Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Ⅰ

The Three Magus 

Ron Weasley trudged through the crowds of Diagon Alley, his ill-fitting clothes very uncomfortable. His mum had charmed them so that they could fit him better but there was only so much magic could do with clothes that had been charmed so many times.

All he was getting was his potions kits, and some books that his brother’s don’t have. He was pretty sure he was just getting an old family wand, or a used wand from Ollivander’s. He prayed for Ollivander’s, because even if it is used, it wasn’t from the family and it was his. His.

He trailed after his mother, trying to keep his eyes on the twins that way he knew when they would try to prank him or something. Last time, they had charmed all his shirts into spiders, causing him to nearly have a panic attack. Ron couldn’t remember a time he saw his father so angry; the twins weren’t able to sit down for a few days without wincing. 

He sighed, as his mother paid for his potions kit and put the shrunken bag in her pocket. The books were already bought, only needing 3 books that his brothers didn’t have previously. (Something angry burned inside of him briefly)

“Mum, can I get new books too? Please?” Ron locked his jaw when he heard his mother’s adoring answer of ‘Next year, Ginny dear. You can get all of them next year.’ His sister, the pretty princess of the family, was spoiled rotten by his mother, having been the youngest child and only girl. She got new everything; new clothes, new toys, new supplies, new, new, new… He tried to ignore the envy crawling up his spine.

Ron clenched his fists when his mother looked at him in sorrow; he knew what was coming up now. “Ronald, (It’s Ron, woman. RonRonRon!) we might not have enough to pay for your Ollivander’s wand. You might just have to take one of the family wands.” Something bitter filled Ron and he nodded tightly. His mother gave him a light smile, though there was nothing regretful in her stance or her eyes.

He trailed after her slowly, trying to shove down whatever anger there was in his body; he was used to this, he was nothing important in his family. Bill and Charlie made their parents proud with their proper, dignified, well-paying jobs (his mother’s words not his) ; Percy was a perfect, probably Head Boy too. Fred and George are prank extraordinaries, but he had nothing to give him his own name. Just a gift at chess but that’s it. And that wasn’t enough, he knew it wasn’t.

Ron crept down the hall, his footsteps silent after years of practice, even with the normally creaky stairway. He stopped by the doorway of the kitchen, where his parents were located. His Hogwarts letter  had come, and he hadn’t missed the look they exchanged, despite the excitement that had been buzzing inside of him.

“Arthur, are you sure? Truly, I wouldn’t mind home-schooling Ron. We are tight on money, and we will not be able to afford the tuition for Hogwarts. And Ronald really isn’t as bright as his brothers. We can just save up for Ginny to go next year.” Betrayal shot through him, a burning anger coiling in his gut. Tears pricked his eyes, and he pressed his ear against the door.

“It would be unfair for him to go, Molly, especially after all his excitement this morning. You know Albus will give him a scholarship, and even if he doesn’t, we will forge ahead like we always do.” Ron felt the betrayal and anger go away but he noticed that his father hadn’t really said anything about him being bright or smart. It felt like someone had grabbed his lungs and squeezed it; it hurt to know his parents thought this of him.

“If you’re sure…” A lump formed in his throat at the hesitance in his mother’s voice.

“I am… Come on, let’s go to bed Molly.”

Ron turned swiftly and raced up the stairs as quickly and as quietly as he could. He shut the door to his room and scrambled into his bed. He curled up into a ball and tears leaked from his eyes.

That night he cried himself to sleep.

Ron looked up at the sign that stated ‘Ollivander’s Wands. Quality Wands since 51 BCE’ He figured they must have been in business for a long while now. He stepped inside, standing slightly behind his mother, not really sure what to expect; his brothers had told him much, but he wasn’t sure what was true and what wasn’t.

A crash sounded from the back of the store, and he swiveled around trying to catch a glimpse of the wand maker; When he spun back around, he probably leaped 3ft in the air when a man stuck his face near his, shiny, glazed eyes surveying his form. Instinctively, he made himself seem smaller; it helped with the twins sometimes. A measure tape flew towards him and began measuring multiple lengths, including between his nose. His brother, Charlie had once said Ollivander was eccentric; Ron decided crazy was a better word for it.

“Used or Pre-made Wand.”

He wanted to shouted ‘Pre-Made!’ but he merely responded with ‘Used’ as his mother was standing right behind him. Ollivander nodded solemnly thought there as this odd sparkle in his eyes; Ron wasn’t sure if he should be excited or scared. He decided on both.

“Alder with a Unicorn Core, 9 ½ inches, reasonably pliant.” Ron gripped the wand, and his eyes went wide when the wood cracked, and the Unicorn hair turned black. He put the wand down hastily and Ollivander merely put the wand away before grabbing another box.

“Beech Wood with a Phoenix Core, 10 inches, very stiff.” He waved the wand and jumped when the stool in the corner caught on fire.

His mother looked startled before giving Ron a harsh look. He flinched slightly and waited for the cuckoo man to give him another wand.

“Pine and dragon-heart string, 8 inches, fairly flexible.” He gave a hesitant wave and watched at the wood spilt but the core glowed brightly.

Ollivander looked ecstatic and snatched the wand from his hand. “Interesting, Interesting. The wood doesn’t seem to agree with you, but the core seemed to have bonded with your magic… come with me to the back of the store and we will see what wood wants to be yours…” The way he said it reminded him of the way the twins had faked trying to decided which House at Hogwarts he would be in.

He spared one glance at his mother, and at the wary surprise on his mother’s face, he followed Ollivander. About 5 minutes later, he was holding a block of willow wood.

Ollivander smiled brightly at him, and he shooed him back to his mother with a leaving statement of: “Come back in 30 minutes when your wand is properly done and finished.”

His mother gave a curt nod and led him to Fortescue’s Ice Cream, where his brother’s were waiting. Fred and George ordered their normal ice cream to share, Percy got a simple cone, Ginny received her ice cream with toppings (something they were normally never allowed), and Ron got a little 2 scoop cone of Thunderstorm.

“So little brother…”

“…what kind”

“of wand did you…”

“…get matched with?”

He opened his mouth, but his mother beat him to the punch. “He got a used wand of course. Cedar and Dragon-Heart strings. One of the wands he waved messed with his voice a touch so he can’t speak until we’re sure it’s gone.”

The twins gave smiles of amusement with a joy gleaming in their eyes, even though Ron felt like he’d been punched. That wasn’t true at all! But he still said nothing; if he did, he’d definitely get a punishment from his mother. So he merely nodded, not really having to fake the humiliated look on his face.

Later, after he’d gotten his wand (Ollivander reduced the price, because ‘it’s not every day I get a customer like you Mister Weasley!’)  and they returned from the burrow, he asked his mother why she’d said that. Her response made him want to cry and rage all at once.

“You got a custom wand, your brother’s never got that. I didn’t want to make them feel bad and to think that you got special treatment for some reason.” Ron stared at her, not really sure if he heard her correctly. Apparently, she either didn’t notice his trouble or just didn’t care because she continued. “You understand, Ronnie, don’t you?”

He could only nod, though he wanted to scream and shout that he didn’t understand! This was something of his that wasn’t passed down, that wasn’t his brothers. Why was it so bad? But he nodded and walked away.

When he got to his room, he held out his Willow wand, dragon-heart string core, 10 ½ inches, reasonably firm. Sparks crackled off the end, and the scent of fresh rain filled the room; for a second, he thought he heard the faint sound of thunder, with lightning flashing in his eyes. He knew he must have been seeing, hearing, things.

 After all, he was Ronald Weasley, the 6^th child of the Weasley family, the youngest male, and the shadow of every single one of his brothers.

xXXxXXxXXx

Hermione Granger huddled in her spot; a large book tucked underneath her arm. She was hiding from her wicked, wicked, stepmother, Eleanor Granger nee Stone. She’d married her father, Maxwell Granger, who was a successful dentist and came from an old family. Meaning his practice wasn’t really needed but he did it because he felt as though he needed to help in some way. Even if it was, looking at people’s teeth.

 She opened her book, Hogwarts: A History, but didn’t really comprehend the words. A professor, Professor McGonagall, had come and taken her to Diagon Alley where she had gotten her school supplies.

Her stepmother had looked at her like she was Devil himself, always giving her a wide girth until she felt as though Hermione had done something wrong. Then came the almighty screeching of the Banshee herself.

Her father merely smiled at her, brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. “My princess will take the world by storm.” He handed her a roll of pounds to convert to wizard money, then asked for her to tell him everything after she got back from shopping. For a second, Hermione felt like she was floating.

Her biological mother, Alena Lebezheninov is Russian. Hermione gets to see her twice a year, one month during summer and during the week of her birthday. But this year, she wasn’t sure she was going to be to see her with her new school, Hogwarts. The thought made her chest feel heavy.

Her mother was the best woman she knew; so confident, kind, loving, elegant, and so, so beautiful. She came from a wealthy family too, who she was the only heiress too as she had no siblings. But Hermione knew she had no wish to take on the tradition of being a lawyer, a doctor, a politician, or anything of the sort. She was very happy being a personal trainer, and defense teacher.

Hermione vaguely wondered how she would react to knowing that her daughter was a witch; she thought her mother would look at her like she always did (with her deep brown eyes and kind smile) and brush her hair back and say, ‘I always told you that you were special, Rugosa.’

She sighed and trailed her finger over the cover of her book. She’d noticed the dirty looks some of the people there had given her, the ones dressed in lavish robes of crushed velvet it looked like, their posture screaming grace, poise, and a high ranking within the society.

She held herself the way her mother had taught her too, back straight, shoulders back, chin up, and eyes level. She spoke in an even and polite voice, while constantly maintaining eye-contact. The decorum that was demanded of a proper heiress, or at least someone who lived in an upper-class society like she did. Only when she entered the book shop, did all of her propriety leave her. She bounced around the book shop, searching the bookshop for every book that caught her interests.

She had come out with pockets filled with shrunken bags and promised herself to pay her father back for all the money he had given her for the shopping trip.

Hermione sighed and twirled a strand of her brown hair; she’d ended up looking more like her father than her mother, only getting her mother’s eyes. She shook her head as she began reading.

She read about the four founders’ of Hogwarts; Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor. She read about the myths of Hogwarts, the tales of the ghosts, the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall, the Black Lake that housed so many different types of creatures. She read about the History of everything that has taken place there; the traits that make up the houses; everything that the book had.

Then she tore through all her others, taking in every scrap of information that the book could offer. And somehow, it made Wizarding World seem boring an exciting all at the same time… but he was still entering a new world! A new world that les on brooms, that communicates through owls, that defies the laws of gravity, physics, and matter, with just a flick of a wand and an incantation! And she was the first one of her family that could do that!

Pride swelled in her at the thought, and she took out her wand (Pine with dragon-heart string, 10 ½ inches, reasonably flexible), beginning to attempt some of the spells; Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa, starting with the spells that seemed easiest before moving onto the ones that were harder.

Before long, she had decimated 3 piles of twigs, scorched a tree, gotten her stepmother’s favorite chair stuck in the tallest tree on the estate (she laughed heartily at that), candles around the yard burning with a blue fire… Hermione was ecstatic.

“Brat! Where are you?!” She scrambled to shove her books in a hiding place, and she came out, stuffing her wand into her pocket. Her stepmother, blue eyes blazing like fire, grabbed her ear and shook her head.

She cried out in pain and scratched at the hand holding her ear. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she whimpered when the shaking stop but the grip on her ear got tighter. “Where were you?” She looked up at her stepmother, her arched eyebrows giving her an evil look and her flawless dirty blonde hair giving her a slight innocence.

“Reading ma’-. I was reading ma’am.” She corrected herself, knowing full well her stepmother hated when she didn’t speak in what she perceived as proper.

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose. “Oh? And pray tell, what were you reading?”

She drew her head down, only to wince when it was tugged back up. “M-my books… for, um, for school.” Her ears was let go, and she was shoved back harshly.

Hermione stared as her stepmother crossed herself, her icy eyes glaring down at her. “Get out of my sight, you demon.” She flinched before bolting. She ran to her spot collecting her books, stuffing as many as she could into her satchel and tucking her other one under her arm; her quill was stuck into her hair and she ran into the house, staying as far away from her stepmother as possible.

She huddled into her room, taking the long way to avoid any confrontation, and took her books out again. She stuffed most of them into her truck and pressed the clip of ‘Muggle Worthy’. Sighing looked in the mirror, her eyes drawn to her red pounding ear. Allowing her hand to  hover over it, Hermione felt anger when she felt heat radiating from it.

 For a moment, she wondered mindlessly, if she was imagining things, when she heard the sound of the earth breaking and cracking, the sound of clashing metal. She mut have, for nothing that sounded as such was around her.

She made herself a cool cloth and pressed that to her ear, hoping that would stop it from hurting relatively quickly. She tied it with a little string to hold it in place and then curled up in her closet to begin reading, knowing full well she was going to learn everything so she could get out of here.

Because she was Hermione Granger, the first with of her family, and she was going to change the world with her knowledge.

xXXxXXxXXx

Harry Potter stared at the ground as he waited for his relatives to finish the food he had made. His cousins ratty clothes hung off his thin frame, about 10 times too large for him considering Dudley’s large, heavyset figure.

He took the plates from the table once he was done, cleaned them, and went back to the dining room where a balled-up piece of paper was sitting on the table. He picked it up with a sigh, knowing it would contain an impossible list of chores. He began the painstaking tasks, completing each with practiced ease, but not even that perfected ease could not help him complete all the tasks before his Uncle arrived from work again.

He ignored his cousin’s barbs, all while keeping himself calm by imaging the time when he could leave this hell. The castle of the beauty called Hogwarts, the school that would become his escape; the school that taught magic, the very thing that flowed through his veins, that made him different than the filthy animals he lived with.

And that fueled a dangerous fire within him, knowing that he would learn to hone that difference, and he could make them cower before him. While it might take a while, he would do it fueled by his hatred for his relatives.

So when he could, he poured all of his attention into his acquired books, absorbing everything that he could be offered by the books. He took notes upon notes, made memorization games for himself, practiced incantations as his wand (holly with a phoenix feather core) was currently stuck with his Uncle and he wasn’t sure if he could find it within himself to attempt that suicide mission.

Harry made his way to the garden and began seeding the plots of soil he had readied yesterday. He poked the holes with his fingers, carefully placing the seeds in, and covering them again. He repeated the actions until he was done, back soaked with sweat and skin feeling tight and boiling. Trudging to the window, he knocked politely, waiting for his Aunt Petunia to come in.

She sat in her chair, reading the newest fashion magazine. She could see and hear him perfectly fine, he knew that, but he still waited 10 minutes to let him in. A shrill demand of ‘strip of the filthy clothes and go to the bath, boy’ later, he was bathing himself in cold water, scrubbing himself clean of dirt before stepping out.

He dried quickly, dressing himself in the clothes his Aunt had throw into the bathroom. He trudged out, going to the China Cabinet to polish all of his Aunt’s silverware.

Dudley waddled in, a dangerous look on his face. His watery blue eyes gleamed dangerously and Harry side-eyed him. “Hey freak!” Harry raised an eyebrow before going back to what he was doing, all while thinking of every way he could escape the situation in the most painless way possible.

He almost felt thankful when his Aunt called Dudley for snack-time. The obese boy quickly disregarded Harry and made his way to the sunroom. Harry wasn’t sure how offended he should be as being deemed less important than food, but considering who Dudley was, Harry decided it wasn’t much of an insult.

Finishing the silverware, he stood to make lunch, doing to normal sandwiches, juice, and side salad, before going to his corner where he waited until the food was gone. He ignored the smug looks Dudley sent him as his Aunt lavished her son with love and praise. (He pushed away the annoying longing that refused to go away; no matter how much he beat it down) He watched straight faced, knowing full well any sort of emotion would get him punished, and he knew what he needed to survive.

Surviving was the one thing Harry knew best, well other than darkness but that’s okay. He knew that to survive he would need to adapt, find a way to change himself to make himself seem inconspicuous or conspicuous. But at the Dursleys, he knew all the rules, knew that if he made what could be perceived as a mistake, he would be punished harshly.

He knew he could only rely on himself, every adult proving to be blind, when they seemed to not notice his scars, his stature, his clothes, the holes in his uncles and aunts lies. Every. Single. Thing. So he didn’t dare trust a single adult, and most kids were basically to naïve to even think his scars ere from his relatives and others just bullied him because of his small stature.

Before he received his letter, he was fairly sure the only reason he was alive was because he was living off of spite. He lived because he knew that his death would bring his relatives give and he wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction. He was going to force himself to live to 18, to become somebody that could smile at his relatives and say ‘fuck you’ without having to worry about the repercussions.

He wanted to live each day knowing that he caused his Uncle and Aunt pain with the fact that he still lived in their house, still sullied their normalness with his freakishness, that they could never be normal no matter how hard they tried because he still lived and breathed in their household. And he didn’t care that it was at his expense that these things came to be, it still brought him savage glee.

Harry knew that at the school he would learn magic, a word forbidden in the household. But he would learn it, and when he was done learning, he would show the Dursley’s the same fear they had instilled in him.

And for a split second, he could hear the screams that he would pull from their mouths, the boiling fear he would bring into their eyes.

He knew, when he got into the Wizarding World and Hogwarts, he would make his name known.

His name, Harry Potter, would be known for far more than a backfiring curse, it would cause fear, respect, awe, and he would be free to do as he wished.

Chapter Text

§Parseltongue§

!!READ NOTE AT END!!

Chapter Ⅱ

Better Be.... SLYTHERIN

Harry wandered through the King's Cross Station, mulling over how to get to the needed platform. Hagrid, of course, left without a word on how to reach the entrance of the platform so he was left to his own devices; Harry personally thought that was why Hagrid wasn't a Professor and merely a groundskeeper but who was he to say anything?

From his experience, wizards seemed to like to hide things in plain sight. So he made his way to the area where platforms 9 and 10 were, ignoring the odd looks that were sent to him. 

Hedwig chirped, her intelligent amber eyes staring up at him from inside her cage. He scratched the top of her head before continuing his search. 

"-packed with muggles of course-" Harry swiveled around, trying the locate the voice that had reached his ears. A pack of red heads caught his eye, the kids having trolleys with trunks and animals as well.

He turned and followed them, freezing when the youngest male of the group caught sight of him. A slight smile tilted on his lips, and he nudged his head to the side before turning back to the plump woman- his mother, Harry supposed. 

Words were exchanged before a teenager ran, barreling straight into a brick column. Or at least he was supposed to, instead he vanished without a trace. None of the muggles around them seemed to notice anything... 

Harry watched as they all went through before running straight into the column, ignoring the noisy people in his head telling him this was an insane idea. 

His ears were assaulted with noise, chatter from animals and people alike. Excitement burst through him, and, without his permission of course, a large smile broke onto his face; it was not to be quelled no matter how much he tried. So he forged ahead, managing to tone down his smile a few watts. 

He stepped onto the train, lugging his trunk behind him and tucking Hedwig's cage under his arm. Suddenly he was thankful for buying the trunk with wheels.

Smooth scales shifted against his chest, a slight weight moving down his arm. He sighed; Loki was getting shifty again. He shoved into an empty compartment (he went near the back, hoping that he would be left alone) and swung his trunk upwards, forcing the warmth into his hands to help him put his trunk up. 

As a result, his trunk floated into the rack, leaving a pleased Harry below it. He flopped down, rattling Hedwig's cage and unlatched her lock. She came out carefully, and he opened the window. "Meet you at Hogwarts?" Hedwig, being the wonderfully smart bird she was, bobbed her head and flew out the window, her majestic wings flapping smoothly. 

He sighed and floated her cage up; he would put it in his trunk later. "Woah, how did you do that?" Harry whipped around, staring a the ginger before him. His stance was relaxed and bouncy, an awed grin on his face. 

Blue eyes gave him their undivided attention and suddenly, his words were lodged in his throat. He wasn't used to speaking with people. He would have to get better at that.... He shook his head and gave the boy a tight smile. "Um, it was just practice really. Nothing much..."

The boy snorted and sat himself across from him. "Not bloody likely. Wandless, wordless at that, magic is bloody rare and very few wizards can do that. Even my older brother struggles to do it." 

"Oh." Harry cursed his ineloquence, but he really didn't have much to say. The books had bought hadn't touched the subject of magic and casting it wordlessly or wandlessly, never mind doing them at the same time. So he shrugged and gave the boy an even gaze. "What's your name by the way? You never told me."

He received a startled look and the rushed reply of, "Ron. Ron Weasley." He gave a polite nod and wondered how he would introduce himself. He decided with his middle name. And technically he wasn't lying, his name was James it just wasn't his first name. 

"James, nice to meet you Ron." Ron gave his hand a slightly loose shake, but Harry was fine with that. 

Ron started a conversation about Quidditch, a sport in the Wizarding World, and immediately divulged into its details when Harry told him he didn't know anything about it. He received a lengthy explanation of his family, and his father's and brother's jobs. He noticed the shadows in his eyes as he spoke, a hidden bitterness. 

So he shifted the conversation, attempting to pull more information of the Wizarding World from Ron by asking about what he wanted to do at Hogwarts. His reaction was not the one he was hoping for. 

Blue eyes dimmed considerably, and the bitterness was enhanced. But before he could answer, the door to the compartment opened and an older lady stood there with a trolley full of treats. “Would you like any snacks dears?” Ron shook his head, saying something about not having any money.

Harry took out a large clutch of coins and took 4 of every treat he thought edible. Ron blinked once, twice, before shaking his head as he sorted through the treats, clutching his sandwich in his lap.

He looked up at the redhead once he was done. “Want some?”

Giving him a hesitant nod, he took the offered treats quickly, looking as though they would be snatched back any second as though it was a trick. When they weren’t taken back immediately, he began snapping them open. “Thanks.” Harry nodded, his jaws working on a piece of licorice. Ron opened his sandwich and held it out to him. “Want some? Its corned beef. Mum always forgets I hate them, so I have plenty to share…”

He declined, not particularly knowing if he would be able to stomach something like that. Plus, sweets weren’t something he got a lot so he wanted to have his fill in case he would be able to have them again.

Ron gestured to gold and blue wrappers, holding frog shaped chocolates. "You should have one, their really good and you can collect the cards! Just be careful, they do jump." Harry gave him a startled look but cautiously took a chocolate frog and opened it. 

He leaped up in fright when the frog jumped onto the window, staring wide-eyed before snatching it up and stuffing it in his mouth. He couldn't contain a moan of pleasure; the chocolate was delicious, better than the little treats Dudley would throw away when he didn't like them. 

"Who'd you get? I got Morgana."

"Dumbledore." He peered and the old man with the starry robes. This was the man Hagrid yappered about? He must be a very good actor, he mused to himself.

After a bit of words with ron, he got up in search of the trolley lady.

'We can start your own collection and trade 'em! Besides, it'll be fun to do it with my friend.' And Ron just gave a toothy grin as though he hadn't shaken Harry's entire world.

Someone wanted to be his friend! His friend!

He grinned like a loony as he searched for the trolley lady. 

Soon he found her and purchased an entire plastic bag full of chocolate frogs. They brimmed the inside-extended bag, and his pockets felt significantly lighter at all the gold he spent. 

Ron stared at him when he came back and he poured all the chocolate from on the ground. Immediately yhe two of them began going through them, all stuffing their faces and exchanging cards. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever felt this happy before. 

A bit later the compartment door opened and revealed a hunched over girl. Sniffles reached his ears, and he narrowed his eyes. 

"Can I sit with you? Most of the other compartments are full and the empty ones are all the way in the back..." She trailed off, her puffy eyes staring resolutely at the ground.

Harry found himself nodding. "Course! What's your name?"

The girl smiled at him as she shoved her trunk under the seat; Harry hadn't even noticed there was space under there. "Hermione Granger. First witch of my family." Pride gleamed in her brightening eyes, and she smiled gleefully. 

"Ron Weasley."

"James."

She nodded. "Well, where do you think you'll be sorted into? I'm hoping Ravenclaw but I'm not sure..."

"My whole family was in Gryffindor, so I'm bound to end up there. But really I would prefer any house over Gryffindor." Ron murmured his statement unhappily, his body slouched downward. 

"I'm hoping for Slytherin. If... if I do go there, you guys'll still be my friends, right?"

Harray received two enthusiastic nods and an exclamation of 'of course mate!' and 'why wouldn't I still be your friend?'

They dragged her into their card exchanging, and though she wasn't nearly as excited about it as they were, Harry figured they'd be good friends to have. 

xXXxXXxXXx

Hogwarts was magnificent, Harry decided as the boat he was sitting in approached the great castle. Ron and Hermione sat across from him, and they made continued with their soft chatter, ignoring the pug-faced girl who continued to stare at them in disgust. 

The moon glowed in the sky, the rippling waters of the lake reflecting the glittering stars and bold moon. Harry thought it looked like a fairy tale picture, with Hogwarts standing proudly on a hill, the thick wavelengths of magic warm on his skin. 

Anxiety coiled in his gut, and he prayed that whatever decided what house they went to didn't make his sorting a spectacle. He didn't need even more attention or whatever on him. Make him a freak even among the unnatural and magical. 

The small boats came to a stop, and he stepped onto the ground, shuddering softly at the loving maternal feel of Hogwarts magic. Harry wondered silently what it felt like to the other students. 

He watched as Hagrid knocked heavily, peering up as the thick doors opened and revealed a Stern looking woman in neat robes. The group followed her, and Harry stayed in his place next to Hermione and Ron; he felt oddly attached to them and wondered if that was normal. He decided against dwelling on the thought.

 Professor McGonagall as she had introduced herself, explained how the houses worked, their point system, and the end of the year awards. Personally, Harry thought that punishing others for misdeeds they didn't commit was stupid but kept those thoughts to himself. He didn't want the Professor to become cross with him. 

Soon they were being led through, silently walking in between two long tables. After of course the expected excitement and fright at meeting literal ghosts, but Harry had already decided that the Wizarding World was rather odd. He decided he liked the Bloody Baron the best, his animation fascinating to him. Ron merely stood pale faced, but a steely look in his blue eyes. 

A bratty Wizard introduced himself, Draco Malfoy, and Harry had a vague thought about meeting him in Diagon Alley at Madame Malkin’s but didn't think upon it. His nasty words and pale eyes made Harry think of Dudley; that was enough to make him turn way with an airy comment of 'he's not worth it, Ron. Pay him no mind.' He purposefully ignored the sneer that was direct his way. 

Harry watched as the sorting began with fascination. The Bloody hat could sing! Wizards were exciting and confusing, Harry decided but decided it was worth it if he could learn magic. Professor McGonagall began calling up students, starting with 'Abott, Hannah!', who landed in Hufflepuff. 

He watched with a bated breath as McGonagall called up Hermione, who looked faintly anxious.

He gave her hand a light squeeze before watching as she went up....

xXXxXXxXXx 

Hermione walked up the steps to the stool, trying to exude a confidence she really wasn't feeling. She perched on the stool, delicately placing the hat on her head.

She nearly shrieked when a voice chuckled inside her head. ‘I meant not to frighten you my dear, only laughing at the mere fact that you belong in Slytherin.’

‘What do you mean?’ She felt slightly snubbed that the hat thought her plaicement was a reasonable source of amusement.

‘I did not mean to offend you if I have. Only, most purebloods believe that muggleborns cannot be placed in Slytherin. While with your ambition and determination, you could very well be placed there. And you have no small amount of cunning either and perhaps your slight ruthlessness will help you too…’

She grinned internally, the thought of proving the purebloods wrong bringing Hermione a savage glee. ‘That doesn’t sound terrible. I suspect there is a downside though.’

A sigh resonated through her head. ‘You will be the target to much bullying because of your status, and not light bullying either as much as it pains me to say it. You could be placed in Ravenclaw if it is preferable to you?’

Something hardened inside of Hermione, her determination becoming like steel. ‘No, put me in Slytherin. I want to prove them wrong. And they’ll fear my very name…’

‘Very well, my dear. Do let me know how it goes.’

‘How will I accomplish that?’

‘You will figure it out, I’m sure. Now, Better Be… SLYTHERIN!’

There was nearly pure silence, with the exception of a few shocked mutterings, before protests from the Slytherin Table filled the silent Great Hall.

‘She’s not pure!’

‘A mud-ggleborn!’ (Hermione so desperately wanted to know what was going to be said at this one.)

‘Tell the Hat it made a mistake!’

Hermione slid into a clear spot at the end of the table, keeping away from the other first year Slytherins. Brown eyes sparkled with a slight cruelness, as Professor McGonagall silenced the hall by calling out the next name.

She ignored the whispers in favor of waiting for the next name to be called. Her breath caught when the Professor shouted, “Potter, Harry!”

xXXxXXxXXx

Harry walked to the stool, ignoring all the not-so-hushed whispers went around the Hall. He sat on the stool, only managing a poem at Ron and Hermione before the brim of the hat obscured his vision. 

'Well, I have never encountered a student so much like Salazar.'

'What?'

'Yes, the same mistrust after being let down so many times, the same need to control after being ignored and helpless for so long, the same need for knowledge for the sake of power rather than the sake of knowledge, the same need to be great and feared all at once. Yes, you are not unlike Salazar at all.'

Harry stayed silent. 

'But we are not here to talk about your similarities with Salazar; we are here for your sorting, quite the occasion for an 11-year-old such as yourself. A sharp tongue you wield there, laced with dark wit. Spite, oh so much of that, that you use to survive, something you seem to be very good at Mister Potter. You have courage that would llow you to fit in with the lions, but it is shadowed by self-preservation.'

'So, I would ft in well with the Slytherin House?' Harry was slightly confused when he got a forlorn sigh. 

'You would and that is a slight problem with you being who you are. I have heard much about you being in Gryffindor like your parents, and you will placed under much scrutiny, especially with the reputation the Slytherin House holds as of now. You can go, and you will be forged from the strongest of materials and sharpened better than any house ever could. But you may be slandered and harmed, verbally or physically but it is up to you at this point in time. So, what will it be?' 

Harry was silent for a few moments mulling it over. 'Slytherin. Besides, I can't just leave Hermione there.'

The Hat laughs in hi head. 'Yes, that loyalty towards those you see as valuable to your person. I hope that the Slytherin House treats you will, Mister Potter.'

'You can call me Harry, even if I don't ever get to talk to you again.'

'Alistair young one. I do hope that I can talk to you again... Now, Better Be... SLYTHERIN!'

