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Chapter Text

“I just—I can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

Harry stood silently around the corner from the classroom where Miss Perry was talking to Mrs. Handlin. He could see their shadows, nothing else, and he watched Mrs. Handlin shaking her head slowly from side to side. He could hear her tongue clucking, too.

“It’s natural, Mindy. The child looks so natural telling you how he sleeps in a cupboard and wears those clothes because his relatives make him do so and not because he likes them—”

“Why does he lie like that?”

“He’s a troublemaker, just like Mrs. Dursley said. He doesn’t need any other reason. Come on, you need to go make sure the Dursleys realize you made a mistake and you won’t let up on the discipline Mr. Potter needs.”

The two teachers walked towards the doorway of the classroom they were in. Harry turned and was gone like a third shadow.

*

“What did you do, freak?”

Uncle Vernon said the words in a low voice, grabbing at Harry’s shoulder. Harry stiffened against the pain, but it never made that pain any less. Nothing ever did.

And every time Harry tried to tell someone about the pain and they ignored him or thought he was lying, or just walked past with their eyes averted the way they were doing now, something small and fragile in the center of Harry’s soul died.

“I don’t know,” Harry gasped, tugging against Uncle Vernon’s hand. That only made the pain worse, but he couldn’t help doing it anyway. “I don’t know who that man was or why he came up and hugged me—”

“Liar. Come with me, boy. The cupboard for you.”

As Uncle Vernon tugged him up the pavement towards the car, Harry glanced over his shoulder, but the strange little man in the velvet purple robes who had bowed to him and hugged him had vanished. Just like everyone else who might have helped him, who acted like they might, but ultimately made it worse for him.

*

“No, he must have cheated!”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were having an argument about Harry’s marks for some reason. Harry frowned, curled up in a way that looked normal but would allow him to keep an ear closer to the cupboard door. Aunt Petunia had said he’d cheated when he came home and thrown him in the cupboard. It seemed weird that she would be saying he didn’t cheat mow.

“Vernon, I’m not saying he didn’t… I’m saying…look at this!”

Harry knew they were looking at one of his essays that he’d brought home from Mrs. Terrencia’s class. It had got a good mark, and Harry had tried to hide and keep it, but Dudley had seen Harry holding the paper and promptly told his mum. Aunt Petunia had snatched it away.

“What about it? All I see is a cheating little—”

“Look at how neat the writing is! He couldn’t have done it like this without his freakishness!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. What were they talking about? Harry was a freak, all right, but they used that to talk about things like him somehow ending up on the roof of the school and having people bow to him in the streets, not writing an essay.

“You’re right, Pet.” Uncle Vernon’s voice was hushed. “We’ll have to step it up.”

Harry swallowed and slid down against the inside of the cupboard door. He didn’t know what that comment meant, but he knew that he didn’t like it.

*

“And my parents didn’t die in a car crash?”

“No, o’ course not! Like a car crash could kill Lily and James Potter…”

Harry listened as the giant man spoke of his parents, his eyes flickering back now and then to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They looked half-enraged, half-terrified. Harry’s hand traced down his arm to the wrist that Dudley had broken after Uncle Vernon had decided Harry had used his freakishness to write that essay.

Not his freakishness. His magic.

Harry would remember that. He knew now there was a world of people like him out there. He understood why strange people in robes had appeared and bowed to him or hugged him now and then.

He also knew that none of them had come to help him. His parents were dead, and beyond helping him. The way Hagrid was talking, Harry had no other family left besides the Dursleys, either. If his parents had friends, none of them had thought to check in on Harry, or they were dead, or they hadn’t cared.

Harry decided that although some things had greatly changed, the most important thing hadn’t, not at all. He needed to watch out for himself and make his own decisions.

*

Harry made his first decision when Hagrid said he would take Harry back to Privet Drive. He widened his eyes and gave a wistful little sigh.

“What is it, Harry?”

Harry let his lip wobble and said, “I just…do you think I could have one night in the Leaky Cauldron? Just one? I’ve never stayed in a genuine magical place before! Or I was too young to remember it when my parents were killed.”

Hagrid looked uncertain. “Well, I dunno, Harry. Dumbledore said to bring you right back to your relatives—”

“But he didn’t know they would be on an island in the sea, right? He didn’t even know they would keep my letter from me. Please, can I stay here? The Dursleys will probably be back by tomorrow, and I can change some Galleons into Muggle pounds and take the train home that way…”

Hagrid wavered, and grumbled, and finally gave in.

*

The next morning, Harry slipped down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron to meet Tom the barman near the fireplace. Tom winked at him. “Ready to go home, then, young Mr. Potter?”

“I—I—” Harry pressed his hands against his stomach.

“What is it, Mr. Potter?” Tom took a step towards him, concern etching itself across his face.

“Is it normal to feel your magic trembling inside you?” Harry blurted. “And to feel like it’s going to break out of every single part of your skin?”

Tom blinked and then turned pale. “No, Mr. Potter, it’s not. Is that happening to you? What does it feel like? Like something is sloshing in your stomach?” He knelt down next to Harry and cast a charm that made his wand shine with light, carefully tracing it over Harry’s face.

Harry didn’t think he had trouble looking pale and tired. After all, he had stayed awake until three in the morning looking through all the books he’d purchased yesterday for a suitable illness that would keep him away from the Dursleys. What he was describing was perfect; the symptoms of Child’s Unrest were magical ones that could only be felt by the child suffering from them, and it was considered particularly likely to cause violent outbursts of power they wouldn’t want Muggles to come in contact with.

“Yes,” Harry gasped. “Sloshing back and forth, a-and—and it feels like someone is walking up my back—”

“We need to get you to St. Mungo’s right away,” Tom said, and cast a combination of charms that made Harry float into the air and get lighter. Tom grabbed him and ran towards the fireplace.

“Will—I have an owl,” Harry said, struggling in Tom’s arms to stare up the steps. “Will she be all right here? Is my stuff going to be safe?”

“I’ll see to it, Mr. Potter,” Tom said in a grim, determined voice, and then threw what seemed to be green powder into the fire. “St. Mungo’s Hospital!”

