Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first letter came at breakfast, a week into term. A large black owl swooped down and landed directly in front of Harry, a silver envelope attached to its claw.

Harry paused, piece of toast in hand, to gape at the owl. Who could possibly be sending him letters? Ever since Sirius's death last year, he hadn't expected to have any correspondence outside of Hogwarts.

Throwing a puzzled glance towards Ron and Hermione, Harry took the letter from the owl, watching as it flew off.

He opened the envelope to read the message inside.

"Harry Potter…I'm going to steal your lung, carve it, and use it as a bowl to eat tomato soup.

-Anonymous"

Harry felt his jaw drop, torn between surprise and the desire to laugh.

"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously.

Wordlessly, he showed Ron and Hermione the letter. They mirrored his jaw drop, though they didn't seem to find it nearly as funny. In fact, they didn't find it funny at all.

"This is bad," Hermione whispered.

"I know," said Harry. "I prefer chicken noodle soup, myself."

"Be serious!" she hissed. "Ron, tell him to be serious!"

"If someone's brave enough to send you a death threat publicly, then they're probably brave enough to actually do it," Ron said, his eyes still trained on the letter. "Do you reckon it's…You-Know-Who?"

Harry laughed out loud at that, earning more worried looks from his friends.

"No," Harry said firmly, once he got his mirth under control. "It's definitely not Voldemort."

"How do you know?" Ron asked.

"It's not really his style," Harry said. "I mean can you imagine Voldemort eating tomato soup? Personally, I see him as more of a French Onion kinda guy."

Hermione smacked him on the arm. "Don't sound so sure! You-Know-Who has been trying to kill you since you were a baby! Why wouldn't he send you death threats?"

Harry sighed, beginning to grow frustrated with their insistence. "Because, I had his diary in second year and I'm pretty confident that this isn't his handwriting!"

He gestured towards the letter, which was written much more sloppily than Voldemort would've done with his elegant calligraphy.

“Well, who do you think wrote it then?” Ron asked.

“Probably Malfoy,” Harry said at once. “Or maybe Snape.”

Ron and Hermione both made a face that told Harry they definitely didn’t believe him.

“Or,” Harry said, reluctantly. “It could be nothing. Just someone’s idea of a joke.”

Hermione nodded, looking relieved. “That’s very true, Harry. There’s really no cause for worry.”

“Unless he gets a second letter,” Ron said.

“I’m sure he won’t get a second letter.”

XXX

The next morning at breakfast, Harry got a second letter.

“Harry Potter…I’m going to pluck out your eyes and replace them with golden snitches.
-Anonymous”

Harry chuckled at the mental image.

“Oh no,” Hermione squeaked beside him, covering her mouth in horror. “This is bad!”

“I know,” said Harry. “My eye sockets are not big enough to fit snitches in.”

“What do we do?” Ron asked, abandoning his breakfast in favor of giving the letter his full attention. “We’ve got to figure out who’s sending them!”

“It has to be Malfoy,” Harry said, setting the letter aside and taking a bite of toast. “I mean, who else would include Quidditch in their threat?”

Hermione inhaled deeply, clearly doing her best not to snap at him. “Harry, I know you hate Malfoy - I hate him too, of course. But, for all his faults, he doesn’t seem like the type to commit actual murder like these letters are implying!”

“How can we be sure they’re implying that?” Harry shot back. “Plucking out my eyes won’t kill me, necessarily.”

“He threatened to take out your lungs yesterday!” Ron exclaimed, gesturing madly.

“Only one of them,” Harry argued. “You can still live with only one lung. People donate their lungs all the time, don’t they?”

“While you can live with only one lung, you're thinking of kidneys, Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head with disappointment. She picked up the letter to read it over again. “We should go to Professor Dumbledore.”

“No way,” Harry denied at once, stealing the letter back and stuffing it in his pocket. “We aren’t going to bother him with this. I’m telling you, it’s just Malfoy’s idea of a joke. If someone really wanted to kill me, do you think they’d threaten me in the most hilarious way possible?”

“The thing is, Harry, people do want to kill you,” Hermione said.

“Loads of people,” Ron added.

“And if we don’t take every threat on your life seriously…well, you could die!” Her voice went high, sounding nearly frantic. “We’re just being cautious!”

Harry held up his hands in surrender, trying to calm her down. “Alright,” he amended. “Okay. How about this? If I get another one, then I’ll tell Dumbledore. Sounds good?”