 Silence enraptured the Great Hall before an enthusiastic clapping filled the Great Hall. It was Hermione, she was smiling and clapping, brown eyes glittering. A higher year Slytherin began clapping and that shocked the rest of them out of their stupor, making a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws clap long with them, the Gryffindor table still in a shocked silence. 

Harry gave Hermione a sheepish grin when she gave him a calculating look. "You didn't say you were Harry Potter. You said your name was James."

"My middle name. So technically I didn't lie." Hermione huffed but there as a smile playing on her lips.  

"Very Slytherin of you, Harry Potter. Now, where do you think, Ron is going to go?" 

"Probably with us." 

"Probably." 

xXXxXXxXXx

Ron walked up to the Sorting Hat, tugging on the frayed ends of his brother's old robes. The Gryffindor Insignia was already printed on it, tie red and gold. But he knew, that if the Sorting went the way he wanted it, the Insignia he would be walking away with was Slytherin's and hi tie green and silver. 

The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and he readied himself for an argument. Only for it to never come. 

'Slytherin, eh? You would definitely fit there.' 

Ron was not ready for that; Ron did not like being unprepared. 

'I'm not going to have to argue with you?'

'Child, your mind is a place of strategy, something Slytherin held in great value. You want to make a name for yourself, your determination is admirable and one of the things that pushed you to attempt an argument with me. And in Slytherin you can become great, especially with a stubborness like yours, that will have you breaking down barriers to achieve the objectives you set your mind upon.'

Ron swelled at the compliment. 'Put me in Slytherin then.'

'But I must warn you that your family might not approve, as they are all mostly Gryffindors and the progressing rivalry, that has reached even my old ears, will do you some harm as I feel as though you might be without a home.' Ron knew the Hat meant both at the Slytherin Common Room and at his own home, The Burrow. It made his stomach churn at the thought of his parents not loving him anymore because of the fact that he was put into Slytherin. 

But he steeled himself. 'Put me in Slytherin.' 

'Very well little one, I hope you accomplish your goals, and make your name known. I hope your family accepts you. Better Be... SLYTHERIN!'

Ron ignored the silence, the silence that made his chest tighten dangerously, (he didn't dare look in the direction of the Gryffindor table) ad sat down next to Harry, who had Hermione of his right. 

He gave a tight smile, suddenly feeling very anxious now that the initial determination and stubbornness wore off. Harry squeezed his hand, and he darted his eyes toward the Gryffindor Table, despite every cell of his brain saying otherwise. 

Percy and the twins were staring at him, his oldest brother having narrowed eyes and a shifting anger in his eyes; the twins were looking at him in shock and worry. So the twins didn't seem too hostile. That was good at least. 

He hoped to at least be able to send a letter to his mum before one of the others told her. He wondered how angry she would be, his mum who constantly ranted about Slytherins being dark and evil, who hated the house with a burning passion and wondered if she would hate him. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out. 

So, he shut those thoughts away and waited for the food to show up. Maybe that would keep his mind off things. 

xXXxXXxXXx

Severus Snape was unsure of what just happened. Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, was sorted into his house; Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived, the son of James Potter (and Lily Evans, his brain added unhelpfully) was sorted into his house; Ronald Weasley, the son of Molly Weasley, (a woman he knew to strongly dislike Slytherin and all things dark and evil) was sorted into his house. He wondered if this as just an elaborate prank by Fate. It must be, because after all, the being seemed to hate him. 

So, he resigned himself to simply watching the table of green and silver. Occasionally he would look over to Albus, only to see a displeasure in his eyes when he glanced over at the Slytherin Table. Minerva looked shocked that the boy she expected to enter her house was in his house and was sulking into her cup of tea. The students it seemed had taken to pointing and whispering about the Sorting but he had expected that. So perhaps, there was nothing more that would attempt to take a few years off his lifespan.  

He picked at his food, eating a slight amount but nothing more as he had already consumed a meal while in his office earlier. Which, in hindsight was a proper idea as he was sure his appetite would have disappeared during the sorting. 

After the speech from Albus, he stood and followed his house to the dungeons, lurking behind silently. The trio stayed together, chatting softly. His eyes stayed on the Potter boy, watching as he continually shifted his arms as though he was sore. He frowned to himself but kept watch. 

The prefect announced the standard speech of the password, 'Hemlock', which it would stay for the next fortnight. The first years formed a small bunch in the middle of the Common Room, the rest of the students crowding near the walls as was standard. 

The female Slytherin Prefect, Gemma Farley, did her part of the speech, keeping her face impassive and her voice low and cold. She was a good student but was perhaps not the best person to welcome students to Slytherin. Not that he could do anything now. Her counterpart, Bellerophon Yaxley, said the second part of the speech, his face just slightly warmer than hers and voice softer; he was better for giving the speech but not by much. 

He stalked forward when he needed to, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning on with ease. He stood in front of the bunch, black eyes searching them."Welcome to Slytherin. You are a snake ow, so that means that you will be targeted by other houses as the Slytherin House holds a reputation for being the Dark House. If you are experiencing any problems, come to me and I will assist you in any way I can.

"I do not take points from Slytherin as the others do that well enough without me, but if I find that you have committed an act against our house and its honor, the punishment you receive will make you wish I were that lenient." He watched Potter stiffen, a fear making itself known in the boy's eyes. 

"If you find yourself in a disagreement with any of your housemates, please keep all and any fights, arguments, and displeasure within the walls of the common room. We mut present a united front to the rest of the house.

"Lastly, you all will have a swift discussion about your goals and ambitions within this month with me in my office. You are all to be scheduled for a mandatory check-up with Madame Pomfrey, the school Healer. If I find any discrepancies, do expect me to inquire about it with you.

"Male dormitories on the right, Female dormitories to the left. Curfew is 20:00 for first and second years, 21:00 for third and fourth years, 22:00 for fifth to seventh years." Severus gave a curt nod before walking away, directing himself to his office. 

He entered his chambers and set the wards to alert him if anybody knocks on his office door. Then he sank in his chair by his fireplace, opening a bottle of firewhiskey and summoning himself a glass. 

He really needed a drink. 

Chapter Text

TRIGGER WARNING: BULLYING; BAD PARENTS; ABUSE; VIOLENCE (BLOOD AND OBSCURE SPELLS)

Chapter Ⅲ

The Makings of a Powerhouse

The House of Slytherin was different from the other two houses in many ways. The main being the fact that there was a certain system to how the Slytherins worked. A Hierarchy. 

That meant that there was a system based on how powerful you were; your familial status, personal influence, magical core, and intellectual level. 

At the top of the ladder was Draco Malfoy, though many would think it would be Harry Potter with his status as Boy-Who-Lived, and it would be if it weren't for the fact that the Slytherin House were a pack of wild dogs. 

They were savages, tearing at the weak links of the House, determined to show that they did not deserve to be in the House of Snakes. 

'A Weasley' they'd whisper not-so-softly. 'Hat has gone senile if it thinks a lion should be here.' 

On his first morning, Ron found his clothing mostly unharmed with only a few ink smears, (his mother's charms to the twin's pranks keeping them mostly safe), his telescope shattered, potion's kit missing multiple ingredients, ink bottled laying underneath the words 'Dirty Blood-Traitor' in uneven writing. 

'A mudblood' they'd point at her, 'not worthy of being here.'

Hermione woke covered in mud, her clothes strewn around and smeared with dirt, her books torn, quills broken, and ink bottles emptied with the ink smudged on her trunk with the word 'Filthy Mudblood' written in thick bold letters. 

'The-Boy-Who-Lived,' they'd sneer, 'a Golden Boy trying to tame the darkness.' 

Harry found his trunk flipped open, his clothes in tatters (not that he really mourned them), books with missing pages, cauldron with a melted bottom, ink bottles opened, and the words 'Stupid Gryffindor Boy' written in slopy lettering on his dresser. 

The Slytherins were feral things under cool stone masks, delighting in the prospect of ruining enemies of theirs with sharp words, swift spells, and devious plans. 

It took a week. 

That was how long it took for the Slytherin House to realize that the Golden Trio could take whispers and destruction. it didn't bother them really.  

So, they took out their wands and they attacked. 

(---)

Breakfast was a quick but loud, Harry hearing all the whispers about the Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin. He clenched his hands around his utensils, but easily mimicked what the other purebloods were doing; tiny bites, dainty bites of food, and you do not bring yourself to your food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione eating reasonably neatly, trying to teach Ron some semblance of table manners. He was trying, Harry could see that, and touched Hermione's arm when he thought she was being rude or harsh. Obviously, she got the message because her words softened, and her voice was less harsh. 

Transfiguration was their first class and they left breakfast early to get there early, hoping to avoid their housemates and their dark looks. Harry ignored the cat with strangely intelligent eyes and sat in the second row next to the wall, farthest from the door. Hermione sat in front of him, Ron sitting next to him. They chatted softly for the next few minutes, keeping their voices low even though there was nobody around to listen. 

The Slytherin's entered a few minutes after their ending conversation, creating a subtle divide amongst them with hidden disdain in their eyes. Harry sought out Ron's hand, a soft squeeze from the red head soothing him slightly. 

The Gryffindor's came in with loud chattering, sitting away from the Slytherin's with nasty looks aimed toward the Slytherin side of the room. 

Loud rustling filled the room as books and papers were taken out, and Harry only looked up when he saw the cat move, blurring before a woman stood sternly in front of them. Introductions were promptly given and then she began the lesson easily. 

She began a quick discussion of the theory behind transfiguration, before giving them matches and instructing them to turn them into needles. 

Different annunciations and accents produced many forms of the incantation, giving varied results around the classroom. Shouts of triumph came from those who managed to change their match even just a touch, amusing the Professor endlessly who never tired from seeing the excitement of the first years learning magic. 

She stopped on the Slytherin side of the classroom, giving soft pointers on how to change their grips of their wands for better movement and a much better outcome of results. 

And stopped to stare at a green-eyed replica of James Potter who was glaring at his match with pure frustration. The Professor sighed inwardly; he did not inherent his father's gift for Transfguration. McGonagall stepped forward to help, only to stop when he gave a sharp jab of his wand, saying no incantation at all, and then proudly held up a perfect needle with a triumphant shout.  

But she made no move toward him, staring at the desk that... 'Bloody Fucking Hell'

...the desk that had turned into thousands of little needles, not that the boy noticed, far to enraptured by his one needle. 

Maybe the boy did inherent his father's skill. 

(---)

Ever since she was little, Hermione prided herself on her smarts and her ability to remember details. She'd tried to make friends multiple times only to be left after a few days, annoying them with her constant need to read and learn. Quite miffed at their blatant dismissal, she'd holed herself up, delving into the fantasy that was painted with words, filing away knowledge that was boring to others. 

Her father chuckled every time she asked if they could go to the bookstore when they went out, always telling her she had to limit herself to 10 books. Then she'd catalog all the book she'd chosen, trying to figure out which was better to take at that moment. It was always a chore, but she thought it was worth it once she'd gone to her bed and opened her books. 

Whenever her mother visited, little treats were taken into the library and books piled onto the table. Then her mother would read to her books of old knowledge, teaching her the value of family history. And with sparkling brown eyes, she'd hold an old family record and tell her to recite the traditions and sayings. Smiling softly, making sure her mother could see her exaggerated preparations (she was sure she could recite them in her sleep, but she always looked down at the book) and dutifully began reading the old Russian writing. 

She was used to people looking down at her sometimes, if only for her knowledge, or her bushy hair and buckteeth. 

Hermione had seen the looks she'd gotten from the purebloods of Diagon Alley. The looks that clearly said she was the non-existent dirt under their 400 galleon shoes, not worthy to even breathe the same air they do. At the time, she hadn't really known what they were for, her looks she'd thought originally, but she learned very quickly the true reason after being sorted into the Slytherin House. 

Apparently, the word for muggleborns, in the pureblood dictionary is Mudblood, with the following definition of: an unworthy wixen child born into the care of filthy muggles; a magic-user who has disgraced and foul blood. (Well perhaps not, probably something a little ruder.) 

She'd spent the night of her sorting preparing herself for the bullying, but she really hadn't expected the damaging of her property. Thankfully, Ron and Harry both had tricks that helped tremendously, and she knew she'd have to find time to go to the library to find books that would help defend herself and protect her property. 

Until that time, she'd been making a list of all the times people had called her a mudblood and who they were. Professor Snape seemed to be observing her every time she was within the range of the disgusting word, but she'd simply added another name and tally onto her list.

As she was reading her books on Charms, she sent hexes from underneath her book, smiling softly as she heard a yelp or a screech when her target got hit. 

As the days went by, Hermione continued, occasionally going to the library to study and read.

After about a week, she'd found a small list in spidery scrawl in her bag. It was a list of books.

Hermione decided she'd get to library within the next 24 hours. 

The very next day, Hermione was cornered in an empty hall, on her way back from the library. She had been searching for the defense books on the little list but had been kicked out by Madame Pince for hexing a student for calling her that filthy name. She wondered just how much people hated her green and silver tie, for them to be that prejudice. 

Two older Slytherins, both females, smiled at her sweetly before shooting spells at her. She threw herself to the ground and fumbled for her wand. Hermion scrambled up as Slytherin Female #1 shot a white light at her, hitting her in the leg which made her Hermione yelp in pain when she felt a sharp, expanding pain and her leg began swelling, big angry red splotches forming all over her leg. 

She shoved herself to the wall to avoid another jet of light and thrust out her wand, "Lumos Maxima!" the tip of her wand glowed with a blinding light and the two girls shrieked, throwing their hands up to avoid the light. Hermione quickly shoved her way through them, sending a sponge-knee curse and a jelly-fingers curse, one for each girl. Leaving them on the ground, and ran out of the hall, half-dragging her leg behind her as it pained her to put too much weight on it. 

Hermione entered a classroom and cast every reverse spell she knew but none of them seemed to work. Groaning, she slumped into a chair and poked her leg gently, hoping that the swelling would go down. 

Opening her bag, she pulled out the one book she'd managed from the library, 'Hexes, Jinxes, and Curses: Volume Ⅰ - Ⅲ.' She opened the book and began reading, hoping that the swelling would go down soon; curfew was in less than an hour and she didn't want to have a run-in with Filch or any teachers. 

Two days after her cornering by the two female Slytherins, she was challenged by 3 fourth years. Well, challenged is inaccurate. It was more like them trying to curse her while she attempted to dodge and defend herself. 

She ended up with a thin cut on her side, her left shin shattered, and some of her hair was uneven from cutting curses, but otherwise fine and unharmed. Hermione ended up attacking blindly but her aim wasn't all that bad because they'd ended up with shaved hair, insect parts, grotesquely long toenails, and bats spurting from their noses. Maybe it was because that was all the things she could remember while panicking. 

Hermione considered it a win, as she was healed and looked over by Professor Snape. Who gave detention to the fourth years, for drawing blood which was against the rules for dueling apparently? And he didn't give them their hair back, stating they'd have to go to Madame Pomfrey in the morning. (She knew well that there was a charm to regrow their hair)

There wasn't really anything on his face that gave up what he was thinking. But right at the end, Hermione swore his lips twitched upwards as he spoke; he merely stated that she should make it a point to put a little more power in her spells. 

Once more, she'd found another slip of paper in her bag, written in the same spidery scrawl. Professor Snape's writing. 

Without much consultation, she went to the library, skirting around the crowded hallways and taking the back way that was shown to all first year Slytherins. 

Entering the library with a renewed excitement, she ignored the glare she was given by Madame Pince and began pulling books from the shelves, all the ones that had been written on the paper. 

• A Beginner's Guide to Defensive Spells 

• Smart Aleck Uses for Simple Tricks

• Defense and Offense: Spell You Should Know

• The Greyer Side of the Light Spectrum

• Simple Spell Combinations

As it turned out, the books were probably the best she'd ever read, far more informative than the classes and had a very in-depth construction on how the spells could be used and how they affected the victim. Hermione settled at a table and tore through the first book, trying to decide which spells she would learn first, the ones she would show to Ron and Harry immediately. 

She scribbled away with her quill, quietly wishing that they weren't so difficult to write with but continued nonetheless.

Going back to the book shelves, she stalked through, going to the back of the library where the Restricted Section was. Hermione stared at the iron gate, wondering what knowledge was deemed so terrible as to be withheld from her. Lightly, she brushed the lock, staring at the mocking gold lock. 

Hermione quickly made it her goal to get in there and read every book there was to offer. 

So she turned and continued her search through the bookshelves, stopping soon at a large black tome. Quickly looing around and seeing nobody, she pulled it off the shelves and peeked at the gold lettering. 

'Dark Magicks: Rites and Rituals'

Curiosity sufficiently piqued, she opened it only to be faced with gruesome pictures and horrific sights of blood. It was terrible. Still though, she read a few pages in, before closing it, not at all able to stomach the descriptions of the spells. 

She put it back on the shelf, gazing at it before turning away. 

Madame Pince gave her a look as she checked out her books, giving her a clear warning not to do anything terrible with them. Hermione promised not to attack or provoke any with them. But she would defend herself if necessary. 

So, Hermione made her way to the dungeons with new books to read. 

'You will not cry. You will not cry. You will not cry.' 

Hermione scrambled to pick up her book, all while trying to pull to seams of her clothes together, the same seams that were unraveling at a furious pace. 

Humiliation boiled deep within her, stewing with the anger that had been simmering inside of her. The hyenas and jackals of the Slytherin Common Room cackled and barked at her predicament. Freckled pale hands scooped up her books while another set of hands easily helped her up, swiftly guiding her to the female dorm rooms. 

The steps didn't change, as though Hogwarts knew that they were helping her. Harry shot a few different spells from his wand, she didn't catch the incantations, but she did hear the mortified shrieks and pained screams. 

Ron dropped her books onto her bed and Harry gave her a change of clothing. She turned away, allowing herself to let go of the broke seams of her clothes. A quick look behind her had her seeing both boys with their backs turned, staring at the wall. Hermione went behind Greengrass' bed, and drew the curtains, changing quickly before coming out. 

She took two books from her bed and snagged the ends of both boys' collars. 

"Come on. I want to show you some spells." 

Ron and Harry grinned at her. 

(---)

Ron walked through an empty corridor, one of the few times he was without his friends. He brushed his fingers over his satchel, an old thing that Bill had given him once he'd gotten his own. It had 4 different books in them, all having to do with Defense. 

Harry had brought up how Quirrell, the stuttering squirrel, couldn't be understood and suggested they just do self-study. Plus, it would help with all the nasty looks Harry and him got should some of them progress to actual spells; Hermione had already been hexed multiple times by some of the other snakes of the Common Room. 

He picked up 3 tomes that worked into defensive spells and proper pronunciation, as well as a book that listed slightly darker spells. Ron reasoned that as long as he did it with the intent of self-defense only, he wasn't really in trouble. 

Walking into another corridor, he froze when he saw 2 redheads bent over a piece of parchment. He turned around quickly, hoping he would be out of their sight by the time they looked up.

It didn't happen. 

"Ron?"

He turned slowly, trying to figure out if they were angry or not. Twin brown eyes stared at him, and he fidgeted with the end of his tie, until he saw their eyes flicker to his fingers. 

The silence was awkward until one of the twins spoke. "How're the snakes treating you?" 

"Fine." They didn't look like they believed him. "I mean, they seem hellbent on destroying my things but nothing I can't fix. Hermione is wicked good at repair charms and Harry knows how to clean really well... It's not that bad, honest..." He trailed off when he saw the anger brewing on their faces.... 

Ron looked down, trying to figure out if they were angry because he hadn't hexed them or what. They couldn't really be angry that they had tried to destroy his stuff... they kinda did the same thing often. Maybe it was because he had stated that he made the 'Great Harry Potter' clean his stuff? He shuffled back slightly, hoping that whatever they did didn't involve spiders. He would definitely not be able to handle that. 

The words spoken next surprised him. "Do you need any pranking supplies?" 

"We have things that can charm their hair-" 

"-their looks-" 

"-make them embarrass-" 

"-themselves to no-" 

"-end." The twins grinned, their eyes gleaming. 

"Er- sure. I'll take a few of the products..." He unhooked his satchel, allowing them to stuff somethings in it. 

About 5 minutes later his satchel was filled to the brim and his hair was ruffled by his brother. "Good luck with the snakes little bro." 

"And remember-" 

"-the twins of Weasley-" 

"-will always-" 

"-be here for-" 

"-help!-" 

The two grinned before going off, leaving Ron in the middle of the corridor. He closed his satchel, patting the awkward lumps as thought it would keep them from appearing. 

(The twins watched their brother when they were sure he'd turned around. They'd needed testers for their pranks and what a better volunteer than a few nasty snakes? Not that they thought their brother was all that nasty, but their was something off about him being in Slytherin.)

Herbology wasn't Ron's favorite class, not by a long shot, but it turned out that Harry was rather good at it. Professor Sprout, a short, plump woman with a cheery personality, had given them non-magical plants to start off with. Lavender, Mint, Basil, Wood root, Thyme, Rosemary, and Oleander. 

Harry quickly took charge, showing Ron how to prepare the soil, plant the seeds at a certain depth, mutter only encouraging and positive things because Harry seemed absolutely certain that plants had feelings. Not that Ron dared say anything different when Harry drew himself up his entire small stature and looked at him with defiance shining boldly in his green eyes. 

So, he did as directed, following Harry's instruction and by the end of the class Professor Sprout was beaming at them, giving Slytherin 15 points for 'proper work and gentle handlings'. Which was more than some of the others could say when the Professor came around to them, tittering about how they should have worked the soil gently as she had shown in the previous class and been careful with the placements of the seeds and sprouts. 

Draco Malfoy, the blonde prat of the House, was lamenting over the fact that his nails were dirty, and how this was work for peasants, giving Ron a headache and the urge to make him sprout duck sounds instead of words. But Hermione gave him a look before he could do anything. 

They made their way to History of Magic, with Professor Binns, which was boring as ever but Ron eventually just put his head down and tried to sleep. The only one who even seemed to be paying attention was Hermione, who was studiously scribbling away with a quill, the sound grating on Ron's nerves for some reason (it sounded like all the times Percy would write frantically during dinner because he was making notes in his books)

Eventually, Harry would give him a light push or poke him with a nub, telling him class was over. 

Sometime during dinner, Ron realized Percy hadn't done anything to him, said anything to him, didn't even look at him... As though he didn't exist. His chest felt full and heavy suddenly, his eyes stinging with hot tears.

For a split second, Ron wanted to race to the Gryffindor Table and do anything, hejustwantedtoPercytoacknowledgethathewasalive-! Call his name, yank on his shirt, anything but he didn't; he stayed put and drew his eyes away from his stiff, bookworm-ish brother. 

With wobbly hands he finished his dinner ('small portions and bites Ron; you're holding the fork wrong.'), continuously blinking back tears. 

Dessert was a small slice of cake, his appetite lost to his wandering thoughts about his older brother. The concerned looks he got from Harry and Hermione were brushed off with simple statements that some of the fumes from the other greenhouses messed with his appetite. It gained him slightly suspicious looks but that was alright. 

After, he slipped away, saying he was going to the loo. Ron walked into the corridor, allowing the tears from dinner to slip down his face freely. The salty liquid burned his lips, but he licked them anyway, hoping to burn Percy's name from the tip of his tongue. 

"Oh look, it's the blood-traitor." Ron looked up, spinning around, grappling for his wand. They laughed. "Is the baby crying? Missing mummy and her rags?" It was 2 older Slytherins, maybe 6th years. 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck' He dodged a sickly colored spell only to cry out when a spell hit his right arm, causing a massive pain to explode in it. Letting it fall limply, he shot a knockback jinx, and another curse that Hermione had taught him, a slug sprouting hex. 

Slytherin #2 snarled at him when his crone started spouting slugs from his mouth. A rapid succession of spells came at him, and he dropped to the ground, using all his twin prank avoidance skills to dodge the spells. 

He moved to shoot another spell only to be hit by another one. He clapped his free hand over his mouth, feeling his tongue wiggle and shrink. Panic shot through his body, more tears pricking his eyes. His tongue was gone! 

Ron dove to the right, biting the inside of his cheek when pain flared in his arm again. The Slytherin levelled his wand and he curled into himself slightly, hoping that whatever damaged inflicted wouldn't be spread to the rest of his body. He'd like to be able to limp himself to Professor Snape's office for healing; the Hospital Wing was rather far. 

"Oi! What're you doing?" Ron's heart thumped, stopped and missed a beat, before racing off. 

It was Percy. 

The Slytherin turned around, and Ron couldn't see anything that happened; his view was being blocked by the large frame of the Slytherin. The Slytherin slumped, before collapsing and Ron tried to scramble up without jostling his arm too much. He met the light blue eyes of his brother and looked down, studying the crack patterns of the stone. 

There was an odd sort of silence, and he looked up when a pair of shoes stopped about 3 feet away from him. Ron studied his brother, who had a blank look on his face. "You should get back to your common room before curfew." He nodded hurriedly, going down the hallway as quickly as possible only to stop when another set of words stopped him. "You have more courage than I do, Ron, otherwise I'd be in your house. Fuck'em up." 

He looked back and saw Percy staring at him with a smirk on his face and a cold look in his eyes. Slytherin, he thought. He smiled, nodding softly before beginning his trek to the Snape's Office to get his tongue back and arm healed. 

Ron entered the Common Room, making a beeline to his usual spot. Flopping down, he pulled out 2 pieces of parchment and began his assignment for Professor Snape, naming 3 neuro-suppressant agents for the Sopophorous Bean and why they are important. Scribbling away, he tried to make the spaces between his letters as big as possible and made his lettering as large as he dared; it helped to write like that and then the letters didn't flop and fly like they normally did. Not that it helped. His sentences were still broken, and his letters written awkwardly. 

He worked, while wondering how many games of chess he could win after he was done. Chess was a normal game in the common room, one that he was very good at. He'd beat half the first years and was setting times to beat the others. He wanted to be able to beat all the ones who dared to play chess, it wasn't fun to play when they weren't any good at it like Harry.

His essay was half-way completed in about 45 minutes (he couldn't really read his books properly without Hermione to help him with the words; they were always floaty or jumbled) and he put it out to dry.

Ron pulled out a book to look like he was busy, only to stop when a third year came up to him, a sour look on their face. "Your troublesome brothers insisted I give these to you." Ron took them hesitantly, noting the disgusted look on the student's face. 

He noted the handwriting on the scroll, his heart falling into his stomach. His mum and dad. 

Ron opened it, trying to figure out if it was good or bad just by glancing at the first two words.

Ron, 

I hope that you're going well in your house. If you are having any troubles, please write me and I'll see what I can do. 

Good luck. 

Love, 

Dad. 

There was nothing from his mother. 

(---)

Harry had always had this odd fascination with eyes. Even though one of the rules of Privet Drive was not to make eyes contact, he still made eye contact with his teachers, classmates, and other people just because people's eyes were so expressive. If their face was impassive, their eyes told another story. 

And sometimes, it was just the color of their eyes that fascinated him. Brown eyes, blue eyes, hazel eyes, grey eyes, amber eyes, indigo eyes; beautifully expressive eyes. 

The first time it happened, he couldn't really understand what was happening, he had looked into the eyes of Matthew Reynolds, an old friend of Dudley's that had moved away, and suddenly he was being bombarded with thoughtssentencesideasmemories that weren't his. It scared him but it had also given him a splitting headache so bad that he had nearly passed out halfway to Privet Drive. 

The second time it happened had been with Uncle Vernon and he had gotten so frightened that he'd started begging not to be punished, tears and all, which resulted in one of the worst beatings he'd ever gotten. 

Slowly, he'd learned that if he made eye contact for too long, he'd read(?) people's minds which gave both participants a massive headache or, in his case, a shredded back and possibly broken bones. Also, a dark, spider filled cupboard, but he didn't mind that part so much. 

He'd quickly learned that some magicals had mind shields and others did not. It was very annoying to figure it out, because sometimes it was a struggle to get it, whether or not he broke eye contact with the person. 

Harry had learned rather quickly that mind reading (? searching ?) wasn't effective against Slytherins, as they all seemed to have barriers. 

But really, he preferred to use it against all the students that liked to corner him in hallways and attack him because he was a 'traitor, and dark wizard that deserved to be put down.' Giving them massive headaches probably wasn't the solution, but it wasn't like they ever remembered he was there. Only that they got a splitting headache. 

Their Head of House, he learned, had a very strong mind barrier after accidentally going in during a potions class. He'd nearly tumbled right through it but easily averted the situation by breaking eye contact and focusing his mind on something else. Harry's potion nearly blew, but since he'd learned that potions was very close to cooking in some ways, he'd avoided that as well. 

His other worries lied in the fact that in a week he had a mandatory check-up with Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, which wasn't exactly ideal. Uncle Vernon was sure to kill him if it got out tahat he had given him multiple beating since he was 3, and he wasn't sure if he would survive certain death again; Boy-Who-Lived or not. 

So, with Loki giving his commentary, he'd get through the classes, hiding his snake speaking skills from all the other magicals in the castle. Hermione and Ron (his first ever friends!) didn't know about Loki or his snake speak, though he often entertained the idea of telling them. They'd proven themselves trustworthy friends; Ron who fussed over how small he was, piling his plate with food or Hermione who would toy with his tie, telling him he tied it wrong and taught him and Ron spells to defend themselves. 

During lunch, one his first day of classes, he'd been pulled away, Professor Snape stating that the Headmaster wanted to see him in his office and that he especially liked sugar quills. 

He'd gone, only to be faced with judgmental twinkling eyes, a fake impersonation of a gentle grandfather, and underhanded manipulation tactics using his (dead) parents. With a pounding heart, prickling eyes, and clenched fists, is how he walked to his next class, seething about the Headmaster who was so powerful and so annoying. 

("Your parents were Gryffindor's Harry- don't you want to experience what they were?" / "A dark reputation, I only want what's best for you- a good content, boisterous, time at Hogwarts could go a long way, don't you agree?" / [twinkling blue eyes] [disgust at his tie and insignia] ['Why did he care where I was sorted?' 'What do I mean to him that he does this?' 'He doesn't do this for the other students, why do I matter so much?'] / "I think we're done here, Headmaster. I have a class to get to." / [alarm bells in his mind ringing] [cloudy rage in blue eyes] [flashing disgust] [sickly yellow bitter magic] ['why does his magic feel so dangerous?'] / "Of course, Harry. I hope you think about what I said today.")

Loki continually hissed about how he could easily kill the Headmaster, who the wrinkly old man was nothing against his powerful venom; he sated the irate snake by promising him 2 yummy mice and pieces of the 'unmoving, weak, lump' which was actually a drumstick that he hid in his pocket. 