Harry did faint on the whirling, dazzling trip through the fireplace, which only made his pretense more convincing to the Healers. When he woke up, he was in a bed in a solitary room with a Healer assigned especially to him to make sure he recovered. From what they whispered when they thought he was sleeping, they assumed Harry was so magically powerful that his outbursts could harm any other child in the room with him.

Perfect, Harry thought, and clutched the blankets as he forced his accidental magic forwards. The thought of going back to the Dursleys made it very easy to make large craters in the walls.

*

By the time that September first came, everyone knew Harry Potter had been sick in St. Mungo’s with a terrible case of Child’s Unrest. Harry had used his magic to make him as hard to ignore as possible, and everyone had nodded wisely when the Healers uncovered signs of badly broken bones.

They thought he’d broken them being flung around by his own magic when he was younger, though. When Harry confessed in a shaking voice that his Muggle cousin had broken them out of his fear of Harry’s magic, steps were taken.

So Harry walked to the Hogwarts Express on the first day of September with his head held high, clad in a set of robes that had been a gift from one of his well-wishers. Behind him, with the aid of a cane, walked Griselda Marchbanks, an elderly witch who was apparently Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority and trusted to keep Harry safe because she was powerful despite her age.

The Ministry had told Harry it was only temporary, until they could find him a more suitable guardian. Harry planned to fight to stay with Madam Marchbanks if at all possible. She was kind and determined to help him and so short-sighted and deaf that he could run rings around her.

They halted near the train, and Madam Marchbanks coughed. “Now, Harry,” she said. “You’ll write to me if you have any questions at all.”

Harry nodded dutifully. It was better than speaking to her when she probably wouldn’t hear.

“And you’ll write to me to tell me of your Sorting this evening.”

Another nod.

“You’ll let me know right away if anyone is bothering you due to your fame and I need to duel them.” Madam Marchbanks drew her ebony wand, which had actual blood grooves carved in it. It was the most brilliant thing Harry knew about her.

Harry smiled at her, nodded again, endured a hug that smelled like old sweets, and climbed aboard the train with her waving him on.

He couldn’t cast the kind of complicated wards that defended every inch of Madam Marchbanks’s home yet, but she had given him a silver egg that she promised would keep his compartment private. Harry unwrapped it from the glittering lacquered box it had been in and placed it on the floor.

The egg jerked, split down the middle, and then hatched a shining silver spider. It scuttled over to the door and immediately began to weave a web across it. In just a few minutes, Harry heard the hum of powerful wards that he associated with Madam Marchbanks’ house.

Harry leaned back, beaming. This was more like it. He was Harry Potter, and he had the fame and power to change his circumstances. No one was ever going to take advantage of him again.

*

“Potter, Harry!”

Harry held his head high as he paraded towards the Sorting Hat. His stride was long and his gaze aimed straight at the Hat. He ignored the way people broke out in whispers around him and exclaimed his name.

He wanted to go somewhere he could get the very best for himself. And despite watching the tables of students and their reactions to how people were Sorted, it was hard to tell what House that would be. It was the only thing Harry regretted about spending the train ride in isolation from the other students.

When he sat beneath the Hat, he felt something like cobwebs brush across his mind, although even more delicate than the wards Madam Marchbanks’s spider had spun. Harry leaped in place and then clutched the stool tightly, determined not to make a fool of himself.

“What have we here?”

The Sorting Hat either murmured into Harry’s ears or spoke directly into his head. Harry wasn’t sure which. He made a startled grunting sound and then clung harder to the stool and thought back, “I want to go to the House that will benefit me the most.”

“What does that mean to you?”

“Where I can be safe and strong and well cared for and never weak or chased or stuffed in a cupboard again.”

The Sorting Hat was silent and thoughtful. Harry heard some murmurs from the other tables as the students apparently thought he should be Sorted already, or maybe they were impatient to be Sorted themselves. Harry ignored them. This was his moment. He wouldn’t rush it.

“Hufflepuff is not for you, then. The other students would expect loyalty in return and be offended when you didn’t offer it. I have to rule out Gryffindor for the same reason. You would be expected to be selfless and brave for no other reason than to be brave.”

Harry sneered. Bravery to be brave did nothing. He had been brave every time he hinted to his primary school teachers what was happening at the Dursleys’, and they had done nothing to help him. “Slytherin, then? I read it was the House of cunning and ambition.”

“Broader ambitions than merely remaining safe and happy. And while you can certainly use cunning when you wish, it is to defend yourself and not because you rejoice in the practice for its own sake.”

“Why should I?”

The Sorting Hat laughed a little. “So, the House of knowledge. Knowledge would help you keep yourself safe. I can see how you’ve already used it, when you read about and feigned an illness that would get you away from your relatives. And the students would back off and leave you alone if that is your wish, as long as they see you being dedicated to learning.”

“That’s what I want. That’s what I can do.”

“Good luck, Harry Potter. Better be RAVENCLAW!”

Harry took off the Hat with a long sigh of relief and handed it back to the stern witch who had led the first-year students in. She was looking at him with a faint expression of surprise. Harry didn’t let it bother him, matter to him. He began to walk towards the Ravenclaw students, acknowledging their wild applause as his due.

He was already composing the modest, polite letter to Madam Marchbanks in his head.

*

“Can I study with you?”

Harry glanced up. The girl was one he had seen in the line waiting to be Sorted. He thought she had gone to Gryffindor. He couldn’t remember her name, though. He shrugged. “If you like. But you should know that most of my research is for my own interests and not about our homework.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because that’s the way I want it,” Harry said, a little startled. He hadn’t once thought he would hear of someone studious disapproving of studying beyond the standard homework limits.

“But shouldn’t you be concentrating first on Potions?” The girl tossed her Potions book on the table, where it landed with an odd, hollow boom. Harry blinked. It seemed the girl had stuffed it full of notes and pieces of parchment sticking out every which way. “I heard Professor Snape is hard on every House except Slytherin. And you’re not Slytherin.”

“I’ve already studied for Potions.”