Hermione looked like she didn’t think this sounded very good at all. But, all the same, Hermione still blew out a breath of air and nodded her agreement.

“I mean, what are the chances I get a third letter?”

XXX

The next morning, Harry got a third letter.

“Harry Potter…I’m going to chop off your foot and choke you with it.
-Anonymous”

“This is bad!” Hermione said, her eyes widening.

“I know,” said Harry. “That’ll taste awful.”

“I wish you’d stop making jokes about this!”

“How can I?” Harry asked. “I’m literally going to have my foot in my mouth! Like the metaphor!”

“That’s an idiom, Harry!”

“You’re an idiom.”

Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, no doubt to continue the argument, but Ron interrupted before she could. “That’s the third letter, Harry. Aren’t you going to go to Dumbledore now?”

Harry grimaced. He wished he hadn’t made that deal. Truthfully, he believed these letters were nothing to worry about. He would feel foolish going to Dumbledore over it.

“You did say you would…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell him after breakfast.”

XXX

“Harry,” Dumbledore greeted Harry from behind his desk, smiling jovially. “What brings you to my stuffy old office on this fine morning?”

“Well,” Harry said, feeling stupid already. “I’ve been getting these letters, and Ron and Hermione think I should show them to you.”

Harry held out the three letters, and Dumbledore reached for them with his non-injured hand, taking a moment to read them from behind his half moon spectacles.

When Dumbledore finished reading, he handed the letters back to Harry, an inscrutable look on his face.

After a beat of silence, Harry asked, “Well, what do you think, sir?”

“Are you concerned that this is the work of Lord Voldemort?” Dumbledore answered with a question of his own.

Harry shook his head at once. “No,” he answered. “Ron and Hermione are, but I think this is probably just a prank or something.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes lit up with something akin to approval, the smile returning to his mouth. “Very good, Harry. I, myself, am compelled to agree with you.”

Harry felt a knot of tension unravel, glad that Dumbledore didn’t seem to think Harry was wasting his time.

“Brilliant,” Harry said. “I’ll tell Ron and Hermione you think the same, and maybe they’ll calm down about it.”

Harry made to leave, but paused when Dumbledore called him back.

“Harry, be sure to let me know right away if you sense a change in the letters - perhaps if they become any more personal or specific.”

“Of course, sir.”

XXX

“Even if it is a prank, we still should figure out who’s doing it!” Ron declared, the moment Harry recounted what Dumbledore had said.

"Why bother? I know it's Malfoy," said Harry, staring into the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"You don't know that," Hermione countered mindlessly, as she worked on her Potions essay.

"We should still find out for sure," Ron said, standing and pacing the length of the common room. "I say we interview our top suspects, but we’ll need a disguise.”

"Alright," Harry agreed with a shrug. "What kind of disguise?"

Ron smiled, a slightly mischievous look crinkling his eyes. "I still have that trench coat Mum gave me for Christmas that one year."

Harry felt his lips twitch into a matching smile as he caught on to Ron's meaning. "And I'm still good at balancing on your shoulders."

Hermione looked up from her essay, gaping at the two of them. "You aren't seriously thinking of doing that stupid thing."

"What else am I going to use the trench coat for, Hermione?"

"But what's the point? You'll be twelve feet tall with the two of you in one trenchant! How is that a good disguise?"

"Wrong," Ron said. "We'll be seventeen feet tall, because you're going to be there too."

Hermione laughed without humor, her dark eyes glinting. “Oh no,” she said, her bushy hair bouncing as she shook her head. “I am not doing that.”

“What else are we going to use the trench coat for?” Ron repeated, waving his hands wildly. “You have to do it.”

Hermione made a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “As long as I’m not on the bottom-”

“Sorry, Harry and I already called top and middle,” Ron said quickly. “Come on!”

Hermione could do nothing but stare on in distress, before she was forced to follow.

XXX

“Do you mind?” Draco Malfoy asked, sneering at the very tall trenchcoated man that just cornered him.

“Draco Malfoy,” said Harry in a high-pitched, silly voice, his identity hidden by a large, fake mustache. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Why should I answer you?” Malfoy scoffed, eyes narrowing.

Harry’s mind came up blank. “Because…uh…”

“Because!” Ron called from inside the trench coat, in a matching high-pitched voice. “I am an esteemed reporter!”