Hedwig, his gorgeously smart bird, was very protective, biting people that she didn't approve of or that one Slytherin that called her a rat with wings. It was wonderful in his opinion. 

So, with all this in his mind, he stared at the unconscious 4th year Gryffindor, the form twitching from explosive pain going through his mind. 

Harry hummed before turning away, intent of being far away from the scene when the body is found. 

Harry looked up when a curse cut close to his ear. It landed on the lit orb next to him, shattering the glass. He ducked his head, biting his tongue at the sting of pain of the glass cutting his neck and back; his shirt was the only thing protecting his back and that was a very thin material. 

He shoved his book off his lap and ducked the next curse, looking around to find his attacker. 

§ Hatchling, to the left. § Harry looked where Loki told him, his eyes landing on a cruelly smirking 6th year (Rowle he believed) flanked by 4 other students. He dodged another curse, before sending his own to them, an Impedimenta, before shooting an Avifors then an Ebublio, Locomotor Wibbly, Pulus, before finishing off with a Vermiculus.

He snickered at them before casting an Expelliarmus with a large sweep of his wand, causing all the wands to fly at him. § Good magics hatchling. But next time, a bit swifter with your strikes. § Making a note to speak with Loki after this, he stared down the collapsed forms of the Slytherins, wondering what to do with the wands. 

"You may hand me the wands, Mr. Potter. I will return it to them after their discussion with me in my office." He turned to see his tall, (very tall), looking at him with dark eyes. Harry held out the 5 wands, shifting as Loki coiled tighter around his chest. 

Then, without much warning, a pale hand reached out quicker than lightning, pulling him behind his Head of House. Something hot looped around his wrist, holding his tight and he stayed perfectly quiet, making no sign of pain. Harry looked at his wrist to see a thick red line crawling up his arm, leaving what felt like fire piercing through his skin and into his bones. 

He whimpered softly when they tightened, biting his lips roughly to keep tears from falling. He followed the red, only to find the 6th year Slytherin, Antonius Rowle, looking at him with his face flushed with a humiliated anger, eyes sparkling with a cruel intent, and his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. 

Loki gave a warning his. § Nest magics. Olde powerful magics. §

A strong tug had him stumbling forward, his wand coming from his hand into the other's. His heart began jackhammering against his ribs. 

Everything after that was a blur, memories crashing into his mind like a hurricane. 

Spells flew at him, too many for him to dodge. Angry grey eyes gleamed at him. The red cord continued burning his arm. 

(He was fighting his uncle as he was dragged to the fireplace. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please, please, I didn't mean to- Won't do it again, Uncle, I promis-" Harry screamed when his uncle burned leg with the iron poker.)

He stared at he was continually placed under spells, most of them humiliating probably. He stayed very, very still. 

(Hard boots stomped on his wrist, eliciting a very audible crack sound. Harry didn't make a sound.)

Shouts flew across the Common Room; his air supply was caught off. He wondered when Loki was going to attack them. 

(His uncle was choking him again, spitting words of anger. He wondered what he had done. Then he remembered the burnt lunch.)

Grey eyes stared at him and he stared back. And then he was racing into them, pummeling his way into Rowle's mind. And it was chaos. 

He was vaguely aware of tortured screams reaching his ears, but he was having far too much fun wrecking the chaotic mind to even care that much. He shattered multiple memories, pounding against angry thoughts, tangling stands of emotions; it was magnificent. 

And then he was being drawn out, a freckled face with blue eyes came into his vision. Ron. Harry panted, closing his eyes against his pounding headache. He opened them when he felt someone coming up behind him. Hermione kneeled next to him, her eyes shifting down to his next, before looking at him questioningly. He shrugged.

Spells had been thrown before he attacked Rowle, he was curious to see what spells. He looked around, his eyes landing on what he thought was Rowle. Snape was kneeled next to his body, his face dark with rage. 

Harry didn't even attempt to hide his smile. 

The next morning, the Common Room was ablaze with soft whispers and chattering. Apparently, Rowle had been bitten by a very venomous snake and had nearly died during the night. 

Harry packed some extra drumsticks from Lunch for Loki. 

xXXxXXxXXx

Harry tugged at his robes, as he walked toward Defense, toying with the small slip of paper in his hands. 

'Harry Potter is to be excused half-way through Defense Against the Dark Arts for his mandatory medical examination with Madame Pomfrey. It is to take place from 11:20 to 12:00 at the longest. If it interferes with a significant assignment or class, please send an immediate message to the Office of Professor Snape. 

Severus Snape, 

Head of Slytherin House'

Ron and Hermione had already gotten theirs the previous Friday, both of them crystal clear if only that Hermione was a touch short. Ron however was expected to frow to be very tall, which wasn't very hard to believe. 

It had been about 2 weeks since Rowle had deemed it fit to burn him and attack him like a wild animal. 2 weeks since he had almost broken Rowle's mind. 2 weeks since he'd gotten a letter, beseeching that he refrains from pressing charges against the Ancient and Noble House of Rowle. 2 weeks since the whispers about him started to finally die down, only to come back up. 2 weeks since he'd even thought about using his mind power thing. 

Professor Snape had asked him what he'd done but he didn't say anything, staring stubbornly at the ground while his arm was healed. 

The memories of the Dursley's were something that he didn't really forget but shoved away. He remembered them when he was sleeping though, and his mind was filled with screams and blood, his uncle's words and laughter, silent whispers of death.

Harry couldn't find it within himself to make them stop or tell anyone about them, so he said naught. Besides, who would believe him? Nobody ever did. And if they did find out that their Savior had been beaten, they'd mock him and tell him how weak he was. He never had been that important anyways. 

Hermione walked up to him, drawing him from his thoughts. She was silent though she handed him a small list. It was a list of spells, Harry smiled. She had begun teaching him and Ron spells that they could use to defend themselves. Not that they had been attacked within the span of 3 days. 

Things had been calming around Hogwarts and Harry was glad that he wasn't being called a traitor or dark anymore. Not that he believed they weren't saying it in private. Oh no, he was sure that they were. But it was nice for them to take a break for however long it lasted. 

The Houses had quieted, and it was nice. 

Ron had gotten a single letter about 2 weeks into school, from his parents he'd been told. Harry had asked what they had said, but the tear tracks on Ron's face told him everything that he hadn't been told. 

His siblings, apparently, the twins and Percy, had gotten better around Ron, no longer keeping from him but also not exactly actively speaking with him. 

The pranks from the twins were genius and they were still working out how to disperse them through the house, keeping the wrong person from getting the prank instead of the hoped person. It was slightly troublesome, but Ron was an apparent genius when it came to this, coming up with wonderful ideas for how to do it. 

Harry slid into the classroom, taking his usual spot next to Ron with Hermione next to him. The Slytherins poured in, early as usual. 

Quirrell was sitting at his desk, writing with a long eagle quill. His scar throbbed and he closed his eyes in a futile hope to stave off the incoming headache. It didn't work. 

The lesson, without the infernal stuttering, would have been categorized as informative if it weren't so hard to understand due to the stuttering. It was useful, the workings of how light magic combats dark magic; how light magic can be drawn on just power but dark magic draws on emotion, power, and will; it was rather nice to know that while Quirrell had a terrible stutter he was rather knowledgeable. 

About half-way into the lesson he raised his hand, interrupting whatever the Professor had to say. "Y-yes Mr. P-p-potter?" 

"I have a slip from Professor Snape, sir. I am to be excused half-way through the lesson for a preset appointment." He held out the slip, watching as shaky hands took it from his fingers. Quirrell nodded. 

"Y-you m-m-may go." He nodded, cramming everything into his bag and bolting from the room, racing to the Hospital Wing. 

So, despite his racing heart and the threatening words of his Uncle, he entered. 

And then, not even 10 minutes later was exiting with a weakly pounding heart and shallow breathing. 

He was healthy apparently. He was prescribed a light nutrient potion to help him slightly with his weight and was told to try to eat slightly more protein at meal times. Apparently, she'd gotten a file from his Magical Guardian (which, for the record, he didn't know he even had one), and it was filled with lies. Oddly enough, he wasn't as relieved about not being beaten to death by his Uncle as he thought he'd be. 

[ 'Just a few light scrapes and a twisted ankle dear; oh the clumsiness of a child. A few paddles from punishments it looks like but that is to be expected.' / 'A bit under the normal height of children your age but then again, your father was small until his 6th year.' / 'Honestly, the Potter metabolism is a curse; you need to eat more protein during meals and carry snacks around during the day. I'll write you a note.' / 'Other than a few minor things, you are quite healthy Mister Potter. I will want a check-up after Winter Break to check on your progress. We'll see how much you've gained then. / 'Give this to your head of house; I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't mind supplying the potions.' / 'Thank you for coming Mister Potter. Good health to you.' / 'Thank you Madame Pomfrey.' / (He didn't feel quite as relieved as he thought; why did he think she'd notice? They never do.) ] 

When he asked why she already had documents on file, she had said that 'Professor Dumbledore had given it to me, as your magical guardian. It was just to save me some more time so that she could get to the other patients without having to worry about you. It's your most recent document from a private healer of your appointment during the middle of August.' And he hadn't said anything, to busy trying to keep himself from exploding. So he merely nodded or shook his head, occasionally answering verbally when he could. 

Dumbledore was his magical guardian. Why hadn't Harry seen him during his childhood? Did he know about the beatings? Or did he know everything and just not care? He figured Dumbledore knew. Somehow, that hurt worse than anything, to think that somebody knew but said nothing. Because Harry was the Savior of the Wizarding World. He killed Voldemort so obviously he could deal with a few muggles. A few bruises, broken bones, and blood wasn't going to hurt him. It didn't hurt for him to know what pain was, to hear the taunts that never ended; it didn't hurt to be curled in a cupboard, to plead for someone to save him until it finally sunk in that no one was ever going to. It was never that important obviously.

He was never that important.

 That meant nobody would actually care if he mentioned it. If Dumbledore didn't, the Great Defeater of Grindelwald and Leader of all things Good and Light, then nobody else would care for him. 

And so, with these facts in mind, Harry spent the rest of lunch trying to disappear the hollow feeling in his chest.  

(---)

Severus Snape sunk into his chair, folding his hands together as he waited for the next student to knock on his door. A thin file was in front of his on his desk, holding the medical report from Madame Pomfrey and a few select statements from Minerva and Filius. Binns was a lost cause and Quirrell was such a fool, and his stutter was rather tiresome to pick apart. He opted out on asking his opinion and just went for the main two. 

There was a soft knock on his door, and he adjusted himself to look more inviting. Not that it was possible with his tall stature and impatient personality. And children weren't among his favorite beings to be with, not that he had a choice, but if he did, he most definitely would not be here. It is quite... testing to say the least, to be with children and teenagers who had no appreciation for the concise art of potion making, and the power of such a skill. 

He gave a low answer of "Enter" after a few seconds, watching as Ms. Granger entered uncertainly, her constantly filled bag of books nowhere to be seen. He motioned to the chair across from him, watching her form for any tension lines or slow movements as she sat down. She shifted under his assessing gaze, but he spotted no seemingly pained spots so no more bruises. 

He took a deep breath and tried to speak in what he hoped what a soothing manner. "Miss Granger, your medical examination showed that you have physical troubles. But I do have to ask if you have any problems at your residence?" 

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head, seemingly confused. "Any abnormally harsh words? Perhaps a few too many snide remarks? Even a forgetfulness of your safety and needs?" 

"No sir. My parents are very kind to me and my father enjoys it when I tell him about my newest book or my ramblings about the museum. Mama is awesome, she takes me everywhere and always shares this little fact about the oddest things. She loves it when I share my thoughts, encouraging me to learn everything I can." Severus nodded, her homelife seemed well and she obviously loved her parents if her bright eyes were anything to go off of. 

He flipped to the other page of the file and looked up at her. "Now, Miss Granger, I have gotten a few reports of you being... 'over-enthusiastic' when it comes to your activity in class and assignments. So, I will say this now and I will not repeat myself. When you raise your hand, you stay silent and if you are not called on, do not blurt out the answer; your assignments are to be the correct length, if only an inch or so over, never nearly a full foot over the assigned length." 

He took a deep breath to continue his speech. I will be collecting reports from the other teachers at the end of every week starting this coming Monday, and for every unneeded inch I will give you a day of detention. I do sincerely hope it does not come to that. Am I understood?" He stared at her shining eyes and watched as she nodded meekly. 

"A verbal response Miss Granger." 

"O-of course sir." 

"For the final part of this discussion, what are your basic goals for your time at Hogwarts?" 

Severus got his answer immediately. "I want to learn everything Hogwarts has to offer." 

"Very well. Academic goals?" 

"The best. I want to prove that I deserve a place here." 

He nodded. It was an answer he had expected. "That is all Miss Granger, it seems our time for speaking has come to a close." 

"Of course, thank you Professor." She a quick hop up and easy walk to the door she was gone. Severus sighed. 

The night needed to come to an end quickly please. 

Severus grappled at the speeding, panicked force going through his mind. 

This was not supposed to be happening, why was Harry fucking Potter going through his mind like this?! And they was he so fucking hard to get out?! 

He hadn't meant to snap at the boy, he'd just been on his last nerve with the twisted answers and blatant avoidance of looking at him. Startled green eyes had looked up, met his, and suddenly there was something tumbling into his Occlumency shields. It shattered them before he even had a chance to push them out and then the 11-year-old was wreaking havoc in his mind due to his panicked state. 

This was not something the child should be capable of, but the laws of the Universe did not seem to apply to the boy. He pushed against the force, pulling up as many barriers as he could to shield himself from damage to his psych. 

Then, with all the force he could manage, Severus pushed against the barreling force, using every ounce of power he could to get it out of his head. 

And then he was staring at a pale and trembling form, heaving breaths and sobs coming from the figure. 

He was up in a swift movement, ignoring the pounding of his forming headache, and kneeled beside the seated boy. Severus was terrible at comforting, but he attempted it with an awkward back rub that seemed to be working. He refused to stoop so low as to hum or say anything comforting, but he rubbed the child's back if only to get him to calm down to some semblance of coherency. 

When the sobs stopped, he stood up quickly, discreetly pulling out a headache reliever and downing it. The phial was banished and he sat behind his desk.

The child was back to looking at his hands, which were still shaking, but Severus was in no rush see those green eyes after the... incident that had just occurred. Potter got a few moments to collect himself before Severus began speaking again. 

"You are a Legilimens. An unstoppable one at that." Green eyes snapped up and he avoided them easily by focusing on the bridge of those horrid glasses. 

A confused frown marred his face. "A what?" 

"A natural Legilimens. You have the ability to delve into the layers of the mind; it is quite a difficult thing to learn and even more so to master. An unstoppable Legilimens is not only a natural one, meaning you have the in-born ability of such, but you cannot be stopped really. The only reason I was able to push you out was because you were panicked and were desperate to get out. Had you been intent of driving me to madness by destroying my mind, I would not have been able to stop you." 

"Oh." Apparently, the boy was only capable of singular syllables at the moment. Which, considering what he'd just been informed of, wasn't all that surprising. 

Severus pondered over the situation for a moment before sighing, "I can teach you how to control your power, if you wish to be taught." 

"Yes sir, I would like that." 

"Very well. You will be at my office on Friday at 8pm to begin your lessons." 

Potter gave a soft nod. "Of course sir. Thank you."

"You are dismissed then." The boy left quickly, his head ducked down. 

Severus grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey, a clear glass tumbler, and poured himself a generous amount before downing it in a 2 large gulps. He laid on his sofa, rubbing his temples to stave off his coming headache. 

The last of the Trio, Ronald Weasley had proved to be just as surprising as his friend. 

The red-head looked vaguely unsettled as he shifted in his spot. Severus watched him for a moment before asking his next question, twisting it in a slight way. "What do you want to learn here?" 

He received a startled look and then a shrug. "I don't know." 

He pressed his lips into a tight line. "What are your goals for your time here at Hogwarts? What is it that you want to learn?"

"I want to be the abnormal Weasley." 

"Elaborate." 

"I want to be different from my brothers. I don't want to just be another Weasley." 

"Very well. You certainly started well by getting sorted into Slytherin. Now, what is it that you want to learn?" There was silence. 

Blue eyes fixed themselves on Severus' desk and he got no answer for nearly a full minute. Then there was the softest of whispers. "Everything and anything." 

Severus raised his eyebrow, prompting an explanation silently. "I want to learn everything about magic and anything it can offer me." Weasley's eyes burned for a split second and Severus knew that the boy would be able to do it. Especially if he stayed with who he was associating with currently. 

"You have your goal; now put them into action." He received a nod and he was pleased to note the boy still had a spark of determination in his eyes. He did enjoy helping his snakes grow. "Our time seems to be over; I do hope that you succeed in your plans Mister Weasley." 

"Thank you Professor." Severus gave him a nod and the boy smiled widely at him, surprising him slightly. 

Severus sighed again, downing his 3rd glass of the potent liquid. Those three, should they continue to associate with each other, will become quite powerful. Both magically and politically with the Boy-Who-Lived on their side, who happened to be the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and possibly Black, considering his godfather. 

He'd seen the way they defended themselves, had been informed during staff meetings about students laying unconscious in the halls only to wake with pounding headaches and no recollection of what happened (now he knew it had been Potter but he wasn't going to say anything), Granger in the library bent over all the books he'd left listed in her bag, and he even knew about Potter's snake though he wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten the snake if he went with Hagrid to Diagon Alley. 

Potter also seems to be rather adept when it came to Potions, surprising Severus to no end though it had been paired with a small amount of pride for the boy. He was especially proficient when it came to preparing the ingredients, chopping, powdering, and slicing with a clearly honed skill. 

That fact worried him slightly, prompting him to ask for specific questions about his home life and his stature but all his questions with answered with dancing replies and sensical facts which did not help Severus. Especially when his file fit his story about his small stature and slight weight problem, with Madame Pomfrey's notes written at the very end, which conveniently helped the boy's case. 

Severus, at the end, stopped speaking but he made sure to keep an eye on the boy for any problems that may point to abuse of any kind. And if he did, he would do everything in his power to help the boy even if it meant going behind the Headmaster's back, because he was sure that he would insist the boy go back to his relatives for the sake of 'protection and blood wards'. Because that just how the old coot was; no regard for the health for others, only assessing it if it messed with whatever plans he had. 

Not that he could do anything. The Headmaster was useful to Severus despite all things and he wasn't a spy for no reason; he could easily get his plans done without anybody knowing unless he wanted them too. 

He was also a had a Mastery in Potions, Defense, and Spell-Craft. Not that anybody knew about the last one. It was kept a secret for many reasons but could be easily found if one had that will to search. And many didn't, taking one look at him and deciding that he couldn't be that talented many things, only knowing that he had a Master in Potions. 

It was absurd how easy it was to trick other people into thinking he was something he wasn't. Not that he was complaining but Severus always did enjoy a challenge once in a while. 

He sat up, easily changing into his sleepwear and sat on his bed. He would continue with this tomorrow, worry and plan like he normally did. And possibly brood but that wasn't really on the agenda. 

Severus knew that the Trio was going to shake things up these next 7 years. 

(---)

Albus was a chess master. 

He planned, he planned, and he collected. It wasn't hard when you've worked as hard as he had, was as powerful as he was, had as many followers as he did. 

All it had taken for his image to boost to astronomical proportions was for him to defeat his old lover, Gellert Grindelwald. After that everything went his way, he was asked to become the Minister of Magic for Britain, became the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock for the Wizengamot; and then Headmaster of Hogwarts, the best place for him to be, to mold the students that had specific talents and skills that would be of much use to him. 

His planning extended to years in advance but sometimes things needed to be changed because of unforeseen events. 

Such as the sorting of one Harry Potter. 

The Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the seemingly Ultimate Gryffindor, in Slytherin, the house of all things dark and evil. And what's even worse, he seemed to be adjusting very well. 

His first attempt of convincing him hadn't worked the way it was supposed too. The boy had been very tense throughout, looking offended by the way he had been speaking. Which really didn't make sense because Albus had been very careful to make sure that he was tactful and grandfatherly. But the boy did not seem to buy it, with how he easily dismissed himself from the conversation as though they had been talking about mere weather patterns. 

And he seemed almost, happy with how he had been sorted, conversing easily through the House. 

The few times he'd asked Severus about Harry and how he was adjusting, he'd been told that the boy was easily making friends and allies. With Dark Family students. This was something that sent disgust to the very core of Albus. 

How had this happen? 

The Dursley's were only supposed to make the boy easier to sway, easier to mold. Instead he got a Slytherin with a cold mind. 

This was troublesome but sometimes plans went awry and he just had to take more drastic measures. 

Albus desperately hoped that he could say fix this lest there be another Dark Lord on the rise. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Ⅳ

Broomsticks and Cottages

(No Ron, you cannot take a weapon with you to Hagrid's because of Fang- besides you have your wand...)

Harry didn't know what flying would be like. Ron, in all his Quidditch-enthused excitement, rambled on and on about how great it was and that how fast you could go. He was skeptical but if his friend said it was fun, it must be in some aspect. 

Hermione looked quite miffed at the thought of flying, staring at the brooms lying on the ground with something akin to disdain. He'd seen the expression on Aunt Petunia's face so many times when he'd come in filthy, or he'd mess up on his chores or cooking. The last two mostly ended with a beating as well but he digresses. 

Madame Hooch, a woman with spiky white hair and golden eyes, looked at them sharply and spoke with a voice lined with daggers. She quickly explained how flying worked, giving them a brief run-down of the rules as well. 

He stood next to his broom, waiting for her instructions. Ron stands next to him, looking faintly nervous but saying nothing. He did accept a soft hand squeeze from him though. Harry silently thought he was getting far too attached, far too quickly. Then he dismissed the thought when his friends came up to him, eager to share something, their eyes bright and genuinely excited to talk to him. 

Kicking himself, Harry turned his attention back to Madame Hooch. He held his hand over his broom. "Up." The broom shot up immediately; he scrunched his nose when the broom smacked into his palm. The wood hurt. 

Ron looked at him in amazement, his broom had hit him, and Hermione's had rolled over, seemingly sensing her reluctancy to get off the ground. 

Harry got onto the broom easily, shifting as Madame Hooch instructed each of them how to grip, sit, fly, on a broom. 

She surveyed each of them, before nodding in approval. "When I blow my whistle, you may kick off. Get ready... set..." Her whistle went off and Harry kicked off, shooting upward.

Immediately, Harry knew what flying was like. 

Flying was amazing.

Joy built in him, the near moment after the wind began to rustle his hair and he swerved around, coming face to face with Ron. He grinned at the red head. 

Ron took a small ball from his pocket. "Want to play catch?" Blue eyes looked at him in apprehension and Harry nodded quickly. 

"Sure!" He twirled on his broom and floated a few inches higher. "You throw first." 

A smile was aimed his way and Ron threw the ball. The yellow sphere went into the air and Harry darted after it. He stirred his broom easily, giggling internally at the way the wind brushed against his face. His limbs felt lighter than he'd ever felt, the weightlessness was glorious. Harry brushed his broom to the side, the commands coming almost instinctually. The ball smacked into his open and waiting hands. 

With all the power he could muster, he threw the ball as hard as he could too Ron. His friend zipped after the ball, catching it easily, albiet his flying was slightly shakier than Harry's. The game continued, Harry became looser and more relaxed as time went on.

Loki, as it turned out, hated flying, hissing threats to him whenever they stopped moving enough for him to gather his snaky thoughts. Harry would have called it funny if he hadn't been given a threatening cut by Loki's fangs for going too fast. He'd dropped Loki off in the tree nearby, where he promised to collect him after he was doing playing Catch with Ron. 

Hermione joined a little bit into the game, though she didn't particularly enjoy flying, she used wicked charms to throw the ball farther than what either of them could do with their arms. Harry caught it most time but sometimes Ron would do some odd move that Harry didn't understand and manage to catch it. 

"The perks of having so many siblings." was what Ron had said when Harry asked him where he learned that moved. It had been accompanied with a smile that said Ron was glad to have his secret-type thing. He asked nothing more, merely soaking in the cryptic joy in the redhead's eyes. 

Soon catch was abandoned, easily becoming a race-catch-game between the three of them, Hermione throwing the ball as far as she could with Ron and Harry racing after the ball in attempt to catch it before the other. 

Madame Hooch looked approvingly at their game, constantly looking over at them to watch. It was weird, Harry thought, to have an adult watching over them, concerned about their well-being. At least to him it was. 

Hermione had done a particularly long throw and Ron had been just about to catch it. Then a pale hand, that was not Harry's, shot out and snatched it from the air. The pale hand belonged to an arm clothed in expensive robe, which was under the possession of one Draco Malfoy, the spoiled brat extraordinaire of the Slytherin House. Also, at the top of the 1st year Hierarchy, which really didn't matter to Harry. But the whining was a bit bothersome...

A sneer curved on the pureblood's face and Harry had a sickening replica of Dudley survey them with disgusted eyes. Hermione was hovering behind them, her wand in hand as she balanced carefully on her broom. He was already thinking of all the curses and hexes he could use on Malfoy. 

"Brought your favorite toy to school, Weasel? Not scared you could lose it? After all, I bet your parents spent an entire fortune to purchase this for you and still be able to buy your food." Ron flushed red, his eyes flashing with anger and humiliation. Harry felt a surge of indignation on his friend's behalf. 

Hermione spoke first. "Leave us, Malfoy. We were perfectly fine before and we don't need you spoiling it."

Harry sighed inwardly. Malfoy was nearly exactly like Dudley and that meant he would not leave them alone unless a figure of authority came to their aid; which Madame Hooch was on the other side of the field and helping another few students- that was not comforting. 

So, he drew himself up and floated forward some, giving Malfoy a practiced glare, the same one Professor Snape threw at the Gryffindors who messed up their potions. "Just give us the ball, and there will be no trouble, Malfoy. Or would you like to know exactly what type of snake bit Rowle? From his experience, I wouldn't say it's very pleasant." It was really quite easy, with his... what was it called... legilimency, to give a few flicks into Malfoy's mind and insert a small amount of trepidation with each flick. 

And apparently, that did not help. Malfoy wavered momentarily before steeling himself. "Since you want your ball so much, why don't you come get it?" Then he shot upwards, Harry not missing a beat shot afterwards, stopping to hover above Malfoy when they reached a height a bit farther than was most likely allowed. 

Malfoy stared at him in disbelief before smirking. Then he dropped the ball. 

He shot after it, pressing himself flat against his broom, drilling his eyes to the fast-paced yellow object. He interlocked his ankles, pushing his shoulders back slightly to bend his elbows some more. 

Hermione's shrieks rang from behind him, Ron was pale in his side-vision, and Madame Hooch hadn't said a word, only watching. His brain replied that adults, even in the magical world, were unreliable. Harry, already knowing that, didn't reply, only focusing on the ball despite the (unneeded) commentary in the back of his head. 

The ground was approaching, the green grass surrounding the yellow ball as it fell. Harry coaxed the old broom faster, desperately pressing himself down as adrenaline coursed through him with the wind, weightlessness, and freedom of flying persuaded his mind into thinking that this was probably one of the best experiences he'll ever have. 

He stretched his arm out, fingers wiggling as though the ball would flying into his waiting grip. It didn't despite all hopes it would. 

.....5 metres....

His magic tingled softly and he pushed it into the broom. 'Faster,' he thought. The broom stuttered softly, before pushing him closer to the ball. 

.....3 metres.....

He swallowed thickly, and with one last burst of magic, he shoved his broom forward, fingers brushing the ball. 

.....1 metre.....

Harry twirled his broom, clutching his closed hands close to his chest as he desperately pressed himself against his broom. Breathless pants made his chest heave, and he blinked rapidly as the world began spinning when he opened his eyes. 

His skin tickled as blades of grass brushed his eyebrows and his hair, in all it's gravity defying glory, did not hand upside down as it should bar a few rebellious strands. He sighed inwardly before flipping upright, unlocking his ankles from each other. 

Standing carefully, his legs trembled as he stretched them to get the annoying not-sore-but-very-much-locked-feeling out of his legs. 

"Harry Potter!" came a shrill cry, lathered with worry, and that was the only warning he got before bushy hair attacked him. He carefully, and silently, turned his head away as hair went into his mouth; arms wrapped around him tightly and Ron hovered behind Hermione, looking like he was trying to figure out what he should be feeling at the moment. Harry was inwardly grateful that he hadn't attached himself to Harry like Hermione had just done and was still doing in her very loud concern. 

"Mr. Potter." The voice of Madame Hooch had Harry suddenly wishing that Ron had plastered himself to him. Anything to avoid the very calm (that was never a good thing) and pleasant sounding (double fuck) voice of his flying teacher. "Come with me please." 

Hermione un-plastered herself and quieted down quickly. She shot him a worried look but stepped back, standing shoulder to mid-upper arm with Ron.

He turned around to face his teacher and followed her silently as she began walking. Madame Hooch made no talk which really didn't help his nerves. 

Then Loki popped into his mind, the very same snake that was very much against flying. 

The same snake stuck on a very high up branch in a tree, incredibly far from the dungeons let alone Slytherin Common Room. 

Shit.

(---)

As it turned out, Madame Hooch was not angry with him. In fact it was the complete opposite. Which was really quite confusing to Harry, but he said nothing of the matter. 

He was led to Professor Binn's classroom, the flying instructor not even asking the teacher if she could waive this part of the lesson, merely calling out to a student named Marcus Flint to come out of the classroom. A bulky 5th year with crooked teeth and a large figure, came out, looking vaguely annoyed but hiding it. Then they followed her down into the dungeons, where she knocked loudly against the door of Professor Snape. Harry couldn't even begin to attempt to stop his heart from leaping and beginning its tryouts for a 100 metre dash; he thought it had a very good chance of winning. 

Professor Snape slammed his door open, scowling deeply and looking most displeased by the interruption. Madame Hooch looked completely okay with this and began a long-winded speech about Harry's flying skills and that he should be on the Quidditch Team as Seeker. 

Harry's mind had come to a screeching halt at that. 

But it seemed his opinion was not called for and it was not addressed, no matter how many times he tried to stutter a response. And it was really quite infuriating, but he knew that he should never interrupt adults from speaking, unless he wanted to end up with clipped hands or some other sort of punishment. So, he kept silent, settling on glaring at the arguing adults and an indignant but contemplative Flint, who seemed to think he didn't notice the sneaking glances that were passed at him. 