“How do you know it’s enough?”

“How do you know it’s not?”

The girl continued to stare at him. Harry stared back evenly, one hand covering the page on which he’d written down the incantations of every jinx and hex and curse he thought might be useful. A Gryffindor would probably disapprove of that, thinking he was about to hex other students.

Harry thought he might need to. The Ravenclaw boys he roomed with were mostly respectful of his space and the way that Harry always had his nose tucked in a book, but the Slytherins had given him lots of unpleasant glares, probably because of Voldemort.

He wouldn’t let them. He was never going to give in to bullies again.

“I still think we should study for Potions,” the girl said, folding her arms and flinging herself into the chair.

“You can. I’ll go on studying what I like.”

“That’s not very friendly.”

“I don’t even know your name. Why should I be friendly?”

The girl’s face turned so bright a red that Harry thought she might have given Dudley when he wanted sweets competition. “You should know it! We were Sorted together, and we had Herbology together. It’s Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

“Would you even know my name if not for this?” Harry asked, and lifted his fringe with one hand to show off his scar.

“If you don’t want to study together, you could just say so!”

“Okay. I don’t want to study together.”

It took Granger a minute or so to get over her gaping and gather her Potions book and storm away. Harry shook his head and went back to reading his list of hexes, adding a few new ones with every page of the book.

*

“Sit down.”

Professor Snape’s voice was hissing and vengeful. Harry hadn’t missed the way that Snape’s eyes locked on him and narrowed with loathing as the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff students filed into the dungeon classroom. Harry hid a sigh. It seemed that Professor Snape hated Harry for the same reason that a lot of the Slytherins did, probably something to do with Voldemort.

It didn’t matter. Harry wouldn’t allow anyone to bully him again.

Snape said nothing when he read Harry’s name off the roster, but when he had made an opening speech that sounded rehearsed to Harry, he spun around and snapped, “Potter! What would I get if I brewed a potion with boomslang skin that takes a month?”

Harry only knew this because he had let himself get a little distracted with reading about snake ingredients. He liked snakes. He blinked but said only, “I believe it would be the Polyjuice Potion, sir.”

“You believe.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry kept his voice as even as possible.

“I need firm answers, Potter. What is the difference between wolfsbane and aconite?”

“Nothing, sir. They’re the same plant.”

Snape jerked back and stared at him. Harry let his eyebrows creep up. That had actually been part of the opening speech that Professor Sprout gave in Herbology, since she’d said she liked to start each class with an interesting fact. Did Snape not know that? Or had most people not paid attention? Or maybe Sprout used different interesting facts each year.

“Let us try another challenge for the master of knowledge,” Snape hissed, walking a few steps closer, his eyes narrowed and raking Harry up and down. “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, sir.” That had actually been a footnote in the first two chapters of the Potions book.

Snape spun away from him without a word and walked back to the front of the classroom. Harry watched his back and plotted.

*

“It’s unfair that he didn’t give you any points for Ravenclaw, Potter.”

Harry just smiled and shook his head a little at Michael Corner. “I know, but what can you do? He seems to hate me for the same reason the other Slytherins do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the way he glared at me is the same way they glare at me. Because I defeated their Dark Lord, I’m sure. Of course, if they were really smart, then they would know it must be something my mum or dad did. Because I couldn’t have done anything! I was one.”

“If they were smart, they would be in Ravenclaw.”

Harry laughed at the joke, the most common one in their House, and leaned back in his blue-sheet bed. Corner half-smiled at him and pulled out a wax tablet that he practiced carving runes on.

Today was tolerable. If Snape ever becomes worse, then I’m going to the Headmaster.

*

Harry rubbed his forehead as he came out of Defense. The headache that always hit him in the classroom always dwindled away the moment he left. He supposed he was more allergic to garlic than he’d thought.

“Potter! That was fantastic.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder, alert, his hand resting on his wand. One of the Slytherins who shared the class with them had approached him and was standing a short distance away. Harry studied him. Pale skin, deep-hooded dark eyes, dark hair. He was pretty sure this one’s name was Nott.

It was unlike a Slytherin to give a free compliment, especially to someone they all seemed to hate. Harry contented himself with a thin smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to study together?”

“Why would you want to?” Harry asked, cocking his head. “It seems like it would probably make you unpopular in your House.”

The boy shrugged and walked a little closer to him. Harry shifted his balance, ready to cast the Tripping Jinx that he’d already demonstrated in class, and the boy stopped and raised his hands. “I’m already unpopular. I study too much for them and insult the people I don’t like instead of playing word or dueling games. But sooner or later, I’ll run into someone I can’t win a duel with easily. I’d like to study with you to get better.”

Protecting yourself was at least a motivation that made sense to Harry. He nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Theodore Nott. Theo Nott, if you’re ever going to call me by my first name.”

“I don’t know if I will right now,” Harry said. “But I don’t need to introduce myself to you, since you know perfectly well who I am.”

Nott smiled with more teeth than Harry was used to seeing, but also more friendliness. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

*

“You know, we could practice these jinxes and hexes on each other as long as we do it in some out-of-the-way space in the dungeons.”

Harry leaned back to stretch the kinks out of his spine. The library didn’t have the most comfortable chairs. “Mmmm.”

“Potter? What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to get hurt.”

Nott paused. Then he said carefully, “Is this about what the Prophet reported in August? The things you suffered at the hands of Muggles?”

Harry looked at Nott unflinchingly. The other boy was smart and had managed to suggest lots of spells that Harry had resolved to look up and practice, and when they were practicing hexes on targets like rocks, he had shown he was a strong caster, as well. But Harry would leave him behind without a qualm if he tried to bully Harry.

“Yes,” he said. “My cousin broke my bones and threw me into walls and chased me away from other kids. Muggle adults didn’t believe me. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t hex me with something that couldn’t be cured and then lie to other people about how it happened?”

Nott blinked. Blinked again. Then said, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“But how do I know that?”

“There are—there are promises you can make to other people that hold you and bind you and don’t let you act against the people you made the promise to. But most kids our age don’t require them.”

“I’m not most kids our age.”

