When Professor McGonagall came to my home, and said those faithful words 'You are a witch Miss Granger', I did not believe Hogwarts would be like this.
I'd hoped it'd be different to primary school, that the people would be different, that they would care more about their education. That I'd find people like me. It was a magic school! Surely, I'd thought. There was so much to learn, to see and do. Maybe it would have been different if I'd let the hat put me in Ravenclaw but I'd read Hogwarts: A History and heard so much of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive, that his house was Gryffindor and so my mind was made up.
That might have been foolish.
There's a chill as I sit by the great lake, the sun setting behind the surrounding Scottish hillside, turning day into night little by little.
I had just wanted to be left alone, I had made my way to the girls toilets after…
Don't think of it. Don't think of Him…
After charms, but I had been distracted and so had ended up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I had read about it in Hogwarts: A history. It was perpetually flooded, the water lapped at my ankles and I knew I couldn't stay there. Having spotted the lake in the window, I decided I could use some fresh air.
Navigating the castle was a chore, I was redirected twice and the stairs had decided to take a leave of absence for what had to be at least five minutes. Something they neglected mention in Hogwarts: A History, it wasn't just the stairs that moved. Everything seemed to have a mind of its own in this castle. What kind of guide and history book doesn't mention that! Stupid.
I arrived at the lake, finding a spot where I wouldn't bother anybody else.
I had sat here for I don't know how long, just staring at the black surface. Alone. Again. Nobody would realise I had gone, or maybe they realised and they didn't care. I don't know which thought was more painful. And it seemed like was it beginning to rain as well, my face was wet, I looked up to find clear skys and the orange afterglow of sunset about to lead into night. Oh. I was crying. Tears were falling and I couldn't stop them.
I hated it here.
I wanted it to be different, and at the start, on the train, it seemed like it would be. I was helping a mousy looking boy, Neville, find his pet toad. We had searched through two carriages, asking students if they'd seen him and walked in on two students who had decided that cleaning each other's tonsils with their tongues was the best use of their time. I shut the door and screamed at them to lock it, I don't think they heard me.
It seemed like just another compartment when I knocked and opened the door. There were two boys inside, on the right sat a lanky boy, with a long nose, numerous freckles and a shock of red hair. He was attempting to do something with the fat rat on his legs, before I could figure out what he was trying. My attention was kidnapped by the boy to the left.
He sat in a grey hoodie, blue jeans and sneakers with a copy of An Introduction to Transfiguration open on his lap. His skin was smooth and lustrous without pores or acne. His hair was dark, so much so it was hard for me to decipher if it was black or brown. He's looking at me with eyes of emerald green… Beautiful, I cant help but think, as he begins to speak. My attention is split between the words that leave his lips and his eyes which seem to drink me in, to know my every thought and action.
Neville stutters out descriptions of the toad and the boy, who should be a first year like me, performs magic with an ease that frightens me. If he can do it, what about the others? I've already fallen behind…
But the shock and exclamations that join my own from the other boys calm me a little. I ask him how he does it, that piece of fourth year magic, when we have not even made it to the castle. His answer?
"I am Harry Potter." What a prat.
I spent the rest of train ride with the Boy Who Lived, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom. We talked and played games and laughed. For the first time in a long while, I had thought I had made friends. When we were all sorted together into Gryffindor, I thought that everything would be alright. I was wrong. After just a few days, I could see it in their eyes already. The annoyance and the beginning of what I knew would lead to resentment. They thought I was a pest, a know it all, teachers pet. But for some students, from the other houses, Slytherin mostly, there was a disgust, that I had done nothing to deserve, just being born to the wrong parents. And Harry…
Harry was brilliant. At everything! Transfiguration, Charms and even stupid Herbology, though he wasn't as good as Neville. And when asked how, he gave that stupid cocksure answer. It seemed effortless to him. But if it was effortless, was he really trying? That's why even though everyone else was messing about during history, I tried to get him to pay attention. To do something. Because if he could sleep through the class and still somehow ace it? What did that say about me?
All this while the tears hadn't stopped. It was getting even colder, shivers racking my body but I wasn't going back to the castle, I didn't want anyone to see me like thi-
Warmth. Bliss. It felt like I was in front of the fire drinking hot chocolate with mum and dad.
Where did that come fro-
"Hello Hermione." I knew that voice. I scramble up, making sure to wipe my eyes before I turn to face him. He's there. No house cloak, just a jumper with our house colours and a white shirt and tie underneath. He's got one hand tucked into the pocket of his school trousers. He slides his red wand up and it disappears into the sleeve of his right hand where I'm sure a holster lays. He doesn't seem cold in just a jumper. But I'm not surprised, the spell was his and He is Harry Potter. …Damn it! Now I'm doing it too.
"I forgot to say, I'm sorry." He's looking at me intently as he always does. I look back confused.