He only tuned back into the conversation when Professor Snape gave a long, suffering, sigh and gave Madame Hooch a curt nod. Then he turned to Marcus Flint. "Let the boy join the Quidditch Tryouts on Saturday. If you deem him a suitable seeker than he may have the position, if not then stick with Higgs." 

"Of course, sir." Flint turned to Harry, and he craned his neck up to be able to meet his eyes. "Be on the Quidditch Pitch at 07:00. I do not tolerate tardiness." He gave a respectful bow of his head to Professor Snape and Madame Hooch before striding away to his next class. 

Harry shifted in his spot before letting his eyes flicker to Madame Hooch then to Professor Snape. "May I go back to the Pitch and finish my game with Ron and Hermione?" 2 hard stares fixed on him and his Head of House nodded. 

He gave a small smile before darting off, hoping that he remembered the way and that he wasn't too late to get Loki from his tree. 

When he told Ron what happened that evening in the Common Room, Harry rearranged his thoughts about Ron growing to be a jock. He was a Quidditch nerd with the impulse to attack (hug) you when he was bursting with excitement. 

Though it all drained away to concern when Harry hadn't expressed that much excitement. Then anger when he was informed of the fact that Harry hadn't even been listened too, everybody ignoring him as though he hadn't a clue what he was talking about. 

Hermione hadn't really been much better either. 

(---)

Ron slid into the Charms classroom with 3 minutes to spare, even if he was the last Slytherin to make it to the classroom. He claimed his spot right next to Harry, who had claimed their little space in each classroom. Privately, he thought of Harry as a tiny dragon, which was actually quite accurate with how the small boy acted sometimes around them.

Hermione had been deemed a fire-breathing owl, which had earned him a glare when he'd said it in passing. Puffing up in indignation, she'd opened her mouth to refute his claim, but Ron had pointed out her reaction made it look like she had puffed out her feathers to scare of a predator. With cheeks red, Hermione muttered something about Ron being annoying, and snuggled her nose deeper into her fur-lined coat. 

October was approaching quickly, and the air was becoming chilled, making all the students begin to pull out their winter gear. 

One look at his hand-me-down winter clothing had Harry showing him how to sew (and wasn't it surprising to learn that Harry knew how) the frayed edges and thick pieces of fabric that Hermione had given him. Since the coat had been Charlie's, it was wider than it was longer, making it a bit short and hard to cover Ron. Hermione showed him a quick sizing charm and a color-changing charm since it was maroon and that was a color Ron hated. 

Once they were done, Ron had a bronze coat with white threads, warm and comfy, and perfectly sized for him. Harry had given him a wide smile and told him it was amazing. Then he said it was a 'Ron Weasley Original'. His cheeks had flushed red, but he couldn't stop the smile or the warm feeling that had travelled through him. He really liked the way that sounded. 

He'd worn the coat to Harry's Quidditch Tryouts, snuggled in its amazing warmth. Hermione had given him looks of amusement, but he ignored it in favor of watching Harry catch every single ball that Flint shot into the air. Harry looked like he was having fun, whooping every time he snagged the ball. 

Afterwards, Harry was practically bursting with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a carelessness that he'd never displayed before. And Ron wasn't exactly sure what he'd said but not even the moment the words left his mouth, he was being lunged at and arms were wrapping around him, giggles floating in the air around them. 

Hermoine had been dragged down with them and the three of them had simply laid there, Harry giggling and rambling about something. The absolute joy he'd radiated had infected both Ron and Hermione, making all of them all smiles and laughter as they made their way to the library. 

Ron hadn't really been sure what made Harry so deliriously happy to hug them like that, but he didn't complain because he'd always been kinda secretive in a way. Harry had loosened after that, giving smiles and laughs that weren't there before. They'd also learned that Harry was full of remarks and comebacks, but often held his tongue. Which was probably good because some of them were so filthy they would have made his mother blush for days on end. 

A sharp stinging pain made him jerk, and Ron opened his mouth slightly only to feel a thick wave of magic hold him in place, turning his head to the board where Professor Flitwick was, who thankfully had his back turned so that he couldn't see the rage on Ron's face.

Only, when he turned to look at Harry, his anger melded into a light concern when he saw that Harry had a sickly flush on his face, and beats of sweat were gathering on his forehead. 

A tired huff left Harry and green eyes darted to him. A smile curved on his lips. "You weren't paying attention and Flitwick was gonna start asking questions. Best pay attention." The explanation was said in a hushed, wavering, whisper, finished with an unsteady breathlessness as though that simple sentence took away all of Harry's breath. 

And Ron tried to pay attention, but he kept getting distracted by Harry who was writing notes with trembling hands and seemed to start swaying in his spot after about 15 minutes. 

Yeah, his best mate was not about to pass out. So, Ron thrust his hand in the air and waited about 3 seconds for the Professor to notice him before opening his mouth. 

"Professor?" 

The short man turned and gave him an inquiring look. "Mr. Wealsey, yes, do you have a question?" 

He shook his head. "No sir. It's just that Harry isn't feeling too good, and I wanted to know if I could take him to the hospital wing?" Professor Flitwick looked at Harry and immediately, his face was filled with alarm. 

"Mr. Potter! Oh dear, yes Mr. Weasley, I do believe it wise to take him to Madame Pomfrey. I will write a note for Professor McGonagall to expect that Mr. Potter will not be attending her class."

Ron nodded, packing his stuff easily and turning to Harry. He packed Harry's bag as well, before easing his friend up and out of the classroom, taking most of his weight. 

The entire way, Ron was purposely jostling Harry sometimes to keep him awake, adjusting his position when the weight became too much, and stopping to let Harry rest, soft pants filling his ears. 

When they finally got to the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey started at seeing them before ushering him to a bed, with Harry stumbling beside him. Laying him onto the bed gently, Ron bit his lip as he watched the Medi-Witch wave her wand over him. She muttered multiple spells, apparently forgetting that Ron was even there. Not that he was upset by it. No, he was glad that he could continue watching over his best friend, after seeing how despondent (Hermione was rubbing off on him with her big words) he had been after his check-up with her. 

The Medi-Witch looked up and started at seeing him. "Mr. Weasley, what are you still doing here? - Well, never mind, it's a good thing you're still here either way. Mr. Potter seems simply be magically drained, possibly from not getting enough sleep or doing a rather powerful spell and not being prepared for it. In any case, I will write a slip for your Head of House that he will be spending the night in the Hospital Wing and is clear to go to classes tomorrow. You may head back to your classes. It is a good thing you spotted this. Thank you, Mr. Weasley." She scribbled something before handing him a slip of parchment that he shoved into his pocket.

He nodded, giving a quick, "You're welcome, Madame Pomfrey." before slipping out of the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry's bag next to him. 

Ron ambled around the empty halls, procrastinating for the rest of the remaining time for Charms Class. He slid into an empty alcove when students began filing out of the classroom. The charms classroom wasn't far, Hermione was already on her way to Transfiguration and that was 2 floors down. 

He peaked out of the alcove only to stare at the swamped halls, wondering if there were any backways that the older Slytherins had shown them. Sucking up all the courage he didn't have, he darted out, frantically dodging all the students. 

His eyes landed on a tapestry with a battle scene, and he grinned. That was where the corridor was. He pressed himself to the wall when a 7th year came barreling through the hall, shouting randoms curses and apologies. Using the distraction, Ron slipped behind the tapestry and slinked into the corridor. It was dark and quiet, the only sound the muffled chaos on the other side of the tapestry. 

Ruffling his hair from his eyes, Ron walked through the empty hall, squeezing himself together at the feeling of anxiety that was spreading across his chest; his heart thudded at the foreboding sensation and his wand slipped into his hand, his mind compiling a full list of hexes he could use. 

Soft rustling noises and shuffling met his ears and he froze, darting to the other wall where he was out of sight. 

"when to do it though?-" 

"Halloween- the mudblood won't be- better timing-" 

"-feast is 2 hours-" 

"Potter and Weasley though- always with her- when exac-" 

A howl filled the room, a brief light flashing in Ron's eyes. He crouched and leaned back slightly. He refused to breath, his lungs aching for breath; about 10 more seconds before he had to breathe again. He turned his head to catch the voices again. 

"don't question- i have it covered- just do-" 

"the spell- what is it-" 

"-old fire spell- Rowle library- burns hard-" 

"course- fire affinity run deep in that family-" 

Ron turned and quickly made his way back to the Tapestry. Rowle, the idiot that had attacked Harry, was planning something or at least helping to do something to Hermione. 

Biting his lip, he slid into the Hall that wasn't nearly as full as it was before. He sped to Transfiguration, thinking about how he could help protect his friend, possibly Harry if the green-eyed boy decided to do something about it early. 

The main thing was figuring out exactly how and when they were going to strike. 

(---)

Harry smiled when he got close to Hagrid's hut, his feet stumbling over the protruding rocks and sticks of the ground. Hermione looked vaguely unsettled and Ron didn't seem too enthused at the thought of meeting Hagrid. Which, to be fair, Harry could understand 

He wasn’t exactly excited about visiting the giant man, but he was sure that he needed to maintain an image with him. Especially since Hagrid seemed to be right in Dumbledore’s pocket, meaning he would likely crow about Harry to the bearded man. So Harry decided that it would be for the best to visit Hagrid and make sure that he kept his image as good as it could be.

Stopped at the large wooden door, he gave 3 quick knocks and took a large step back at the howls that filled the hut and the very loud scratches that scraped against the wood. Clatters from what sounded like multiple pots and pans sounded accompanied that frantic scrambling noises.

The door swung open to reveal Hagrid and he smiled widely, before closing the door slightly. “Heya ‘arry! Hang on righ’ quick- Back fang, back – sorry ‘arry. Jus’ one secon’ – Back Fang!”

The door opened fully, and Harry walked in easily despite the shock and horror coming from Ron and Hermione. froze at the sight of a rather large boarhound, a large black dog, being held back by Hagrid from a raggedy looking brown collar.

The three Slytherins seemed to come to the conclusion that if Hagrid, who was the largest man at Hogwarts, had trouble holding the dog, then it would easily hurt them if the canine decided to attack them.  

In Harry’s opinion, the hut was really quite cozy looking. Meats were hung from the wall by a small kitchen area, a pot of water boiling over a little fireplace which had a large dog bed directly next to it; in the very back corner there was a massive wooden bed frame with a thick mattress covered in a patchwork quilt. Chew toys the size of Harry’s head or torso littered the area around the bed, both human and dog.

Hagrid grinned at them, spreading his arms out which means he let go of Fang to Ron’s eternal horror. “Make yer’selves at home!” Ron let out a screech Harry hadn’t realized he could make all which scrambling for the couch.

Fang seemed to take interest in the sound and noise, barking in excitement at Ron which seemed to make the redhead move even faster.  

Harry laughed silently before whistling softly, giving a quick click on the top of his mouth with his tongue. “Here boy.” Fang perked at the call before dashing over and pouncing on Harry. A wet tongue slobbered over Harry, licking his face and hair. Giggles erupting from Harry before he could stop them and that seemed to encourage the boarhound as he fought to wiggle himself from under the giant dog.

Hermione came up next to him and ushered the dog off Harry, allowing him to wipe all the slobber off himself while she stroked the dog softly. Ron was staring pale-faced, his feet tucked securely under him as though Fang would grab them and yank him from the couch. Which Fang most likely could do but Harry said nothing of the matter.

Sitting upright, Harry plopped himself down next to Ron, who gave him a wobbly smile before his eyes darted back to Fang. It seemed Ron didn’t really like Fang all that much.

Fang sat himself at Harry’s feet, content to just curl up around them. Harry smiled at Hagrid as he approached them with a plate of cakes and a kettle of tea. “Thank you for having us, Hagrid. I hope it’s okay I brought Hermione and Ron with me.”

The giant assured him that he was “delight’d to meet little ‘arry’s friends” and that “..he hopes he’ll bring ‘em ‘round everytime ‘e visits.” Hagrid stared at Ron for a few moments and their green and silver, probably knowing his parents and that Ron had a very Gryffindor family but said nothing of the matter. His cakes were rather hard, most likely breaking Harry’s teeth before he managed to take a bite of them.

Hagrid had laughed and told them to soak their cakes in the tea which softened them. Once they were soft, they tasted rather good. Harry made a mental note to get the recipe from Hagrid to make for the Dursley’s. They’d gobble them up with vigor and Harry wanted to see their faces if they ever found out that the recipe came from the giant of a man who’d given Dudley a pig tail. He could practically taste the horror that would come from them.

Hermione launched into a long tangent about their classes and everything that they were learning, and just how unfair and despicably Slytherins were treated, while Ron was tentatively scratching Fang after a touch of ‘he’s very nice and soft’ and ‘no Ron, he won’t bite your hand off’ from Harry. The redhead kept his arm and hand out of snapping reach despite Harry’s reassurance but stroked the back of Fang’s head and neck with growing confidence so Harry counted that as a win.

Sometime after this, while Hermione and Ron were telling him about some weird encounter with the Prefects of the Slytherin House, Harry caught his attention on a newspaper – the Daily Prophet, the very top says – on a little square coffee table. It was stained on the edges from coffee most likely, but what caught his attention wasn’t the stain. It was the title.

‘Gringott’s Break-In Latest.’

His interest sufficiently perked; Harry twisted the newspaper slightly so that he could read it. From what he was told, only a real fool would attempt to steal from Gringotts and risk his life, for whatever he was trying to steal. Listening to Hermione’s excited chatter with only half his attention, Harry scanned the top portion of the article.

‘Investigations continue pertaining the break-in at Gringotts, the local Wizarding bank of Diagon Alley, that was conducted on 31 July. It is widely believed to be the work of Dark Wizards or Witches unknown but the Aurors. Gringotts goblins continue to insist that nothing had been taking; The vault that was searched, the number cannot be disclosed for security reasons, had in fact been emptied that very same day.

“But we are not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out of it if you know what it good for you,” says a Gringott’s spokes-goblin from this afternoon.’

Harry frowned, concluding that the break-in had to be tried on vault 713. The same vault that he and Hagrid had gone too after they had visited his vault. The small, paper wrapped package that Hagrid had picked up, must’ve been worth more than Harry had thought if someone had attempted a robbery for it. It was barely more than 7 centimetres which means that it must have been something of a high enough value for someone to risk death for.

Glancing at the article one more time, Harry made a solid decision.

Whatever that package was,

It was none of his business.

On the way back, Hermione was talking about how good a listener Hagrid was when he was listening to her endless speech about assignments and how prejudiced Professors were against Slytherins. (Hagrid had tried to refute the knowledge saying that Professor Snape was just as biased only for all of them to laugh and describe a good detention with him; which meant scrubbing first year cauldrons that had endless amounts of mistakes in them or dissecting slimy and pus protruding animals and plants- Hagrid had nothing to say after that.)

Ron, however, was more stuck on how large Fang was, including how threatening he could be. "Do you think I could take a weapon next time we go to Hagrid's?" 

Harry stared and Hermoine immediately began her chastisement in all her 12-year-old knowledge. Ron became indignant rather easily which led to him raising his voice to match her scolding's that were spoken in a superior tone. Ron was becoming redder and redder in anger and embarrassment with each word that was spoken, from both him and her, and Harry knew that he was going to have to say something to keep them from escalating into a rather serious fight.

"No Ron, you cannot take a weapon with you to Hagrid's because of Fang-" Harry made sure to keep his voice even, though he did shoot a light glare at the redhead. "Besides you have your wand... And you know, you have me too. I'm not going to let you get attacked without trying to prevent it first." 

Ron stopped and stared at him for a few moments before nodding slowly. He threw his arm around Harry's shoulders and ruffled his hair softly. "Right.. yeah I know that."

A few beats of silence passed. 

"But still- do you think I could take a non-magical swinging stick with me? Fang's teeth are rather sharp... and so are his claws come to think of it.."

"Ron!" 

"What?! It's a reasonable question!" 

Harry burst out laughing, taking both Hermione and Ron by surprise. 

xXXxXXxXXx

Arthur Weasley loved his family. 

He loved his 6 sons and single daughter, despite anything that they may do.

His eldest Bill, he was so proud of for having the rare gift of magic sight, making his job as a curse-breaker perfect for him. His long hair that he refused to cut didn't bother him or the multiple tattoos and piercing that annoyed his wife to no end. 

Charlie was making easy work of at the Dragon Reserve and Arthur was so very proud of him having the courage and strength to work with the dragons that his son would coo over in all his letters. The eggs, the hatchlings, the females, the bulls, that were all under his care, he knew that Charlie cared for them all despite the many burns he could and did receive. 

Percy, despite his arrogant attitude, was loved as well by Arthur and he was proud of his sons' grades and successes all of which are helping him to achieve his goal of working in the Ministry. The thought made him giddy, going to work every day alongside his son even if they worked in different departments. To see his son, thrive in his element made pride burst in his chest. 

The twins. Oh, his wonderfully troublesome prankster twins, that were absolute geniuses when it came to their innovations and ideas. He saw through the pranking and saw the sheer skill that they displayed when their pranks went off. He supported them though his wife was not very appreciative of some of the outcomes of certain pranks which he could understand. 

Ron, his youngest son, was a silent type of trouble he thought. He had a mind carved out for strategy and planning, despite his ballistic temper, he was a savant at chess, always cool and collected, laying down subtle ways to make you doubt your plans. It was how he'd gotten into a multiple chess matches in the muggle world that Arthur had signed him up for to help his gift in chess. (He cherished those few precious moments alone with his son afterwards when they got a treat at Fortescue's)

Ginny was vivacious with a temper and a thirst for life. He saw that with the way she would narrow her eyes, throw her long hair over her shoulder, and challenge her brothers to a match of Quidditch. She threw herself into wrestling matches in the mud, clawing for the respect and fear of her brothers. 

Arthur truly loved his children and his family, despite all their flaws and their acting outs. 

So, when he got a simple letter from his Ron a few days after they'd sent him off on the train, the contents forced him to sit down in a chair. 

His son, his 6th son with a polished mind for chess, was in Slytherin. 

Arthur found that he could not care less. 

He'd told his son right before he went to work, on September 1st, that he didn't care what house he got sorted into and he was going to stand by that promise. So, what if his son was in Slytherin? His mother, Cedrella Black, was in Slytherin and she was the possibly the kindest woman he knew despite all her ruthlessness and cunning. His father, Septimus, was a Gryffindor but Arthur knew that he could've been in Slytherin with all his ambition only triumphed for his love of family. 

He hadn't been able to write all of this into his letter, but he made a note every day to himself to talk with Ron about his Sorting when he got home; the letter he sent didn't at all capture just how proud of his son he was. 

Molly though, he knew that she was going to take a bit more to convince. She had made a soft nose of laughter at the letter Ron had sent, stating that there was no possible way that was true and that it was simply a little joke. Only for a confirmation to come with the twins' letter and Percy's letter. His wife had stared and stared some more before finally announcing, "I did not raise him to be Slytherin." 

That had caused an immediate defense from Arthur which escalated to an intense fight over the Slytherin House and what it meant that their son was in that house. Arthur planted himself firmly on Ron's side, stating that there was nothing wrong with being ambitious and cunning, that none of it meant that Ron was dark. 

His wife growled and said that he could be all of those things from the Gryffindor House. He'd quickly gotten fed up with his wife, which normally didn't happen, but she was driving him up the wall- so he'd invoked all the Weasley Family magic and said nothing more of the matter, only that as the Head of the House, Ron wasn't going to get a re-sort unless Arthur agreed to it and his son wanted it. 

Molly had soured at that, taking Ginny with her to the Leaky Cauldron for a full 2 weeks. Arthur didn't beg for her to come back, not backing down on his stance on this matter. His wife meant a lot to him, but his children were invaluable, and he loved them wholly and fully. He went to work every day, occasionally seeing Lucius Malfoy giving him a look when he thought Arthur couldn't see him. His son had most likely sent him a letter about Ron being in Slytherin. 

He received daily letters from his children, bar Ron, who sent the occasional slip of paper with a bit of news but nothing much as though he wasn't sure whether or not his letters would be well received. So, when Arthur should have been working, he wrote a long 2 piece of parchment letter for his son and scraped up a little money to use a post-owl so that Ron would get it as soon as possible. 

It had been nearly a week since then, so he was unsure of whether it had been received or not, but he sincerely hoped that his son understood that he still loved him. 

(---)

Ron stared at the letter in front of him, a long letter that came a full week before Halloween. Anxiety gnawed away at him, and he picked up the letter with shaky hands. His mum and dad must've been angry if it took them this long to write a letter to him. Maybe he shouldn't have sent all those little snippets for them. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter. 

And just about burst into tears 2 sentences in. 

Dear Ron, 

I never did get to say how proud I am of you in my last letter. So, I'm going to say it now. 

I am proud of you. I am so very proud of you. 

My last letter was horribly hasty and bland and I'm sorry for that. 

Your house, the house of Serpents, ambition, cunning, doesn't change that you are my son and that I still raised you. All it means is that you have a silver and green tie, and that's okay. You know that Nana was in Slytherin, and she was amazing, wasn't she? And if your brothers are Gryffindors and you aren't, what difference does it make? They're still your siblings despite all things.  But if they give you any trouble over it, you let me know and I'll set them straight. I won't tolerate any 'House Rivalry' between my children. 

I want letter, you know. I want letters about everything you can think of. You can even send me a letter solely about the wood grains on the tables there and I'll still love it. So write me, tell me what your House is like, how the fabled Slytherin Common Room looks (Are there snakes everywhere with lots of chandeliers like the rumors in my time said?), do your dorm rooms make you share or do you have individual rooms? Tell me everything!

How are you being treated? Are you making friends with the students? I was told by Fred and Goerge that there is a muggleborn that was sorted into Slytherin. Is that true? I hope that she's being treated well and perhaps you'll find a good friend in her....]

Ron continued to run his fingers through the parchment, forcing himself to focus on the floaty letters. His father had written him 2 full sheets of parchment. He was going to read it without any help because that's what his father deserved if he spent this much time writing to him. 

By the time he was done, he'd spent a good 30 minutes reading and re-reading but he couldn't care less. Not when the bottom of the letter, made his heart turn to mush and his eyes prickle suspiciously.

Never forget how proud I am of you. 

I love you kiddo. So so much. 

A proud father

Sniffling, he rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled up the parchment carefully and placed it into his bag slowly so that it wasn't creased or crumpled by his supplies. 

As he went through the very last of his classes, Harry and Hermione had given him looks as he smiled throughout the entire classes, not even frustrated at the moving letters trying to keep him from being able to read his textbooks. 

His father was proud of him and loved him. That's all that mattered really. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Ⅴ 

Just A Near-Death Experience... And The Aftermath...

Hermione wasn't overly fond of Halloween. 

It wasn't that it was boring to her, or that anything bad ever happened to her, it was just that it never seemed of much importance to her. Dressing up was always fun, that was true, but she grew up without many sweets, so she really never saw going trick-or-treating as a good use of time. What was the point if she wasn't going to be able to eat the candy? 

So, she did a little bit of dressing, arranging her outfit into something of the stereotypical outfit for a witch from a Muggle storybook. Harry had looked delighted at seeing her, scrunching his nose in laughter, before coaxing her into letting him to a witch's mole on her cheek.

Of course, she hadn't been able to say no, his delicate features giving him a very convincing pleading look. Not that she said it. Harry detested anything that made him seem soft or weak. But his smile had melted her, when he took a little bit of make-up from an upper year and made a little dot on her right cheek just by her nose. 

Ron looked confused at her outfit, still not understanding after both of them had explained it but accepted her want to dress up. He even helped charm her hat and clothes to look a touch different from the books she'd gotten from the library. 

The other Slytherins had stared at her outfit, disgust written plainly on their faces. On a few of them though, there was a small inkling of curiosity and wonder flashing through. It was almost funny. But still, they steered clear of Hermione and her wand, lest they get hit by the multitude of spells she had committed to memory. 

They made their way down to the Great Hall, multiple muggleborns dressed up in ensembles of their choice. Her favorite one was the one of a Hufflepuff dressed as Madonna in her grunge-type look, even bleaching her hair and tying all the cross necklaces around her neck. Harry nearly tripped over himself when he saw it, looking surprised at all the muggleborns that had dressed up. While she wasn't sure if any of the Professor approved of the fishnet top, it was still a nice ensemble. 

The tables were stocked full of sweets and savories, but she helped herself to some jacket potatoes, roasted chicken and honeyed carrots, only taking a single candy at Ron's insistence. And the candy apple was delicious, but she didn't find it very appetizing. She giggled at the bats that flew around and all the candles the floated through the hall. 

Harry ate a little, mostly just poking at his food with little enthusiasm. She didn't push, merely wrapping a biscuit and chicken in a cloth napkin for him later, so that he didn't go to bed hungry. He was leaving soon she knew that, to honor his parents somewhere in private. Ron had been understanding as well, giving him 2 candles, he'd gotten somewhere, and to engrave their names in each of them before lighting them. 

In his preparation for tonight, Harry had a picture that he'd drawn when he was little, of what he'd thought his parents would look like, to place beside the candles. It was sweet actually, but she said nothing, only nudging him when it had been a little over 30 minutes. Harry gave her a grateful look before rising to his feet, accepting the napkin of food with an odd look. 

Once he left, Hermione slid next to Ron, who was taking another helping of chicken. It was a wonder how he ate so much food and still had room for more. "When do you think we should get him?" 

He looked startled at that but hummed thoughtfully. "In about an hour; I don't know how lenient the other Professor's would be, even if he was mourning his parents, with him being in Slytherin." 

She nodded in agreement to both things. The Professors didn't seem to like Slytherins at all, the most unbiased one she had seen so far was Professor Flitwick, who didn't mind helping them with a great enthusiasm, patiently answering all their questions. Even Professor McGonagall, for all she said about House conflicts, as Harry had pointed out, favored her lions and the other houses to the snakes, in way like not always being agreeable to helping or taking more points from Slytherin for squabbles that Gryffindors had provoked. 

It was truly annoying really, but she refused to let that affect her, consistently answering questions in class and doing her best on her homework while stay in the length that was assigned. 

She hummed as she took a small sip of pumpkin juice, nudging him when he began chewing with his mouth open, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. He swallowed thickly and gave her an apologetic look, if only slightly annoyed. Hermione gave him a small smile, taking a sweet cake from a dish nearby. Ron brightened immediately, staring incredulously as she bit into the fluffy cake. It was absolutely delectable, not even her father's chef had mas made cakes this good. She took 2 more and wrapped them up, storing them to eat later when she was reading before bed. 

The minutes passed quickly, all while Hermione desperately tried to distract herself from retrieving Harry from the dungeons. Ron had told her that to interrupt a magical from mourning their loved ones on the day of their death was both rude and a good way to make all purebloods and some half-bloods hate you for disregarding such an important tradition. It was near sacrilege to do that, and she didn't want to do that or make Harry think she didn't care much for his grief towards his parents. 

It also explained the fact that he was basically left alone for Hallows Eve and Halloween. The Slytherins hadn't dared bother him, even Malfoy hadn't made an inappropriate expression in their direction, always stirring away from Harry's somber and blank face. 

After about 45 minutes, Hermione stood, unable to wait any longer. Ron stood next to her, downing his goblet easily. He followed her out of the hall, keeping next to her, and staying quiet the entire way only speaking when he dragged her into another side corridor. "The long way, so that Harry has more time with his parents." Unable to refute that, she nodded silently. 

After a while, Ron stopped her, tugging on her wrist forcefully. She opened her mouth, intent on getting an answer for that, but he covered her mouth with his hand. Before she could lick his hand, rustling and soft curses reached her ears. She froze. 

"Move backwards very slowly." The words were hissed in her ear, and Hermione took very careful and deliberate steps behind her. Her wand slipped into her hand and she immediately began running her mind through the hexes and jinxes she knew, also deciding to transfigure their shoes or clothing into needles or glass if she gets the chance. 

Ron was very still in front of her, taking silent steps with years of practice that probably came from his prankster brothers. She wondered mindlessly if they knew just how much they hurt Ron with their pranking. 

Then Ron turned, and she heard a loud swear. "Run!" Hermione's feet were moving before her mind could even fully comprehend the order. 

Grabbing hold of her wrist, Ron tugged her around, twisting and turning through the dungeons. They slipped behind a corridor hidden by a statue and Ron urged her to go faster but the stitches in her side protested heartily, reminding her of the fact that she never really did much exercise, even with all the stairwells in Hogwarts. Something she really needed to rectify if Hermione wished to not have a heart attack before she turned 13. 

Ron came to a stop, a desperate look a fear on his face. 

About 20 feet in front of them, was a wall. She looked around, desperate to find maybe a soft line for another hallway. 

There were none. 

She spun around, a curse halfway out of her mouth. 

Hermione was beaten by a spell and bright red light. 

"Stupefy." 

(---)

Harry walked out of the old classroom he'd been in, feeling deliriously happy from being high on thick Olde magicks as though it was cocaine. 

The magic that had filled the room was so warm and comforting, phantom touches heating his skin with a pleasant feeling; one he'd wished for when he was younger all the time. The magic sang with his, different in so many ways but at the very base of the loving magic, it was the same as it. It was the Potter Family Magics and it was all the love and warmth of his ancestors accepting him as one of theirs, it made tears slip from his eyes, his chest light and heart rabid with pure joy. 

The candles, individually carved with the names 'James Charlus Potter' and 'Lilliann Mae Evans-Potter', glowed a brilliant gold and the names a respective red and purple. The candle had been illuminated all throughout in a way only magic could accomplish, lit the little drawing that had been placed in front of the two candles. 

Once the names had begun glowing, his ears were filled with a great roar of amusement and rich lilting giggle, couples with messy hair and glasses, green eyes and exactly 29 freckles. There were soft whispers of acceptance and love, joy and fondness. 

In the midst of all this love, Harry was sobbing into his hands, tears of sadness and glee mingling together as they slid down his face. He cherished all the feelings in the room, the touches, the whispers, the visions, storing it all in the very back of his mind behind his near-nonexistent Occlumency shields. But he'd be damned before anybody ever took his new cherished memories away from him. They would walk away insane even if they did get the memories, or with a completely ruined mind. 

After Harry dried his face and stared at the wall for a good amount of time, he carefully stored away his unburnt candles and paper into his satchel. 