“No.” Nott was quiet for a moment, staring up the aisle of books with Defensive spells in them as though he didn’t know what to do next. Harry wrote down the incantation and wand movement for the Boils Curse.

“I would be willing to make such a promise,” Nott said at last, “if you made one to me in return.”

“What would hold and bind us?”

“Our wands. The promise could be broken if our wands are, but obviously few people want to break them.”

Harry nodded, smiling a little. “Let’s look up the right wording for the promise and see what we can do.”

*

Harry reclaimed his wand from Nott with relief. He’d had to let the other boy hold it, the way he’d held Nott’s, while they exchanged the promises, and now an odd tingle seemed to run from the holly and phoenix feather up Harry’s arm.

Nott fell back a step, moving his hawthorn wand in circles until he nodded. “Do you want to cast the first jinx on me?”

Harry nodded back, running over the words of the promise in his mind. They had to name the spells to each other and not choose any that would cause more than minor pain. “What about the Disarming Charm?”

“That’s a charm, not a jinx.”

“It could work well enough to end a fight, though. And I’m concerned about ending a fight, not being a great duelist.”

Nott cocked his head to the side, nodding slowly. “All right. Try to get my wand, then.” He tightened his grip on it, because they’d put nothing in the promises about making it easy for the other person.

Harry smiled and whipped his wand in the pattern Quirrell had shown them during Defense one day but not let them practice. “Expelliarmus!”

Nott’s wand twitched in his grip, but didn’t fly out. The Slytherin boy narrowed his eyes a little. “I could feel the tug in it. Impressive. Two more tries, and then I get one?”

Harry nodded, and went on practicing. The third try did yank the wand from Nott’s grip, but it didn’t fly into Harry’s. It just clattered weakly on the floor.

“Impressive,” Nott repeated. “Now let me try.” He reclaimed his wand and fell back a step. Harry’s interest quickened a little. He hadn’t noticed it before when they were practicing spells on stationary targets, but Nott moved like he did, like someone who had been bullied and was determined not to be bullied anymore.

Nott managed to get Harry’s wand to drop at his feet. Harry picked it up, and they went back to practicing.

*

“Where do you go all the time?”

Harry glanced up from his book at Michael Corner. “What do you mean? The library, the Great Hall—”

“No, I mean, you disappear towards the dungeons in the evenings, and you come back barely before curfew sometimes.” Corner leaned forwards so that his arms were dangling off his bed as he stared at Harry. “Where do you go?”

Harry grimaced. He’d thought he was hiding his practices with Nott better than that. He considered a moment, and then decided that there was probably no reason not to give the bare information to Corner. He wasn’t doing anything illegal, and Corner didn’t seem like a bully. “Practicing hexes and jinxes.”

“Wow! Really? I want in. Quirrell’s class is bloody useless.”

Harry blinked. He couldn’t remember hearing Corner swear before. “I don’t know if the other student I’m practicing with would allow that. He’s pretty private.”

“So you just do what he says, is that it?”

“Nice try, but you can’t manipulate me that way.”

Corner blinked at him, and then laughed a little. “It was worth a try.”

“If you never want to come with me to these practices, maybe.”

Corner sighed and slung himself sideways so that he was lying on his back and watching Harry upside-down. “You’re really a lot different than people were expecting. Than I was expecting. Quiet and self-protective and not paying attention to so many things people expect you to do.”

“I know you read the Prophet articles about me because I heard you discussing them with Boot.” Corner flushed. “Do you really think it’s so unusual that I would turn out the way I did, with the family that raised me?”

Corner breathed out. “No. Not really.”

Harry nodded. “So do you want to come with me to these practices, or not?”

“I do.” Corner sat up, his face solemn. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed I could manipulate my way into attending them. What do I have to do? Who’s the other student?”

Harry studied Corner quietly. He did find the other boy the most tolerable of his roommates; Stephen Cornfoot was a braggart who didn’t even get the best marks in their classes, and Boot talked too much, and Kevin Entwhistle was so obsessed with Quidditch that you couldn’t have a conversation with him about anything else. Corner might be useful as an ally, if nothing else.

“Theo Nott,” Harry said, and laughed a little at Corner’s expression.

But a second later, Corner’s face hardened with determination. “If you got a Slytherin to go along with you in this Defense study group, or whatever it is, then you really are a bloody genius. I want in.”

Harry nodded, and noted to himself that it was pleasant to have people be impressed with him and feel indebted to him. He ought to arrange for it more often.

Chapter Text

Nott was fine with Corner learning alongside them once Corner had made the same promise on his wand. But Corner just stood aside for the first lesson while Harry and Nott hit each other with increasingly complicated jinxes, including ones that knocked them into walls and made them feel slightly dizzy for a few moments.

Harry hated the one that slammed him into a wall. It felt like something Dudley would have done. But on the other hand, he knew that he could survive that minor pain, and it was worth going ahead and feeling it.

He could learn how to defend against it, that way. He could suffer some minor pain in pursuit of a greater goal.

They had been practicing together for a few weeks, and it was almost Halloween, when Corner gave a loud sigh just as Harry was about to cast the Disarming Charm on Nott again and said, “I wish you would call me Michael.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Corner stared at him in disbelief, then narrowed his striking blue eyes. “You really don’t know.”

“No,” Harry said, and ignored the feeling that Nott was sniggering at him. He didn’t care if Nott laughed at him, as long as he didn’t do it because he was bullying Harry.

Corner sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Because that’s what people who are friends do, and if I can’t call people I’m practicing secret spells with and made a bonded promise to my friends, who can I call that?”

It didn’t matter to Harry if Corner thought they were friends or not. But this seemed like something that would keep him quiet and a good ally, and Harry could accept that. Besides, maybe someday they would become real friends. “All right, Michael. Call me Harry.”

“Theo, as I already told you.” Nott cocked his head. “Why did you never ask permission to use my first name before, Harry?”

“You never offered it. And you seemed like you were perfectly content to go by last names. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

Corner and Nott stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then Nott said, “Wow, the Muggles did a number on you.”

