless it's absurd that you
would even-”

Strong arms gripped his shoulders, shaking him as Tom appeared about ready to scream. “You,
Hadrian James Potter, need to do things for yourself. Not for Draco Malfoy, not for Death or Fate
or any other stupid useless old god with too much time on their hands, and certainly not for me.
Just for you.” His voice shifted, almost seeming pleading as his grip tightening as his eyes turned
downwards. Harry felt the anger dissipate, and suddenly he was colder than he had ever been.
Tom’s grip loosened, and he found himself being pulled back into a tight hug, Tom’s fingers
carding through his hair gently. Softly.

“You can't carry the world on your shoulders Harry, you've already tried it once in another life and
I killed you for it. Don't be selfless again. Please.”

The words echoed, reverberating through the room like the gong of a bell. “Live for yourself. Stop
living for the sake of other people. You died for others, let them die for you. Just this once.”

Sirius had spent far more time searching for the beach house than he would like to admit. Sure, he
could vaguely recall where it was supposed to be, he hadn’t been there since his parents still
considered him their son... so it had been quite some time. However, while flying over a grouping
of newer houses scattered along the beach, he felt a pull towards a steep hill covered with thick
trees. Flying far above it, he spotted an old house half buried in the massive branches, one set apart
from the rest-one that sat on the edge of a cliff several miles away from its neighbors. He squinted,
managing to make out the black stained paneling of a rickety old wrap-around porch. The house
was certainly old enough to be the beach house, though he distinctly remembered it actually being
on the beach, not some random cliff. Had it been moved when the new muggle development went
in?

Angling towards a small clearing he might be able to consider a front lawn, he touched down on
the withered grass, looking around with somber nostalgia. It looked just like the beach house,
except a decade older and far more decrepit. Hopping from the torn bike seat, it was a quick matter
of propping his ride up against the nearest vertical surface and climbing the steps to the front door.
Looking down at the rusted key hole, he struggled with getting the iron key to do much else but
scrape against the interior mechanisms. Cursing slightly, he reared back and slammed into the
door, hitting the wards but still somehow managing to knock the handle off and with it, the rusted
lock. Upon entry, he found that not only was the home void of a house elf of any kind-going off of
the sheer amount of dust that blanketed the place-but was also in need of rather extensive repairs,
with the wards just barely hanging on by a thread. It was a miracle the poor thing had managed to
find him up in the air and even more incredible that it was able to latch onto him, perhaps his bike
held enough ambient magic from lying around Hogwarts for a decade to bridge the distance?

Sighing quietly, Sirius hopped around a fallen painting of a moth eaten ancestor and moved
towards the foyer, taking in the dusty old couches and dustier old windows, which were covered
with so much grime that barely any light could get into the already dreary place.

“Well… cleaning charms it is.”

He spent what had to be hours going through the entire house, just getting rid of the dust and grime
and rat carcasses. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon as he attempted to charm the
bathtub into functioning, coaxing new magic through the ancient enchantments with little luck.
Turning the tap, he leapt back with a nervous and confused shout as the pipes began to shudder and
shake.

“That can't be good-oh shite.” Backing away slowly, Sirius watched with detached acceptance as
one of the pipes burst, spraying freezing ocean water into the previously clean bathroom. Rubbing
his now quite wet face with one hand, he waved his wand and stopped the aggressive flow of water
before he drowned, the pipe suturing back together and the tap turning back to neutrality.

“Alright… new plan: Leave the house as is, go buy new clothes, and then buy a bloody elf.”

Satisfied with his new plan (which was sure to not get him splashed with sea water again), Sirius
quickly cleaned the bathroom a second time, before turning his wand towards his own person and
submitting himself to a substantial amount of cleaning charms in a last ditch effort to stop smelling
like he hadn’t showered in over a decade. Cleaning charms were, generally, either used on objects
or small upsets on a person, like a dirty dish or a bit of dirt on one’s nose. When applied to a wide
area (like the entire body) the charm tends to either itch horribly or absolutely drench someone in
soap. Both options were rather uncomfortable, and Sirius always preferred to either just stay filthy
or get a proper shower.

Scratching his arms and neck aggressively for a moment, he renewed the glammors that made his
clothes appear like normal wizarding garb and pulled his ratty hair up in a rather wretched bun,
hoping that the posh people of France would let him off of the hook for his less than ideal state.

“Right then, time to go shopping.”

Soul bonds, and the people who they befall (commonly called soulmates), are perhaps the
most infamous of magical binding in the world, if the most rare. You see, soul bonds do not
form upon the willingness of two parties, but instead through what is called soul
compatibility.

Soul compatibility, despite the rather basic name, is a complex form of magic that is
completely lost on typical magical humans, as it takes not only an incredible amount of
magic, but the ability to point out two compatible souls in the ever growing sea of human
souls to find two that could potentially be a match. Due to this, the magic behind soul
compatibility has been largely left up to the gods-if they do truly exist-as there has yet to be
any way for humans to harness and control it.

Due to the rather lacking capabilities of magical mankind, the observation and research of
soul bonds has been largely made through trial and error, as those who exhibit bonds have
been hunted down to be researched extensively through the centuries. Though findings vary
widely between bonds, three things can be seen in every instance of a soul bond that
researchers contend as being the ‘laws’ of soulmates.

Both people have to ‘accept’ the bond in order for it to fully form.

Soulmates are always physically and mentally comfortable with each other, even if they
 have known each other for little less than a day.

When one mate dies, the surviving always follows shortly after, if it be by succumbing
to heartbreak and wasting away, or by suicide.

(In order to go into more depth about these three characteristics, it should be duly noted that
soul bonds can be platonic, romantic, and sexual at the same time, or separately, as it is often
shown that two people can become soulmates but never gain romantic or sexual attraction,
and vice versa. Though soulmates are always fond of each other, as the bond requires a
certain amount of affection to thrive.)

When it is said that both people have to ‘accept’ the bond in order for it to form, it does not
so literally mean accepting the magical binding of two souls. Instead what this is most
commonly referencing, is the magic behind intent. You see, two people can not form a soul
bond unless they are actually aware of the bond existing, as once they become aware their
magic will be able to acknowledge such a thing and seek out their match. This is partially
why soulmates are so rare, as it takes a pair that is intuitive and knowledgeable to be able to
form the bond. Through this realization, the presence of a potential soul bond is now detailed
in most inheritance tests, as it would allow more bonds the potential to form. This is not to
say the discovery of a soul bond immediately makes it so that the bond is formed, as the
decision still has to be a conscious agreement by the wix’s mind, i.e. even if both sides of the
bond are aware that it exists, if one half does not want it, the bond will not form.

On the subject of physical and emotional connection, soulmates are able to both betray all
logic as well as emulate nature. Souls, much like the bodies they are housed in, need physical
touch to thrive. This is best exemplified through the discovery that humans in infancy will die
due to a lack of physical touch if they are not held enough. Souls play into this in a way that
not many realize, as they are the part of humans that crave this touch, as the affection given
to the body (or lack thereof) can effectively save or kill a soul. This works in regards to
soulmates as something of a current, as the affection that soulmates give to each other
effectively fuels their soul’s ability to be healthy. It has been known that prolonged time
apart between soulmates can manifest as increased bouts of aggression, irritation, insomnia,
depression, physical aches and eventual illness as the body’s immune system slows to a
standstill.