Pulling out the napkin that Hermione had given him, he split his biscuit in half, taking a decent sized bite out of the smaller half. He chewed carefully, debating whether or not to save some food for later. Deciding that he would save some for later because he always got uncomfortably full after he ate everything that Ron would load onto his plate, he shoved the napkin into his satchel and took another turn. 

He sighed when a wall came into his vision, groaning at the fact that he took a wrong turn. Only to come to a complete halt when he saw a flash of shock red hair in his side-vision. 

Ron. 

Panic took a hold of his lungs, and he scrambled forward, dropping himself next to the redhead. He wouldn't be able to get Professor Snape in time, with just how hidden this hall was... Harry shook Ron harder, willing his magic into his hands. Sparks crackled and popped on his fingers, fizzling when they landed on the cloak Ron was wearing. 

A soft groan reached his ears and Harry forced all the magic he could into his hands, hot and crackling like a fire. Ron shot upwards, grabbing one of his hands momentarily before wincing at the pain of it. 

"Blimey mate! Your hands are on fire!" Ron's eyes fluttered and Harry hovered, not sure what to do as his friend cradled his head in his heads. "Bloody hell, my head is about to split open... stupid.." He dissolved into incoherent mutterings before Ron's head shot upwards and he stood, swaying and shaking. 

"Hermione! They have Hermione! The red light- it's a Stupefy, stunning spell that the aurors use- and they knocked me out, now i have a headache but anyway! we have to get her..." Harry stared at Ron, not sure at all where he was going with this. 

"Start from the beginning, Ron. I need to understand completely."

Ron shook his head harshly, before swaying on the spot. "No! We have to find Hermoine, she's still in the dungeons probably and somewhere that nobody would check to look, she has to be! It's some older Slytherins and they don't like that she's in the "Pureblood" house." Ron latched onto his and began pulling him, and Harry quickly steadied him. 

He was led through the dungeons, checking every classroom and behind every door they came across. Ron was pale and shaky the entire time but refused to stop looking for Hermione. 

Using his legilimency, Harry flicked some threads of calm into Ron's mind so that he wouldn't erupt. That wouldn't help them find Hermione. 

They'd stopped to rest, and Ron's freckles looked like thick smatters of paint against his white and sweat-glistening face. He choked down the half of a biscuit Harry gave him. 

"I don't know where else she would be..." 

Harry let Ron lean on him, listening to his soft mutters. He perked up when a low growl sound met his ears and lots of ruffling. Nudging Ron slightly, he leaned to the side to hear what was going on. There were curses and scuffling before it stopped. He cast a quick disillusionment charm, shoving his magic into his wand. He and Ron shimmered to looking nearly exactly like the stone and floor, becoming human chameleons. 

Footsteps raced past them though there were no people to associate them with, making both of them go shock-still. The sounds faded and they relaxed, Harry casting a quick, 'Finite Incantatum.' 

"That was close... Do you think Hermione's might be in that direction?" Ron looked at him, clearly weighing out his answer. He opened his mouth but the sound that reached Harry's ears didn't come from Ron. 

It was a loud roar and a shriek of horror. 

Hermione.

(---)

Hermione opened her eyes carefully, gasping at the sharp twinges of pain in her arm and shoulders. She wiggled her arms, choking when her wrists burned with a deep pain, a fire striking into the center of her bones. Panic bloomed in her chest, and she wiggled more insistently in hopes of getting free. Burns rocketed through her arms and hands, feeble cries warbling from her mouth; black clouded her vision and Hermione stilled, both to stop the pain and clear her vision. 

Her vision cleared slightly, just enough to allow her to see stalls, sinks, and tiled floors. The bathrooms. 

A thick stench wafted into the air, causing her to wrinkle her nose at the sheer strength and horridness of it. Her eyes watered and she sniffled, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. Her teeth ground together as she shifted gently, as to not irritate the wounds on her. A loud deep rumbling caught her off guard and she grunted as the floors and walls started shaking softly from strong and heavy footsteps. The stench got stronger, and she gagged, her eyes watering profusely. 

Hermione tugged her arms, shifting to allow some space for her head to tilt back. Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets as she rolled them back to see what was holding her up; Glowing red cords were threaded around her wrists and half-way down her forearms. They looked to be stuck to the wall by some odd magical object that she couldn't really see; there was something else written on the walls in red, but she couldn't see what was written from the angle she was currently in. 

Looking down, her heart leapt at seeing nothing to hold her up or balance her. Which meant that the pain that was still throbbing through her was going to continue to throb because she was pulling down on the cords. Which didn't exactly appeal to her seeing as that now that Hermione was focused on it, the pain seemed a lot stronger and for more painful than before. 

She clenched her teeth together and took a deep breath to herself despite the horrifying stench that was wafting through the air. 

The rumbles from before sounded significantly closer and Hermione frowned at the large looming shadow at the corner. Nobody in Hogwarts was the large or made that sound. The closest was Hagrid and he made no sound even close to that when Hermione was there; his voice was also the wrong pitch and sound so there was no possible way it was Hagrid. 

When the being that produced such a shadow turned, Hermione felt her eyes widen at oddly sized warts, green-ish skin, and a stupid looking on misshapen face. 

It was a Troll. 

Hermione screamed. 

(---)

Harry darted toward the screaming, the jackhammer in his chest chipping away at his ribs to get free. Ron was behind him, stumbling slightly but refused to let Harry help him. 

They turned into the bathroom and Harry stumbled at the sight of a 3 or 4 metre Troll. 'Whelp- At least I'll die like a fucking hero- Boy-Who-Lived Saves Muggleborn From Troll In Hogwarts! At least they'll get a good profit....' He ran forward, pulling out his wand. 

"Immobulus!" Good news, it got the Troll's attention off of Hermione. Bad news, the spell didn't work, and the Troll had spotted Harry. Chuckling nervously, he dove to the side, scrambling underneath the stalls. 

Sir Wart-face roared, and something crashed into the stalls, turning the wood into splinters and kindling. He crawled faster, desperate to get away from the smithereening stalls. (Was smithereening even a word?) ... Harry looked at Hermione who was making sounds of pain as she squirmed from where she was. Tears were dripping down her face and he could easily see the pain, horror, and terror in her eyes. It was practically a beacon at this point. 

"Fireballs!" Harry twisted around to see Ron pointing his wand at the Troll, looking pale and sweaty but grimly determined. While he wasn't sure what Ron was trying to accomplish by well out 'fireballs' his wand imploded on the end, a rapidly swelling mass of flames sticking to the end. Ron waved his wand unintelligibly, flinging the fireball at the Troll. 

The fire exploded in mid-air raining sparks and flames onto the Troll. Harry was impressed only for it to be squashed when the wood on the ground caught aflame. He scrambled away, not knowing any spells to help with that. Smoke spiraled from the burning wood and Harry coughed when he got a deep inhale of it. 

"How do you kill this thing?!" He screeched at Ron, ducking again as the Troll swung his club randomly. The wood collided with the wall and the wall cracked while pieces flew and rained downwards. 

Ron dove to the sound. "Why the fuck would I know?" 

"Because you were raised in the Magical World, and I wasn't!" 

"That means nothing!" 

Ron had a very good point, but Harry didn't say that. Hermione screamed again as the Troll neared her, squirming frantically in her holds. The club was getting too close to her for comfort... Harry sprinted forward, leaping up and wrapping his legs around the Troll's neck. 'Bit too much like a Gryffindor but you do what you gotta do... At least Hermione isn't hurting herself unnecessarily anymore.' The girl had gone shock still and was watching Harry with wide eyes and pale skin. 

§ Loki! Bite the Moutain-Walker! § If Ron or Hermione noticed the snake language, they said nothing, and Loki slithered out and shimmered as he formed into a Black Mamba. His fangs glistened with clear venom, and he sank them into the Troll's thick skin. Harry clawed at the skin of the Troll as it roared in pain, twisting and turning wildly. His legs locked around the thick skin as good as they could be apparently that wasn't enough. 

A large hand came and clawed at its neck and Harry cried out when it flung him off. His body collided with sharp pieces of wood and he sucked in a sharp breath when a horrid cracking sound came from his ribs. Black danced in his vision, dizzying him with sparkly dots of white. 

§ Hatchling! § Came Loki's enraged hiss from the still roaring Troll. 

Ron looked angry and scared but he pointed his wand regardless and cried out: "Wingardium Leviosa!" The Troll's club lifted and Ron swung it fiercely, forcing the wood to bash the Troll over the head. The Troll swayed and stumbled, but that didn't look like enough for the angry redhead. "Sword!" The club shuddered and began forming into an overly large sword. Ron swung it around wildly, slicing cuts of all sizes into the Troll, cutting its arm off and slicing deeply into its midsection, before managing to slit its throat. 

The troll landed with a thump, a bluey-red-but-not-purple color seeped from the wounds, pooling and dripping around the Troll. The sword dropped, clattering loudly against the ground, coated in blood and goo. The troll's head lolled to the said, it's neck muscles and bones visible to Harry from the angle it had landed in. Harry thought it was interesting in a gory, morbid way. It definitely looked like something from a horror movie that's for sure. 

Ron stumbled back, his freckles the most prominent color on his face. He stumbled over to Hermione, who was pale and crying, but completely still. Harry lifted himself up, swallowing a cry of pain from his chest. Loki had curled around his leg, no doubt smelling the injuries on his chest. His heart pounded frantically in his chest and his hands trembled, his legs nearly buckling when he managed all his weight up. 

He looked up at Hermione and narrowed his eyes at the red lines on Hermione's wrist and arms. Those were the same ones that Rowle had held him with. Anger surged through him at the thought of all this being the eejit's fault. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the magic from the candlestiks. The Potter Family Magic. It was Olde Magicks and he wondered if it could overpower Rowle's family magicks. He desperately hoped so. 

Harry called on the magic, asking if they could free his friend from her binds, a friend to the descendant of all of them.

A Griffin came into his vision, twisting itself into Stag. It bowed low before prancing off. A red coil covered with fire came into his vision and he watched the Stag turn into a Griffin again and claw at the coil with a piercing scream. The flame was extinguished, and the Griffin gave Harry a dip of its head before imploding into golden wisps. 

Harry opened his eyes with a gasp and saw Hermione collapse, landing roughly on the ground. He hobbled over, leaning heavily against the wall before ending up just crawling through the debris and dust. He fell next to her, a bone-deep ache filling him as he leaned to the side, his eyes fluttering open and close. Ron sat down next to him carefully and took Hermione's wrists into his hands. The skin was burned deeply, raw and bloody. Whimpers came from her as Ron cradled them carefully. 

The sinks that were mostly undamaged caught his eye and he narrowed his eyes at a slightly broken pipe. He nudged Ron weakly, and the redhead looked at him. He opened his mouth only for no sound to come out, his lungs still in the steel-hard grip of panic. Instead he nodded to the sinks and made an explosive motion with his hands. Ron gave him a look before staring at the sinks.

Then he grabbed his wand and scrunched up his face as he waved his wand. "Burst." The pipes burst and cool water sprayed on that. Harry opened his mouth and swallowed the water that he could catch; his throat had been burning from breathing in the smoke and dust from the stalls, so the water was very much welcome. 

Hermione held out her arms, looking relieved for the water. Ron smeared the dirt on his face as he rubbed it with wet hands, but Harry didn't say anything. 

Their relief however was short-lived as 4 teachers, Professors Snape, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Quirrell, burst into the bathroom, wands ready.

Professor Snape stared at them and Harry could taste the flames that burst in the dark-eyed man. 

"What," he snarled, "are you three doing here?"

Harry winced at the tone, swallowing the water that had been collected in his mouth. Standing carefully, he helped Ron and Hermione stand before looking back at the Professors. However, he was interrupted as he opened his mouth. 

"Perhaps, we should first ask why that is written on the wall." Harry looked at Professor Flitwick, who was pointing to the wall with a dark look on his face. Turning around, he looked at the wall, spotting the writing easily. Anger seeped into his veins and he glowered at the red smeared words in disgust. 

(---)

Ron stumbled after Professor Snape, who had a passed-out Harry in his arms, reaching out and gripping the edge of his robes. The Potion's Master jerked back slightly, looking back to see him holding onto his robes. He pursed his lips but didn't say anything to Ron, but when he did begin walking again, he was marginally slower than before which Ron was grateful for. 

His arms were still trembling from the sheer panic and terror of fighting the Troll; his heart felt as though it would never slow to back to its normal pace and he constantly bit his lips to stave off the tears that wanted to fall. 

Harry had tried to explain what had happened after Hermione had tried to take most of the blame. Ron had shut her quickly and Harry had managed about 3 sentences before he collapsed. It seemed that it was only then that the Professors noticed their injuries. Well, Professor Snape had been hovering over them, seeming to be ready for one of them to collapse. 

Ron's eyes flicked to wear Hermione was, walking tiredly next to Professor Flitwick. She had refused to be floated or carried, holding her wrists close to her. If he strained his ears, he could vaguely hear her talking to the Professor about something most of her words not caught at all by him. Professor Flitwick was answering her just as softly, his hand in between her shoulder blades in a silent encouragement. 

Turning his attention back to Professor Snape, he gave a soft tug to let the tall man that he was walking too fast. The long strides slowed, and Ron stumbled a bit to catch up, tightening his grip on the black robes. 

However long it took to get to the Hospital Wing was far too long because by that time Ron had taken to reciting every Goblin King that Professor Binns mentioned to keep himself awake. Madame Pomphrey came bustling over and ushered him to a bed while Professor Snape placed Harry down on the bed, Hermione being helped up by Professor Flitwick. 

He settled in cautiously, trying to calm himself though he knew it wouldn't work. Ron tucked his legs against his chest and watched as Madame Pomphrey flitted over from Harry to Hermione with lots of tittering and whispered commands. Professor Snape was pulling out so many potions from his  robes that Ron was sure the Professor could have supplied a tiny apothecary. He massaged Harry's throat gently to get the potions into his throat and was feeling over his chest, a frown marring his face. 

The pale man stood straight and looked at the matron. "He had at least 2 broken ribs and a concussion most likely. I'll have to vanish the bones and give him Skele-Grow. Ron watched as Madame Pomphrey nodded and Professor Snape set to work, waving his wand in a careful and deliberate manner; despite that, he kept watch, wanting to make sure nothing else happened to Harry that could harm him. 

Madame Pomphrey was carefully rubbing some paste or balm on Hermione's wrists before bandaging them gently. She was handed a little phial, probably a sleeping potion because she'd already downed a few healing ones, before the Matron bustled over to him. She began waving her wand with a word, making his flinch slightly at the rapid movements. Giving a light hum, she ran her finger over the list before giving a decisive nod. "Yes, you seem to be just fine, if only a small head injury and a touch of magical depletion. You were likely hit by some debris but didn't notice. I'll give you a potion for sleeping and then you should be fine, Mr. Weasley." 

And without a further thought of his health, she turned and walked away to fuss over Harry, lining up a few potions on his bedside, flitting back to Hermione to give her little wooden jar and then she was gone to fill away her charts probably. Ron said nothing, only rubbing his arms carefully to soothe the aches and throbs in them. 

Bitterness slid down his spine, making his fingers tingle and chest heavy. Of course, he was just Ron Weasley, she'd probably gotten enough of his family with 5 other sons before him, just how much more exasperating could he be? He tugged on his lip roughly between his teeth, looking away and out of the window where a quarter filled moon stared down at him. His red hair brushed into his face and he glared up at it, wishing it were any other color but the one it was currently. It was the trademark Weasley hair, along with his lots of freckles, and suddenly he wished he had any other color of hair and clear, unblemished skin. Maybe then Madame Pomphrey wouldn't disregard him, or his parents would notice him as different. That sounded absolutely amazing to Ron. 

Sighing, he laid down, waiting silently for Madame Pomphrey to give him his potion. 'If she even remembered about him.' came the answering angry thought. No, she had to remember... Ron wasn't that forgettable.. right?

He jolted when a deep voice spoke next to him, startling him from his thoughts. Professor Snape was standing next to his cot, so tall and still that he could've been a award-winning representation of a stone statue. "Oh, um.. Professor.." Ron hated how small his voice sounded, it made him look pathetic. 

"A dreamless sleep for you; your concussion, however minor Madame Pomphrey thinks it is, warrants a few days of recuperation in the Hospital Wing. May I see your hands and arms please?" Slightly caught off-guard, Ron held out his arms, shivering as long, cold fingers slid over them. Wincing, he tugged his arm as Professor Snape spelled out a few splinters and rubbed some balm on a few bruises. The soft aches in his arms dulled and he gave a trying smile that probably came out as a grimace. 

His Head of House stayed perfectly still and stared at him for a few moments. "You were very brave to go fight the troll. Although, I am curious. How did you make the sword?" 

Ron blushed and ducked his head. "Um, magic is mostly will and intention and I wanted the troll to leave them alone. I wanted a sword or a really large needle or whatever so yeah..." He trailed off, gesturing his hands out before letting them fall lamely onto his lap. 

"Quite extraordinary. I have saved the sword of course, as you are the maker and it belongs to you. I'm sure your parents will be very proud. 20 points to Slytherin for excellent work. And perhaps 10 points to you and Mr. Potter for working together to help Ms. Granger." Ron stared, his eyes wide. "I will write a letter to your father and mother as the protocol for Hogwarts insists. I wonder if Ms. Granger's parents would enjoy a tour of Hogwarts." He was pretty sure Professor Snape meant the last thing more for himself but Ron heard it anyway; not that he said anything. No, it was better to not say anything and make sure he doesn't get into anymore trouble. 

"Thanks you sir." Professor Snape nodded before holding out a phial of a dreamy blue potion. He took it with slightly shaky hands, giving another trying smile to his Professor. "Good night sir." 

"Sleep well Mr. Weasley." The darkly dressed man left, turning back only once to look at Ron, who was watching him carefully. Only once Professor Snape left did he carefully get out of bed and slink over to Harry, even though his legs protested heartily. Harry's eyelids twitched slightly and it was only through years of practice did Ron know that his breathing wasn't deep enough to be sleeping. 

Nudging him softly, he wiped some leftover dirt off his face. Green eyes snapped open at the contact and Ron felt the brush of something very dangerous around him before it relaxed and it felt like a purring cat. "Hey." Harry's voice was raspy but he smiled softly. He scooted over slightly and his hand weakly patted the spot next to him. Startled, Ron stared at the space for a few moments before sitting lightly, bringing his legs up over the edge. 

His bed came over just as quickly, pressing itself to Harry's bed. Hermione's bed wobbled before coming over as well, the fire breath owl on it, looking up in confusion. It snuggled on the other side of Harry's bed and Hermione stared at them in silence. Her brown eyes looked black in the low light, small smudges of powder on her face and neck; there were a few slicks of wood in her hair too. 

"Does this mean we're friends?" 

It was a silent question from Hermione. Ron scoffed, unable to help himself. 

"Of course we are, I don't go around fighting trolls for strangers you know."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Exactly, and we already were friends before Hermione. This just solidifies it I think; guess you two are stuck with me." 

Ron grinned at Harry, who smiled at Hermione, to which she smiled at the both of them. "I can live with that. Right, Ron?" 

He nodded in agreement and downed his potion. Laying down, he laid his head on his pillow. 

"Goodnight you guys." 

He wasn't sure if they ever answered because the exhaustion in his bones swept him away into a heavy sleep. 

Ron woke up to loud whispers, the voices muddying into a thick mess of sounds. He strained his ears, trying to figure out who it was that was talking. The voices became clearer but were drowned out slightly but soft huffs coming from next to him. Speaking of which, what the fuck was next to him that puffed? He shifted marginally and internally groaned at the voices immediately became hushed. 

He opened one eye just a bit, staring at the blurry figures of one mass of color, another of black, one was pale, and the other had a pointy top. Who was that? He opened his eyes fully, blinking stop the fuzziness. the masses became people and his mind blanked. 

Shit. 

It was the Headmaster, Professor Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Madame Pomphrey all in a whispered argument with one another. Well, you couldn't tell that it was an argument by the Headmaster's face who was looking very aloof and happy, talking in cheerful whispers. Professor Snape looked like he was going to throttle somebody, Lucius Malfoy looked bored but he was gripping his cane with white knuckles, and Madame Pomphrey was getting increasingly frustrated. 

Looking down, he stared at Harry who was sleeping soundly, with Hermione who was curled up like a cat tucked right next to Harry. Snuggling back under the duvet, Ron closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep. 

A twin set of eyes was the first thing Ron saw when his eyes opened, startling him from the sheets he was twisted in. He yelped as he fell off the side of his cot, scrunching his face as his head banged on the floor. His ankle caught and turned at an abnormal angle. Swallowing a cry of pain, Ron wiggled out of the sheets that followed him, careful to not jostle his ankle that you could tell was twisted. 

Not that the twins noticed, they were too busy laughing, the adults were all arguing on the other side of the room, and Ron didn't want to wake Harry or Hermione. He pulled himself onto the bed, giving a pained grunt as he landed on the bed roughly. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up fully, blinking to stop the dizziness that had hit him. 

"Hmm Ron? Wazz happ'n?" He looked over and saw Hermione looking at him blearily, sleep still in her eyes. She yawned and propped herself up on her elbows, swaying a bit due to the slow exhaustion. 

"Nothing Mia- You should go back to sleep." Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Fred and George calming down, looking maybe regretful that they woke up Hermione. 'But not their own brother, typical.' Laughing bitterly internally, Ron gave Hermione a gentle poke to get her to sleep, careful to not jostle Harry. 

Hermione, however, did not seem to want to sleep. "Nuu... gonna stay 'wake- don' wan go bac' slepp.." Her words slurred together in the most un-Hermione-like manner but she seemed resolute to stay awake, so Ron did not push. 

She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times, look more alert each time her eyes opened. Her eyes fixated on the twins, and she stared at them. They stilled up her intense gaze before grinning at her. 

The twin on the left gestrued to himself. "I'm Gred!-" 

"-and I'm Forge-" 

"-and together,-" 

"-we make-" 

"-The Weasley Prankster Extraordinaires!" They finished together, giving a low sweeping bow. Hermione didn't look all that impressed but nodded. 

"Very nice to meet you, Messrs. Weasley." She swept her eyes over to him and raised an eyebrow. "Your siblings, I presume?" Her tip-top posh accent made him feel more like a rag-muffin than he'd ever felt before. 

Ron nodded. "Yes." 

She hummed and pushed herself up fully, tugging softly on her wild curls. There were faint tremors running through her and he flicked his eyes down to see her breathing a bit more heavily than she should. Hermione always did become more formal when she was panicking. "Do you know what the big commotion is with the adults?" 

Ron looked over and saw that Lucius Malfoy had a few other people with him, with Professors Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall as well as the headmaster. He wondered what was so important that was worth arguing so much about. He froze when dark eyes slid over, and a soft relief seemed to crease the face of the Potion's Professor. 

He looked away, racking his brain for something to ask the twins. "Don't you two have classes? Why're you here?" 

They grinned before sobering. "Classes are cancelled because of the Troll! And because Mum and Dad were told, and they are making quite the storm. Percy should be here soon, y'know Prefect duties are much more important than ickle Ronnikins." Ron clamped his mouth shut despite the fact that his heart just about shriveled into a black piece of coal. 

He shook his head, focusing on the fact that his Mum and Dad were written too by Professor Snape (most likely anyways) and the mere thought had panic flooding through him. His dad he knew didn't mind Slytherins, Ron's Nana was a Slytherin, but his mum was a territory he didn't know anything about. This was not something he liked. It left him unprepared and vulnerable; if he knew what was coming than he had time to prepare but when he didn't know, it made a false hope well in him and that left him even more vulnerable. 

But his mother married his father, knowing full well what kind of family he came from, and she knew exactly who his parents were. But Nana and Mum never did get along well, he saw the stilted smiles and the frigid manners that they had both displayed when his Nana and Gramps were alive. At the funeral, Mum hadn't said anything only placing a few flowers on the casket, but she didn't seem very distraught. She'd comforted Arthur but Ron had heard her mutterings about Nana once the funeral was over and she was in the kitchen, cooking up a meal for dinner. 

So, all in all, Ron safely concluded that his mum was not going to be happy when he saw her. He sighed and scratched at the edges of his nails in a nervous tic. 

The Hospital Wing doors all but banged open and Ron started, hissing softly at the pain in his leg and the soft throb that rocketed through his head. Hermione had leaped up, her wand shooting into her hand by reflex, only to fall back on the bed swaying. Harry only stirred a little bit and Ron was convinced that the soft rippling on his shirt had to be his imagination. 

Walking in was his mum with Ginny following behind her looking around in awe, his father who looked royally pissed, and 2 other figures that had Hermione gasping in shock- her parents then. 

Carefully scooting away to the edge of the bed, Ron watched as the adults dissolved into even more arguing. The twins watched in fascination, making bets about who would throw the first punch, curse, and so forth. Hermione blinked before laying back down and closing her eyes, sighing in exasperation. 

About 15 minutes later, Ron pulled out a book from the bedside table, which he just now noticed had his bag on the shelf. He glared in annoyance at the letters before reading anyways, although it probably looked more like he was just staring at the pages than reading with how hard it was for him. The book was actually quite fun once he figured out the words. 

It was mostly about different configurations about defensive spells and how you can turn them into offensive spells if you do a small bit of seemingly insignificant in changing the pronunciation or a letter or two. It was interesting really and he marked a few of them to read and practice. 

He looked up when a colored mass approached and saw that Headmaster Dumbledore was coming over. Ron zeroed in on his wand. Professor Snape marched forward looking murderous. "You cannot wake him up! He has severe magical exhaustion, a concussion, and 4 healing ribs, with extensive bruising! It would be the height of stupidity to wake him at this moment!" His Head of House was practically spitting barbs dipped in venom at this point, glaring at the Headmaster as though he could burn the instructions into his brain via eyeballing. With how hard he was looking at him, Ron wouldn't put it past him to figure it out. 

Unfortunately, the Headmaster looked entirely aloof and took out his wand. He cast a non-verbal waking spell and Harry's face scrunched in discomfort. Green eyes fluttered open, and they were dazed with sleep and pain apparently. He opened his mouth, but his eyes bugged out, a choked sound of pain came from him as he squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a ball. Harry whimpered and Ron glared at the headmaster, twitching to either punch the elderly man or help Harry, which really wasn't possible considering the fact that his touch would most likely hurt Harry. 

Ron took a deep breath and began counting to 20 to calm himself down like Hermione always suggested. 

'Just get this fucking over with.'

xXXxXXxXXx

Hermione wandered through the Library, pulling on her sleeves to cover her bandaged arms. She pulled books from the shelves, feeling a boiling pit of anger in her stomach. 

Her footsteps light and even, she ran her fingers along the dusty shelves in the back of the library, her eyes searching for the book that she had thought so terrible. It was now perfect for the revenge she intended to exact. Stopping, her eyes caught on a little journal size book wedged in between 2 large books. 

Pulling all 3 of them down, she took a quick survey of the blank covers. That was odd. Frowning, she opened the first book, taking care in turning the crinkly yellowed pages. The wording was in Old English but she managed to understand most of it. Flipping through it, she ran her finger over a recipe, skimming it over to go over to the purpose of the potion. 

'Fire Bones Potion - The feeling that there is a Fire burning your bones.'

Smirking, she closed the book and skimmed the other two, laughing inwardly. They were perfect. She put them in her bag, mostly due to the fact that Madame Pince would most definitely not allow her to check them out and would probably notify the Headmaster. Which really, was counterproductive so she opted to just breaking the rule. Not like anyone was ever going to find out. 

She went farther back, near the Restricted Section, eyes wandering for the books with bloodied pictures and spells. 

Hermione pulled on the black and gold spine, fingering through the pages. Anger ran deep in her veins, and all she could feel was a soft purr of approval from her Mother as she ran her fingers over the imagery she had once thought horrible.

She’d been furious to learn that they hadn’t found the people who dared do this to her daughter, her deep brown eyes smouldering with a red sheen as she tipped her head back to stare at the Headmaster. Her thick accent lade heavily on her venom-dripping words as she hissed out a threat to the elderly man. Hermione knew that her mother had noticed the affronted looks that it had gained her from the Professors, but she twirled her thin dagger in between her fingers and asked if the Headmaster understood.

Harry hadn’t been much better, his green eyes flashing dangerously though he hung behind her and Ron, not saying anything except to tell his side of the story; when he got to the part about the words, her father was absolutely livid, his normally soft eyes harder than iron and colder than ice chips.

The headmaster hadn’t seemed to really believe that Ron could make a sword simply from intention but Professor Snape vouched for him, casting a glowy image of what Ron’s sword looked like.

The blade was a perfectly slim diamond form, a luminescent silver; the handle was gold with little stones on the hilt and pommel, glinting clear and a multitude of different colors. It was absolutely gorgeous, and Ron had flushed in pride when Hermione and Harry proceeded to say as much.

Of course, the Headmaster didn’t seem to think that Ron should have custody of such a thing, stating it was far too dangerous for a 11-year-old to have. (She was really starting to dislike the man she had previously thought to be great) Ron’s mother agreed readily, rounding on Ron to let the Headmaster have the sword.

Ron had given a soft, “No, it’s my sword and I want to keep it,” with an approving nod from his father who shut down his mother when she went to argue. From the withering look the dumpy woman had given the man, they were probably going to get in one of those long drawn-out fights adults had when they didn’t agree on things.

Hermione tucked the book away, wondering when the Slytherin House would learn that they made a mistake. She’d thought that they were the house of self-preservation but that didn’t seem to be the case. They attacked her, thinking that she would be helpless; that she would’ve died in the attack and that was that. There is no twisting it an making it seem nicer like the Headmaster had tried to do. She was going to hurt them just as they did her. And if they got hurt just a little bit more... well that was okay. 

An Eye for an Eye as they say, right?

(---)

Harry stared at Ron, his faces drawn out in a frown. 

They were sitting in the library, surrounded by books that they probably weren't supposed to be looking at. Ron thought the book about the rituals was interesting, the runic patterns something he knew because of Bill. He'd read some of his curse-breaker books despite the fact that his mother had forbidden him from doing so after catching him doing it once in the living room. 

He'd showed them to Harry, describing some of the patterns and the way they worked. Though he didn't seem to understand some of it, he allowed Ron to ramble on and on about it until Ron caught himself telling Harry information that he probably didn't need to know.

They'd flipped through it looking at the rituals before he stopped, staring at the one called the Aura Sighter. Which actually wasn't exactly the best name for it as it was really allowing the ritualist's magic to develop in a way that would allow them to sense danger. Whether it be in a magic or a person. So really is was more a Mage Sense type power than anything but Harry seemed excited by it nonetheless. 