"What ever for?"
"History of Magic. Don't you remember?" I did. I didn't even hear the incantation but no words would come out till the end of the lesson. Luckily, Binns doesn't take questions. "That's not how to treat a friend, you didn't deserve that. And for that, I am truly sorry." I'm shocked. I didn't think he'd ever… wait friends!?
"W-we're friends?" I hear myself say, my voice sounds choked.
"Of course we're friends Hermione." He must think me stupid. He's looking at me, something about his eyes, …there's an otherworldly glow to them. Must be a trick of the light…
"I don't believe you! Y-you all hate me! You think I'm a know it all." The tears are back, my vision is blurry. "I know you all think that. Well fine! I don't care! So what if I like books? Or to learn? What of it!? T-that doesn't make me a-a Freak! You don't need to be my friend. I don't n-need anyone." He just looks at me, letting me get it off my chest till I'm left panting and feeling quite foolish. He doesn't care, he's "Harry Potter"after all …
"I don't hate you, Hermione. I know you don't need anyone, but I want you to be my friend." As he talks, he seems to make up his mind about something. "I am going to share something with you, something I have not shared with anyone else but I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone."
"W-what? What are you-"
"Promise me, Hermione." I have no clue what he could possibly be talking about, but standing there, his hands in his pockets, hair curly and messy as it always seems to be, he doesn't seem nefarious. His luminous green eyes draw me in and I find myself saying…
"Okay, I promise." As soon as the words leave my lips, my world is set alight.
It's like someone is grazing the inside of my brain, scratching an itch I never knew was there and that I could never reach. My head is on fire with a million tiny little kisses. All the weight is lifted from my body, it feels like I'm being pressed by soft warm clouds on every side. Tingles continually running down my spine, my cheeks fell warm, everything is warm, I don't know what is going on but all I feel is-
Pleasure. Warmth. Love. Please, don't let this end.
After what feels like an eternity, the feelings recede. I don't understand. …W-what was that!?
'Me.' A voice. I know it but I don't at the same time. It echoes in my skull, each bounce spreads tingles down my spine and to the rest of my body. I look up and Harry is still there, he hasn't moved an inch. His eyes haven't left mine. Is it really you?
'Yes Hermione.' I feel him there now, another presence, another weight but he doesn't exactly feel heavy. Something grazes me again and for a split second, pleasure returns. I feel him. I am full. I feel him let go and I try to stop him but I can't. He leaves. I am empty.
The Great Lake is quiet, the only sound is my breathing. I don't know how much time has passed, everything looks the same. He hasn't said a word. Waiting for me to speak?
"How?" Is the only thing I can say.
"I am-" I cut him off.
"Don't you dare!" I scowl, as he laughs. What a prat! And then I'm laughing too.
"For me Hermione, magic is everything." He starts, there's a seriousness to his eyes, I have never seen before. "Since forever, I've been able to feel it. In the air, in me, in you and everyone else, magic! It's probably a Boy Who Lived thing. I could make things move without touching them. I could see what people were thinking if they looked at me. I could make things happen when I wanted to…" He's smiling, white and wide, but for some reason, to me, it looks fragile and sad. And I don't know why.
"Your greatest fear is failure." Before I can question how he knows that, he taps his head, and I realise.
I should feel violated. Afraid. I should hate him. Some part of me wants to. He invaded my privacy, all my secret thoughts and precious memories but as I look at him now and remember the feelings from before, all I can feel is gratitude and affection for this boy who is doing all of this to make me feel better. "Don't despair Hermione, you haven't failed."
I don't know when it happened but he's closed the gap between us, he places a palm on my cheek, it's cold but not unpleasant. There's tears in my eyes but I don't know from what emotion. I feel warmth spread across my face, he wipes the tears and continues.
"You are second only to me Hermione and there are things you can do that I cannot. You have an eidetic memory don't you?" I nod into his palm, "Your cleverness far surpasses my own. We have different purposes in this world Hermione but sometimes it can be cripplingly lonely." He pauses and lifts my chin up and I meet his eyes. It's as if I can see my whole world, my whole future in them.
"I know what it's like be alone in this world. I don't want that for you anymore. Will you stay by my side Hermione?"
There is so much compassion, so much understanding, so much warmth in his eyes. I realise that he alone sees me, not a bookworm or girl with the bushy hair and buck teeth, not a teachers pet, a kill joy or pest.
He sees me and my mind is made up.
"Yess." The answer glides out with no resistance. As he takes my hand and leads me to the castle, I feel warm. As he leads me to the seventh floor, not rushing, always looking back so I know he has not forgotten about me, I feel cared for. As he walks back and forth before a blank wall and leads me into an exact replica of my bedroom, 'the room we require.', with books upon books upon books of magic that he says we can study together, I feel the beginnings of something I didn't know if I would ever feel.