Draco threw the book away from him as if it burned, nearly falling off his chair in an effort to get
as far away from it as possible. The first several chapters had gone on about the passing daily life
of the author, as she documented experiments in a detached way that made him incredibly bored.
So, feeling that Harry was either trying to bore him to death or that the later chapters would be
more interesting, Draco had set the book aside for a few weeks and went about his life. However,
as April twenty fifth crept closer and closer, and as spring bloomed over the Scottish countryside,
he had begrudgingly taken it back up again.

This though, was enough to send him spiralling out of control.

It was too familiar, the aches in his chest and the wretched insomnia that he had lived with for the
duration of yule break being the first thing that came to mind. The second being how comfortable
he felt around Harry-how he had always felt comfortable around Harry.
He had never gotten an inheritance test.

Of course he hadn't, what was the reason to get one? With the enchantments placed on the Malfoy
bloodline there was no point. Had Harry gotten one? Was that why he had sent this book? Of
course he did, you moron. Then that would mean of course, that Harry knew if they were
soulmates or not-he had to, what would be the reasoning behind gifting him the book if he didn’t?

But that would mean that…

“In three bloody years he never said a word.”

Draco didn't want to entertain the possibility, why the hell would Harry not say something about
something so unbelievably important as them being soulmates? No, there had to be a different
reason for the book, perhaps Harry thought it was romantic? Reaching back out, he quickly found
his place and continued to read, flames of deep red heat flickering dangerously close to the
parchment as they traveled down his arms.

However, there are always negative effects to something so personal as a soul bond, and the
subject of death has often been brought up as to question if the positives outweigh the
negatives. As it stands, all accounts in human history reveal that soulmates always die within
a week of each other, as either the emotional anguish or the soul-codependency plays a heavy
hand in the surviving partner. In cases where the bond is older-upwards of a decade in the
very least-the surviving partner is seen to instantly lose energy and willpower, as their soul
and by extension their magic was irrevocably tied to the other. In younger, more tragic cases,
where the first to die usually does so through physical injury or sudden illness, the survivor is
overcome with suicidal tendencies, going to incredible lengths to end their own life in order to
stop the physical and emotional pain. This tragedy of soulmates is the most common
argument against them, and has led to a severe drop in fully formed soulbonds over the past
millennium, as it is believed that a lifetime of discomfort is much better than a life cut short.

Draco took very deep breaths, fingers crumpling the page as fire continued to race up and down his
arms. Was this why Harry had never said anything? So that they could be alive in the instance that
one of them died? Or was he just playing games, attempting to scare him with stories of
relationships so similar to theirs that they might just be-

“No-no! Harry wouldn't do that to me.” He threw the book across the room, taking short choppy
breaths as tears began streaming down his cheeks, sizzling and evaporating due to the ambient
heat. Harry loved him, in no world would Harry Potter do something to scare him on purpose.
There had to be a reason, there had to be a thought process. Harry was logical, there was always a
reason behind his actions, even if they were obscenely out of the blue and lacking in both class and
dignity.

“Hey Drac-oh merlin what the hell?” Blaise’s voice cut through the overwhelming silence, his
arms grabbing at Draco’s shoulders before quickly pulling away with a yelp. “Circe-is that fucking
fire?”

“Get away from him Blaise.” A steady voice that couldn’t be anyone but Theo cut through Blaise’s
panic, and he relaxed slightly as a wave of cold water was splashed across his arms and shoulders,
sizzling and cracking on contact.

“Draco-hey mate, Blaise can you get the ‘ell out of here?”

“But-”
“Now, Zabini.”

Theo appeared in his line of sight, walking a straight path towards the offending book that had
crashed onto the opposite wall and picking it up, reading the cover before cursing under his breath.
Draco glared at it, slumping down in his seat as the sound of a door slamming signaled that Blaise
had left the room. Theo turned, holding up the book as if it was the root of all evil.

“What's this then?”

“A christmas present.”

Theo muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘some present’ before setting it firmly
back onto Draco’s desk, pulling Harry’s chair away from his own desk so he was able to sit facing
Draco. They sat there, with Draco steaming and Theo watching him for a moment, eyes analytical
and lacking in emotion.

“Alright then, so you figured it out?”

Flames sizzled and cracked up his waterlogged sleeves, the soaked fabric effectively tampering
down the ambient heat. A spark turned into a fire, and he reached forward and grabbed the boy by
his collar, anger and grief and insecurity clouding his judgment. “You KNEW?”

Theo was unperturbed, silently and gently removing Draco’s hand from his collar. “I figured it out
last year.”

Leaping to his feet, Draco began to pace, arms of fire whipping around and testing the capabilities
of the fire-proofing enchantments cast onto the dorm after his last meltdown. “What-and you
decided to keep it to yourself? Thought it would be funny to tell Harry and not me did you?”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “I'm quite certain Harry has known about the potential bond since before
you two even met, but that is besides the point.”

Theo was perfectly calm in a completely aggravating way, and fire threatened to burst through the
water clinging to him as it evaporated, steam rolling off of him steadily.

“That IS the bloody point!” Throwing his arms in the air, Draco kicked his chair in the effort to let
off some of his frustrations. “I deserve tha' right to bloody know if I’ve got a FOOKIN’
SOULMATE!”

Flames erupted, singeing his bed curtains and threatening to light the dorm ablaze before Theo cast
another aquimenti, dousing him under a chilly stream of water. “Calm down.”

“’M BLOODY FOOKIN CALM!”

Another douse of water hit him right in the face, and Draco sputtered for a moment as Theo sat
there, infuriatingly calm and with a look of careful indifference splashed across his face. The anger
immediately dissipated, replaced only with a horribly empty cavern in his chest. Sniffing, he
rubbed away the water that dripped into his eyes and took a shaky breath, slumping down to the
floor.

“Why didn’t either of you tell me? I have a right-it… its my soul too, I-I deserve to know.”

Theo was quiet, watching as Draco shivered and cried with careful eyes. “It wasn’t my secret to
tell.”
“Why didn’t he then-why didn’t Harry…” He choked back a sob, running a hand down his face as
tears began to join the water already soaking his face. “He-he loves me, why wouldn’t he-”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do!”

“Does he know that?”

“I-but I… he-no he doesn’t but-” He stopped, rubbing his face as he let out short, unsteady breaths.
What had Harry said to do before? What was it about counting and deep breaths?

“Deep breaths Dray, take in as much oxygen as you can as slowly as you can… Yeah, just like that.
Okay-shite, I'm going to start counting, alright? I want you to breathe in till I reach ten, then hold
it for another five, then release slowly for seven, alright? We're going to do that till you’re calm
again.”

It wasn’t the same without Harry’s hand resting firmly against his chest, but Draco still made an
attempt to breath slowly, thinking of nothing but numbers as he counted in his mind.

Breath in for ten seconds, hold it for five, release for seven.

Theo nodded along with the breathing, watching from where he sat, detached and disconnected
from the entire scene, quietly watching with those mismatching eyes of his.

Once he stopped steaming, Theo began to speak again, his voice monotone and holding nothing
but the truth. “I don't want to say that Harry was in the right for not telling you, because he most
certainly was not, but you have to remember that he is a logical person to the point of being
illogical, and I don't doubt that he thought it would be better not to say anything.”