Only Ron had told them how complex it was, how they weren't strong enough to even try to perform it. Harry had slumped in disappointment but nodded anyways. 

"Then what about spells that might help?" 

Ron nodded. "There are some books near the back, but there is this one spell..." He took the book out, a pristinely clean dark blue book with fine creme pages. The words spelled out in gentle loops and curves although they were coiled tight. He pointed to a spell he thought was best. 

"Videre Delusio or Falsus Illusio, I think. They're hallucination spells. What do you think?" 

Harry nodded, staring at his with green eyes that looked far too dangerous for his young face. Too bright and too deadly. Like a pool of poison. "I think it's amazing." His voice was soft and he smiled, something built of glass and having too many jagged edges. But it fit him, scarily enough. 

Ron drew himself from the memory, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. 

The smile Harry had given him said that he was dangerous, Ron always knew that but to get that sort of smile, it sent ice down his back and goosebumps on his arms. But at the same time, it was comforting to know that if anything happened to them, Harry would get revenge, he would take care of them. It was odd but not terrible. And a touch scary but who wasn't sometimes? It was like Dad and that time he got into a fight because some kids were picking on Percy. 

So, he drew his wand and pointed it at the immobile rat he'd found. "Videre Delusio." The rat let out a loud storm of squeaking and began convulsing but Ron didn't care. 

All he could feel was the incredible euphoria that had just burst through him. 

Chapter Text

TRIGGER WARNING - Blood - Violence - 

Chapter Ⅵ

Vengeance Is Mine, Saith Those Wronged By The Serpentines

Severus glowered from his spot in Dumbledore's Office, half-listening to the ramblings of the other teachers. He could always just watch what had happened later; he was, after all, an accomplished legilimens and occlumens, therefore having a damn-near perfect recall of multiple situations. 

Currently it was Quirrell that was speaking, his infernal stuttering just as annoying as the heavy stench of garlic and fumes that hung around the man. He was butchering his tale about the classes and how the OWLs and NEWTs students were doing well and coping with the mass amounts of assignments that they were given. Which the same could not be said for the students in Severus' students, who handed in assignments that were scrawled messily and he'd seen more than one student bent over potion books looking ready to keel over despite it being only the beginning of November. (To those he was more lenient too when grading their assignments, but they had better perform good on the actual potion making otherwise he deducted extra points- his sympathy came with conditions)

Pulling himself back into the conversation, he leaned forward more as he forced himself to pay attention to the problems that were being listed by Filius in the 6th year syllabus as well as a suggestion for a dueling club. Not that the Headmaster would have done anything but the short man still carried on, dutifully reciting a list he seemed to have committed to memory.

Dumbledore smiled at Filius from his place behind his cluttered desk, peering at him from behind his moon spectacles. "Now, Filius, I understand the concern for the students, but I do not believe that they could take any more practice or stress on their crammed minds. Perhaps next year we may be able to implement your suggestions, I do believe that the students may benefit from a dueling club, but it is best to wait to allow them to ease into their schedule; we do not want them to become distracted and slacking off on their work." 

Severus laughing bitterly internally; he knew for a fact that the dueling club would, in fact, be beneficial for the students with allowing them to vent their frustrations and stress out on an inanimate object rather than have multiple breakdowns within their time at the school. Not that the Headmaster cared but still, it was something that most teachers were aware of which is why they heavily promoted study groups and schedules, even though they really couldn't slack off on the assignments. They already were giving the students half the recommended work and they couldn't do less without getting the Board involved.

Pomona Sprout piped up, voicing Severus' thoughts. "I believe a dueling club would be very good for the students this year. We could organize it over the Christmas Break, while the students are relaxing. It would allow them to work of some steam and give them more focus during classes. Also, it would allow some time for inter-house unity, especially with the Slytherins and Gryffindors." 

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled full force which typically meant that he did not like the idea at all. The Potions Master knew this very well, after all he'd seen the elder man in states that nobody else would think was possible. More when he was being probably the worst manipulator in history, hiding behind his façade of a grandfather in all his great wisdom and many mistakes. He wondered how many fools had been led to their death while following the man. 

Green eyes flashed in his vision and his heart agonized while he shoved the visage of a beautiful young woman he loved greatly out of his mind. 

Dumbledore hummed. "Of course. Perhaps we should... If you do not mind filling out the paperwork and organizing the club, I will sign off on it and get the signatures from the Board of Governors." 

Severus knew that it wasn't going to happen. 

Minerva joined in, only this time her inquisition was directed to him. "Severus, how is Miss Granger and Messrs. Weasley and Potter faring?" 

The entirety of the staff gathered looked at him and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ms. Granger is doing quite well; many Slytherins do not seem to agree with the action that had been taken but no assailant has stepped forward as of the moment. I am working my way through the upper years while searching for any confirming marks of who it may be. Potter and Weasley are doing well for the most part, they are left alone bar the few antagonists who seem to want to provoke them but seeing as who Potter is and the fact that Weasley is a pureblood, even if only a blood traitor, that hold them back from doing any physical harm." The lies spilled from his mouth without a second thought, not that any of his colleagues knew due to his ever present Occlumency shields.

All of what he had said was grossly untrue considered how many times the two had come to him for healing, including Weasley and his missing tongue. That had been truly terrible and that particular Slytherin had been scrubbing cauldrons for a month until they could glisten from the light of the shadows, which meant that he left with hands red and raw from muggle cleaner and materials, having done it all with no gloves. But none of his colleagues would've helped, not that they could've done anything with how powerful some of the students were, seeing as most of them had powerful relatives who have done nothing to help with their conduct no matter how many times Severus wanted to write them and list out the appalling behavior of the students; it would simply be a waste of his time and Severus Snape detested wasting his time on worthless activities that would have no beneficial outcome. 

"And Mr. Potter is doing well with the rest of those in his year?" Severus sighed once more. Only this time his displeasure was directed at the Headmaster. 

"He is amicable towards those who treat him civilly but does not engage in further association with his peers bar those two. Though they do engage in a study group of sorts, he does not actively seek out the company of any of the others." 

Dumbledore seemed to relax and Severus knew that he had only asked, not out of worry, out of concern for the fact that his little 'Golden Boy' was associating with those who were in the Dark House and were very well connected. He feared that his figurehead had been going dark. Which was really quite hilarious because if Potter had been sorted into any house other than Gryffindor, the Headmaster would've feared something was wrong with Potter. 

If he had been sorted into Ravenclaw, the Headmaster would've feared him to be far too curious in pursuit of knowledge; many ravens don't care for what the knowledge is, only that they know. Whether it be determined as evil or dark. It was knowledge and that was all they cared about. And that sort of pursuit was heavily encouraged by Filius, who didn't mind the pursuit of knowledge and the comprehension of subjects that some perhaps wouldn't think to study.

If he'd been sorted into Hufflepuff, the Headmaster would've thought his soft and weak, which was untrue in many aspects. There were a handful of Hufflepuffs in the Dark Lord's service, and they were gifted in torture in ways Severus didn't even try to comprehend. They were loyal to what they believed in, and if you hurt them, they burned you until you were but a scorch mark on pristine marble. The torture methods that were employed easily made them the gatherers and informers of the Dark Lord with how easily they gathered information from those they were tasked too. They worked hard and were determined, and he knew many Hufflepuffs that could have done great damage but didn't for the sake of loyalty. It gave him a great respect for the House and all those sorted within it. 

The Headmaster hummed and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "Well then, I supposed this meeting is adjourned. I do hope you enjoy your evening." He gave them a bright smile, eyes twinkling madly. Severus turned on his heel and marched out of the room, ignoring the call of his name from the other staff members. 

There was a house meeting to conduct at 7pm which was in exactly 27 minutes and 49 seconds and pending. He needed to get to the dungeons quickly and organize his notes for the meeting. It was imperative that the entire house be addressed with the issues current and upcoming. It also allowed his a chance to do legilimency on a few unsuspecting ones that he had reason to believe were involved in the deed committed against Ms. Granger. 

Stepping down another stairwell, he turned and breathed in a deep breath of the slowly humidifying air as he got closer to the dungeons. It was most annoying really, to be placed so far from the Headmaster's office and just about everywhere else in the castle. Though he imagined the tower for the Ravenclaws wasn't exactly helpful when trying not to be late for potions on occasion, seeing as they had to travel through basically the entirety of the castle to get to his class. The thought gave him a slight satisfaction; he wasn't the only one rushing through the large maze castle attempting to get to appointments and meetings on time. 

Not that he really cared but he always made a point of punctuality, something that had been ingrained into him since he was a child. 

Severus came to a complete stop when he got to the door of his office, whispering the password softly. "Asphodel." The door swung open and he stepped inside, stalking over to his desk. The notes were there, sitting in a neat stack and he ruffled through them, picking through the major points of the meeting. 

There was the discussion for the hierarchy, with Mr. Bradley taking up the position of Slytherin King and Mr. Moray moving into the betrothal rooms with Ms. Amhad; the attack on Ms. Granger was to be assessed as well; there were a few minor points like the re-done study group schedule with the prefects for some of the younger years, a control lesson for the students with dark cores and needed exercising with them. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and put all the necessary items into the file he had made for this specific reason. 

He put the file into his robes and walked out, looking down only to check the little box that he had installed next to his office for Ms. Granger. She had come to his office multiple times with questions about the physics of magic and how it all worked together as well the theories behind charms and transfiguration, seeing as the other professor's hadn't given her the answers she was interested. He had ended up discussing 3 hours worth of topics with her, a very in-depth conversation that he'd never even had with any of his peers, never mind a first year. But her thirst was refreshing before quickly becoming exhausting when she would flounce in every chance she got with more questions than he had the brain capacity to deal with. 

He emptied the slips and rolls from the little box, going through them to find that 4 of them were from a 7th year with questions about astrology and a 4th year with a question about the Dark Arts. The other 7 were from Ms. Granger and all her questions and inquiries. He set them on his desk, a silent reminder that he would need to answer them later. 

Walking out, he entered the Common Room to find that most of the students were gathered around, the top of each year counting to make sure that all of them were there. His godson was counting the first years, looking a little annoyed at having to do that. Severus frowned as he scanned the newest ones and saw that there was no sign of Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, or Ms. Granger. 

A soft tingle ran up his spine and spread to his shoulders, and he closed his eyes, hoping it wasn't what he thought it was. His Evan's Temper senses. It happened ever since he met Lily, he always got a soft gauge of her temper, when it was flaring, and when it was erupted, and somebody was being faced with an angry dragon. It happened every time somebody insulted one of her friends or somebody decided to make her monumentally angry and be put on the wrong side of her magical abilities. 

The tingle sharpened and flared suddenly, and Severus prayed to Merlin, Morgana, Hekate, and every fucking deity he knew, that the Harry Potter didn't get the Evan's temper and turned into an angry little dragon. Because if he had, he had severe damage control to take up if he decided to use his Legilimency. And whatever gifts that his pureblood father might of given him with all the families he's related too directly and distantly. 

Severus cleared his throat once it reached 7 and waited for all the Slytherins to come to attention. "Are all Slytherin's in attendance?" He gave his godson a withering look when he opened his mouth, effectively shutting him up, and turning to Felix Kravets as the top 6th year, seeing as the 7th year had said nothing which meant that all were accounted for. 

"Just MacNair, sir. But I do believe he is serving as an aid to Professor Sinistra for a possible apprenticeship due to her gift in Astrology." Severus nodded, marking her absence on his chart. There were no 5th years missing, a there were two 4th years missing from a run in with 3 Gryffindors all of which were 6th years and were in the Hospital Wing. All 3rd and 2nd years were accounted for and Draco had taken great glee in informing him that 3 of the first years were missing. 

Not that any of the other Slytherin's seemed to care, judging by their sneers and mutterings. Ignoring it, Severus pulled out his file and flipped it open, noting that immediately all the students became quiet. 

"The first thing to address is the demoting of Julian Maretti to the position of Slytherin Prince and Alex Bradley takes the position of Slytherin King. If anybody has a complaint they may state it now and then it will be proposed as a duel." A few people shuffled, some glared, but nobody spoke. Severus nodded. Easy enough. 

"Very well; Mr. Maretti, if you could give your signa to Mr. Bradley." Standing, Maretti carefully made his way to Bradly, holding out his brooch to the dark boy. Bradly smiled and pinned it to his sweater, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. Maretti bowed his head and turned, going back to his previous spot. 

Severus sighed. Next part of the meeting. "Now, I am sure that most of you know of what happened to Miss Granger? If you are not aware, then allow me to explain it to you. On Samhain, or Halloween, Ms. Granger was ambushed, tied up, and nearly killed." He hissed the last word and he gave all of the a frosty glare, using part of his magic to wash over them. He always did this when he wanted to make a point to them. 

"You are all made aware of the rules the moment you step foot into this common room, the moment your physical being passes through that doorway, you are a Slytherin. And spare me the indignities of sharing a House with a muggleborn, it doesn't matter. She was put in Slytherin by magic older and far more complicated than your minds could dare to comprehend. Who are you to even dare to question it?" They shrunk back at his glare and Severus didn't even try to push his fury behind his Occlumency Shields. He was barely able to keep the vulgarity out of his words, he was just that enraged at the actions that were taken against one of his snakes. 

His wand spun in between his fingers, and he stared at all of them, breathing in deeply through his nose. "And this isn't the first time she was attacked; she has been attacked multiple times, by many of you. Mr. Potter and Weasley as well for that matter. And it is appalling just how many of you have decided to attack an 11 year old female when she has known about magic for not even half a year! When most of you have known about magic the day you were brought into this world and I wonder what made you think it was something to be proud of, to know that you have successfully injured, humiliated, and harmed someone who hasn't known about magic until they got their Hogwarts Letter." He sneered at them. 

Why hadn't he decided to lecture them earlier? Why had he decided to wait so long to even bring this issue up? He had thought about it constantly when he was healing them or when he had seen one of them hexed, but it was always pushed away. How could he have been that foolish? And didn't that thought hurt, but it was the truth. He shouldn't have waited this long to lecture them. Perhaps he should give out a few detentions. 

"All of you are fools; complete and utter fools." Severus noted the enraged expressions on some of their faces and he scoffed; a few of them dared to even open their mouths, no doubt to threaten him with their parents and families. "Tell your parents, if you wish. Write them and tell them everything that I said that I dared called you a fool. And when they floo me, I will simply explain to them the entirety of the situation. Perhaps even mention all the spells an 11-year-old had to learn because their child has no dignity and pride." 

He glowered at them before snapping his file shut and putting it back in his robes; he was much too angry to even contemplate continuing this meeting. "If they decide that they want revenge, I will not punish them. I will leave you to their mercies and Madame Pomphrey's care; no help will you receive from me if you decided to attack them." Sweeping his eyes over the rest of them, his eyes landed on Antonius Rowle, who looked angry and afraid in equal parts. 'Coward...', he thought. "I am aware that perhaps some of you do have dignity and pride, and chose not to harm Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, or Mr. Potter. However, if I do hear about any misdeed you committed against them with the intent of causing them harm, you will quickly find that I do not tolerate those who think they can harm my snakes and get away with it." 

"They are Slytherins, and they will be treated as such." Severus turned and strode out, trying to quell the rapid beating of his heart that was spreading the anger around his body like a wild fire. It would not do for him to look so uncontrolled in front of his students; it would surely reflect badly on him and his long tested control. He threw the file onto his desk, uncaring of the mess it would create. It would be completed and cleaned later. 

He began making himself a cup of tea, a simple herbal drink that his mother had drunk when she was in need of a calming drink but did not have a potion on hand. Grabbing the honey, he placed it on his table and filled the kettle with water. Flicking his wand, his stove lit softly, and the kettle floated over while he grabbed the little container of dried flower petals. He cut up some ginger and skinned it carefully with his knife. It was far better to do things by hand when angry, because the familiar motions soothed the person while they allowed themselves to be pre-occupied. Another lesson he had learned from his mother. He measured out 2 small spoonfuls of chamomile flowers and placed them in his mortar. 

Grinding them, he listened for the whistling of the kettle to signal that the water was ready and hot. Grabbing a cup, he poured the water inside, carefully not to burn himself on the hot edge. He put in a scoop of crushed chamomile and dropped in a tiny handful of ginger. He stirred it with his spoon, counting out the entirety of his potions ingredients cupboard, and listing the amount that he had in each container. Dropping in two thick globs of honey, he stirred it again, casting a weak heating charm to reheat the cooling cup. He put the rest of the ginger and chamomile in the kettle with the water, sipping his ready drink carefully. 

Turning the stove off, he dropped in a fair bit of honey and charmed a spoon to stir it for exactly 137 seconds. Sitting down, he sipped his tea, pulling his Occlumency shields down in the privacy of his quarters. Even he couldn't keep them up all the time, lest he become truly unfeeling from hiding his emotions all the time. A torrent spilled and the feelings crashed together like the waves of the chaotic sea. It was times like this that made Severus feel older than his 31 years. He felt as though he had lived for an eternity yet still, he found no reprieve from the chaos and horrendousness reality of life. 

His wards chimed and he sighed, drinking the rest of his cup in a single gulp. Pulling his shields up, he stood and walked out his quarters and into his office. 

There truly was no rest. 

(---)

Jason Travers stretched as he slid out of his bed, shaking the sleep out of his heavy limbs. Waving his wand, his pajamas flew over to him. He hadn't meant to fall asleep while studying but all the homework was weighing down on him and it was horribly exhausting trying read when all his mind wanted to do was shut down and rest. Covering his yawn with his hand, he turned on the water in the shower and stripped of his mussed uniform, and stepping into the steaming water. 

Lathering the soap, he washed quickly but efficiently, refusing to got to sleep smelling stale. He rubbed his face and turned off the water, grunting as he tripped over his feet. He must be more tired than he thinks if he's tripping over his feet. Standing in front of the mirror, he brushed his hair, thick brown waves that was styled appropriately for the heir of the House of Travers, however minor it may be. His amber/gold eyes were the only thing that stood out, the only thing that he didn't get from a long line of Traver's. They were the burnt irises of the Selwyn family, something he had inherited from his grandmother. 

He rubbed his facial cream over his face, smoothing it out in the places were it collected until it was a smooth clear layer over his face. He dabbled it under his eyes carefully, knowing it would burn badly if he got it in his eyes. Jason hummed in approval when he was done, inspecting his work carefully when he was done with a sharp eyes and delicate touches with his fingertips. 

Tapping the top of his head, he turned, slipping his pajamas on easily. He frowned when the light in the bathroom flickered randomly, looking around for McCathy who had a habit of trying to scare him to mock him for trying to hurt the mudblood. But seeing as McCathy was a fucking halfblood with a mudblood grandmother, it wasn't much of a surprise he would attempt to dissuade him from running the dirt out of Slytherin. Weasley and Potter had no place in Slytherin either, a bloodtraitor and the fucking Golden Boy of the light. It was a wonder that the Hat had even thought of placing them in Slytherin.

Groaning with the lights shut off completely, Antonius flicked his wand and the tip lit with a wordless Lumos. Holding the bottom of his wand between his teeth, he twisted the ends of his hair to get it to stay in its style for the night. "Nox." His wand light went out and he walked over to the door, only to tug on it and it not open. Growling, he tugged harder and twisted the knob relentlessly; his fist clashed on the wood and he hissed in pain. "McCathy, this is not amusing! Open the fucking door you insolent shit!" 

Shoving the door, he stumbled back a bit and lit his wand again. Turning around in a circle, he looked for the runes that McCathy no doubt had inscribed somewhere. "Fucking stupid; I'll fucking ruin him for this..." Mumbling threats that only he could hear, he scoured the bathroom for runes or arithmancy codes but found none. Standing from where he was on his knees, Jason turned to the mirror.

Fear suddenly gripped his heart as he stared at the rotting corpse that was looking at him, maggots crawling from the ears and nose offices, skin peeling to reveal decaying flesh; the eyes were pure white and shiny, the hair choppy and limp. The corpse smiled at him, revealing black teeth and holes in the gums. Jason shrieked. 

The darkness seemed so suffocating and all he could see was the corpse, the was staring back at him with a horrifying smile. His wand clattered on the floor but went unnoticed as he scrambled back, his body collided with the hard stone wall that had been behind him. His chest heaved and he screamed again when the corpse seemed to come closer. Darkness wrapped around him and choked him, his eyes locked on the smiling, rotting, corpse. His chest was heavy and no air came into his lungs, no matter how many heaving gasps he would take. 

His ears rang and the corpse reached out to him, the fingers so close...

Jason screamed as loud as his lungs would let him. 

Terry McCathy stumbled into the bathroom to find a passed-out Jason Travers with the putrid scent of piss wafting in the air. Coughing, he waved a hand in front of his face to stare at the mirror with shiny blood red words on it, akin to those that had been in the bathroom when Travers had strut in bragging about the vile stunt he'd pulled with Rowle and others. 

It wasn't a question.

It was a warning. 

(---)

For 7 days after the warning, the Slytherins were on edge, waiting for the Trio of a bloodtraitor, the mudblood, and golden boy to attack them. But they never did. 

They were ignored, given barely a glance, and the trio seemed content to stick to the sidelines of the Common Room, away from the glowing warmth of the fire. The older years skirted carefully but quickly became complacent. 'There is no possible way that three little firsties are going to be able to get revenge on us.' they'd gloat. The memories of spells a bit darker than what was normal flying at them seemed to leave their memory and it would come back to bite them. 

Severus Snape watched the entire house silently, chuckling at the arrogance of the older years despite his warning. He saw the gleams and sparks in the shadows of the group's eyes when they looked at the older ones, the old book of potions that the girl had taken too rather strongly. (Albus forgot that some of the darker books aren't all in the Restricted Section; you could still find them if you just knew where to look) Some of the younger years were especially careful, though the second years hadn't really done much so they were ignored by the three, only given a cursory glance but there were no gleams or sparks. Severus was especially glad to know that they wouldn't take out their frustration and vengeance on those that didn't deserve, he would be having words with them if they even dared to do so. 

The first attack came in the middle of the Great Hall. It was a Saturday afternoon, and there were no classes for the day. The Slytherins normally attended lunch together for the sake of appearances and protecting some of the younger years from any who thought to come up to the house of snakes. It came in the form of Eliana Borgin, a 5th year with long brown and white hair and dark eyes, who began shrieking in the middle of lunch, clawing at herself as if the devil was skinning her with a dull spoon.

Her shrieks were short and panicked, her eyes wild and fearful. The Professors had immediately leaped up, the other Heads ushering their houses out quickly, while Professor Snape kneeled by the spelled girl. Waving his wand, his cast a general diagnostic spell that showed a simple 'Fear Spell' which was easily confirmed by a horror filled screech from the girl, the whites of her eyes turning red as the blood vessels looked ready to burst. Severus cast a silencing and sleeping spell though her sleep was rather panicked because Fear Spells tended to pass over to sleep and cause horrendous nightmares. 

From the looks of things, it was definitely over a Class 2 Fear Spell which was rather powerful, meaning it had a very specific counter curse or the castor could remove it easily. But, going by the look in the eyes of the smirking muggleborn he had passed, Severus suspected she had no intention of removing the curse. Then he was on damage control it seemed, to make sure that Dumbledore never found out that it was the three Slytherins who were causing lots of attention to be cast onto his house. 

Levitating the girl, he stalked to Hospital wing, ignoring the interrogations from the bumbling old fool behind him. As he walked, he wondered what Borgin had done to Ms. Granger to warrant such a strong curse. He had no suspicions about Borgin being involved with the bathroom attack but, even though it pained him to admit such, he might have missed something that could've pointed her in the direction of suspicion. Mr. Potter might have told them about his skill with Legilimency and gone into her mind perhaps? That would've allowed him to see the attackers though Ms. Granger had no chance of seeing them if they had attacked as fast as Severus thinks they did. 

Severus walked into the Hospital Wing and laid the girl down, casting straps to loop around her ankles and wrists to prevent her from causing herself to bleed with how hard she was scratching herself. Not that he really cared because he had given them all warning, but she did have studies that needed to be completed as it was her OWLs year again, and next year was her NEWTs so it was imperative that she continue her studies. 

Madame Pomphrey bustled over, fretting over the young girl though there was really nothing she could do without a counter. Severus, already having his suspicions about which fear spell used, cast a deep diagnostic spell only to frown when no spell came up. His Evan's senses tingled again, only this time it was that feeling when Lily would get this twisted joy as she got revenge. Praying that Mr. Potter hadn't done anything monumentally difficult, he left with a quick excuse of checking on his house for more spells before dashing out the Hospital Wing like a bat out of fire.  

Suddenly cursing the fact that the Slytherin Common Room was so far from the just about everything else in the damned castle, Severus let out a stream of words that would make even the oldest people in Cokeworth blush. His robes swirled around him as he ran and he cut through the multiple passages in the castle that was shown to every Slytherin in their first year. Not even Ms. Granger had been left out of that, it was basically a rite for the first years; they were taught to help them keep away from the other houses who would happily corner a lone first year because they didn't really know any spells other than a levitation spell basically. 

Severus knew the moment he had gotten closer to the dungeons because the air had become a lot colder by a drastic amount and the air staler. Coming to a stop in front of the hidden wall, he growled out the password. "Jörmungandr." The wall slid open and the first thing he heard was incoherent babble and a very tense atmosphere. Stepping in, his eyes zeroed in on Mr. Potter who was staring very intently into the eyes of Antonius Rowle, who for the second time, was under the power of an Unstoppable Legilimens. Severus rubbed his temples but made no move to stop him. He still had Occlumency lessons with Mr. Potter and he was under no hurry to be under the power of his Legilimency but this time with the intent of hurting his mind instead of trying to get out in a ball of mass panic. 

Rowle was a mess of writhing limbs and teary eyes, babble of pure nonsense coming out his mouth as Mr. Potter stared at him with glazed eyes that were still fiery with anger. So much like his mother... his traitorous mind whispers. Multiple students were staring with wide fearful eyes, all the first years were crowded behind the older years but many of them were looking around them to watch the scene. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger were standing behind Mr. Potter obviously aware of what he was doing but waiting for him to be done. 

A pained shriek from Rowle informed him the Mr. Potter had exited, now covering his eyes as he curled into a ball of pure inadequacy. Severus stepped forward when Mr. Potter turned his eyes on another in the crowd, his eyes downright murderous and a poisonous green. Mr. Weasley stepped forward too and placed his hands over the green eyes of danger. With a voice filled with all the stubbornness and rightfulness that he could muster, the redhead said, "No more tiny dragon anger." 

Severus choked on his breath, staring as Mr. Potter turned and stared at the tall 11-year-old with a single brow quirked up, which was returned with a stubborn look. Mr. Potter rolled his eyes but gave a lazy nod, before meeting Severus eyes. He took that as his que to talk. "Mr. Potter, my office please. I do not need anymore withering students to try and explain. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger if you would please go with him. " The three nodded and walked out of the common room, even if Mr. Potter seemed very reluctant and was tugged along harshly by Mr. Weasley. 

Looking at the huddle of students, he eyed Rowle with disinterest before stepping over him gingerly so as to not get any of his fluids on his robes. He would hate to have to buy another set of them because he got urine on them. The eyes of all his students were on him and his eyes flickered to Draco who was pale and trembling. Severus took a deep breath and stared at the gathered students. "Not a word of this will leave the castle." His voice was soft and barely above a whisper; he knew, though, that they all heard him. "You are not to tell siblings, parents, anybody who is currently not in Slytherin, about what has happened here. You will not tell anybody that the Boy-Who-Lived is an Unstoppable Legilimens." He knew that telling them exactly what Mr. Potter is would help them understand exactly why they were not to tell. Unstoppable Legilimens were rare enough when they existed but then they were thought to be extinct because they only happened in certain bloodlines around the world and there had been none to begin with. Now there was one in Britain, which was made a mockery of by all the other communities simply because of the fact that the magical community is stagnant. Severus could not blame them, but if he could keep this a secret simply because of the sheer danger Mr. Potter will be in from the Ministry, he would do it. 

"This must be kept a secret; Slytherins protect their own so protect him from the Ministry because all of you know just as well as I do, that the Ministry will not take kindly to Mr. Potter's power, merely because of how dangerous it is. It is vital that you keep this to yourselves because this allows Mr. Potter to grow into a very powerful wizard and Slytherins are cunning and ambitious. Stay in his good graces, and perhaps you will find yourselves with a very good future. Do not focus on what he stands for but what he is. There is a very large difference and I expect you all to know the difference." 

His eyes swept over them and Severus turned, only to stare at the unconcious body of Antonius Rowle. How the boy is one of his Slytherins, he will never figure out. Nor does he wish to try to figure it out. "And somebody take him to Madame Pomphrey; make a plausible lie please and make sure you are a decent actor." With that, he stalked out the Common Room and to his office. He had more damage control and a tiny boy who inherited his mother's temper to deal with. 

xXXxXXxXXx

Magic didn't follow the same set of rules that the Muggle World did. 

According to Science, the gravity of the Earth said that nothing could float or feel weightless like it did on the Moon. 

Wizards said that as long as you hopped on a broom, you could touch the clouds or a quick charm and you would weigh as much as a feather. 

Potions, however, had a clear set of rules and logic that Hermione easily fell in love with. There was simple set of rules to it, that charmed her just like complexities of the Muggle World. You cut a certain way, ground to a certain type of grain size for sugar and had to stir it exactly this many times lest it explode on you or just ruin. It was a simple logic; action and reaction, that was all it was. Every move she made had a consequential action that either resulted in something good or bad. 

The books she'd found, showed worn photos of potions so bright and pretty, that it was impossible to think they were dangerous. But they were. They was so much danger is the pretty potions that were a swirly green and white, like grass spreading out and meeting the softest of sand; a brilliant blue so shiny and clear that you could see the very bottom of the cauldron through its ripples; a scarlet so scorching and fiery that Hermione half-expected the cauldron to burn from the intensity of the flame color. They were just so devastatingly gorgeous and trilling, that she couldn't help but fall in love with the beauty of it. 

And so she brewed. She brewed in the old, abandoned girl's bathroom that nobody went into because of the ghost that lived inside. 

"What are you doing in my toilet? Are you hear to make fun of me like everybody does? Sad and pathetic Moaning Mrytle in need of even more tormentors even though she's dead." The ghost floated in front of her with watery eyes though her lips were curled in anger and annoyance. Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly. 