Malfoy’s glare dropped to the middle of the trench coat, where Ron's voice had come from. “Did your stomach just talk?”

“Yes!” Harry yelled, patting Ron’s face through the coat. “I must be hungry!”

Malfoy squinted at him, suspiciously. Harry hurried on.

“First question,” Harry said, consulting the piece of parchment they had scrawled up moments before finding Malfoy. “What is your favorite kind of soup?”

“Cow tongue soup,” said Malfoy.

“Ew!” cried Ron, loudly.

“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione hissed, slightly quieter but still loud enough to hear.

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose with bewilderment at the scene before him.

“Sorry,” Harry said, patting Ron again. “But I agree, that is disgusting. Next question. What is your favorite thing to put in someone’s eye socket, besides eyes?”

Malfoy’s face screwed up in thought. “Probably knives.”

“Alright, and last question. What’s your favorite idiom?”

“Who are you calling idiom?” Malfoy snapped, immediately defensive.

“And that’s all the time we have!” Harry said, looking at his watch with an apologetic expression.

“Hang on,” Malfoy said, his tone warning Harry of danger to come. “Why do you look so familiar?”

“Like I said, we’re an esteemed reporter,” Ron said. “I mean I!”

“No, that’s not it,” Malfoy said, standing on his tip toes to peer closely into Harry’s face. “You seem to look a lot like…Harry Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked, wobbling slightly as he leaned back. “That’s ridiculous, Harry Potter doesn’t have a mustache.”

“You’re wearing his glasses,” Malfoy said, flatly. “And I see your scar.”

“RUN FOR IT!”

Harry balanced as best he could on top of Ron, as Hermione ran down the corridor.

XXX

“See Harry!” Hermione exclaimed from under the trench coat, as soon as they had managed to hide from Malfoy. "I told you it wasn't him!"

"Who's next on our suspect list?" Ron asked.

"You know who," said Harry, as he readjusted his mustache.

"You-Know-Who?" Ron asked in a fearful whisper.

"What? No! Obviously," Harry rolled his eyes. "I meant Snape. Come on, Hermione."

XXX

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape drawled as soon as the trenchcoated figure of Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled into his classroom.

"Uh, hello, I am an esteemed reporter," said Harry in a funny voice. "I'm here to ask just a few questions."

Snape squinted, looking him up and down. Harry held his breath, hoping he wouldn't recognize him.

Finally, Snape’s expression cleared and Harry sighed.

“What’s your name? I don’t recognize you,” Snape drawled.

“Er,” Harry frantically searched his mind for a name. “Dudley Dursley.”

Snape’s eyebrows raised. “Dursley? Is that not the surname of Harry Potter’s Muggle family?”

Harry’s heart dropped. He hadn’t realized that Snape would recognize the surname. “Oh,” Harry said. “Did I say Dursley? I meant…MacDursley.”

“...Your name is Dudley MacDursley?”

“Yes,” Harry said quickly. “But I’ll be asking the questions here. What's your favorite type of soup?”

Snape’s frown deepened. He didn't dignify that question with a response, simply eyeing Harry like he was a particularly nasty bug.

“Well?” he asked, gently pressuring him for a response.

“You are no esteemed reporter,” Snape said slowly.

Harry felt his heart lurch. “Yes I am! Esteemed reporter! A… steamed reporter. Steamed as in…cooking as in - soup!”

Snape was not amused. He stared at Harry for a long, painful amount of time before finally uttering a dreadful statement. “You're not Dudley MacDursley.”

“Yes I-”

“Only a complete idiot would ask me such an idiotic question. Potter, I know it's you!”

Harry gaped. How had Snape figured it out? Just because the question was idiotic doesn't automatically mean it's him!

There was nothing left to do.

“RUN FOR IT!”

XXX

“Well,” said Harry, once they were safe in the common room, no longer stacked on top of one another. “Now we know it's not Snape.”

“Why do you think that?” Hermione asked, surprised.

Harry gave her a look. Wasn't it her who had been so strongly opposed to the thought that it could be Snape in the first place?

“You're right of course,” she said, hastily. “I'm just surprised you think so.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well isn't it obvious? Snape clearly doesn't like soup. I always did pin him as more of a stew guy.”