His breathing steadied, and Draco slumped against his bed and stared blankly at Harry's own,
wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and run away from the world. He wanted to
hunt down Harry and slap him into the next century, scream and yell till his voice was hoarse, but
he also just wanted to fall asleep tangled up in long arms-just wanted to let go of the anger and be
done with it. Was this the soul bond talking, or was he really that temperamental to be turned on
and off at the drop of a hat?

“I want to yell at him, but I don't-does that make sense?”

Theo shifted, his left ankle coming up to rest against his right knee. “You find comfort with him-
are generally relaxed when you two are together. That conditioned feeling of safety and security is
clashing with your anger. It's completely understandable to want two conflicting things at the same
time, just how it is fair to request both and get neither.”

Draco sighed, running a hand through his thoroughly ruined hair. “I hate how you speak in riddles,
do all you divination freaks talk like this?”

Theo appeared apologetic, which had to be the first emotion he had shown through the entire
conversation. “Sorry, Luna’s gotten me into the habit of-well… nevermind.” The boy rubbed his
cheek, eyes glazed over as he sought out something Draco couldn't conceptualize. “What I
recommend, is to first try to understand your own emotions before making Harry fathom them.
Anger is the root of miscommunication and almost always leads to problems.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead looking towards the book lying innocently on his desk. “Do you
think the book was his way of telling me.”
Theo appeared perturbed, glancing at the slightly singed pages. “Personally… it doesn't seem like
something he would do.”

Draco couldn’t help but agree.

Harry had, admittedly, taken the declaration of his grounding with the grace of an incredibly pissed
off bull, acting in a way that was very unlike him and ultimately quite childish, much to his
eventual embarrassment. However, he stood by the admission that he was not selfless in the least,
far from it in fact, as he was very selfish about a number of different things that didn't at all
correlate with the few instances where he acted selfless.

In the week that followed the argument with Tom, Harry came to realize his pseudo father may
have a small point. That wasn't to say that the man was in the right by grounding him for an entire
bloody year, but Harry could now admit that he might have a... bit of a hero complex left over from
his first life. A small one though. Reserved only for those he cared about. That was it.

Harry glared down at his charms homework as if it had personally offended him, attempting quite
unsuccessfully to burn a hole through the parchment. The past week had passed by about as normal
and mind-numbingly boring as it always was, with the only mild upset being Theo, who seemed to
be looking at him more often than he had already been doing so. Thinking about it, several people
were looking at him oddly, Theo just being the one he spent the most time around. Ginny Weasley
for instance, seemed intent on staring a hole in the back of his head during meals, and both Tracey
and-strangely enough-Parkinson watched him as if at any second he would explode and start
cursing them to pieces. It was getting incredibly irritating, and to expel that irritation he was
sneaking out almost every night, attacking his bow lessons with the ferocity of a man training for
war.

“Hey Harry?”

“Mhm?”

The sound of soft footfalls allerted him to movement on his left, and he turned slightly to watch as
Luna stood from where she had been seated, practically floating over to where he was lounging in
his chair. “Have you ever inadvertently hurt someone?”

He squinted at the girl with a mix of suspicion and worry, whenever Luna said something
convoluted and strange, it would almost always come back to bite him in the ass.

“I… I’m not sure.”

She nodded, looking at his half-finished charms homework with interest. “We never are, not until
someone confronts us about it.”

He felt dread pooling behind his eyes, the anger of his argument with Tom and the continued
agitation caused by Ginny fucking Weasley accumulating like a large ball of lead in his stomach.
“Luna, if you know something-”

“I think it would be better if people didn't make mistakes that hurt others, but part of being human
is being imperfect. It is what makes us perfect.” She interrupted him, eyes glazed over as she stared
at his left shoulder. “It's funny how imperfectly perfect people are, especially you.”

He didn't know what to make of her, it was obvious that she was alluding to something happening-
that he had hurt someone... somehow.
 “I don't understand what you're trying to tell me.”

Her head tilted to the side, eyes roaming from his shoulder to a spot just above his left eyebrow-the
start of his scar, he realised. “You will, maybe not right now, but soon.”

She smiled at him, before standing once more, grabbing up all her books and setting them in front
of him. “You can have these, I can't read them all that well anyway.” And then she was gone, her
warning of coming storms doing little to quell his worry.

Selfless or selfish. Which am I?

Chapter End Notes

Now, I know that this story has been having a lot of love related things in it, but I want
to say something in regards to that for everyone to chew on: This isn't a love story, it's
a story with love in it. In truth, this is a revenge story, where the one seeking revenge
finds more than just revenge along the way. I say this because with all the romance in
recent chapters, I worry that some people might forget that while Drarry is certainly an
element, and it is clearly tag, and I’m sure a few people probably started reading just
for the Drarry, the main focus of the final story is telling something completely
unrelated to love, it's about self-discovery-about becoming something more than you
had been. It is a discovery of who you want to be after existing in the image of what
someone else wants you to be.It may be named ‘How Fate Intended’, but in reality it is
‘how Harry became who he wants to be’, and that goes far beyond romance.

That being said, let's get into some romance!

 An Eternity of Inconveniences
Chapter Summary

Fire spawned through hurt and betrayal threatens to break Harry and Draco apart, the
secret of two souls nearly intertwined revealing itself like a lightning bolt of blood.

Chapter Notes

GOD I hope this is actually good to people that aren't me, I feel like I don't even know
how to write anymore.

HHHhhhhhhh.. I'm sorry this took ages to finish, but I had such horrible writers block
and really didn't know exactly how to write the soul bond scene, and basically just sat
and stared at it for hours on end feeling stupid and unmotivated. It was the first time I
had really felt writers block before, so I was kinda angry at myself for needing to take
a break from the fic for a little while.

Anyway! It's the 69th chapter so I feel obligated to say: N I C E

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry got back to the common room late at night, having skipped dinner and hours of downtime in
lieu of experimenting with the golden mystery potion. Upon further examination of the rats, he
could comfortably say that it had either a rather good staying power, or was in the very least semi-
permanent, as both of the rats he had not purged of blood were still in quite the tortured state over a
week later. He had been tempted to work longer to try and see if any larger mammals were affected
similarly, but had decided against it, feeling exhausted from the day and in great need of sleep.
Besides, there was no discernible way for him to figure out what the potion’s effects on humans
could be till he bit the bullet and injected some poor soul with it, so he felt that the
experimentations were more akin to procrastination than constructive additions to his knowledge.

The common room was dark and empty when he entered it, with no light filling it besides the
shallow flickering of slowly cooling candle lamps scattered around the room. It was unpleasantly
drafty, the spring weather making even the coldest of places in the school stuffy and damp. He
squinted at the large window into the black lake, watching as a massive tentacle cautiously
crawled across the smooth surface, the already faint light of the full moon refracting through the
light and outlining the squid’s appendage. He stood for a moment, basking in the quiet and
uncomfortable humidity till he was sure that he would go insane if he sat there for even a moment
longer. Casting a cooling charm on himself, Harry made his way up the stairs, head swimming
with thoughts as the oppressive atmosphere pressed into his shoulders. Luna’s warning fell from
his mind, slipping away with the drafty air.