Instead, she ducked her head, fingering her satchel that held all her tools and equipment. She came here for a quiet place to brew her revenge, not be annoyed by a ghost who couldn't get over live children picking on her. "I would never! I just... I just needed a quiet place to brew; Nobody likes me anyway, cause I'm a mudblood." She spat the word out, fingering the edge of her tie in hopes that the ghost would notice the green and silver stripes.

And notice it she did. "OH a muggleborn in Slytherin! That's never happened. I'm not a muggleborn, I'm a half-blood and in Ravenclaw but I was killed by a Slytherin y'know. Obviously, it's a very bad house and I feel very sorry that you have to deal with that."  All the self-importance in her voice made her sneer though she hid it. 

"You were a Ravenclaw! You must know so many things! Could you tell me? I won't tell honest." She nodded eagerly, forcing her eyes wide as she stared at the ghost. 

The girl snorted. "Nobody ever wants to learn from Moaning Mrytle. And I don't have much I could tell you that you would understand anyways." The ghost pushed up her large glasses, and turned away, diving into a toilet with a large splash. 

Grinning, Hermione settled in a smooth and even portion of the bathroom, but in a spot where she could survey the entirety of the bathroom without being seen. 'Except by the ghost, but she shouldn't really be a problem.' Eager, she flipped began taking out her ingredients and tools methodically, then placed her books to the side. 

She could not wait to see how it came out. 

Hermione sighed and carefully swiped the edge of the cauldron that was glistening with a few drops of her potion. It wouldn't do for there to be droplets and small potions of evidence of her brews in the bathroom. It would surely cause some trouble if any of the other teachers found out. 

Grabbing the small bowl of crushed ginger root, she sprinkled it lightly over the potion, careful not to put too much. She wasn't gifted in potions like Harry was, who surveyed the blackboard and never looked back up from what he was doing; always changing ingredients when others had tried to sabotage his potion but always coming out with a perfect one regardless; cutting, dicing, and grinding like it was the easiest thing in the world, always knowing the best of ways to get the most of each ingredient. 

While she didn't have that gift, she had pretty potions that never blew up and never melted, sloshing perfectly in the crystal phials they were put in and reflecting the sunlight like an irradiant gem every time she held it up in pride. Hermione decided she didn't need Harry's prodigious skill in Potions to make a perfectly useful potion that would shrivel skin with a single touch. 

This potion was something she'd found in the very back of the little worn journal, deadly enough it should've made puke but now all she could do was smile and thing about all the ways she'd burn hurt and humiliated. 

It was a concoction that made their insides burn and heat until their organs melting, and their blood steamed. It was horrible actually, to know that a recipe to do that to someone existed... but it was just so pretty that how could she resist making it? 

Perhaps that it is just a bit darker than she normally makes them, but she had just been so angry and needed a vibrant potion to cheer her- it had enticed her with a potent smile and threads so soft and silky they couldn't possibly hurt her. It reminded her so much of her mouth with her Russian brogue so thick and heavy, dangerous eyes paired with a sweet smile that had caused so many who crossed her pain, and delicate, deliberate touches that would either lift you up or be your downfall; Hermione was weak to that and could never resist. So, she sat and brewed with practiced but tender movements and eager eyes. 

It was thinner potion, not thick and gel like, or smooth but like cake batter, no it was a purple that was somehow a as dark as amethyst in the shadow, a shiny lilac at just the right angle, and a very soft lavender in the low morning light. It twirled around the edges of the cauldron as she stirred it, a little vortex in the middle swallowing and swallowing the belladonna leaves as she dropped them into the swirl. The potion flushed a captivating deep Egyptian blue before returning to it's previous purple color. 

Turning off the burner, she gripped the handle of the cauldron and lifted it up with great care. The potion moved around wildly like a purple ocean, as she turned with the potion and began lowering it, the tips shiny after being touched by the potent liquid. The bottom of the cauldron touched the tile delicately, as Hermione slowly released the cauldron from her grip after carefully making sure that none of the liquid had touched her. 

(A little bit of the potion had slipped down the edge; it landed on the floor with a soft splattering sound. She didn't notice)

Hermione smiled, ladling a small amount of the potion into a phial. She cooed, wondering if Ron and Harry would approve of the potions she made. Thinking back to Harry flashing green eyes after tearing into Rowle's mind with glee in comparison to his gentle probing his hers, and Ron's ecstasy glazed eyes as he showed her the fear spell she'd used, she thought that maybe they would even want to create the delightful creations with her. 

A soft squeaking caught her attention and her eyes widened at the rat that had scurried near a little drop of her potion. Her heart began beating rapidly and she watched, enraptured, as the rat licked the potion. It was very nice of the rat to volunteer itself to test her potions; she always did wonder if they had come out properly despite their proper color, viscosity, and smell. 

The rat began squeaking rapidly and she watched as it collapsed, writhing around as the tiny beady eyes bulged and blood began seeping from its ears. The legs went limp as it began quieting, the fur soaking with the mass amounts of sweat the tiny body was producing. Finally, the rat went still, and a pink goop began coming from the ears, mixing with the blood. 

It was fascinating really, how many fluids the rat had and just how much it could expel in attempts to regulate its body temperature. She giggled, watching the blood, so much bright red blood that was neither light nor dark, stream through the cracks of the tile in gentle rivulets, before dripping down the drain with an echoing drop into the deep settling silence. 

Staring at the rat, the little body that was still and unmoving, she found enthralled by the blood, the damage that she had reeked with her little potions and poisons. 

Hermione giggled, unable to stop herself, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at the dead thing. 

Grasping her book tightly, she began flipping through, wondering if there was an unraveling potion that mimicked the unraveling of her clothes from a 5th year. Just perhaps with a few bloodier parts. 

(Such a simple logic really)

(Every time she heard a comment by Pansy Parkinson, she glared at the pug faced girl, wondering what she would look like with dead eyes and pink goo sliding from her ears; she reveled in the image, the fury inside of her crooning happily at the thought.)

(Harry knew though, she knew that he knew, from the way he would tip his head forward and look at her with a smirk; then he would look at Draco Malfoy who was spewing his newest bratty complaint, and his eyes would gleam with such a viridescence that she longed terribly for a potion in such a pretty color)

(---)

Ron fumbled with his quill, scowling at his sloppy writing. His letters were spaced but he knew that many were probably backwards. Groaning, he skimmed over it, trying to focus on the letters as best he could. The floaty letters couldn't win all the time, even if his mother thought he was stupid just because he had always had a hard time learning when he was little. 

He puffed his cheeks out, pressing his lips together as he glowered at the words. It was a book that Hermione had left lying around, and while the pictures perhaps were a good guess on just what sort of orientation this book represented, he was trying to read the rituals that were in the middle/back of the book. Harry had been really interested in the rituals, especially the Aura Sight, so maybe if he studied enough, he could surprise Harry over Christmas and say that maybe they could, do it? If not during the Holidays than maybe during the late/early school year. It would definitely help a lot because there were still stray curses that would hit them in the hallways, and it was getting annoying having to find Professor Snape in the middle of the day because they had shattered arm or something.  

Sighing, Ron flipped through the book, rubbing his eyes in attempt to get them to focus. If he told his mum the reason his essays were so bad was because the letters were all floaty, she would definitely cuff his ear, tell him that he was being stupid, and that he just needed to focus harder. 

Hermione and Harry were already helping him more than he had expected, both taking note that his spelling and handwriting was super bad and began helping him. Hermione would read aloud the text, slow enough that he could follow and sound out the words mostly correct in his head, and Harry would spell out the words he had trouble with and gently point out where he got it wrong; both of them seemed to have endless amounts of patience with him and he nearly burst into tears the first time they'd helped him. 

Ron nibbled on his lip and took the tip of his quill and began tracing the letters after making sure that there was no ink on the tip. His mind tried to register the signs and motions his hand was tracing over, spelling the words out and tacking them down with his other hand. Slowly, he managed to decipher what he was reading, though it was painstakingly long and difficult when the letter began floating randomly or flipping themselves over to make him see the wrong thing. 

After a while, when his stomach began rumbling in reminder that he had missed lunch because he was in the library, he packed the books away and looked at the parchment with his carefully written letters. There were a few mistakes and lots of ink blots, but it wasn't a complete mess. Ron grinned like an utter loon. Harry and Hermione would be really proud! He was sure of it. 

He rolled it carefully and put it on the side of his bag, hoping that it wasn't wrinkled and crumpled by all his books. He didn't want all his work to be ruined by the time he got to them; they probably wouldn't believe him without the proof or Harry skimming into his mind. 

Harry's Legilimens gift was scary, like his glowy eyes but he had promised not to look into their minds without their explicit permission. It had been a bit scary at first, when they'd first been told about Harry's power. But he'd looked both of them in their eyes and expressed honestly that he wouldn't go secret searching in their minds. Ron had been a bit weird about it but trusted Harry's word after he went into Hermione's head, and she said it was like a gentle rifting through her head that followed a continuous path. Obviously, he hadn't lingered or drifted around in her head.  

And his exit had been easy and gentle, nothing like the violent ripping that he had done in the Common Room, pouring with tiny dragon anger. Hermione had sighed afterwards when they were alone but didn't seem very concerned for Rowle's well-being. Not that Ron was, especially after what had happened, but did liking the pain make him like the twins? Who had laughed countless times after he'd screamed from their pranks and harmful actions, shrugged off the pleas to stop from all their other siblings, him, and their parents. 

Clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, he hefted his bag up, going to the other rows of books in the library. He pulled off some books on simple and mundane charms like feather light charms along with a beginner's book on runes. It would definitely help him in his quest for the ritual, if he could understand the runes and placements. Madame Pince checked them out with no trouble, looking more amused that he checked out a book on Ancient Runes, but she did recommend a book that listed most types of European Runes, which he eagerly went back to get. 

Reminding of the date that he had to bring them back by, she gave him a tight spasming smile before he dashed off, trying to make it to the Great Hall in time. All Slytherins had to be in the Great Hall by a certain time otherwise something happened to you, and while Ron had no clue what it was, he was in no hurry to find out exactly what it was. 

He pushed the doors open and sighed in relief when he saw that some Slytherins still hadn't arrived, yet which meant that he still had some time left. Sitting next to Hermione, he piled his plate with food, his stomach demanding compensation for missing Lunch. Head of Houses were allowed to control what foods made it onto the plates of the students, so the Slytherin House was controlled by Professor Snape who allowed very little junk foods onto the Slytherin Table. 

Hermione filled her plate with a salad, some chicken, and sipped her pumpkin juice lightly though there was a distinct wrinkle of her nose that said that she didn't really like the drink. Harry didn't like it either, so he didn't drink it at all most of the time, opting out for water instead. Ron was the only one who drank it, but that was still only because he was used to the taste having been raised on it. 

He nibbled on a little bit of roast, tasting it before putting some more on his plate. He piled a little bit of mashed potatoes on his plate and poured a bit of gravy on top. Hermione pushed a plate of seasoned string beans to him and gave him a pointed look. "You need to balance out your meal just a little bit. And the beans are really good actually, you'll like them." Ron allowed her to spoon some onto his plate, watching as she laid them out in a straight row. 

Looking over at Harry, he frowned at the small amount of soup in his bowl. He snatched up some crackers and took note of the potion phial laying next to his bowl. He had been prescribed a nutrient potion by Madame Pomphrey because of how small he was, just to help boost him up and keep him on level with everybody else. Ron crumbled the crackers carefully and sprinkled them on top of Harry's soup, which he was more just stirring around than eating. 

Harry looked up at him, a bit startled by his cracker crumb dropping, but pushed the bits into the soup with a small twitch of his lips. Ron pulled a little side plate and put some chicken on it, putting the lightly salted broccoli that Harry liked so much next to it. The plate was deposited next to his bowl and Harry sighed, before taking a piece of broccoli and nibbling on it with the edges of his teeth. 

Ron stabbed his beans, knowing he would have to eat this first or else he wouldn't eat them at all. "I think I managed to find another spell that will make illusions like the corpse with Travers, but there are a few other things that go with it... The rituals too, all the diagrams and patterns are generally simple, but it requires a lot more power and intent than I think we can produce right now. Mia, did you find anything on the Curses?" 

Hermione shook her head, swallowing the food that she had in her mouth. "No. There are some Class 2 and 3 curses I think are useful, but they deserve a bit worse. Borgin had been practice remember? Even if she did spell my clothes to fall apart like they did, she was still practice and she's currently incapacitated at the moment, even if Professor Snape did manage to find the reverse which he no doubt has. I'm curious though, what are you going to do about the rest of the snakes know your gift, Harry?"

Harry sipped the liquid in his spoon, looking thoughtful for a moment, before looking at her. "I'll leave them; Professor Snape told them, and I did a bit of casting on my own to ensure that they never tell. Yesterday, while I was at my Occlumency practice, I asked if you guys could join us, and he said that it might be better to do it on separate dates seeing as we might have different forms of learning especially considering that it might be a bit herder at first with the meditation and everything." He scrunched his nose at taking a bite of the chicken, taking a few hasty spoonfuls of his soup; Ron snorted at him, meeting the squinted glare easily. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered about 'no class and propriety', making him give her a light jab in the side, making her squeal in surprise. Harry stared at her with wide eyes at the sound before bursting into giggles and laughter with sparkling eyes. Ron snorted and Hermione stuck her tongue out but smiled anyways. 

He saw the looks that they were getting but said nothing; instead, he focused on Harry's crinkled nose and Hermione's attempted glare that was ruined by her smile. He huffed and took another sip of his pumpkin juice, wondering if there was a way to go to the kitchens and get orange juice or something for the Slytherin House so that Hermione and Harry could drink something else; or he could just go to Professor Snape and ask...

Unlatching his bag, he took out his parchment, biting his lip as he cleared a small spot for it. "This is the ritual that you want to do, Harry. I've looked over the requirements and it might just be possible to do it this year but I am unsure of when... most likely a little bit before summer hols, if at all possible. The diagram, runic patterns and sequences are easy enough, it is just the amount of power and sheer will that needs to be forced into the circle. But it is definitely feasible... did you need to look it over?" 

Looking up at Harry from where he was staring at the parchment, his eyes went wide and the look of pure adoration that Harry gave him. "You, Ron Weasley, are an absolutely amazing." His face burned at the compliment, his chest warming at the praise. Hermione snatched up the parchment, looking over it with pleased eyes. 

"This is really good, Ron. How'd you know about the runes?" 

"My brother; he's a curse breaker for Gringotts and works in Egypt. When he was studying a whole bunch, I read the books that he would leave out or I could sneak them from his room for more information because they're really interesting actually. Like the way that they interact, even with how volatile they are, it's awesome! Like when you combine a fertility rune with a death rune and a strength rune, it depends entirely on the way that you put them together and bam! your result! so it could either result in poor fertility or maybe strengthening the fertility and weaking the sterility of crops maybe. Or like the runes for strength and the elements; it depends entirely on what element you want and don't want, then you put it in the sequence! And again, you have your sequence so- erm yeah..." He trailed off noticing the wide-eyed looks that he was getting from Hermione and Harry. "Er- I'll shut up now... you probably didn't need to know that." 

Hermione gave him a look that could only be described as scandalized. "No! I want you to continue and show me everything! Runes sounds absolutely fascinating and i refuse to wait until 3rd year to learn about them properly if you can show me. And besides you seem very knowledgeable so why would I wait when I have an extraordinary teacher right next to me?" She gave him a sharp look, her brown eyes staring at him with a look that made his chest tighten in a pleased way. Harry nodded in agreement, looking just as eager as her. 

"Well... I suppose I could show you a few things..." 

All his hesitance was made up for by the grins that Harry and Hermione gave him. 

(---)

Harry trudged through the muddy Quidditch field, sighing over his dirty shoes and pant hems. His hand tightened on the broom that Professor Snape had unofficially given him, as officially it was Marcus Flint's secondary broom in case his was to ever get broken or harmed. It was the last Quidditch practice before his first game in a little over a week and Flint was booking them for every practice that they could get. During mornings and afternoons and evenings, nobody in the Common Room commented about their appearance when they came back, knowing that Flint ran them into the ground with his training. 

It was a little past Dinner and he spotted Hermione and Ron sitting on the bleachers, crowded under a thick blanket that Professor Snape had charmed for them so that they didn't freeze. Hermione waved at him, her hand covered in a solid black mitt with a grey-ish fur trim. All her clothes were rather high-end peices, most of her winter clothes trimmed with fur or lined on the inside with a fleece like material with how soft it was on the inside. She had told them that she often went up North for Winter, as her 'Mama' lived in Russia but sometimes didn't go all the way there but enough that she needed really warm coats to stay outside for longer than an hour at a time. But it made her amazing at ice-skating which she did every winter that she was allowed to see her 'Mama'. 

Ron had come to them, asking if they could help him with some of his winter clothes, which was actually quite fun. They'd spread his clothes on his and Harry's beds, setting up a sewing station, pining station and everything. Hermione had joked that he could become a tailor when he's older with all the practice he's getting now. Ron had flushed, looking slightly embarrassed, making Harry pitch-in and ask for help fixing all his cousin's hand-me-downs, even though he really didn't want to pull them out for them to see. 

Hermione had been disgusted to see his clothes, vehemently insisting that he get himself new clothes the next time he goes to Diagon Alley; she was very reluctant to do resizing charms and color changing charms, and while Ron had been less reluctant, he too had agreed with Hermione to burn the clothes the first chance he got and buy himself new clothes that actually fit him. 

He had agreed, wondering if Professor Snape wouldn't mind taking him during the Christmas Hols and he could rid of all the clothes from the Dursley's. And when he got back, he could rub his new clothes in their faces and that in itself made him grin wickedly. 

"Alright everybody! On your brooms now! Monatogue, Pucey, keep swerving, keep passing, and keep it unpredictable! Warrington, work with me so that I don't feel the need to slam the quaffles as hard as you can and then some! Bletchly, you know what you need to do and get your fucking betrothed out of your head or I will shove my bat so far up your ass you'll be sprouting Quidditch scores until the end of the season!" Harry smothered a laugh at how pale his face was. He coughed a little bit to cover it up when Flint rounded on him. "Potter! Keep your eye on the Snitch and make sure you bloody well catch it!" Harry nodded rapidly, clenching his hand around the broom handle. 

Flint nodded and opened the black case that held all the balls for the game. He threw the quaffles and bludgers to the players, before allowing the Snitch to unfurl and fly. Harry boarded the broom and waited for the count to 10 before shooting off, spiraling into the air with a light feeling in his chest. Floating around up top, he dodged the balls that were thrown and beat around the Pitch, watching for the little flicker of gold in the air. 

Flint was yelling orders at the other players, looking increasingly annoyed and like he was contemplating beating them over the head with the heavy bat in his hand. Harry floated a few centimetres higher just in case he did need someone to take his frustration out on, he wasn't in sight for a beating with a bat that really looking it would hurt.  He rubbed his face between his hands, allowing the friction of his gloves against his cheeks to heat up his chilling skin. 

He dove wildly, feeling stiff from floating around for a while. He locked his ankles together and stared at the impending ground, unable to care that he probably looked like he was trying to kill himself by crashing onto the ground. Shouts met his ears, and he brushed them off, unable to care about them. Grinning wildly, he focused his magic and coaxed as much speed as he could out of the broom. 

Pulling upright when he was less than a metre about the ground, he shot back up like bullet, twirling around. A flash of gold caught his eye and he shot off, desperate to have a tiny little golden Snitch enclosed in his fingers. Laughter bubbled in his chest as he neared the Snitch, locking his eyes on the Snitch despite the balls that were being fired at him rapidly in an attempt to get him away from the Snitch. Nearing it, Harry held his breath, reaching out for the Ball. Swerving wildly to avoid the Quaffle that suddenly was thrown at him, he cursed violently. He darted toward the Snitch, allowing his magic to pump throw him alongside the adrenaline that was racing through him. 

His hand closed over the Snitch and he held up with a shout of triumph. 

Hermione and Ron cheered from the stand and Harry grinned at them. 

(---)

"At this rate, we're never going to win the Quidditch Cup!" Percy looked up at the distraught voice of his boyfriend, who had entered their dorm with a dramatic shout of woe. He snorted and slotted a bookmark in his book, grimacing at the dirt that was on his training robes. Oliver stripped of his shirt and trousers before pulling on a clean pair of pants. Percy yelped when he collapsed next to him, throwing an arm onto his lap. 

Percy sighed before stroking his boyfriend's hair, wondering exactly what caused him to be in a mood like this. "And what is the reason for this?" 

"Harry Potter! He's the new Slytherin Seeker and he's better than your brother!" 

"Charlie?" 

"No, Bill. Of course, it's Charlie! Who the fuck else would it be, Percy?" Percy flicked his ear, before opening his book. 

"Well, you are fucked, and most likely not going to get the Cup this year, but you have what? 3 years of practice in dealing with this, so you should be fine I think." Oliver made an offended noise and Percy placed a soft kiss on his lips to silence him. "Hush you. There is no use in complaining about it, so just play a fair game and make sure that you are ready. Maybe he even score enough points that even if Potter does catch the Snitch, Gryffindor still wins. But stop complaining." 

Oliver went cross-eyed to keep tracking of the finger he had wagged in front of his face but nodded in assent anyways. "Okayyy- but if we do win, I expect a very special celebration with just to two of us." Oliver rose, leaning forward enough that he was chest to chest with his boyfriend. His heart beat picked up and his breathing hitched, his focus zeroing in on the hand was was stroking the skin just underneath the hem of his shirt. 

"O-okay." Oliver gave him the same grin that made his heart turn to mush and make him want to focus all his attention on him, if only to see that smile everytime he woke up. 

Percy tugged him down and curled around him, wrapping his arms around a muscled torso. He could finish studying and reading later, he supposed. Right now, all he wanted was cuddles from Oliver. 

_______________
____EXTRA_____

So this is just another version of the "Are You Scared Of The Dark?" Font. Feel free to look at it if you wish. I just put it up in case some of you might be interested in it. 

This Is Another Version of the link : Are You Scared Of The Dark?

Chapter Text

Chapter ⅥⅠ

Alliances

Theodore Nott was for from an idiot; in actuality, he was quite smart. He wasn't anything special, with wavy brown hair and blue eyes, but he was intelligent, and he prided himself over it. 

His father had taught him from a young age that Notts only followed those with power, and that they do not lead but they follow, and they reap the rewards that come from following someone powerful. It had been drilled into him by the time he could speak without the toddler lisp that all children had when they were young, reciting it dutifully every time it was asked of him. 

And he was taught power. He was taught power in the form of always have one over every single person you made association with; having a plethora of curses ready at the tip of his tongue; in the form of a dagger strapped under his clothing; in the form of dripping blood and ancient sigils. He was taught power so that when he followed, they would know his worth and loyalty for them. His father made sure of it. 

("The Dark Lord will be so proud when he returns, my son. You will be his most valued with your skill set", his father had said)

He was sorted a little before Potter had shocked the table into silence, he had been whirling with calculations and theories, wondering exactly what it meant that the Boy-Who-Lived was in Slytherin. He wasn't lucky enough to share a dorm with Potter, no he shared with Blaise and Crabbe, while Potter was with Weasley, Draco, and Goyle. 

Draco had been incensed but just as curious, though he said nothing, far too busy securing his spot as the top Slytherin in First Year, not that he needed much work. Theo didn't have much association with Draco outside of the fact that their father's had met often, meaning that Theo had spent a few hours with him whenever they met, but that was as far as that association went. He was far more familiar with Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode, on a first name basis with Tracey Davis but she wasn't someone he talked with regularly. 

The Greengrass' family was another one that he was unfamiliar with, though he knew very well that the eldest Greengrass daughter was very proper with an exceptional intellect. Parkinson was a tart, not that he ever voiced it, but she always had her face twisted as though she smelled something putrid and always gave her (unwanted; unneeded) input on matters that she had no business in. 

But aside from those, he had no want to interact with the others of his year, more content to stay in the background as the Slytherin House attacked the shocking trio. It had been disappointing at first, to see them hurt and humiliated so easily, making him lament the unexciting show that was taking place. 

Only once the Trio had begun fighting back did his excitement begin to rise again. Granger would curl her lip at those who called her a mudblood and recited a spell with an undertone accent of the rough North Slavic languages. Weasley placed pranks in the most genius of ways, not afraid to defend himself with hexes that caused Theo to wonder if he was as light as his family name. Potter was even more entertaining with poisonous eyes and sharp reflexes. And it continued to progress, they fought back with book from the back of the library and huddled gatherings in the cold corners of the common room where they had been sent to from their first evening in the Common Room. 

(Theo never responded outside of an agreeing nod; this Dark Lord didn't sound all that appealing with the tales his mother had given him)

Theo had watched hungrily, waiting for the tipping point and they unleashed their anger on their assailants.

And long he did not have to wait. 

Granger had been nearly killed in a girl lavatory and Weasley had conjured a sword to kill the troll and Potter had demolished some part of the Rowle family magicks. He knew that he had done something like that if Rowle's scream and burning Heir ring had anything to do with it; all in the very same night. Coincidences didn't exist in the Slytherin House. Not like that. 

He'd found out that the trio did not take kindly to being attacked like that.

It had been subtle of course, pranks that had everyone thinking it was the Weasley twins, but it was Theo who saw Weasley tucking smelly potions into his satchel and muttering spells underneath his breath just before some Slytherin had their food explode in their face. And it was genius actually. 

Slowly, it was ramped up before the attack on Jason Travers who had been bawling nonsense about a rotting corpse and long tunneled darkness and- Theo had found a spell that mimicked the exact same corpse that Travers saw. 

Then it was Borgin and the fear spell that had her in the hospital wing for 2 weeks, recovering from the nightmares she had received. Then she had been spiked with a potion that caused her hair to fall out like string, bringing little strips of skin with it. 

Almost like Granger's clothes. 

Then there was Potter. 

Potter, Potter who was the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Golden Boy of the Light, the boy who had made everyone's head spin by sorting into the Dark House. 

Potter, who had stormed into the Slytherin Common Room, crackling with power and rage before tearing into the mind of Antonius Rowle in a flurry of vengeance. And he couldn't be stopped. He knew from the moment Professor Snape had walked in and looked at Potter with resignation visible in the creases of his face. And Theo had only been confused for a moment before he had learned. Potter was an Unstoppable Legilimens. 

(Mother had always been right before she died. She said Father was a blind man and Theo had found her correct; not that he had ever doubted her)

Theo hadn't known whether to cry or laugh the moment the words had left his Head of House's mouth. Potter was an unstoppable legilimens with a heavy cloud of anger, Weasley was a certified genius in strategy and constantly underestimated {But not Theo; Theo recognized power when he saw it}, and Granger seemed to love researching in the back of the library with a clawing thirst for knowledge. 

He'd told Blaise and Milicent and they had merely hummed. After Rowle though, they saw, and they knew he was right. {Why hadn't they believed him?} But still, he watched as the elder years of the Slytherin House began to finally notice the power within the group of three, slowly realizing that those who had crossed them would get their dues. 

And really, it only served for more entertainment to see them falling over themselves to hopefully, futilely, try and lessen their dues. 

It never worked. 

And then there were those, the stupid, stupid, purebloods who would stand in front of them and demand something of them or try and rebuke the facts that had been laid out in front of them. Theo would silently sneer at them from behind his book on Mind Magick and watch as his entertainment overflowed like his father's goblet of sweet wine after a day of work. 

Unblinking, he stared above the edge of his book, trying to find a name for the stupid 7th year who was standing in front of Potter, clutching his wand with a white-knuckled grip. 'Marius Andretti' was what his mind came up with, but he was sure that he had probably missed the mark. If he didn't deem someone important, then their name was as important as they were. 

Andretti scowled, staring down at Potter, though Theo noticed that he didn't dare meet Potter's eyes. He smirked; obviously he wasn't willing to be put under his power, but he was stupid enough to still try to challenge him. 

Granger was staring at him with an incredulous expression though Theo thought she looked slightly intrigued, but he was about 3 metres away, so he wasn't entirely sure. Weasley just stared at him with ill-concealed amusement and had set down the book he was reading in favor of watching the exchange between the first year and seventh year. 

Theo glanced at the letters of his book, before looking back up with an intense thrill crawling into his bones. Potter stared at Andretti before giving a low hiss that sounded unlike any Theo'd heard before. Theo blinked and Andretti stumbled back, eyes wide with fear. A snake, long and bright, was slithering up his arm and Potter gave a cruel mockery of a smile. 

--The hissing was Parseltongue; Theo knew it was--

--(Theo batted the thought away before his brain overloaded from the joy that piece of information brought)--

The snake shifted, the colors blurring and darkening and- Theo dropped his book, scrambling to the edge of the couch to get a better look at the King Cobra that was flaring its hood at Andretti. The Common Room was deathly silent, and Theo was trembling with the overwhelming anticipation at the scene before him. 

"Potter..." The brave, albeit feeble, came from the crowd and a shorter-than-average male came out, a picture of hesitant courage. Slytherins aren't meant to be Gryffindors. The male, a sixth year it looks like, and nobody Theo had noticed before, came to stand slightly behind Andretti. His eyes flickered between the snake and Potter as though he didn't know which one was more dangerous. 

A fool, Theo's mind whispered, anyone with eyes and a brain could see that Potter was more dangerous. Potter commanded the snake, Potter commanded everything right now. 

Granger and Weasley had yet to get up from the couch but Theo say the wand in their hands, poised and ready for a fight. 

The Slytherin-Whose-Name-Theo-Couldn't-Remember gave Potter a steady look. "Call your snake off." 

"Why?" 

"Because if you don't, you won't have a snake." 

Theo wondered what possessed the Slytherin to think that was a good idea because Potter smiled, a smile that was jagged rocks and broken glass, and nodded. Then the snake, who had been still, struck faster than Theo could see and then snake was coiling itself around Andretti's neck and there were cries of panic and- 

There was a quick flash of light and Andretti collapsed in a heap, the unnamed Slytherin stumbled back with glassy eyes.

Potter collected his snake and smiled serenely. Nothing happened, his eyes said, before he walked out of the room with Granger and Weasley beside him.

Nobody contradicted him; not even after he was long gone from the silent Common Room. 

(Theo knew Power, he had Power, and he knew which Power he would follow) 

(---)

There was something subtle in the Slytherin House when they walked in. Severus picked up on it immediately. The seventh, sixth, and fifth years sat down easily, but the fourth years drifted, the third years were marginally unsure, and the second years were sitting as far away from the first-year group as always. The first years, however, were an entirely other matter. 