I feel love.
Pain. Disgust. Loathing.
These are the emotions that devastate me as I lay eyes on Harry Potter.
Pain, because of his eyes, just like Lily's. Pain, because I will never see them again without seeing James Potter's spawn. Pain, because I know she did not have to die, and now everything I love is gone.
Disgust, because I was the one signed her death warrant. Disgust, because apparently, according to Lily, James potter is a better man than I. Disgust, because I know that is what she would feel for me.
Loathing, because James Potter's features have diluted Lily's. Loathing, because I must keep this Potter brat alive, because he is Lily's son too. Loathing, because I know without a doubt that he is just like his father.
It is clear. In the way he enters my potions classroom, with his Gryffindor psychophants all around him, singing his praises.
It is clear in the rapt attention they pay to him as he speaks, his voice dripping with arrogance. But they don't care and they eat up whatever he spews out, as if he were anything special.
It's not just the boys either. Somehow. Already! The Potter "Charm", has done its work. He already has a girl by his side, eating from his palms. And from the looks the other girls are giving him, this pint-sized celebrity, might be on the path to outdoing his buffoon of a father. Just the thought of that infernal man make my blood boil.
A breath. A centring of self. An emptying of the mind. And the emotions lost their vibrancy, their potency, floating down the drain.
I removed the obscuring charm I had placed upon myself.
I moved to the front of the class, some murmurs continue. A sharp "Quiet!" And they are. Peace at last…
I sat and began roll call, the dunderheads, to their credit at least knew their own names, we would soon see if they had any talent for potion making. I arrived at him.
"Potter! Our local …celebrity." He looks up at me with those damn eyes and lets me know of his presence.
I begin the same old speech, bottled glory, stoppered death, ensnared senses. Why should I bother to change my methods when the quality of students would never increase?
As I speak, waxing about the beautiful art of potion making that these idiots would never be able to fully comprehend, I look to Potter. He's looking at me with those eyes —her eyes. To anyone else, he may have seemed attentive, a model student… I knew better.
In those eyes, I see nothing but boredom. I snap.
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" The boy has the audacity to raise an eyebrow at me.
"If added with the correct proportions, then Draught of Living Death Sir." He answers with seeming ease, as if the topic I teach is beneath him. As if I am beneath him. Just like his father…
"Think yourself smart do you, aye Potter?"
"You asked me the questio-"
"5 points for your cheek Potter." I sneer at him, he is unfazed. The girl at his right, Granger, my mind supplies, looks shocked.
"Again then. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Granger raises her hand as if to answer. Potter sighs.
"There are others in this class Professor, but since you seem to have eyes only for me-" a Collective gasp from the students and a sharp "Harry!" from Granger, "They are the same plant Professor, there is none."
"Detention! And 20 points from Gryffindor, for your disrespect, you insolent child." I snarl, even then, after my proclamation, he has the gall to smile and question me.
"With who professor?" The Gryffindor's look at him, shocked that he's still going. I hear a whispered, "Harry, mate, shut up!" Frantic in its delivery.
"What?" I have to make sure my hearing isn't deceiving me.
"It can't be you, Professor. If I spend any more time around Greasy Gits, I might catch something." Finnigan and Weasley are among those who laugh. I'll deal with them later. Granger smacks Potter's arm and says something I do not hear.
I do not know why I am surprised. Perhaps, some tiny part of me still held out hope that he'd take after Lily. Filius and Minerva have been singing his praises after all. But they are blinded. They want to see something that is not there. They are deluding themselves. They tried to delude me.
This brat is everything I hate in this world. The undeserved entitlement, strutting about the castle, as if he were some "chosen one" and we should all bow at his feet.
I hate him, he is his father's son.
"Out! Get out! Detention for a-" The words spew from my lips and my attention is split between the words and Potter.
He leaves without a word but he gives the Gryffindors a reassuring smile, as if they are the ones in trouble and not him. His arrogance is astounding.
For the rest of the lesson there is a mood about them, like planets without their star or a tribe without their king. All this affection for Potter in just a week…
It sickens me.
It took me five detentions with Severus Snape before I began to think, Maybe… just maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.
We had said no words to each other since that first lesson five weeks ago. For the detentions, every Wednesday at 7, before my astrology class at 11, he'd have me scrub his cauldrons clean, with no magic allowed.
Not just because he was a dick, because he was, without a doubt, a dick.
But because cleaning them with magic tended to affect the next potion created, as you left the cauldron saturated with your magic. This would not be a problem if the cauldron was yours. Your magic was added anyway during the potions you made, but adding someone else's… unless it was by design, could have adverse effects. It's why each student is required to have their own potions equipment. Still a pain in the ass…
I grew tired of the detentions after the first night. And I would have stopped showing up if it weren't for Hermione.