The hall was just as dark and silent, the quiet meowing of someone’s cat through a closed door
being the only noise. Harry slowed upon reaching his dorm, staring at his name embedded in the
gold plate. Sighing, he reached for the handle, finding it strangely warm-nearly hot. Frowning, he
opened it all the way and made his way in, closing the door behind him and peered around the
room. All the candles were lit, making the room hotter and even more oppressive than the common
room. Looking around in slight confusion, he found that Blaise was nowhere to be found, the other
person inside being Draco, who was reading stiffly at his desk, the candles accumulating on his
desk. Blaise occasionally snuck off to the commons in the middle of the night, but he hadn't been
out there when Harry was passing through, had Daphne finally figured out how to breach the
enchantments on the girl’s dorm entrance?

Draco turned to look at him as he pulled the invisibility cloak off his shoulders, the boy’s silver
eyes appearing to him like hardened steel in the low light. Harry felt immediately put on edge,
walking slowly from where he had been standing at the door to the foot of Draco’s bed, setting the
cloak down on the edge of it as he waited for Draco to speak.

They stared at each other for several tense, prolonged moments, and Harry felt his anxiety spike.
There were only a handful of things that Draco had gotten angry at him for, most of which being
due to his own foolhardy actions. What had happened while he was holled up in the library?

“Why didn’t you tell me.” Draco’s voice was just as steely as his eyes, razor sharp and cutting
through Harry like he was nothing more than thin parchment. He opened his mouth before closing
it quickly, tilting his head slowly as he considered the question carefully before answering. There
were few things that he had kept from Draco besides… well, there were quite a few things, but
none of which he had told anyone else besides Tom, who had full access to his memories anyhow.

Harry squinted at the book Draco had been reading, trying to figure out if it played into this at all.
Draco noticed where he was glancing, and promptly ripped the book off the desk and tossed it at
him, before crossing his arms and sitting back in his seat like an angry parent. He caught it deftly,
turning the slightly singed tome over in his hands and reading the cover with rising panic. ‘Soul
Bonds: an Eternity of Inconveniences with only Moderate Payoff’. Harry took a fast breath in,
dropping the book as if it burned.

Oh SHITE.

“Dray-I… Where’d you even find a book like this?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, the telltale spark of an ensuing fire flickering across his arms. Harry peered
down to the floor where he had dropped the book, noticing a dampness clinging to the carpet that
had yet to be vanished. His fingers began to pop, a nervous whine bubbling up from his core.

Draco seemed eerily calm, Harry wouldn’t have even thought that he was angry if it were not for
the beginning of a forest fire dancing up and down his arms. The blond took a deep breath, crossing
his legs at the ankle and regarding Harry with a carefully calm voice. “I want to have a
conversation with you Harry, not dance around the topic. Please be honest, I wont get angry at you
for admitting to it.”

Harry glanced back at the book for a second time, confusion apparent in his expression as he
attempted to process the words. “Did… did Theo give you this?” It seemed like something Theo
might do, but the unbreakable vow should have made it impossible. Draco’s anger seemed to be
rising steadily, flames flickering across his fingers as his eyes narrowed further.

“Don’t bullshit me Potter, you know exactly who got that for me.”

“I really don't Dray, I’ve never seen this book in my life-”

“BULLSHITE!”
Harry reared back, nearly toppling onto his ass as fire erupted from Draco. An inferno of different
shapes and twisting blue strings of heat reaching out towards him as light completely encompassed
his soulmate. Cursing, Harry fell onto his back, panic overtaking him for a moment as he suddenly
found himself back in the shrieking shack, fire and anger and fear seeping through the room. The
thrumming of a drum burst through his ears, the signs of his wendigo surging upward
overwhelming his senses as ice encased his hands and arms, cracking and reforming as he
thoughtlessly reacted.

For a moment, Harry didn’t know who he was, human and wendigo instincts merging together into
an incomprehensible mess. He lost himself, his fear and overwhelming feeling that he needed to
escape nearly drowning out the other side of himself-the one that needed to fix what it saw as its
own fault.

Lunging forward, Harry stumbled into the blazing inferno as ice encased his face and chest,
molding to the joints of his legs and working in tandem with his muscles as he shambled through
the impenetrable sphere of blue light. Reaching into the fire without a second thought, he searched
out a familiar face, working completely on instincts as the byproduct of anger and hurt
encompassed him.

This is my fault, I need to fix it.

A shining thought broke through the soundless pounding of a drum, the screeching of fire and his
own soul dampened by the overwhelming fact. Draco was hurt and angry, he had to do something.

The ice hardened and melted simultaneously, water being unsure if it was supposed to be
crystalizing onto his skin or wafting through the air as steam. The inferno was doing its very best to
warn him off as his frozen skin slought out Draco’s face, fighting desperately against Harry’s
much needed presence. His hand brushed slowly against the other boy’s cheek, the touch sent
shockwaves of pain up his arm as the source of the fire made contact with his bare fingers.
Pressing himself further, ice began to concentrate thickly along his hands, melting and cooling
simultaneously but in thicker clumps. Harry leaned down, his other hand brushing through the
glowing mass of hair atop Draco’s head, the motion feeling like carding his fingers through rays of
sunlight. He couldn’t discern any words to speak, instead allowing the incomprehensible sounds of
long forgotten memories to slip from freezing lips, the mystiful singing of an old friend combining
with cold waves splashing against mossy rocks. The fire surrounding them began to cool and slow,
Draco finally becoming visible through the burning blue.

He leaned closer, forehead resting cautiously against the other boy’s, the motion letting off steam
as the ice and fire reacted in tandem to the touch. Draco’s eyes were screwed up tightly, his mouth
moving incrementally as he breathed unsteadily. Harry took both his cheeks into his hands,
brushing the cracking ice clinging to his fingertips over a reddened cheek. His head was clearing,
drums and memories of two minds melted together cracking apart, magic separating and tapering
off until all there was was a feeling of strange incompleteness, as though he had forgotten a piece
of himself along the way to where he now sat, crouched, in front of a lightly charred chair. Draco
looked exhausted and very near collapse-his eyes dazed and threatening to leak tears as Harry
continued to brush soothing motions into his skin.

“It's ok Dray, everything's going to be okay.” He looked around the room in awe, finding that the
only thing that had been affected by the blaze was Harry’s own sleeves. It seemed that Snape was
still just as proficient in magic as always, if he was capable of such strong protective enchantments.

Turning his focus back to Draco, Harry took a moment to be assured that his mind was cleared
before attempting to piece together where things had veered off course. Draco had figured out
about the soulbond somehow, that much was obvious, and had attempted to rationally confront him
on the topic. It also seemed to be that he believed Harry had sent him a book on soulbonds, which
would certainly warrant a great deal of anger, but made no sense, as the only other people who
knew about it were Theo and Tom, both of which were unable to spill his secrets-be it because of
an unbreakable oath, or simply being indisposed till that day.

Harry frowned, watching Draco as the boy attempted to gather himself, blinking owlishly about the
room, his magic clearly expended past what was healthy. “Why… Why didn't you tell me?”

Green met gray, sky met earth. Harry sighed, not fully sure how to answer. “I didn’t know how-I
wasn’t sure that you didn’t know at first, and I hadn’t figured it out till the train ride this year-”

“So you thought sending me a bloody book would be better than just telling me?” His voice was
quiet, eyes holding clear hurt and distrust. Harry felt something deep in his chest clench, mouth
opening and shutting as he attempted to answer. Finding himself incapable, he fell the extra foot
forward and landed onto his knees, now staring up at Draco with a pleading expression. “Dray
please believe me when I say I didn't send you that book-I would never do something so
impersonal, you know that right?”