Harry stiffened his shoulders for a moment, then reminded himself that most of the magical world already knew about his childhood anyway. He shrugged. “There were magical people I saw sometimes, who knew I was, but I never knew any of them. I learned about magic just a few months ago, on my birthday. There was nothing I could look for, nothing I could hope for, except to get old enough to escape them.”

“And now,” Nott said, his head tilting further as he was carrying a heavy load on top of it that he wanted to slide off, “you’ve escaped.”

“Yes. And I won’t let anything jeopardize it.”

Corner and Nott traded another long look, and then changed the subject.

*

“WHO LET IT IN?”

Harry hadn’t truly realized how loud Madam Marchbanks could be when she wanted to. She had marched into the middle of the Great Hall and raised her voice the day after Halloween, the evening a troll had killed the girl, Hermione Granger, who had tried to study with Harry once. Harry watched with his chin on his hand, smothering a grin.

All he had had to do was write her a letter explaining how unsafe he felt with a troll getting into the school, and she had come right away.

It was a marked difference from the other adults in his life, and one reason that Harry was going to fight to stay with her as long as possible.

“I want to know who let the troll in!” Madam Marchbanks waved her cane in the air and stumped towards the professors’ table. She had a shimmer around her ears that looked like shells, which Harry knew meant she’d cast the charms that would let her hear everything with crystal clarity. She had told Harry she didn’t bother with them most of the time anymore, because people should shut up and listen to her instead of the other way around.

But now, she wanted to hear. Harry leaned back and let his smile bloom openly across his face.

“Madam Marchbanks,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, standing up and extending his hands. “If you will calm down—”

“I want to know who let it in!”

“That is something we are currently trying to determine. I am afraid we have no answers as of yet.”

“You must have suspicions! TELL ME!”

“My dear Madam—”

“TELL ME! Or tell me why I should let Harry stay here instead of pulling him out of Hogwarts immediately!”

Harry clasped his hands in front of him and didn’t bother hiding his smile this time, either, even when Corner and a few of the other Ravenclaws glanced at him. Madam Marchbanks had offered to hire tutors for Harry or send him to Beauxbatons, if it would make it easier for Harry to deal with his unreasonable fame. Harry had said that he wanted to attend Hogwarts to make friends and be at a place where everyone spoke English.

But he could go back to learning from tutors if it would be safer. He would find some other way to make the connections and practice the defensive spells that would keep him healthy.

He was beyond pleased to see that Madam Marchbanks had kept her promise.

“I am afraid that I am telling the truth,” Dumbledore said, standing very straight and shooting the Ravenclaw table a narrow-eyed look, as if he expected Harry to stand up and start protesting his words. “We really have no idea who let the troll in. It seems to be a weakness of the wards. We are checking on them and strengthening them, of course—”

“Let me see them, Albus! Right now!” Madam Marchbanks aimed her cane at the Headmaster. “We’re friends, but that won’t keep me from shooting a curse at you to make your bollocks turn purple! Not like you use them at this age, anyway.”

There was a breathless moment, and then a ring of laughter from some of the students. Slytherin seemed to have the most students laughing, Harry noticed, but even the red-haired twins and some of the others at the Gryffindor table were snickering. Dumbledore gave a rueful smile through a bright red mask of embarrassment and stepped down from the high table, leading Madam Marchbanks towards the door.

As they passed the Ravenclaw table, Madam Marchbanks glanced at Harry and nodded. “Say the word, Harry, and we can leave.”

“Not right now, Madam,” Harry said, and smiled at her. “Only if Hogwarts keeps letting more trolls or other threats like that in.”

Madam Marchbanks snorted. “Well, we’ll see if we get some satisfactory answers,” she said, and aimed her scowl at Dumbledore’s back before she kept following him.

There was a second of silence after they had left, then chatter louder than the laughter had been. Boot leaned towards Harry, and Harry braced himself. This was going to be another torrent of words that made little sense and weren’t worth the time it took to listen to them.

“Wow. She’s something. I would be scared to live with her.”

It was the shortest speech Boot had ever given him. Harry rewarded him with a thin smile and the words, “Not scary if you’re not on the receiving end,” then pointedly changed the subject.

Some people looked at him, but no one asked more questions. Harry smiled into his eggs, glad that Hedwig had managed to fly so fast with the letter that Madam Marchbanks had arrived at breakfast.

I think we’ll get satisfactory answers, or else.

*

In the end, it did seem to be decaying wards, Madam Marchbanks told Harry with a scowl when she found him after lunch. Dumbledore had promised that the wards would be fixed, and Madam Marchbanks had told him she would fund it herself.

“He tried to refuse that,” she said grimly, stabbing her cane into the dirt and scowling towards the Forbidden Forest. “He said that Hogwarts had plenty of money. I asked him why the wards hadn’t already been repaired, then, along with those awful brooms that you wrote to me about. He didn’t know what to say.”

“Did you turn his bollocks purple?” Harry asked.

“No, but I cast another curse on him,” Madam Marchbanks said, and leaned forwards to grin at Harry. “Don’t expect to see him at dinner this evening. Or breakfast tomorrow morning. That’s how long his stomach will take to recover.”

Harry laughed, and Madam Marchbanks nodded and pointed at him with her cane. “Knew we’d get along fine,” she said. “And I will be keeping an eye on this. If Dumbledore doesn’t fix the wards, I’ll be presenting my case to pay for them to the Board of Governors myself, see if I don’t.”

Harry was sure she would. And he stepped forwards and hugged her, because she seemed like she would like that, and part of him wanted to.

Madam Marchbanks grumbled and patted his back and told him not to let Ravenclaw make him soft. Harry waved her on her way with lightness in his heart.

*

There were no more threats for the rest of term, although Harry did write to Madam Marchbanks about how he would need a tutor for History during the holidays and that Professor Quirrell was worse than useless. She came to Hogwarts to yell at Quirrell about that. Quirrell shook harder than ever, but he did teach them some more interesting spells in the last couple weeks before Christmas.

Other than that, the most entertaining thing that happened was hearing both Corner and Nott go silent one morning, and glanced up from their library table to find another boy Harry only knew vaguely standing there, waiting to be noticed.