"How was Detention with the git mate?" The question came from Ron with a sympathetic smile. He alongside the rest of the Gryffindor first years, had somehow managed to snag the area by the by the fireplace, without being displaced by any of the upper years. Huh… I didn't think they'd be able to pull that off without me.
"Surprisingly, not as bad as I expected." I responded as I arrived before them. Seamus, Neville and Dean were playing Gobbstones on the floor. Ron was practicing wizards chess by himself to their side. Behind them, Hermione sat in the armchair with a book on her lap, she gave me a frosty glance but nothing more. I am in trouble it seems. Before I could decide on where to sit—
"We saved you a seat, Harry." Pavati said, patting the space between her and Lavender as they both giggled. If they wanted to play this game…
I walked over and sat between them. Then, turning, I lifted my legs and placed them atop Pavati's lap, with my head falling onto Lavender's. They looked to each other and giggled.
"Want me to scratch your head Harry?" Lavender asks sweetly.
"Mhm". She begins her minstrations with another giggle.
"He can't keep getting away with this!" The half whisper, half shout from Dean brought a smile to my lips. They were such children.
I spotted Hermione's glare in my peripheral, it was even icier than before. She looked away with a huff. I should probably fix that soon.
"Yeah, not as bad as it could've been but I won't be turning up to the next one," I sighed under lavender's work, "scrubbing cauldrons with my bare hands, once a week, for two months? No way in hell." I sense it too late, my attention elsewhere.
I felt a sharp, intense but minuscule pain hurtling towards me, but I was trapped between two eleven year old girls. Shit… thwarted by my charm and dashing good looks.
The spell hits.
"Ah! Hermione, what the hell!?" The words leave me as I sit up from my position. Curse Voldemort, one lesson and he's already teaching her spells to use against me. Somehow, he still wasn't the worst teacher in the school, even with that god awful stutter. …I really need to exorcise Binns.
I hear the others exclaim in shock but my focus is on Hermione, there's a pleased smile on her face.
"You have to attend Harry. I read that if you continue to defy a Professor's reasonable—" Snape was anything but, "demands, they have charge to expel you from the school as long as the board of governors is in agreement. Seeing how Professor Snape was treating you in the lesson, he'd probably push for it." Her face grows concerned. "Oh, why did you say those things Harry! You could be expelled!" There's a passion and no small amount of worry in her voice. The others look worried as well as they hear her talk. They needn't be though. I felt a smile grow on my lips.
"They wouldn't expel me Hermione. I am Harr—" I duck and another stinging hex impacts the sofa behind me. I look to Hermione, feeling incredulous. She looks like she's about to cast again. The others are laughing.
"This is serious Harry!"
"Alright! Alright, calm down. Fine. I'll go to his stupid detentions." She looks incredibly pleased with herself. I continue, "And I apologise, I shouldn't have responded how I did, and I left you guys in a pretty awkward situation, I'm sorry"
Yeah, that was a boldfaced lie.
I have no remorse for what I said, all things considered, it was pretty tame. As I leave Snape's classroom, after two hours of silence and scrubbing in my fifth detention, I wish I would have said more.
Snape is a detestable man. A former death eater who had only realised, "ooo killing and torturing for the sake of killing and torturing bad" when he realised that the girl he called a slur and claimed to love might be in danger. Pathetic…
As I continue to ponder the idiocy of man, I am intercepted by the two people I'd least expect.
"Well, what do we have here Feorge?"
"I don't know, Gred, you tell me."
"Well it looks like ickle Harrykins is leaving detention, Feorge."
"Indeed it does Gred." Their play by play is astounding. It shouldn't be a surprise though, their magic was the same. There is no way to differentiate where one of them ends and the other begins. For all sense and purposes, they are the same person. Is it like this for all twins?
As I look at them, I'm reminded of what they have in their possession and I know how to escape Snape's detentions.
Truly, Fate continues to smile upon me…
"Weasleys! Perfect timing, I was just looking for you—"
"You were?" Fred, I believe. I don't stop.
"— you have something of mine—"
"We do?" George this time, I continue on.
"—and I would like it back." They look at each other, bemused, then look to me, curious. I lead them from the dungeons to another empty corridor and into an abandoned classroom.
14 and a half inches slips into my right hand with a familiar feeling of warmth. I think of silence, a closed system, nothing in or out, as if I'm under water, sound waves muffled. I wave my wand above my head and we are separated from outside noise and it from ours.
"Brilliant bit of spell casting from ickle potter, aye George?" It seems they've returned to their true names. His voice is awed.
"Quite so Fred, no incantation either, what a—" I interrupt, it was amusing at first, now it's just draining.
"Haven't you heard? I am—"
"Harry Potter." They join me in saying it, looking at me with matching grins. I give a bark of laughter and continue on.