XXX

Ever since their disastrous investigating process, they had reluctantly given up on finding out the identity of Harry's secret, murderous pen pal. Or as Harry liked to call him - his secret un-admirer. And yet, for the next several weeks, Harry continued to get a letter every day. And while Ron and Hermione no longer urged him to tell Dumbledore, they still didn’t seem to find them as funny as he did.

“Harry Potter…I’m going to suffocate you with your invisibility cloak while you sleep in your dormitory tonight at midnight.
-Anonymous"

“Do you reckon this is what Dumbledore meant when he said 'more personal and specific?'”

“Oh no,” said Hermione. “This is bad.”

“Now you really have to go to Dumbledore, mate,” said Ron, seriously.

Harry let out a long, drawn out sigh. He really didn’t want to go back to Dumbledore. Even now, he felt pretty certain this was just one, elaborate prank. But he did promise Dumbledore that, in this exact scenario, he’d go see him.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Harry, abandoning his breakfast and standing. “I’m going.”

XXX

Harry walked down the corridor towards Dumbledore’s office with his hands shoved in his pockets, wanting nothing more than to turn around and let the whole situation work itself out.

He wasn’t even sure why he so strongly didn’t want to tell Dumbledore. Sure, he didn’t want to bother the headmaster with trivial matters, but he had already bothered him once before and Dumbledore hadn't seemed even the slightest bit annoyed.

Perhaps, Harry reflected, it had something to due with his dislike of relying on authority which undoubtedly stemmed from a childhood of neglect and abuse at the hands of the Dursleys. He learned from an early age that the adults that should have his best interests at heart often do not, and that if he wanted a problem solved, he had to solve it on his own. It explained a lot about himself actually - particularly, why he always insisted on doing things alone.

Harry hummed to himself, feeling pleased by this line of introspection. He usually wasn’t this self aware and relied on Hermione to psychoanalyze him. But maybe now that he had identified the problem within himself, he could face it head on and overcome it.

With this newfound determination, Harry approached the Headmaster’s door, his fist raised for knocking. No matter what Dumbledore said, reaching out and talking to him would surely be a healing experience for-

Harry froze as he noticed a note on the door.

In Dumbledore’s elegant scrawl the note read, “GONE FISHING.”

Harry blinked, utterly bewildered.

So much for facing his problems head on.

XXX

“You’re back!” Hermione exclaimed the moment Harry stepped through the portrait hole and into the common room. Ron stood not far behind, looking equally interested. “Well, what did he say?”

Harry gave a shrug, taking a seat by the fireplace. “Nothing. He wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean he wasn’t there?” Hermione’s voice went high with concern.

Harry told her about the sign. She collapsed in the seat next to him, defeated.

“He is the headmaster! He cannot just abandon all his responsibilities like that!”

“It’s Dumbledore,” Ron said, simply, the only one of them not sitting. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Hermione gave a small groan, burying her face into her hands. “It’s hopeless.”

Harry scoffed, mock-offended at her lack of faith in him. But before he could respond, Ron interrupted.

“It’s not hopeless,” Ron said.

Harry put a hand to his heart, touched that at least Ron believed in him. “Thanks, Ron.”

“Because I have a plan.”

Harry quickly removed his hand. So much for Ron believing in him.

“Well, are you going to tell us this plan, or…?”

Harry trailed off as a grin slowly formed on Ron’s face.

“Isn’t it obvious? We have the upper hand. Whoever is sending these notes told us all we need to know. I say we get your invisibility cloak out and hide under it until midnight. Then we’ll see who’s been threatening you and we can stop them.”

It wasn’t a bad plan. Harry found himself nodding along to it. Hermione even peeked between her fingers as Ron explained it.

“Alright then,” Harry said. “Let’s do it.”

XXX

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all huddled under the invisibility cloak. They didn’t fit under it as well as they had when they were eleven, so it was very awkward and crowded as they attempted to remain completely hidden.

This was the easy part. The hard part had been convincing Harry's other roommates - Dean, Seamus, and Neville - to leave for the night. But after some bribing they did eventually agree.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare breathe, as they waited for Harry's attacker to stroll through the door.

Finally, just as Harry's watch ticked to midnight, the door creaked open, revealing none other than…

Draco Malfoy.

And Snape.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all gasped loudly as Malfoy and Snape both strolled in, side by side, murderous rage written on their faces.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry and Hermione yelled in unison, shooting the spells from under the cloak, and both hitting their targets.