“Zacharias Smith,” he said shortly. “I want to study with you. All anyone can talk about is your marks in Defense, and about Nott’s.”

“I’m doing better, too,” Corner muttered.

“Be more interesting, and I’m sure there’ll be gossip about you,” Smith said dismissively, and looked at Harry.

Harry felt a smile pull at his lips. He didn’t know much about Smith, other than his House and that he tended to keep to himself in Charms and Potions and the other classes that Ravenclaw shared with Hufflepuff. But at least that seemed to mean he didn’t chatter like Boot or brag like Cornfoot, and if he could make jokes and make Harry laugh, that would be a valuable service.

Harry leaned back a little, watching Smith. “Tell me why we should let you into the group.”

“I can help you with Potions,” Smith said. “I’m the best in our shared class, and there are all sorts of little tricks that make things easier, like buying and preparing your own ingredients ahead of time, that Snape doesn’t bother to teach.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Snape hadn’t snapped at Harry too much, perhaps afraid that Madam Marchbanks would come back and yell at him. But he hadn’t given Harry a mark above an Acceptable on his essays or potions, either, and he had a habit of just looking into Harry’s cauldron with a sneer and sweeping on his way.

Harry wouldn’t call it bullying, exactly, but he wanted people to respect him. If that meant he had to force them to respect him, then he would.

“All right, that’s enough for me,” Harry said, although he did glance at Nott. Ultimately, Harry would be the one deciding whether Smith got accepted, but Nott was good in Potions and a Slytherin and didn’t need his help.

Nott snorted when he saw Harry looking at him. “I have no problems with someone who knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

A subtle hint that Smith would probably be all right with the promises they were making on their wands, too. Harry relaxed and waved Smith over to sit at the table. Smith had a sharp smile as he sat down that sort of reminded Harry of himself.

Good. Maybe friends really aren’t as far away as I thought.

*

Snape had a sour scowl on his face as he handed Harry his latest essay back. Harry unfolded it and smiled at the Exceeds Expectations at the top.

Smith had managed to give them some tips on neat handwriting and incorporating research, too. Nott hadn’t needed them, but they’d been useful for both Harry and Corner.

Harry put the essay away and gave Snape a polite smile when he saw the professor looking at him. Snape snorted and turned away.

*

“I got rid of all the cursed ones.”

Harry eyed the tottering stack of gifts in front of him and managed to smile a little at Madam Marchbanks. “Thanks. This is still…a lot.”’

“No more than you deserve, after those years you spent with Muggles.” Madam Marchbanks had the glittering shell-like charms cast around her ears again, although she’d warned Harry that she wouldn’t do it every day he was at her house. It was special for Christmas. “Some of them are probably guilt gifts.”

“Guilt gifts?” Harry knew what she probably meant, but he liked to encourage her to protect him and explain things.

“Gifts from people who feel badly about leaving you to rot in that Muggle house and think they can make up for it now.” Madam Marchbanks dubiously prodded a package that was broom-shaped but too small for an actual broom with her cane. “And some of them seem to think that you need children’s toys.”

Harry just smiled. He would keep the ones that appealed to him and give away the ones that didn’t. He would look good doing that, and earn approval from more people than just the ones who personally knew him.

He’d never had toys when he was little except a few stolen from Dudley. If he wanted them now, he would have them.

He ended up keeping about half the gifts, toys and books and cloaks and robes that, in some cases, would have to be adjusted to his size. There were also Potions brewing kits and cauldrons that would be useful, including a set of rare ingredients under Stasis Charms from Smith. Corner had got Harry a set of rune carving tools and wax tablets, probably because he’d seen Harry watching him practice. Nott had got Harry a book that practically leaked Dark magic, but Harry had no hesitation opening it in front of Madam Marchbanks since he knew that she’d already scanned the gifts.

In fact, she nodded approvingly when she saw the book and its title, which was about curses. “Glad to see that someone sent you something sensible.”

Harry expected the gift from Madam Marchbanks to be something sensible, too, and it sort of was. It was a glittering crystal ball that began to buzz and warble when Harry moved it towards the book from Nott.

“Sneakoscope,” Madam Marchbanks explained, sitting back in her chair and looking pleased with herself. “It reacts like that to Dark objects or someone doing something untrustworthy nearby. More expensive one, that is. Some of the cheaper ones don’t react at all to objects. But why go cheap when you have the Galleons to melt, I say.”

Harry smiled at her, and didn’t have to feign his gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Bah! Least I can do to make it up to you.” Madam Marchbanks hesitated, and then reached behind her chair and dragged out another gift. “There’s also this, but I couldn’t find a name for the sender. Makes me nervous.”

Harry frowned and picked up the package. It was light, and he almost would have thought it was empty if he couldn’t hear cloth slithering over cloth inside it. He dropped it on the floor and aimed his wand at it. “Aperio!”

The cloth folded back from the contents, while Madam Marchbanks laughed and clapped her hands together with a ringing sound. “Where did you learn the Opening Charm, Harry?”

“Is it all right that I know it?”

“Of course! Just not the kind of thing I expect a first-year to have the sense to look up. Most stick with the Unlocking Charm.”

Harry looked down with a modest smile. He shook his head a little. “I wanted to make sure that I could get through doors or bed curtains without touching them, if I had to. Even if they’re not locked.”

“Are any of those little swots in Ravenclaw putting prank spells on your curtains? Because if they are—”

“No, Madam Marchbanks. I just want to be prepared in case they do, someday.”

Madam Marchbanks settled back with a snort. “Quite right. I think that—Merlin’s bloated bollocks!”

Harry swung around when he realized that she was staring at the package he had opened and then almost forgotten about in the ensuing conversation. He blinked at the silvery piece of cloth lying on the floor. It was—a cloak?

“That’s an Invisibility Cloak!” Madam Marchbanks leaned over to the side and stared as if she expected the garment to float up and introduce itself. “One I saw your father wearing more than once, if I’m not mistaken. That’s unusual. Invisibility Cloaks don’t usually last through generations like that…”

Harry eased closer to the package. He didn’t have a lot that came from his parents, if he didn’t count the books and Galleons in his trust vault, and he wanted this if it came from his father.