"Yes, …as I was saying, you have something of mine. Do the words, " I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.", mean anything to you?" I ask, already sure of the answer. They stiffen. But that's not what truly begins to let them down, It's in their eyes. The slight widening and pupil dilation. For even the best of liars, they give so much away.
"How do yo—" Fred smacks George before he can finish. It's too late though, I feel triumph settle in my breast.
"We don't know what you're talking about." I look to Fred and I know even he doesn't believe what he says.
"No need for that now. I can sense the traces of its magic on you. But if that is not enough… Prongs is my father." A sucking in of breath from the two, surprise colouring their faces. "James Potter. There are mentions of it in the writings he and my mother left me." There are no such writings, though they have no way of knowing that.
"The marauders map is mine but since you've kept it from harm, it doesn't feel right just taking it from you, so… how much do you want in exchange?" They look confused, touched and offended all at the same time.
"We don't want your money Harry."
"Yeah, we don't want anything. Here," Fred pulls it out. He hesitates and looks to me. "What do you say to close it?"
"Mischief managed." He sighs and gives it over. It feels like kicking puppies, but I need it more than they do. Still…
"How about this then? I'll owe you three favours, to call on at anytime of your choosing. As long as it's something within my power to accomplish, and not something I find too embarrassing or cumbersome, I'll do it." They look at me, grin and we shake on it.
I leave the abandoned classroom with the map, two new friends and a destination in mind.
It was time to see Albus Dumbledore.
When I arrive at the base of the stairs which leads onto the headmaster's office, I am met by a pair of gargoyles. They spring apart before I can analyse them. It seems, somehow, I am expected.
I move onwards and upwards, my steps echoing on the spiral staircase. I arrive at the top and the door is unlocked. When I step inside the office, Dumbledore is not there. But it is very clearly, his office.
Various Knick knacks line his overly large desk. Shaking, swirling, moving this way and that. Behind them, is an apparatus the likes of which I have never seen. It looks like something from my old high school chemistry classrooms, with fluids swirling in tubes, separating and joining constantly, mixing in a cacophony of different colours. Like the Knick knacks, and bookshelves, this apparatus, which can only be used for alchemy, my mind supplies, like everything else in this place is touched with his magic.
Magic, which to my senses, is always on the move. Always worried, it is swirling from white to grey and the back again, never given a moment to rest. He has too much on his plate.
I look around, I am surrounded by portraits on all sides. The previous headmasters, I realise, and they are staring at me with no small amount of curiosity and the beginnings of recognition. It seems they know of me…
My eyes are drawn to the only other occupant in the room, he's perched atop a smaller desk to the right of Dumbledore's Brobdingnagian monstrosity and I find myself closing the distance between us unconsciously.
The fully grown phoenix does not grow hostile, to my surprise, and it continues to trill softly. The music it makes, its weight, its voice, all of this reminds me of that wand of Holly.
I am hit with a wave of sadness but before I am overcome, Fawkes presents me his regal feathers and I accept the gift of comfort for what it is.
As Fawkes continues to trill, my hands brush and stroke. Feeling the life and magic that is present in every fibre of this bird.
"Thank you Fawkes." I say, because that sadness is gone.
"Harry Potter," I turn and Dumbledore is there, having emerged from some trapdoor or another. He's beaming at me, "I've been expecting you, or should I say, Fawkes has been." He makes his way around his desk, which is too big to be natural and takes a seat.
"I trust everything is sorted now?" I nod. "Good."
His robes are a deep purple, star spangled and enchanted so that the stars are always moving. His beard is well maintained. All in all, his ensemble makes my jumper and school trousers seem inadequate. He does not seem his age, a century and counting, as he offers me a sherbet lemon and the seat across from him. I take both.
"To what do I owe the pleasure Harry?"
"The pleasure?" I question, thinking of how to approach the topic.
"Well of course my boy. I am in the presence of the greatest first year Hogwarts has ever seen, at least according to Filius and the rumours." His eyes are shining with pride, he continues. "Even I was not performing non-verbal magic consistently until my third year." Yes Dumbledore, but you were actually a child…
"Thank you professor. Hmm, well, I think it's best if I just show you."
I wip out the map and place it on his desk. I say the phrase and the whole castle opens up to us. Everyone one and everything in the castle. My eyes are on one name, I look to Dumbledore, he looks astonished, taking in this incredible piece of magic. He must not have spotted him yet.
"You see headmaster, I was helping the twins plan a prank," I pretend to look sheepish, his eyes are twinkling again and he motions me to continue, "When they showed me this, the marauders map—" There is recognition in his eyes now and also curiosity. I should probably allow him to study it, with magic like this he could actually keep the castle safe. Still he doesn't know where I'm going with this. "—it's what they use to sneak about. It's got everyone and every room in the castle. I was looking about when I spotted a curious name, Headmaster." I point to Peter Pettigrew, in the boys dorms. For the first time tonight, Dumbledore's pleasant demeanour fades.