Draco searched his eyes, the room feeling heartachingly cold after the fire tapered off to mere
wisps. “I… I had hoped that you didn't-it had seemed so unlike you that-well… nevermind.”

Draco took a shaky breath, grasping both of Harry’s wrists and pulling him closer. Their foreheads
touching once more as Harry sighed with relief. “I love you too, I know I’ve been trying to put off
saying it, but I do.”

Heat threatened to overwhelm the ice, but it was a gentle fire-one very unlike the blazing inferno it
had been seconds before. Harry took a sharp breath in, watching as Draco brushed his fingers along
Harry’s slightly burnt sleeves. For a moment, Harry felt as though he should lean forward and close
the distance, but something in Draco’s eyes stopped him, and he settled on merely lowering
himself further to the floor, deepening the gap as he craned his neck up further to catch his
soulmate’s eyes.

“But…?”

Draco stared for a moment, eyes carding over Harry’s ever-messy hair and down thought his scar,
eyes landing on the curve of his jaw. He attempted to swallow, finding it far more difficult than
normal as his throat contracted. “But I’m angry with you. Even if you hadn't known till September,
you should have told me-half of it belongs to me, you had no right to keep the soul bond secret..”

His erratic heartbeat seemed to pick up, the ever-changing beat quickening its pace till he was
quite certain Draco could feel it. “You're right-absolutely, you're right. Take as long as you need
to-we don’t ever have to complete the bond if you don't want-”

“That's not the point, Potter.” Draco sighed, shaking his head as Harry’s mouth snapped shut with a
click. “I don't love you in spite of being angry, I’m angry while loving you-they're two different
things. Of course I want the bond.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say-wasn’t quite sure what to even think. What was one supposed
to say in this kind of situation? He had never really confessed to someone before, his first romantic
avenue had been in his fifth year with a girl he wasn’t even sure he actually liked, and had only
ended in tears and a great deal of awkwardness. Was this how it was supposed to go? “What is the
point then? Please tell me, I seem to keep missing it an awful lot lately.”
Draco let out a quiet breath, his eyes stormy and red from past tears and stress. “The point, Hadrian
Potter, is that I don't want you to lie to me anymore. If it involves me in any way-hell, if you have
information that might put me in danger or hurt me if it were withheld, I want you to bloody tell
me. Do you understand? I can love you for all my life but it wouldn’t matter in the slightest if I
can't trust you.”

Harry felt something break, a painful twist in his chest pinching his unsteady heart as memories of
every single secret of his flew past his eyes. There were things-inconsolably wretched things-that
he had kept buried to never be spoken to another living person about. How could he look Draco in
the eye and tell him about the hollows? About dying and coming back and Dumbledore and Death
and Fate and all that he had been built up on for the last thirteen years of his new life?

“Dray… some things I just can't-”

“I know.” The blond boy murmured into his icy palm, and Harry found himself focused onto the
subtle brush of Draco’s lips against his icy skin. “I know. I know you have secrets-I get it, really, I
do-and I won't force you to tell me them. But this wasn’t a time where keeping things secret was
necessary or at all purposeful, and in the future you need to figure out the difference between
necessary secrets and withheld information. Do you understand?”

He nodded quickly, brushing his fingers, which were slowly beginning to thaw, across Draco’s
pink cheeks gently. “I'm sorry. I don’t even know why I never said anything-it was stupid and… I
should have. I should have told you.” He stopped abruptly, there was nothing really left to say
really, apologizing was counterproductive at this point. Draco didn’t seem to even hear him, gaze
pointed towards Harry’s left shoulder as he seemingly contemplated something.

“I do want to have the bond, everything I've read proves that it is well worth the drawbacks. I just
don’t know how… how do you even accept it? They never seem to write about that.”

Harry’s mouth went dry, and he stumbled over his words for a few moments before choking out a
reply. This was so fast. Was it normal to have so many incredibly important things happening in
the span of a few minutes? Should he slow them down? “Well... I can feel that you’re fighting it
right now, I think...at least you are subconsciously, and have been for months. If I would have to
guess, I'd say you need to maybe-I’m not sure, focus on it? For me I had just-it had just snapped
into place you know? Easy as breathing.”

Harry felt like he was on fire and buried inside a glacier at the same time, an aggressive contrast of
feelings and senses bombarding him as Draco leaned closer. Their foreheads touched for the third
time, just barely brushing as flame and snow swirled around the room, infinite and imposing as his
vision was overtaken with silvery gray. There was a warm breath on his face, white hair scratching
softly against his exposed forehead. Harry began to focus very hard on his own breathing-wishing
that it would bring him relief from the all encompassing warmth that was currently overtaking his
soul and mind.

There was a soft, almost undetectable tug somewhere deep in his chest, the cautious scree of a
veela bubbling up from Draco’s mouth. He hunched his shoulders, head falling to Draco’s shoulder
as the boy reached up to brush a hand through dark hair, warm fingers massaging clumsily through
the ever-tangled locks. Harry sighed with contentment, presing closer into the warmth as the
tugging in his chest became more prominent, slowly turning from a gentle tug to an incessant pull.
Draco let out a breath of air, his shoulders sagging as his chin rested on Harry’s head. It was
soothing, just sitting there completely enveloped in warm arms. Harry hadn’t ever felt even slightly
comfortable in the heat of summer or near the flames of a kindling hearth, but kneeling there, his
face pressed into the crook of Draco’s neck… he felt the most safe and secure he had ever been-the
warmth something akin to a protective shell than a hateful assault.

“... I'm sorry for what happened in the shrieking shack. It was my fault you were hurt.” Draco’s
voice was muffled and quiet, the boy speaking into Harry’s hair as he rubbed slow circles along
the tall boy’s scalp, arms wrapped around a tanned neck and fingers tangled into inky black hair.
Harry hummed in agreement, leaning further into the gentle motions as a sound bubbled up from
his throat-it was a strange mix between a snake hissing and a cat purring, contentment obvious and
affection clear. It was a gentle sound, very unlike how the wendigo usually conveyed its emotions,
but Harry was hardly paying attention to it.

The pull became near unbearable, yanking him closer and closer to Draco as the other boy seemed
intent on ignoring it. Harry tightened his hold, scrunching up his face in an effort not to groan in
annoyance.

“Dray… I will respect any decision you make, but holding this back is hurting the both of us. I
hope you know that either way, I'll always be right there next to you.”

And then everything snapped into place.

Harry wasn’t certain where he ended and Draco began, their bodies and souls pressed so close
together that the wendigo could likely reach out and brush a bloodied claw across the veela’s beak.

Harry breathed in, and Draco breathed out, and for a moment his heart thumped a steady rhythm in
his chest. For a moment he felt that maybe he was human after all, no monster could possibly feel
emotions in such a human way after all.

He heard a second snap, the profound clicking of something wedged in an unnatural position
finally clicking back into place-like a dislocated bone popping back into the socket. The feeling
came next, an incomprehensible feeling of relief that washed through him like a tidal wave, the
deep seated ache that had sat uncomfortably but ignored behind his rib cage being washed away
with a soothing, bubbly feeling. Draco practically collapsed into him, a soft, tired sigh escaping
him as he did. For a moment Harry couldn’t remember who he was, where he was sitting or why. It
was all blurry, his vision being overtaken by a pleasant glow.