The little trio sat down in their usual spot, away from everybody of course, but the others packed in around them Draco on the opposite side but while also being the farthest away with Parkinson, Greengrass, Goyle and Crabbe around him. Bulstrode and Zabini had taken the middle spot that was selectively neutral while Nott had sat himself just a little off from them with a thinly veiled excitement and curiosity. 

Theodore Nott, the son of Thaddeus Nott, was his father's heir in the most unsettling of ways. Thaddeus prided his son on excelling in physical combat, teaching him to survive on bare minimum which Severus, if Severus hadn't known how extreme, he would've thought it acceptable, and the future right-hand of the Dark Lord for when he returned. 

His son was powerful, Severus could feel that much, but what he could see, told him that perhaps that boy had grown up with a bit too much harshness and training. The boy had a modicum of Occlumency but his exhilaration whenever the Trio got into an argument in the Common Room was palpable. The boy thrived in those situations, choosing the side that reaped the most benefits without making it obvious until he was sure that his side would reign as victorious. 

And he saw the side-eyes looks that the boy was giving the Trio, understanding how his mind worked after his father raised him in such a way.  

Severus glanced to the side, watching Dumbledore's face for any telling sings of disapproval or anger. He only spotted a tightness around his eyes and a slight press in his jaw but that was all he could spot from his angle. 

"House politics, Severus?" Minerva's question was innocent but held a certain weight to it, that was unheard to her. 

Severus gave a slight nod. "Partially yes. Our house is a bit more complicated than your house of brashness." 

She huffed. "Rather straight-forward than the frou-frou politics of your house." 

"If that is what you prefer, Minerva." 

His lips twitched at her answering disgruntled look before zeroing in on his table when Theodore Nott scooted over to sit in front of the Trio. Potter tensed and Severus prayed that the boy did not do anything foolish with Dumbledore watching. It was only an hour till the Quidditch match and he did not need to worry about the boy falling off his broom and worrying over whether or not Dumbledore will do some senile thing in hopes of keeping his Golden Boy pure. 

Severus did not think that the day would go back without chaos or trouble but with it being Harry Potter, what else should he expect? 

Harry pulled the hole of his Quidditch uniform over his head, snatching his glasses up as they fell to hand at his chin. He nibbled on his lip and tugged on his gloves, walking out of the changing stalls and sat down on the side-bench as the rest of the team got ready. Flint came forward with his broom at his side with his beater's bat in his other hand, and Harry scrambled up as the rest of the team crowded around him. 

"Now, this is the first game of the season, and it is against Gryffindor. I want everybody on their best game. We haven't lost a match in 5 years and I'm not ready to start yet. Bletchly, I expect you to keep the quaffles out of the goals and keep your head in the game. Warrington, you've been doing okay so just keep up yeah? Monatogue, Pucey, you are both exceptional chasers and I expect you to continue being exceptional. Reserves are ready, but hopefully we won't need them if you guys can play good. Potter!" 

Harry started and stared at the captain with wide eyes. "Catch the snitch- Catch the bloody snitch or die trying alright? I expect good work from you otherwise you're off the team. Practices means nothing if you can't do shit during the real thing, okay?" Harry nodded. "Good. Now let's get to it!" 

Harry gripped his broom tightly, a Nimbus Two Thousand from Professor Snape who had seemed very uncomfortable at Harry's repeated gratitude. Considering the fact that Harry had been ready to burst into tears when Professor Snape told him the broom was his, it would've been increasingly more embarrassing for both of them had the tears actually left his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, he followed silently as the team walked out from the changing room. The crowd was cheering wildly, though Harry noticed it was really only the Slytherin House cheering for their own team, but Harry knew that the upper years had cast a Sonorous charm so that their claps and shouts could compete with the other three houses. 

Madame Hooch was waiting, standing in the middle of both teams. The Gryffindor captain sneered at Flint to which the Slytherin just smirked, or at last that was what Harry saw from the angle he was at. "Captains shake hands." 

The commenter, Lee Jordan, a friend of Ron's twin brothers, was introducing both teams and Madame Hooch motioned for all of them to get on their brooms. Harry centered himself and waited, buzzing with energy, for her whistle of blow. The quaffle was thrown in the air and her whistle went off; the Gryffindor Chaser, a female with long braided black hair and dark skin, grabbed the quaffle and shot off like a bullet. 

Harry darted heaven-ward, angling his broom and pressing himself up against it. 

"And they're off! The quaffle is taken by Gryffindor Chaser, Angelina Johnson- Excellent chaser, she is; rather attractive, too-" 

"Jordan!" 

"Sorry Professor- just stating the obvious y'know? Anyways-" Harry spotted Lee Jordan dancing out of Porfessor's McGonagall's reach, shouting into the mic in his hand.

And she's really belting along up there everbody with a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back ta Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Chaser Monatogue gains possession of the Quaffle and off he goes -- Monatogue flying like an eagle up there- and he's gonna sco- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger. Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - just joking guys! - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes- she's really flying guys! like a' elegant eagle up there! -  dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina... Keeper Bletchley dives -- Misses! and gRY-FFIN-DOR SCORES!" 

The Gryffindor's cheer loudly and excitedly, competed with the moans and howls from the Slytherin House. Harry was startled by the impropriety from the normally uptight house, staring as the purebloods made vulgar gestures and were betting and doing all the things that were looked down upon when they were in the Common Room. 

Harry did a few loop-de-loops, trying to shake the buzzing under his skin. Looking around for the snitch, just as Flint had directed him, he looked at every golden flash that he saw but most ended up being wristwatches or something of the like. 

A whistling sound caught his ear as he dove to the side wildly, feeling immensely bored and he spun around only to miss and a Bludger that had decided to come pelting toward him like a fucking cannonball. Warrington slammed his bat into it harshly, making it fly back toward Flint who hit it in the direction of one of the Weasley twins. 

"Ya good, Potter?" Harry nodded quickly and Warrington was off downwards back towards the game. 

"Slytherin in possesion of the Quaffle- Chaser Pucey evades two bludgers, and he aims and- CHASer Bell! Speeding towards the ho- And Potter's seen the Snitch!!" 

Harry hurtled toward the ground, urging his broom to go as fast as it could. Wind swept past him as he flew at crushing speeds, staring at the little glinting gold object that was fluttering wildly in the air. Spindly wings rotated frantically as it flitted in the air, panicked almost like a live animal of sorts. The Gryffindor Seeker, Harry did not know their name, was neck-and-neck with him and he stretched out his hand a little more, urging his broom faster with a small burst of magic-- just a little bit closer-

WHAM

Harry gripped his broom, his mind swearing loudly -fuckfuckf u c k- as a player in red and gold zipped in front of him, hurtling upward as the female, now that Harry could see them, came from below him. 

The Slytherin's went wild, hollering obscenities as Madame Hooch blew her whistle. "Foul!", came her magically enhanced voice. 

The Slytherin's got a free score and the game began again. 

Harry huffed angrily, scouring the air for the golden gleam of the snitch. He looked over at the stands and saw Hermione and Ron huddled together in a thick oversized with a fur trim- having originally been Hermione's but she changed the color and enlarged it so that it would cover the two of them. A little jar flickered with a blue light, but Harry knew it was a fire that Hermione had conjured so that her and Ron would be warm on the stands. They had yet to master the warming charms that they had found in their book of house-hold spells. 

He dodged another rogue bludger that had been beat his way as he swerved and looped around the Quidditch Pitch, waiting for the sunlight to hit the Snitch just right. 

And then his broom lurched forward, startling Harry so much that he almost fell off his broom. He gripped the handle tightly, gripping it in between his thighs and locking his ankles together. It had never done that before during practice- it had never begun to try to buck him off because Nimbus Two Thousands' did not suddenly decide to try and buck off their riders like a wild horse or bull. 

Harry tugged on his broom, trying to turn back towards the Slytherin goals- posts-, having half a mind to call Flint to get a time-out, only -- his broom was completely out of control. It was not listening to him. He could not control it. 

It zig-zagged wildly and lurched around violently, making swishing movements that nearly through him off despite his tight grip on the broom. His heart pounded against his ribs, fear slipping through his chest. His throat closed up like it did when Uncle Vernon got angry when he knew he was going to be punished, and he dug his fingertips in to the grain of the wood hoping someone would help him. 

His magic gathered around the broom, and he tried to get himself to focus to maybe, hopefully, get a feel of the magic. Colors bled into his sight and he tasted rotten, angry magic that threw off his magic with ease. Soft purple magic, tasting like tart berries with a sweet undertone forced through the angry magic, trying to fit it but it, too, was overpowered. 

Harry whimpered, feeling absolutely helpless without his magic working. Nobody seemed to have noticed the fact that his broom was trying to kill him, Lee was still commenting, - "Slytherin is in possession- Flint with the quaffle, passing Spinnet, passing Bell- Get hit in the face with a Bludger! ...hope it broke his nose -- nev'mind- Only joking, Professor, really! -- Slytherin scores!" The Slytherin house was hootin' and hollering but nobody was paying attention to Harry who was clutching onto his broom with all his strength, despite the tears of desperation in his eyes and the trembling in his arms and legs. 

His broom twitched and jerked, pulling him higher as his mind went fuzzy with panic. His stomach lurched his breakfast as it began rolling over, shaking his around like a ragdoll. Tears slipped from his eyes, and he bit his lip hard, praying for someone to help him before he fell. He didn't think he would be able to survive a fall at this height, even with his magic. 

"Oi Potter! What's going on?" 

Flint was hovering below him, staring at him with increasing frustration. The burly 5th year came up only for Harry's broom to jerk forward, Harry sliding right off it with the force of it, only staying on by one hand. "I don't know! Don't come any closer!" A shriek came out of his mouth before he could stop it as he broom swung around wildly. Stop trying to kill me you animated twig!' screeched his mind. Along his an unintelligble panicked shout but Harry ignored that. "It jerks more when you come closer! Get Snape or something!" 

Flint stared at him before narrowing his eyes. "I have an idea! Just try and hold on for like, 15 more seconds, yeah?" Without waiting for an answer, he zoomed over to Warrington, whispering to him before flying to the others. Harry grappled at the broom with his other hand, holding on with shaky fingers. There was a low commotion at the commenter's station, where the teachers were also seated but Harry didn't dare look over. 

Flint came back over, parking himself right under Harry. "Drop! For a curse like this to work, the caster needs to be able to maintain eye contact! They can't do that when you're a beater!" Harry nodded and let go of his broom. 

The crowd shrieked and he landed on Flint's broom before Flint was zooming through the air, and words met his ears. "Jump onto Warrington's broom, just in case, and then Monatogue's, Bletchy, then Pucey. Just to make sure that this fucker can't kill you." Harry nodded, pushing his shock back, and slid off of the broom only to land on another one. 

It continued like that until Pucey landed on the ground, and Harry got off with quaking legs. Swallowing thickly, he watched at Professor Snape stormed over in a billow of black robes. He began waving his wand over Harry, looking worried though it would be mistaken as anger if it weren't for the low dip of his cheeks at the corner of his mouth. 

"You seem to be fine Mr. Potter, if only a rather elevated heart-rate which is understandable. Now, would anybody please explain to me why my team's Seeker was attacked like that?" 

"I am not sure, Severus. But perhaps it is best if Mr. Potter sits out? Obviously somebody does not want him to be playing." 

Flint made a sound that would've been aggrieved had Harry not noticed the annoyance in his eyes. "I can't do that Headmaster- Higgs is currently indisposed as he had a meeting with his promised today. Therefore, Potter is out only available seeker." 

Harry, seeing that Headmaster was obviously going to post-pone the game or some rot like that, spoke quickly. "I can ride with one of the other players. Flint said that a curse like that would've had to have constant eye-contact so I can fly with one of the other players and they're always moving so we can do that..." 

He fidgeted under the stares of Madame Hooch, Professor Snape, and the Headmaster but Flint seemed to be considering it. "You could fly with Warrington, he's much lankier than I am, and it'll just have to be every man for themselves with Monatogue and Pucey-- I trained 'em well enough I hope." Flint nodded. "That's a plan with me. 'Fessor?" 

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and pinched his lips but nodded very reluctantly. "Fine. But, Warrington, do remember you are at the mercy of Mr. Potter, who I doubt will be that considerate of your stature while he zooms toward the Snitch." 

The tall teen nodded and got on the back of the broom. "Potter, let's go." 

Harry grinned and got on the front of the broom, making space for Warrington's arms to swing his bat. "be careful of my bat and the bludgers. Flint, cover us a little extra!" 

The team flew up and the game continued with the excited jabbering of Lee Jordan.

"And the Slytherins made a unusual provision for Harry Potter after what happened to his broom!-" Harry kept his eyes out for the Snitch while listening for the sound of Bludgers hurtling through the air. 

A small glistening caught his eye and he zeroed on a little object flapping through the air. Harry grinned, grabbed hold of the broom, and was hurtling through the air. Warrington was shouting curses above him, making Harry cackle in laughter to the creativeness of some of them. The Gryffindor seeker was a little behind them and Harry urged the broom faster, pushing bolt after bolt of magic into it to give it a little boost. 

The Snitch twirled it's wings in a full figure-eight motion, trying to get away from the tips of Harry's fingers, with Warrington still shouting as the were rocketing towards the ground. Gold brushed Harry's fingers and he lurched himself forward, only a bit too much and he tumbled off the broom, gagging as something circular blocked his throat. 

He gagged and pushed on his stomach hard, coughing as a little gold thing tumbled out of his mouth. The Snitch floated above his hand and behind him, Warrington roared with triumph. "POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH!" 

Flint was howling the entire way to the Common Room, ruffling Harry's hair and crowing about his catch. Slytherin had won, 210 to 70.

Hermione and Ron had tackled Harry to the ground, and Ron was glowing about Harry catching the Snitch while simultaneously being a fussy mother about his health. Hermione had given him the jar of fire to warm his hands after they had begun turning red from the residual water and cold wind. Apparently the Quidditch Pitch, where the players were, had been laden with Warming Charms but the stand couldn't feel them, so they had to bring their own stuff. 

The entire Common Room had somehow been converted into a party room during the 30 minutes that Harry and the team had been showering and traveling through the dungeons. Snacks and Food had been piled high on a table and music was blasted through the Common Room. 

Harry had been patted on the back more times than he would've liked, tipsy teens shouting how good of a job he'd done, and he had packed himself in the corner of the Common Room where it was marginally quieter. 

Ron and Hermione joined him, handing him a plate of treacle tart and a tall glass of punch. He sipped it lightly, while savoring the tart sweetness of the tart. 

"You were nearly killed." 

The quiet statement floated around them, and Harry looked at Hermione, who had shiny eyes. "Somebody tried to kill you, Harry. And..." Her bottom lip trembled. 

"We're going to be better prepared next time." 

Both of them looked at Ron who slid a book out his bag. Hermione gasped, recognition flashing in her eyes. "Ron?" 

"I know a Ritual that'll help... it's the Aura Sight ritual but different. This is a direct link of Mage Sense, and it messes with your magic a bit so it only works if all the participants are willing. Are you?" 

Hermione nodded. "I am." 

Harry grinned. "O' course, Ron." 

(---)

"Harry, you are trodding all over the back of my feet." 

"Sorry- I can see where the edges of your feet are." 

"Right in front of you?" 

"Shush, Hermione." 

"Both of you be quiet." 

"Ron, you can't tell us shit. You're over here walking like a demon is going to come up on us." 

"What do you think my brothers are? Angels?" 

Harry sighed and didn't answer, squinting at the ground to try and spot the edges of Hermione's shoes. 

They were attempting to find a room that was empty and not in use but hidden, so that they could practice their rituals and spells. Ron had already had a room chosen but it was discarded when he had gone in one-time and saw a couple in a rather compromising position. Therefore, they were on the hunt for another one a little bit before curfew, knowing that right now was the ideal time as most Slytherins wouldn't be out unless that had some midnight rendezvous that they needed to attend too. 

They took another turn and Harry bumped into Hermione, getting a mouthful of hair which, he did not like at all. 

"Why'd we stop?" 

Ron's red mop turned around and blue eyes peaked over Hermione. "Er- no reason really. Just back up. We should use the next corridor." 

Harry frowned but headed over to the next corridor, keeping an ear out for any noises. His magic was tingling underneath his skin, like it always was when he was trying to creep around, flexing and curling around Hermione and Ron to protect them as well. 

While Professor Snape was teaching him how to form Occlumency shields, he taught him that Occlumency allowed easier access to his magical core which had already been easy due to his need for it at Privet Drive. The lessons, every Friday night at 8pm, were helpful with controlling his Legilimency, which had stopped acting up now that he knew how to control it. 

Instead, with Professor Snape's help, he intertwined the strands of magic that controlled his Legilimency into his magical core, showing Harry how to do it without hurting himself. Harry had tried it and managed to do it marginally, but it was nowhere near the refined and delicate braiding that his Head of House had accomplished. 

"-rry! Harryyyy!! Harry, are you there!" Harry lurched at the loud whispers in his ear, swiveling around to see Hermione 3 inches from his face and Ron not too far behind her. "There you are. Where'd you go?" 

"Nowhere important." 

Hermione pressed her lips together but said nothing. Her brown eyes shone with suspicion, drowning in thick depths, but she stood up straight and turned around. "If you say so, Harry. Now, Ron, are you sure nobody will find us here?" 

"Um, I'm pretty sure. Unless the twins pull their appearing tricks again, nobody should find us here." 

"Hm, alright. So, what does the circle look like?" Harry clambered closer as Ron pulled out a thick tome with stray bits of parchment sticking out from it. It flipped open to reveal a Rune circle with ink markings- likely from Ron trying to memorize the correct way to do it. Ron took out another book and flipped open to a page filled with runic definitions. 

"Okay, so this is the um, Rune Circle- this rune right here is Ansuz (ᚱ) or "Message." It can mean good advice, wisdom, truth, or inspiration. It is also linked with Revelation, signs, visions, insight, knowledge, and communication. This is key to allowing us to... connect, I think is the best word, to the magic. Um." Ron fidgeted slightly and peered at his book of Runes before pointing another one. 

"This one is Kaunaz (ᚲ) or "Torch". It can mean knowledge, creativity, vitality, or energy. It is linked with Enlightenment, knowledge, comprehension, insight, illumination, calling, purpose, and idea. This is allows us to know or feel what magic is trying to tell us, if the Ritual works." 

"This rune is Algiz (ᛉ) or "Elk". It can mean awakening or strong intuition. It is almost like Kaunaz, but different in a way. I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. It is linked to Protection, guardian, awakening, courage, defence, and instincts." Ron licked his lips and Harry waited for him. "I'm not sure why they would use it except for extra assurance that the ritual would work but I'll look into it more." 

"And then there is Laguz (ᛚ) or "Lake". Laguz actually represents the element of water, well you can tell that from the name but uh-" Ron sucked in his bottom lip and squinted at the book so harshly that Harry thought he might need glasses if he didn't know that Ron had perfect vision. "Stupid floating letters- um it's tied to emotions, dream and intuition. It can be related to mysteries, secrets, the unknown, and the underworld. It can also mean a healing power of renewal, heightened imagination, and psychic abilities. It is linked to Intuition, imagination, healing, dreams, mysteries, insights, instinct, and knowing. It is called the mind rune because it is connected intimately with the mind; it is actually called the mind rune too, if you were too ask a runes master or look it up in a book of runes, because of it's connection to the mind. And that's why it's in the ritual- because of it's connection to the mind which is where the ritual focuses on, I think, because of the fact that that is where your senses are, so..." Ron went silent for a few beats, rubbing his arms while his eyes wandered around. 

"So it focuses on that specifically, and Laguz is so important because it links with Ansuz to allow the magic to change with our senses, as Ansuz is the best rune to connect to magic. Kaunaz allows us to know what the magic is trying to tell us otherwise it's just looking, hearing, feeling, but not knowing anything so then it's useless basically. Um.." Ron groaned and rubbed his face roughly. "Gods, this is a lot. Uhh... Algiz is awakening, courage, defence dadadaablahblah here!-- er- instincts! aha- er that might not be instincts... 'Mione, does that say instincts?" 

Hermione peered over and looked at where Ron was pointing. "No, that says intuition, Ron; instincts is right here." She pointed to a word a little bit farther from Ron's finger and Ron's face flushed with embarrassment. 

"Oh." 

"Well you read better than I do without my glasses- if you asked me, they'd just be a bunch of fuzzy blobs," Harry spoke in joking manner, feeling a small sense of accomplishment when Ron snorted and his eyebrow quirked in a way that said he was amused. 

"Yeah yeah- anyways, um, I was on... Algiz right?" 

"Yes." 

"Okay um... Algiz is awak-eninggg and courage and all that rot -letters stop moving- and that helps form your magic but I might be grasping at strings right now, I haven't down enough research probably." Harry frowned at the wince that ticked at Ron's cheek and ducked his head down slightly to try and get a good look at Ron's eyes as they were cast downward at the book splayed out to the side. Something was wrong and Harry wasn't at all sure what was going on. 

A low whine came from Ron, who was rubbing his eyes and temples furiously. Hermione looked unsure as she whispered lowly to him, trying to coax answers out of Ron, who was staying stubbornly quiet but obviously in pain. Harry growled and hissed lowly, §Loki, can you sense anything from him?§

Loki slithered out and Harry held him near Ron who thankfully still had his eyes closed; He was still a bit spoked by Loki and Harry didn't want to worsen whatever was going on with him. §There is pain coming from him through it seems to originate from his head; his scent is not happy and he is shameful and scared.§

Harry frowned; that helped but also made more questions pop into his head. §Thank you Loki§

§You are quite welcome, Hatchling§

"Ron?" His name rolled off timidly, and Harry edged forward a little bit. "Ron? What's wrong?" 

Ron still said nothing, in all honesty, he seemed to have gotten worse; he had curled up and Hermione was looking extremely worried. 

"Ron please tell us what's wrong. We want to help; we're not going to make fun of you if that's what you thi-" 

"It's what I know, Harry! Because I'm just so dense!" Ron whined and pulled on his hair harshly and Harry gently uncurled his fingers from his red hair. Ron's bottom lip was trembling and he wiped his eyes furiously after Harry let go of one of his hands. "C-cant' say nothin'-" Harry pressed a hand to Ron's back and allowed him to lean on Harry. 

"Calm down first then explain it to me, yeah? That might help some." Ron sniffled lightly but nodded, much to Harry's relief. Hermione was picking up the books, sliding everything into to the side before curling up with her knees tucked to her chest. Her toes were poking Ron's thigh as her she wound her arms around her legs. 

Ron shuffled lightly, and fiddled with his fingers before looking up slightly. "I-i can't ...hm, talk without um soundin' it out." He spoke slowly as he pronounced each word carefully as though it wasn't matching up in his head with how he heard it. "ve never ben' able to write gud, a-an' it's- mum nev'r liked it and always tells me to- um" His breathing hitched and he scrubbed his eyes. "Tells me to jus' stay silent when I stert um, talkin' slow to make sure I soun' cor- righ'." 

Ron pressed his lips together and scrunched his nose as he talked, his words slurred and choked as a few tears trekked down his face. His hands were still shaky and Harry got the distinct feeling he was waiting for him or Hermione to just up and leave. 

"I think you have dyslexia, Ron." 

Ron looked up, a vague alarm on his face. "It's nothing bad," Hermione assured hurriedly, waving her hands to express it doubly, "One of my cousins has it I think too; she's always had a trouble reading and writing, sometimes with speech too but there are multiple therapies and helps for it. Professor Snape might know be able to help and I'll write my parents for some books and special papers for you." 

"Oh... so I jus' have to learn how to talk an' write... run- no- fun." Ron looked to the side dejectedly, and Harry puffed up. 

"I mean yeah. It's like Professor Snape teaching me how to control my legilimency because I couldn't figure it out before despite having it for so long- or like when I had to go to summer school because I hadn't done so well in Science and Maths." Harry hadn't actually gone because Uncle Vernon would've sooner allowed Harry to eat the food he makes before allowing him to go to summer school and ruin his reputation. Apparently just because they tell everybody that Harry is a delinquent, he can't go to summer school. Harry never quite understood that because, privately, he thought that the reprieve from Uncle Vernon's meaty fists would've been welcome. 

"Exactly! Or it's like my mother having me relearn French because I couldn't remember the basics! That- it was a mortifying situation, Ron. Oh! Or when I had to go to an event and I wore blue, when I really should've worn turquoise. Oh Merlin, I thought I was going to die on the spot." Hermione fanned her face in a manner most unlike her, pressing her lips together and exaggerating the tone of her voice. 

Harry burst into giggles and Hermione gained a pleased look when Ron joined in the laughter. 

"Now, we can continue with the Runes tomorrow and then since it'll be Saturday when we wake, we'll go to Professor Snape after breakfast. Most adults are less grouchy after they've had a cup of coffee in the morning. And Professor Snape really strikes me as a I-need-a-cup-of-coffee-before-I-can-deal-with-chaos-in-the-morning kind of person." 

"Righto. And Ron, you don't have to censor how you speak or sound out the words. If you don't stress yourself out, I imagine speaking will be a lot easier." Ron stood easily, looking far more relaxed and his eyes were a lighter blue now that they weren't filled with shame and fear. 

They walked out, with Hermione leading this time as they traveled to the dungeons, keeping an eye and ear out for any Professors, prefects, Filch, or Mrs. Norris. 

The castle felt too silent and something felt off as they walked. Harry kept silent though, knowing he tended to be paranoid sometimes. 

"Did you hear that?" Harry jolted at Hermione's whisper, growing as still as one of those statues at the church Aunt Petunia had taken him too one Sunday. He strained his hearing and his heart lurched violently at the soft padding of footsteps. 

"Mew"

Ron sucked in a sharp breath. "Mrs.Norr's." Harry was backing up before his mind registered it. 

"Shitshitshit-" Mrs. Norris turned the corner and stared at them with yellow eyes. They gleamed. 

"My pretty, where are you? Have you sniffed out some naughty naughty students again?" 

"Mew"

"Run." 

They were running down the hall with their feet slapping against the stone as they ran away from the caretaker and his student-sniffing cat. "This way!" They turned into another corridor and Ron makes a sound of relief at seeing a large set of wooden doors. 

Hermione whips out her wand and it casting a spell before Harry can even think of it. "Alohomora." The doors make a sound and Hermione yanks it open, pulling Ron and Harry through the door. Harry hisses a low locking charm and releases a relaxing breath. 

§Hatchling, what is the rotten smell? it is like that dirty thing your not-nest-guardian-nestmate brings around.§ Harry deciphers what Loki is trying to say with a practiced ease.

Aunt Marge and Ripper, her dog that hates Harry with a passion. A feeling with is reciprocated quite heavily.

§What are you speaking of?§

§Behind you hatchling.§

Harry turns and feels his knees go weak. It's a dog, a very big dog, with three head, sharp teeth, and it was foaming at the mouth. The sound that Harry made wasn't human, and it catches the attention of Ron and Hermione.

§Oh. That's what you mean.§

§Yes, hatchling, it is§

Harry wasn't sure if Loki meant to sound so exasperated but pushes away the thought. He can ask him about it later. Right now, they needed to get away from the dog. 

Fingers fumbling with his wand, Harry backs away slowly, edging closer to the door while keeping his eyes on the dog. He hisses the unlocking charm and Ron is the one that tugs the door open this time. They run faster than they had with Filch, not stopping until Harry had hissed the Slytherin common room password in English but it sounded extremely close to parseltongue with his huffed breaths and heavy panting. 

"What was that?" 

Ron gave a uncommitted hum, flopping onto one of the couches. The few upper-years that were up eyed them but said nothing. "A magic dug." 

"A cerberus, actually. Like Hades and his dog who guarded the entrance to the Underworld to keep souls from escaping." 

A hysterical sound left Harry's lips and Hermione side-eyed him. 

"A cerberus, a soul-guarding dog. Why am I not fucking surprised?" 

"...did you notice the trapdoor?" 

Ron looked up, suddenly more awake. "What?" 

Harry whined. "I did not notice-- I was too busy trying to make sure the soul-guarder god didn't fucking kill me!" 

Hermione made a soft noise of validation. "True. But what is it hiding? What is it protecting?" 

When Ron gave a shrug but his eyes lit up with interest, Harry knew he had lost the fight.  

Chapter Text

Hey.

So.. when I began writing this, my brain snagged it and took off with it, and I've reread it. It's not.. it's quite inconsistent in some things and I forgot some very important things that I had put in and alluded inside of it. I also wrote at the most unholy hours so a good solid portion of it is just mindless babble my brain strung together.
(The joys of having 4 other WIPs lemme tell you -)

I've decided I'm going to rewrite this story. The main things about this story will be the same but it will flow a little bit better hopefully...

This is quite sudden, I'm aware, after not updating in... 2 months and counting essentially... especially when I thought I would have another chapter out at New Years... *looks at date* Yeah... 

Look out for the rewrite! It will be out toward the end of the month - I already have a little bit written and fixed up. 

The same goes for all my other stories I think, because there are some chapters that I absolutely detest - or just the plot line needs to be scrapped and redone completely. It's just not sitting right with me on a bunch of stuff. So all current stories are being edited, minor and major, or being scrapped and redone completely. 

Some of you might not like the changes I make, and that is completely okay with me. All I ask is that you don't be supremely rude about it? You can say if you don't like some changes or criticize my story - just don't say you hate me story please? 

Some of you don't like the subjects I write about or how dark it is on the occasion. I just write about it because it is on my mind so often, especially because some of it has happened in my family, to friends, or even people I've met at therapy. And some things have happened to me too so I put it in because it helps me deal with things. It might not be super realistic in some cases, because if I do put it in to the point of true reality, it upsets me beyond belief and my head goes to really bad places. 

That concludes this point...

Also, I'm going to reiterate the fact that I have NO UPDATE SCEHDULE so I update when I can and when I have something to actually write down. And when life permits because my mom isn't going to chemo to fight her battles without me opening the door for and having her favorite meal on the counter, hot and ready. 

This applies for all my stories! So please don't ask when the next update is, because they can be frequent or infrequent, depending on my mood and inspiration.

If you decide to stick around, thanks! If you don't, thank you for at least reading this.

I think I've covered all the bases I wanted... 

Enjoy the rest of your time awake!

The Author

Chapter Text

Hello!

Rewrite is up for viewing! Feel free to check it out!

The name of it is Storms, Thorns, and Chaos - Book 1: The Philosopher's Stone

Press the link and it'll take you there! 

Enjoy the rest of your day!

The Author