"Are you sure this is accurate Mister Potter?" He asks, his gaze is penetrative, I almost question if he is using leglilimency but we have not made eye contact and he is not holding his wand. I don't doubt that he could break into my mind, but without a wand and without me noticing? No.
"Yes Headmaster. You can see us too." He looks at our names, I walk around the room, and the map mirrors.
"Do you know who this is Mister Potter?"
"A dead man." I reply.
"Supposedly." He seems to age two decades before my very eyes.
"I've been tracking him for days headmaster," A lie. "For some reason it keeps leading me to Ron's 10 year old rat, scabbers." Dumbledore sags, absentmindedly he says,
"So they did become animagi…"He looks to me then, as if considering me, then he comes to a decision.
"Come with me Harry, it seems like we have business to attend."
How do you catch a rat? It's quite simple really, though I suppose must things are with Albus Dumbledore at your side.
As we left his office, Dumbledore disillusioned himself and kept pace next to me. Though I couldn't see him with my eyes, I had other ways of seeing. Sensing him with magic wasn't the same as how I normally did it. There was a slight distortion, where the ambient magic of the castle moved around him. So slight, I sometimes lost track of him, or perhaps his disillusionment charm was simply that good. I wouldn't put it past him.
We arrived at the fat lady, I slipped in, avoiding as much interaction as I could, feigning tiredness. We entered the first year dorms, nobody was there. Nobody but Peter that is. Before I could stun him, the headmaster beat me to it. He levitated and disillusioned the rat, then disillusioned me in under three seconds. We went back to his office. It was all very anticlimactic.
As we enter, the disillusionment fades, and I witness Dumbledore perform magic with a speed and dexterity that someone his age should not have.
The animagus transformation is removed and Pettigrew is bound, in chains, in what has to be the most uncomfortable looking chair ever conjured. Dumbledore summons a potion, verutiserium, and sets it on his desk, after which he deems it time to begin.
"Renevate." Dumbledore intones, entirely for my benefit. Peter awakens in shock, he takes in his situation, eyes scurrying about, back and forth in his head like the rat he is. He looks to me, then Dumbledore and his face falls. The tears are next. Then the wailing.
It is pathetic.
"H-Headmaster… H-Harry… w-what's going on? W-why did you tie me up?" He is squirming, but the more he moves, the tighter the chains become. Dumbledore takes one look at him, sobbing, squirming.., and he knows.
The headmaster walks over to the fireplace, takes some flu powder and throws it in. He is talking to someone, though I do not know who. I looked back to Peter. Squirming and pleading with me with his eyes. He thought he would find sympathy with me. I have none.
"H-Harry… oh how you've grown. Y-you look just like J-James… but you've got—"
"I know. Why aren't you dead Peter?" He seemed shocked that I'd interrupted him or maybe it was the callousness of the question. It could have been any number of things.
"S-Sirius! He tried to kill me! He killed the m-muggles! That's why I ran! I had to run! I couldn't let him kill me! You have to—"
Someone steps through the flames. Her face seemed familiar behind the monocle she wore. I saw the DMLE badge on her overcoat. I remember her now, I saw her on the Daily Prophet. Amelia Bones, there is a resemblance to her niece, more than just their shared auburn hair.
"This had better be important Albus, I was in the middle—" She took in the scene. Me standing over a man who should have been ten years dead. Him in tears wrapped in chains. Dumbledore without a single smile on his face.
"Start talking." And we do.
It didn't take long to get everything out of Pettigrew, verutiserium was hard to resist. Madam bones took him with the promise of getting Sirius a fair trial and that Pettigrew wouldn't miraculously disappear. Let's hope that's true.
"Harry, my boy, I cannot express to you how grateful I am for all your help tonight. You have helped me right a wrong I didn't even realise I had. For that I am forever in your debt." He was beaming again, though not as bright as at the start of the night.
"I was just bringing up something I thought suspicious Headmaster." I look around the room, Fawkes seems to have disappeared somewhere.
"I sense you want to ask something of me Harry, by all means, ask away."
"Seeing, as you owe me a debt, Headmaster," his smile raises a fraction, "And as I have also allowed you to borrow the map to study it," His eyes begin to twinkle, he knows what I going to ask." Could I be excused from the rest of Professor Snape's detentions sir?" The twinkling is back at full force.
"Harry… whilst I am extremely grateful for all you've done tonight, and offering me the map to study… I don't think it would be fair to professor Snape if I were to just cancel the rest of your detentions."
"Headmaster—" I try to convey the message with my eyes as I speak. Surely I have done enough to warrant some leeway. He cuts me off.
"…No, I cannot cancel your detentions." My face falls, he continues on in that pleasant tone of his. "However, in the hopes of appeasing both you and Professor Snape, I will have some else supervise your detentions. But in return, they will run until Christmas at the least." What!?… He's lost it. He's gone senile.