It was then that he realized the glow was emanating from the two of them.

He realized what was happening a second after the explosion, the buildup of magic clutched in
their bond exploding outward and encompassing the both of them in electrifying energy. He
shuttered, taking the wave of energy as it rolled through the air. It subsided nearly instantly after,
and they were left with a visible string of light connecting them together, colors of black and red
and green and subtle, nearly invisible specks of gold flitting about, wisps of reddish-black light
tangling cautiously through far more enthusiastic green. He reached out, entranced by the gorgeous
shade of black-red, and felt heat radiating from it.

Draco’s magic. He realized, leaning back on his haunches in an effort to see the whole of the bond.
He hadn’t expected it to be… visible, and might prove to be an issue if he couldn't figure out how
to make it fade away again.

“Merlin…” Draco’s eyes were sparkling, looking down at the bond with undisguised awe, Harry
couldn’t help but smile as he watched Draco’s hands carefully touch the threads of magic, tangling
through the green and gold as if it was strings of silk. He had always been curious what his
soulmate’s magic looked like, as he had known what his own core appeared as since he first saw it
so many years ago. He had always thought that perhaps Draco’s soul would be a ball of flames,
churning and twisting in the boy’s chest like fiendfyre. It made sense that his soul was mostly
black though, with only hints of red fire peaking through-his creature inheritance was just barely
half a year old after all, and he was a dark wizard despite his age.

Harry reached forward, long fingers entwining with the magic and Draco’s own, the bond
interlaced between their hands. He didn’t doubt that the visibility of the bond would diminish soon,
as it was likely due to the buildup of magic in their cores created from the delayed completion of
the bond, but he still enjoyed looking at it.

Harry glanced upwards, catching Draco’s gaze and grinning, finding his soulmate’s eyes shining
like rays of sunshine peeking through storm clouds. Warm and cold encompassed him, and for
once, Harry was quite certain that everything would be just fine.

It became very obvious very quickly that no one else could see the soul bond.

It was also quite obvious that it was not going to become less visible to them anytime soon.

After talking quietly for several hours about the past year and where it had taken them, Harry and
Draco had eventually gone to bed, the faint glow of the bond reaching across the room to tie them
together from their separate beds. Blaise had finally returned to the dorm early that morning, and
Draco woke from his sleep to the door shutting, a familiar voice moodily grumbling about Crabb’s
snoring and shaking him from a soothing rest. He had bolted up with panic, realizing that there was
a faintly glowing and very obvious tangle of tangible magical energy tying Harry and him together,
and Blaise would obviously see it and freak out. He had nearly shouted out at to poor boy, just
about ready to lie his way through a no doubt agitated conversation, but the italian had merely
looked at him with slight concern and confusion, asking warrily if he was going to light something
on fire again, and (after getting an assured negative in response) meandered into bed, mumbling
something about trying to get a few sparse hours of sleep before more drama wakes him up.

Draco had gone back to bed worriedly, thinking that Blaise had just been too tired to realize that
there was a thick string of multi-colored light between him and Harry, and was expecting to be
woken up to confused screaming. However, the morning was much the same as it always was, as
he woke to find the bond going outwards towards the general vicinity of the showers, phasing
through the walls and likely coming out the other side.

After that, he and Harry had kept a cautious eye on everyone around them, noting that nobody
seemed to notice anything amiss. After that revelation, the week began to pass with a delightful
mix of mind-numbingly boring classes and Harry’s soothing presence at his side, the soulbond like
a string of light between them. He had taken to calling it a rosary, finding that while he hadn’t a
clue what the word meant, and Harry seemed incredibly amused whenever he used the term, he felt
that it fit somehow, and the word stuck.

“Perhaps it's normal, and people just never speak about it? There are many things throughout
history that have been lost and forgotten because people were too embarrassed to write it down.”
Harry’s awkwardly long arms were bent at the elbow, resting on the table as he read from Draco’s
christmas present. Neither of them had yet to figure out who had sent it or where Harry’s gift to
him had gotten off to, but it was a great resource for researching their newest intrigue, so Draco
had decided that it was hardly important.

“Does it even matter? No one else can see it anyhow.” Draco didn’t feel the same amount of
urgency to figure out why the rosary was palpable or visible to them, as it didn’t hinder him at all
and was really quite handy. He had found out one day that he could tug on his end when Harry was
particularly far away, and the other boy would feel an insatiable urge to seek him out. Of course, he
hadn’t told Harry about that particular property of the rosary, as he worried the mad scientist would
become even more obsessed with figuring out the mystery than he already was.

“Of course it's important! The irregularity has got to mean something.” Really, he was quite certain
that Harry was secretly happy about the ‘irregularity’, as while his soul mate was making a valiant
effort to study and document every slight alteration in the bond (all the while vigorously explaining
the interprocesses of it to a still not quite as knowledgeable or fascinated Draco) as well as trying to
figure out why it was still visible to them even though every little scrap of information he could
find said that a soul bond was most certainly not a tangible thing that could be touched or even
seen. From Draco’s perspective, it was quite clear that Harry wasn’t really all that keen on fixing
the ‘problem’, but was simply confused as to why it was there in the first place, and no doubt
frustrated that he couldn't figure it out.

“Sometimes things don't have to mean something Harry. Besides, it's not like it's hurting anyone,
what's the issue?” Draco yawned, leaning back in his chair and throwing his feet up on the desk,
looking around uninterestedly at the library as he did. Jörmungandr was stretched out between two
identical shelves, snoring softly from where he laid on the stone floor. Theo was curled under the
snake's massive head, muttering in half hisses as he read through some sort of book. He is
spending far too much time with that basilisk. Truthfully, the both of them had been a tad worried
about Theo, as through the past week he had become increasingly tired and was very clearly on
another one of his obsessive research sprees. However, Draco had been too focused on Harry and
his delightful nonsense to deal with Theo’s much less adorable obsessions, and had shrugged it off
as the same old Theo. On the desk several feet away from them was a cage holding two rats, who
were both cowering pitifully in opposite corners. Harry’s familiar leather notebook sat there as
well, having been set down till a time that he might take it back up again.

He turned back to Harry, finding a flash of affectionate irritation sweeping quickly across the
gangly teen’s face, the boy glaring half heartedly at him as it did. “The fact that you are not at all
curious about it gives credence to the amount of pain you were in because of the unfinished bond-”

“The rosary you mean.”

“... yes, that.” Harry sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “I'm just worried is all Dray, you seem
unusually carefree and I… am concerned that your body has been under too much stress for too
long.”

Draco made a face, scrunching up his nose as he leaned further back in his chair, carefully
adjusting his wings to fit perfectly through the gaps in the seat’s back. He had been finding himself
wanting to take off his shirt the second he was in the company of people who knew of his...
particular physical irregularity, and was near constantly shirtless when in the dorm or secret library
because of it.

“Harry I feel incredible, is it so bad that I'm enjoying it?” Harry busied his lip, peering down at the
book with obvious worry. “Well… I-”

“I'VE GOT IT!”

Theo’s voice cut him off, and they both turned questioningly towards the boy as he shuffled
through papers strewn about the stone floor, Jörmungandr sleepily peering over his shoulder in
confusion.

“What've you got mate?” Harry was half out of his seat, the topic at hand almost instantaneously
forgotten as the manic brunette clambered to his feet with mountains of parchments held tightly in
his arms.
“I've hunted down Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup!”