But the fact that Madam Marchbanks couldn’t identify the sender and that it was different from typical Invisibility Cloaks made Harry cautious. He sat back. “Could you cast some spells on it that will find curses on it, Madam Marchbanks?”

She peered at him. “Some of them might damage the cloak.”

“If it’s cursed, then I can’t have it anyway.”

“Wish all children were as sensible as you,” Madam Marchbanks said, and aimed her wand. The cloak began to sparkle with all the charms and, probably, countercurses she was casting at it. She wore a scowl of fierce concentration, so Harry sat back and began to read the book Theo had got him. She didn’t like to be disturbed when she was doing things like this.

About twenty minutes later, Madam Marchbanks sat back, shaking her head. “That’s an Invisibility Cloak, without curses,” she said. “But it does have a kind of aura.”

“What kind of aura, Madam Marchbanks?”

“A powerful one. A cold one. I can’t say that I’ve seen anything like it.” Madam Marchbanks shook her head again. “But it might explain why this cloak was able to survive for so many years when most would have worn away. In fact, I think I remember hearing that your grandfather and great-grandfather wore it as well.”

Harry edged closer again. Yes, he wanted it. And Madam Marchbanks thought it was safe, or she would have thrown it away.

Harry grabbed the cloak and swished it around his shoulders.

The world disappeared behind a mesh of what looked like woven starlight. Harry gasped. The cloak was too big for him, but he could grow into it. And the thought of what he could do with it, how he could sneak around Hogwarts and learn secrets and keep himself safe…

It was amazing.

“Yes, it certainly works,” Madam Marchbanks was saying. “Can’t see a thing of you. Other cloaks that wear away show patches of the robes and skin of whoever’s under them, but this is much sturdier than they are.”

Harry laughed and flung the cloak’s hood back from his head, settling it so that he was more wearing it than standing under it. “Thank you, Madam Marchbanks!”

“I didn’t give it to you, remember. And whoever did is pretty bloody late. You should have had it at least by your eleventh birthday, if not sooner.”

“I meant thanks for checking it for curses,” Harry said, and went up to hold a hand out to her. She respected that he didn’t like to hug people often. “This is awesome. It’s great to have a thing of my dad’s. Thank you.”

Madam Marchbanks nodded to him, a sharp smile to match her sharp eyes swelling across her face. “You’re very welcome, Harry.”

*

“Is this the table where we sit if we actually want to study Defense?”

Harry glanced up and blinked. He knew this girl, since after adding Smith to their group, he had made a little more effort to pay attention to his yearmates. She was brown-skinned and dark-haired and frowning. “Parvati Patil, right?”

“Right.” Patil sat down at the table exactly as if she had been invited, ignoring the cold looks from Nott and Smith. “Yes, I’m the Gryffindor, supposedly not the smart twin, supposedly not as pretty, blah blah blah. But I want to be a great duelist someday, and that means learning Defense, and Quirrell is useless.”

“And you saw that Zacharias’s marks went up?”

Patil nodded. “It still took me a little while to try and track down the cause. You’ve done a good job of disappearing for someone as famous as you are, Potter.” Her eyes were sharp and assessing, a little like Madam Marchbanks’s could get.

Harry half-shrugged. “A lot more people forget about me in Ravenclaw than they would if I’d been Sorted into Gryffindor or Slytherin. Some of it is natural.”

“What part isn’t?”

Harry smiled at her, and Patil sat back with a small grumble. Harry wasn’t going to tell her about the Invisibility Cloak. Nott was the only one who knew, because he had started drifting to the outside of their group when Harry and Corner worked with Smith on Potions, and Harry needed something to bring him back.

It was kind of funny, how Nott got so excited to have a secret shared between just him and Harry (and Madam Marchbanks), and not just because he got to hold something over Corner’s and Smith’s heads. He was just excited to have a sign that Harry trusted him.

It was touching, too, but Harry was still analyzing that new thought.

“All right, I can take a hint.” Patil tapped lacquered nails on the table. “And are you going to let me study with you?”

“As long as you can convince us that you have something to contribute.” Harry saw the others exchanging looks from the corner of his eye. He ignored them. He wasn’t going to surround himself with people he didn’t trust just because they might want something. He was smarter than that.

Patil sighed slowly and shook her head. “All right. I can trade you information for lessons.”

“Because you know a lot of gossip?” asked Corner, leaning forwards.

Patil grinned, and Harry could see the way that her smile transformed her face into something unexpected. “Yeah. That’s one of the stereotypes about me that’s actually true. But people try so hard to guard the little things from me that they let some of the larger ones slip.”

Harry smiled at Patil again. He thought he would like her. “All right. You’re in.”

*

“…three-headed dog.”

Harry leaned cautiously around the corner. He’d been on the way to the place in the dungeons where he studied with his group, but he had heard voices he recognized, and whipped the Invisibility Cloak over his head. He had no desire to be pranked by the Weasley twins.

He might simply have gone on his way, but then he’d heard what they were saying, and he wanted to hear it in more detail. Were three-headed dogs a source of Potions ingredients? A symbol for something?

He discovered that the twins were huddled together with a hovering square of parchment in front of them. It was covered with what looked like a scribbled list, although Harry was too far away to make out the actual words.

“Someone has to feed it. So someone—”

“Has to know it’s there. But what’s it doing in a school full of children?”

Harry swallowed. He thought he might know the location of the three-headed dog, even if he didn’t know what it was, exactly. The third-floor corridor, where the Headmaster had warned them not go on pain of death.

It was exactly the kind of place that a pair of Gryffindor pranksters would want to sneak into.

“It must be guarding something. You know what that book said—”

“Guardian of the gates of Hell, yeah. Only I don’t think we have the gates of Hell in the school, Fred.”

“You never know, George. Maybe down in the Slytherin common room!”

They laughed. Harry listened to a little more of the conversation, but didn’t hear anything else that sounded interesting, so he turned and slipped away down a different route to his meeting.