"I think I must have misheard Headmaster." He just continues to smile at me, I feel a sigh leave my lips.
"With who, Headmaster?" This night has not gone exactly as I expected. It seemed the perfect plan in my head, but here we are. Who ever it is, I will not be surprised.
"Why, with me of course." I am wrong.
As I leave the Headmaster's office, the last sherbet lemon in my pocket, after he has explained how the "detentions" are going to go, I can only think of one thing.
Snape is going to be pissed.
The Minister will be awarding you the Order of Merlin."
"…I'm sorry Professor, I don't believe I heard you correctly." Dumbledore chuckles, though his demeanour is pleasant, I know that he is weary and drained. It has been a long week for him.
"You heard me correctly my boy." He says delicately. "To limit the fall out from this monumental error, it seems Minister Fudge and the Wizengamot, in their immeasurable wisdom, have decided to raise your star and hide in its shadows." I just stare, not really comprehending. It makes sense I suppose but…
"Can they even give them out to first years?" I question, Dumbledore hasn't been phased this entire conversation. His tone is light, as if we were discussing the weather. Perhaps to him, we are.
"Why yes of course. They can give them out to anybody. But you, are not just any first year my boy. You are Harry Potter." He beams as he says it and the irony is not lost on me. "The news will break on Halloween, Sirius' innocence, Pettigrew's treachery and your role in uncovering the truth. I tried to make them change the date, it seemed insensitive…" His eyes grow sad. To him, it must seem cruel, to be using the anniversary of my parents death in such a way as to cover up a gross injustice.
I was annoyed but not for that reason, I couldn't care less about the date.
I was annoyed, because I was being awarded for doing absolutely nothing. The professor did all the work with me as a simple tag along.
"It's all right Professor, I'm surprised they managed to keep it quiet for this long."
I had assumed news of this magnitude would have leaked somehow.
"Oh it cost them a pretty penny, I'm sure." He says, eyes in their usual twinkle. "Still, all this attention, all this pressure… an Order of Merlin and the award for special services to the school… I hope you can handle it Mister Potter." I was not surprised about the latter award, it only makes sense.
"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice Professor."
"Rarely do we ever in these things," his smile is kind as he says, "But help will always be given at Hogwarts if you ask. I am here for you my boy." That, I know, to be the God's honest truth.
Through the rest of my "detention", the conversation is not so serious. I work on homework whilst he deals with workload from his numerous positions. I ask him questions about magic. Sometimes, if it is a simple thing, I get a straight answer. Other times, he points me in the right direction.
"Sometimes Harry, the journey, is just as important as the destination." I could see the wisdom in the words, didn't make it any less annoying. Still, I couldn't complain. I had arguably the greatest wizard alive in my corner, I wouldn't waste it.
The room of requirement was everything I had hoped it would be and more. Since that day in the first week, when I had it recreate the bedroom I had plucked from Hermione's mind, I knew without a doubt that it would be where I spent my free time.
After lessons and when I could get away from my classmates, this was where I disappeared off to. I had no need for the library, the books would show up here on their own when I had need of them.
The room had taken a simple cozy form. A plush armchair in front of the fire place, with bookshelves on each side. The books I required, Moste Potante Potions and Magic Most Evile, were on the desk waiting for me.
The potions book had within, the steps and ingredients for a decent aging potion. I planned to see some of the magical world this summer, France maybe, and I didn't need people questioning what Harry Potter O.M., was doing outside of Britain.
The second book, whilst I had not suddenly gained a fascination with horcruxes, I needed to know if my information regarding them was correct. Also the book contained information on the unforgiveables, and given my enemies… I needed a way to counter them that wasn't just pray and dodge.
As I sit by the fire and read about the curses, my knowledge proves accurate. They cannot be blocked by a normal shield charm, the intent required for the unforgivable somehow over comes the shield. But something physical however…
I would need to conjure something. In the heat of battle, nothing too taxing or complicated. Something small. It won't just be one spell though. …hmm, many small things then. The Avis spell is used to conjure birds. Useful but I think it must be something smaller than that still. A shield fluttering around me… I picture the image of a hundred butterflies, their wings covering any gap and the face Tom Riddle would make as the spell meant for me is taken by one of the many—
"Harry." A voice pulls me from my thoughts. There's only one person who would know where to find me. I have the room return the books back to the restricted section.
"Yes?" As I turn to look at her.
"Everyone's been looking for you. The feasts about to start." She seems a tad concerned.
"I know where the kitchens are Hermione. You needn't worry, I'm not going to starve." I put on a smile to get her to leave. She doesn't buy it.