Theo threw over a months worth of hard work down on the table, grinning happily down at his
handiwork. It had been something of a pet project of his to find the Founders’ artifacts ever since
he had found the mysterious pedestals in the back of the library during their second year. He hadn’t
told the others obviously, as he rarely did much with it besides look at old depictions of the objects
and sigh tiredly over how hopeless the task was. Along with the nonsense that was his summer
vacation and the various other things that had happened during his third year, Theo had had very
little time to actually do anything besides just that.

However, something wonderful had happened over the yule break, as he had had very little to do
and the sudden ability to do it, and he had started searching more vigorously for the missing
treasures. Especially since Blaise had seemingly gotten rid of whatever the issue had been with
him, and was now quite firmly ensconced in his budding romance with Daphne, he had had quite a
bit of time to furiously study old texts and owl various dusty old people about the bloody things.
Sadly, both Ravenclaw’s diadem and Gryffindor’s sword were quite firmly lost to time, the last
known records of them being from the Founders’ time. However, both the cup and locket had been
owned-for a very brief time-by a woman named Hepzibah Smith, who was tragically killed by her
house elf a couple days after coming into possession of the locket.

Upon learning of that, Theo had thought that he had hit another dead end, and had spent several
days in something of a funk, watching glumly as Harry went about torturing some rats with
something that looked quite like liquid luck. The thing that snapped him out of it however, was
Draco’s sudden and inexplicable outburst over the realization that he and Harry were soulmates,
and-after letting Blaise sleep in his bed for the night as the two of them had a heart to heart-he took
to the library to dive back in and retrace his steps. This, of course, led him to the place that Madam
Smith had bought the locket, a small shop in Knockturn called Burgan and Burkes, and the teller
that sold her the artifact.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the name that he had found, and while that was alarming in itself (as his
grandfather often spoke of what a good man his old classmate had been, and what a fine Dark Lord
he had become) he had not been quite convinced of himself. However, the itch behind his skin that
warned him of a great deal of lost sleep on the horizon if he didn't solve the mystery pushed him
forward, and Theo had managed to find documentation of Mr. Riddle’s resignation from his post at
the store the day after Madam Smith’s untimely death.

It became quite clear to him then, that the young, freshly graduated Lord Voldemort had stolen not
only the locket but also the cup, as the Smith family had yet to either come clean about its missing
status or flaunt the cup in the way that they had been so fond of doing prior to 1946.

“Of course, it is well known in my grandfather’s circles that you-know-who had attempted to
become immortal, and that the founder’s artifacts had something to do with it, so it is clear that he
must have been tracking them down in order to do some sort of ritual with them. Or perhaps he had
also found the library and had realized that the pedestals were somehow a key to solving
immortality.” Theo finished with a slightly manic flourish, holding up the document regarding
Riddle’s resignation as well as the transaction receipt detailing the transaction between Madam
Smith and Burgan and Burkes. Harry raised an eyebrow, appearing somewhat impressed but rather
underwhelmed. Draco, however, was very clearly not paying attention, instead starting up at the
ceiling and appearing bored.

Harry pursed his lips, his eyes darting across the page of parchment held in front of his face as he
spoke. “Jörmungandr told me that Riddle was quite the bore though, and that he hadn’t been
granted entrance to the library after requesting it.” Harry replied casually and with an uninterested
shrug, leafing through the stacks of papers as if they hadn’t been Theo’s obsession for the past
several months. “Besides, how does that mean you've found them? All this proves is that
Voldemort squandered them away somewhere secret-no doubt to be lost once again to time after he
croaked… which I suppose is technically my fault.”

Draco snorted, leaning a bit into Harry as he held up a drawing of gryffindor’s sword to the light.
Theo let his arms fall, reaching instead for a separate sheet of paper from the stack, slapping
Harry’s hand away as he reached for it as well.

“I’m getting to that, just listen-I had found myself at another dead end, and by that time it had been
about two days after Draco’s second meltdown of the year and you two had quite clearly ‘tied the
knot’ so to speak, acting awfully giggly and somehow more obnoxious than you had been prior-
yes, I'm not blind, I have two eyes and I use them to roll at the two of you all the bloody time. Now,
Luna had also said something about a string attaching you both, but Luna often say strange things
so that was of no consequence-”

“What do you mean-so Luna can actually see it?” Harry was staring intently at him as Draco
groaned, leaning backwards on the back two legs of his seat.

“Oh give it a rest Potter-”

“Shush love, this is important. Now, Theo, what exactly did Luna say?” Draco nearly fell back in
his chair, only managing to stay firmly in place due to his wings flapping erratically and righting
him. His face however, was cherry red and his eyes were blown wide, watching Harry with his
mouth gaped open as the oblivious teen stared aggressively at Theo, who took a moment to tiredly
blink, before shrugging.

“Luna is like that sometimes, she talks about me being made of rivers of honey-whatever that's
supposed to mean. If you want to know what she’s on about with the random shite she says, you'll
have to talk to her about it. But anyway-” Theo continued on with his rant, ignoring how Draco
was very obviously paying even less attention to him and Harry was now flipping through his
book, mumbling on about seers and stupid irregularities.

“So then, I had reached the last dead end of my long search, and was quite stumped with what to
do. So, on Wednesday, in an act of desperation, I owled my grandfather and asked what he knew
about you-know-who’s younger years-more specifically how he was in his twenties and thirties.
What he told me was much the same, except for something interesting-Tom Riddle had tried to get
the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor when he was thirty eight! This has been
said to be because he wanted a reason to be at Hogwarts to recruit people for his Death Eaters, but
grandfather seemed vague about the details. Anyhow! Grandfather mentioned in his letter that you-
know-who had been wanting to hide something in the Nott estate prior to this, but grandfather had
refused on the basis that he had no good places in which to hide things. So, it is quite likely that
Tom Riddle had to have hidden either the locket or cup in Hogwarts-but I'm not done!” Whirling
around, Theo scrambled for more parchments in his pile, noting through his exhausted daze that
Harry seemed to have set the book down and was now addressing him strangely.

Turning back around, Theo saw white dots for a moment and felt himself fall backwards before a
familiar large head steadied him. Righting himself, he pat Jörmungandr distractically before
resuming his rant. “I thought that perhaps I could narrow it down some more, so I asked
grandfather to write to others in his… groups of common company, asking about either a cup or
necklace that might have come into their possession. This led me to Draco’s mum of all people!”
The aforementioned boy was now also paying attention, cheeks still tainted with red and foot
tapping against the cool stone floor. “Lady Malfoy seemed curious about my search, and had made
it known to me that her sister-the one that hadn’t been disowned… the crazy one-had once flaunted
about a cup made of gold, stating that the Dark Lord had gifted it to her to keep safe. Since
Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, and her step-brother are all locked up in azkaban, and their
properties seized, it can be reasonably assumed that the locket is somewhere in Hogwarts or at least
on the grounds, and the cup could quite possibly be in possession of the ministry or perhaps even in
gringotts!”

He let out a breath of air, feeling another dizzy spell coming on and deciding rather quickly to sit
down on the floor, crumpling the paper clutched in his hand as he did. Harry appeared incredibly
impressed and a tad concerned, looking down at him with that same strange look he had on before.