In his head, he was already composing a letter to Madam Marchbanks.

*

“THREE-HEADED DOGS? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

Harry shook his head. It seemed the Headmaster had a bunch of bad ideas when it came to the school this year. His face was turning red again, but once again, he was trying to reason with Madam Marchbanks.

Harry didn’t see the point. She couldn’t be reasoned with. She’d proven that already. So why didn’t Dumbledore just give up and accept that he would have to repair the wards and buy new brooms and take his three-headed dog out of the school? Harry didn’t know what it was doing in the school anyway. Surely it could fend for itself just fine in the Forbidden Forest.

“Griselda, my dear—”

“I am nobody’s dear, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore agreed, and then sighed. “I would ask how you discovered the existence of Fluffy, but—”

“That’s not what’s important here. I’m glad to see that you recognize that.”

Once again, Dumbledore glared briefly at the Ravenclaw table. Harry just shrugged. Just because the Weasley twins had been the ones to talk about the dog in front of him didn’t mean they were the only ones who had discovered it. Anyone could have done that and written a letter to their parents or guardians.

He just has to get rid of his pet. It’s not the end of the world.

“If you only knew why it was important, Griselda.”

“Then why don’t you explain it to me? I’m waiting.” Madam Marchbanks folded her hands on top of her cane and stood straight and proud, or as straight as she could stand when most of her body seemed to droop.

Everyone in the school was avidly watching. Dumbledore peered at Harry again, then around at some of the other students, then at the professors. Professor McGonagall had her head pointedly turned away, Harry saw. He wondered if she had known about the dog and protested against Dumbledore keeping dangerous pets in the school.

Finally, the Headmaster nodded and sighed and said, “I was using it to help guard a treasure that one of my oldest friends entrusted to me. I was hopeful that by warning the children to stay away, the place where the treasure is would remain inviolate.”

“WELL, APPARENTLY NOT!”

Harry shook his head. He felt a little sorry for the Headmaster’s friend if this was the best plan Dumbledore could come up with to guard their treasure. On the other hand, maybe they didn’t have a better one.

What mattered, at the end of the conversation, was that the Cerberus (Harry made a note to look it up) would be removed from the school.

*

“What do you think happened to Professor Quirrell?”

Harry leaned back against the side of the train compartment and shrugged. “I don’t know, really,” he said, idly watching the countryside rushing by. “Maybe he decided that it was too hard to remain in a teaching position when so many of the students didn’t like or respect him, and so he just left. But I don’t really know.”

“Maybe the curse on the Defense post got him,” Nott said, with a faint smile.

“What curse on the Defense post?”

“No professor has lasted more than a year for decades,” Corner said with relish, and then he and Smith and Patil all started telling stories, some of which contradicted each other and some of which they argued with each other about as to dates.

“But at least everyone agrees on one thing,” Nott interrupted, probably because he’d got tired of listening to them argue. “The curse was cast by the Dark Lord.”

“You-Know-Who?”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes as Corner and Nott scowled at each other. It was one argument they’d never managed to resolve, their differing names for Voldemort. He didn’t see that it mattered much. “All right. Well, it seems that there’s another thing I’ll need to tell Madam Marchbanks about for next year.”

Nott laughed. “You think she could manage to dispel the curse?”

“Why not? She’s worked well on other things.”

“True enough,” Nott said, and then leaned forwards. “I meant to ask you, Harry—would you like to visit me during the holidays? I understand why you didn’t want to visit during Christmas, since you were still settling in with your new guardian, but obviously you get along well now, and my father would like to meet you.”

“And you’d like me to visit?”

Nott flushed, a faint pink someone else would have to be close to him to see. “Yes. I’ve—never had a friend visiting before.”

“Because your dad was a Death Eater, right?”

That had been something Harry had put together from gossip, hints that Nott had let drop, and histories of the war. Nott straightened and said, “Yes, he was. But he was under the Imperius Curse.”

Harry looked closely at Nott. Nott’s eyes were wide, but his face was set and determined. This was something he had said before, many times, and he might not believe it, but that wouldn’t stop him from saying it. At the same time, Nott didn’t believe that his father would harm the Boy-Who-Lived, or he wouldn’t have asked Harry to visit.

(That might be friendship. It might not, though. Maybe Nott just knew his father would be under suspicion if something happened to the Boy-Who-Lived in his house, so he didn’t think his dad would be stupid enough to try anything).

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. Nott made a face; he hated the Muggle word and the way Harry had ignored Nott’s attempts to train him out of saying it. Harry smiled now and said, “I’d like to visit.”

“Visit me, too,” said Patil, leaning forwards on her seat and away from the game of Gobstones she’d been playing with Smith. “I know that Padma will have friends coming over, and Lavender will visit, but almost no one else for me.”

“You must be a guest of my grandmother, Harry,” said Smith, in his stuffy, pompous way. “She’ll give me no rest otherwise.”

“My dad’s a Muggle,” Corner said. “Hope you don’t mind when you come over.”

Harry wondered if he should bristle. Everybody asking him to visit was nice, but just assuming he would—

No. Wait.

He wanted to.

And Harry had learned not to deny himself things he wanted.

Harry smiled and said, “I’d love to.” And he thought that, maybe, they were friends after all.

*

“Over here, Harry!”

Madam Marchbanks was waving at him from the far side of the platform. A tall man was waiting for Theo—Harry tested out the name in his mind and decided it was okay-—and a man and a woman for Parvati, and a harassed-looking witch in a pointy hat for Michael, and a tall, stately one for Zacharias. Harry’s friends waved to him and then went off with their parents.

Harry watched them and sort of envied them, but he turned back to Madam Marchbanks, who gave him a Cerberus’s smile and said, “I have that History tutor you wanted lined up. Not to mention someone from Durmstrang who takes a more expansive view of permissible spells.”

Harry grinned. He might not have a parent the way the others did, but he wouldn’t trade Madam Marchbanks and the summer he would spend learning for anything.

“Great. Thank you.”

For the first time in his life, he looked forward to a summer.

The End.