Malfoy and Snape dropped with a thud.

Harry pushed the cloak off of them, staring wide eyed at the scene before him.

“I thought it might be Malfoy, I thought it might be Snape, but never did I think it could be both of them!” Harry exclaimed. “Does this make me extra right or barely wrong?”

“Why not both?” Ron asked.

Hermione ignored them, pointing her wand at the pair and saying, “Incarcerous.”

Ropes sprung from her wand, tightly tying their already frozen enemies. Then, Hermione lifted the Petrificus Totalus charm, evidently so they could speak.

“Why have you two been sending Harry these notes?” she demanded, harshly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Malfoy sneered, as he struggled against the ropes. “I thought my meaning was pretty clear…and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Granger.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at Malfoy with furious eyes.

Harry piped up if only to stop Hermione from committing a murder right then and there. “Wait, so you actually meant it when you said you want to eat soup out of my lung?”

Ron’s nose wrinkled. “That’s gross Malfoy.”

Malfoy had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, a light pink hue dusting his cheeks. “It was an exaggeration.”

“I told you Potter wouldn’t take you seriously,” Snape said, pinning Malfoy with a look of great distaste.

“Hold on,” Harry said, holding up a hand. “I’m confused-”

“No surprise there,” Malfoy cut in, rudely.

Harry ignored him. “I’m confused how exactly you’re both working together. Did you take turns writing the letters or-”

“Foolish, boy,” Snape snapped, his lip curling. “I would never waste my time with something as frivolous as writing you letters. I am only here to stop Mr. Malfoy from doing something stupid.”

“Stop me?” Malfoy turned his head - the only part of his body that wasn’t restrained with ropes - to face Snape. “You said you would help me!”

“I lied,” Snape admitted, face stone cold.

“Wait so, Malfoy’s trying to kill Harry and Snape’s trying to stop him?” Ron asked, scratching his head.

“We just said that”

“Learn to listen, Mr. Weasley.”

“How could you even think to do something like that, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, horrified at the idea.

“I wasn’t going to kill you,” Malfoy said, reluctantly. “I was only going to attempt to kill you.”

It was in that moment that something clicked for Harry, like a switch in his brain being flipped.

“You’re a Death Eater!”

Hermione and Ron shot him bewildered looks. “What?”

Malfoy didn’t deny Harry’s accusation.

“Harry, how could Malfoy be a Death Eater?”

“Yeah, he’s far too pathetic and cowardly to ever work for You-Know-Who!”

“I’ll have you know-” Malfoy started, enraged by the insult.

Harry cut him off. “Voldemort has no problem getting pathetic and cowardly people to work for him! Remember Quirrel? And not to mention Wormtail. Malfoy will fit right in.”

Malfoy looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or flattered.

“But that still doesn’t answer why you were only attempting to kill Harry,” Hermione said.

“He probably just wanted to impress his Death Eater buddies,” Harry said with a shrug.

“But if that were the case, wouldn’t he try to actually kill you? That would be a lot more impressive,” Ron added.

“Well Voldemort attempts to kill me all the time, and they’re all plenty impressed with him.”

Ron and Hermione both let out a long, “Oh,” of understanding. Finally they were on the same page as Harry.

“There’s only one thing I don’t get,” Harry said, holding up a finger. “Why were you trying to stop him Snape? You hate me, wouldn’t you want me to be attempted murdered?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “What are you secretly in love with Harry’s mum or something?”

“Ew, Ron that’s disgusting!” Harry turned on Ron, furious. “Why would you say that?”

“It’d be a good plot twist is all!”

“It’d be a stupid plot twist,” Harry said. “What’s the real plot twist Snape?”

A nasty smirk wormed its way on Snape’s face. “It’s much more shocking. Free me of these ropes and I’ll show you.”

Harry looked to Ron. Ron shrugged, and took a step towards Snape, with the intention of untying.

Hermione grabbed him by the wrist. “Are you serious? That’s the oldest trick in the book!”

“I want to know the plot twist, Hermione!"

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. Ron continued on his way, and untied Snape.

Harry held his breath, half expecting Snape to attack. Instead, however, he simply brought his thumb and forefinger up to the top of his forehead, right where his greasy hair began…

…and unzipped his skin.

They all watched on in horror and awe as Snape unzipped his skin suit and revealed his true form.

“Dobby?”