“That is certainly an… interesting theory-”

“It isn't just a theory! I've got concrete evidence in this right here-” Stumbling to his feet, Theo
ruffled through the parchment again, ignoring as a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

“I think it's time to take a nap Theo, you've barely slept for the past week and it's obvious the sleep
deprivation is making you go mad.” Something was muttered in parseltongue, and Theo was
surprised that he could make out a few words from the usual nonsense. The surprise stopped his
movements, and he didn’t even realize it as a cool, scaly tail wrapped around his midsection, and a
muttered spell that sounded suspiciously like stupify was cast, his world falling into blissful
darkness.

Harry hadn’t been quite sure what to make of Theo’s discovery, and was tempted to brush the
entire thing under the rug if it were not for the stunning accuracy of his findings. The fact that Theo
had only been searching for about two months, and that he had actually discovered the positions of
two horcruxes (though he had been a tad off about the locket-and Harry couldn’t really fault him
for it). That he had managed to find anything wsa not only incredibly impressive but a true
testament to the genius of Theo’s unique mind.

That being said, Harry was far more focused on what the boy had said about Luna than anything
about the location of a few dusty artifacts that he didn’t really need yet.

“So, what, you can see souls? Are you mad, Lovegood, or just pulling my leg?” Draco seemed not
only unimpressed by the girl but incredibly annoyed that they were even bothering in the first
place. Truthfully, Harry was feeling that the entire thing was unnecessary as well, as the tangible
‘rosary’ was inherently superior to any other sort of soul bond from what he had read. However,
Harry worried that the few flakes of gold that flitted through the air around the rosary gave
credence to the idea that it was only tangible due to his tie with Death, and Harry wasn’t
particularly inclined to see if there was any sort of unintended consequence of exposing Draco’s
soul to death magic. The other teen already seemed off in a way that Harry couldn’t quite
understand, acting relaxed and almost… bubbly after the bond was formed. Harry wasn’t quite sure
what to make of it, especially after he started to act similarly.

“I see magic technically, but you’re very close.” Harry had dragged Draco off to find Luna after
being assured by Jörmungandr that he would take good care of the overworked Theo. He felt quite
bad about not even realizing that Theo’s exhaustion was to be credited to his strange need to
research something till it just about killed him, but it certainly gave Harry something to think about
on the way to the astronomy tower.

“Magic or souls, which is it?” Draco had leaned back against Harry’s right shoulder, a position that
they often took when sitting on the floor or lounging around. To him, it was quite obvious that
Theo’s strange bursts of aggressive researching that he had been experiencing over the past three
years had to be due to his seer abilities, which by extension meant that they were all Fate’s fault. If
Theo had really been thinking about the pedestals and just recently began to search for the artifacts,
then it was clear to him that Fate was either extremely bored or trying to set him up for something-
maybe it was an attempt to leave him a clue. Regardless, Theo seemed to have it handled, and
would no doubt tunnel onto this one specific topic till he was positive of each of the artifacts
locations. I'll decide how to let him know about where they are as he goes. I still have no way to get
to the cup or sword at the moment anyway, it would be good to see if he manages to figure
something out.

“Well, a soul is made of magic, so there really isn't a difference between them when talking about
wix. Muggles on the other hand, are quite fascinating! At least, I think they might be... I’ve never
actually met one you see.” Cluing back into the conversation, Harry watched as Draco narrowed
his eyes in clear agitation. The two blondes tended to but heads rather often, though it was more
akin to a raging bull slamming into a cloud of fog-that being completely ineffective and quite
hilarious. The issue, of course, was that Luna was so unperturbed by all of Draco’s snark, and
Draco was obviously annoyed by this revelation, and decided that the best way to go about fixing
the problem was to get even more snarky and rude.

Again, bull meets fog.

“She's absolutely mad Harry, anything you ask goes in one ear, through the stomach of a
flobberworm, and out the other end, her answers always end up an incomprehensible mess of
flobberworm excrement.” Draco began to stand, but Harry lazily pulled him back down, throwing
an arm over his shoulder and pinning the grumpy boy in place. Harry felt the beginnings of a smile
tug at his cheeks, Draco’s sass had been something that he had long since grown to adore.

“Come on then Luna, let's hear about the flobberworm dung.”

The girl smiled serenely, peering at the start of his scar with great curiosity. “Well, Draco’s magic
is very dark-almost black-and his core is the darkest part, with a very shocking sliver of red
peaking through it. His body is one of the very few that I have trouble seeing, as his soul and magic
are so strong and radiant that it expels outwards in a three foot radius in each direction. I can tell
that I can't see him quite right, as while I believe he is about six feet tall, your movements like the
one just now and Theo’s teasing makes me believe that is incorrect.”

Draco grumbled as an actual smile cracked through Harry’s cheeks, and he laughed lightly at the
mental image of his soulmate’s magic. Really, he had always known that Draco was stunningly
powerful, but to have magic that radiated out of him and into the surrounding area was nothing
short of incredible.

Luna continued, smiling slightly as she began to speak about his own soul. “You however, have a
very beautiful soul-one that seems very near collapsing in on itself, like a black hole. It appears
very tiny, but the light that it gives off shows that it is actually just very dense, getting worryingly
close to bursting outwards and completely recreating your soul and magic as it does. I'm quite
excited to see what will happen once you do. Will the red bits of soul in your head go away then, I
wonder?”

Harry felt his familiar ice turn to fire instantly. An unpleasant, worried fire that threatened to
overtake his cool mind. She could see Tom’s soul in his head. Harry gaped like a fish for a moment
as Draco vigorously questioned the girl, but she was becoming increasingly vague as he went on.
Harry gathered himself, leaning forward as he pulled Draco back. “Luna, what does the red look
like?”
 Her gaze shifted from a place a little right of his heart, traveling up towards his hairline.

“Like a lightning bolt made of blood.”

Chapter End Notes

Okaaaayyyy... I have a couple of questions for the peanut gallery. Tbh, I've been
thinking about both of these things for quite a bit, but want all of you to give me your
personal input on it so I can get an idea of what the readers want, as both things will
affect all of you much more than they will affect me.

1: How do you all feel about me taking a week long break after 3rd year (3 more
chapters) so that I can both gather my thoughts and go back over the fic and fix all the
subpar writing in the first 30-ish chapters that is really getting on my nerves. This
editing will happen regardless of a week break, but will happen slowly and not as
effectively for me and I just prefer having the week to do so, but it is totally doable to
do without the week break.

2: Splitting the story into two books. Listen to me on this, were going to wrap up 3rd
year on chapter 72, and year 4 will easily take us into the hundreds. That's a lot of
chapters and I want my story to be easily digestible. That isn't very easy to do if people
come across it and its 300+ chapters, and will likely just make people overwhelmed.
There is also the fact that I want to separate the story into 1-4th years and 5-
7+epilogue, as years 5-7 are planed out to be VERY different than 1-4, and I feel like
there should be a little separation between them.

Again, I want honest opinions on this, nothing sugarcoated like 'it's perfect just the
way it is!!!' because honestly, that doesn't help me come to a decision all that much. If
you don't like either ideas, please tell me why and what I might be able to do instead!
Trust me, I can take the constructive criticisms.

Annnyway, now that the bond arc has reached its climax, perhaps we can get into
some fun and well deserved murder? ;)

Works inspired by this Suicide

one By Pilot by Dr_Z

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