"I don't think you should be alone, … not today of all days." There's something in her eyes. She won't budge. I could make her, if I slipped into her mind, I could make her leave. But after the last time…
I may have made a mistake. The feelings I gave her to make her feel better, were perhaps a bit too strong. I could feel it as I left, the need with which her mind clawed at me, begging me to stay.
She was 11, she wasn't built to handle all that. I didn't think it would have such an effect. If I kept going in there, she might become dependent on my presence. I feel sick.
"You asked me to stay by your side right?" Why did I use those words? I sigh.
"Alright, let's go."
The feast was already on its way when we made it into the hall.
I find an empty space next to Neville, with Ron facing me. His face is downcast, it seems Scabbers meant more to him than I realised and his disappearance for the last week and a bit has had an affect on the boy.
There's a fluttering of feathers, owls, I realise, with copies of the Daily Prophet in their beaks. It seems you're about to get your answers Ron.
The title, "Sirius Black innocent!? Harry Potter unveils truth!" Is followed by a breakdown of what happened that night.
My part is exaggerated as expected, they detail Pettigrew's betrayal and the hushed Wizengamot hearing they had last week. Sirius was proven innocent of the betrayal and is to be given a hefty payment for the "inconvenience" of ten years in Azkaban.
Pettigrew was sentenced to life, though he tried to take other death eaters down with him. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take.
The rest of the article was about me however. My bravery and other such nonsense, which has earned me the Order of Merlin, First Class, as they revoked Pettigrew's. It goes on to detail the Order of Merlin, the notable people who've received it, how it came to be and why it is given out. I join an esteemed list.
The hall is full of murmurs and I can feel the hundreds of eyes on me. Ron's are filled with horror.
"I didn't know mate. I swear I didn't." Before I can respond, there is a bang and—
Professor Quirrell comes sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.
He reaches Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumps against the table, and gasps, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know."
There is bedlam, students screaming and shouting, people grabbing at me for reasons of which I am unclear. My mind is elsewhere though.
I can't believe I forgot about the stone.
I look up from my book and am unsurprised to find Professors Quirrel's eyes on me from underneath his purple turban. He's not even trying to be subtle but I guess he doesn't really need to be. I am stared at a lot these days.
Part of it is due to the Order of Merlin, First class. I am the youngest recipient in history. But given that the recipients range from Dumbledore, for defeating Grindlewald, to Minister Fudge, he gave it to himself, the award alone would not result in the constant staring and media coverage. The other part, is because it is clear that I am magically gifted beyond the norm.
I am leagues ahead of my peers in every subject barring Herbology, the plants seem extra willing to listen to Neville. I am even ahead in potions, though Snape would rather die than ever admit it.
Truth be told, in all wanded subjects I have left the curriculum behind. I am somewhere in the 5th year for charms, transfiguration and defence if you wanted to gauge but I studied what I found interesting not just the curriculum.
Not to say I am a genius, I just have the benefit of being smarter than teenagers and children, which is whom the curriculum is made for.
Still, my capabilities are known, which is why I am given leeway to do as I please in most classes, never potions, as long as I do not disrupt the lesson and my assignments remain of adequate quality.
My essays are not all outstanding like Hermione, not because i am incapable, but because I do not see the point. If I can explain the difference between a hex, a curse and a jinx in 6 inches, why would I waffle on for 12?
Still, the stare from Quirell is not the same as the others.
"Psst. Hermione." I whisper, tapping her to gain her attention. She turns to me, pausing her attempt at a knockback jinx.
"What is it Harry?"
"If at any point I seem to be acting strange, I need you to get Headmaster Dumbledore." Her lips stretch into a frown, puzzled.
"What do you mean by "strange"?" How would I even go about explaining…
"I don't know, just—strange. You know… not myself." Her confusion seems to grow. She shakes her head,
"That doesn't help—" I cut her off, still whispering.
"It's important Hermione. Please." She must see the seriousness in my eyes.
"Oh. Oh alright then." As I go back to reading, Rituals, the beginning of magic. , which I have transfigured to look like a Herbology book, I can feel her I eyes me.
She can tell I'm keeping something from her and she's right.
I don't want her involved, I don't want any of my classmates involved. They are children. I'll handle it myself.
But as I look to Quirell, I feel a chill run down my spine, that doesn't come from the December air. He does not have the stone. That I know for sure, I have been watching him almost as much as he's been watching me.
Still, there is a slight unease. I do not like the feeling.
I pull Neville to the side before he can step aboard the train, his eyes perplexed as he walks with me. I hand him the letter.
"W-what's this Harry?"
"It's a letter for your grandmother. It's about "your" wand." The air of nervousness around him dissipates. He grows defensive.
"What about my wand?" There's no fear in his eyes as he says it. Not a single stutter… if only you could be like this all the time.
"It was your dad's right?"
"How did yo—" He begins, shocked.
"Nev. The wand chooses the wizard, it's trying to work with you with each spell that you cast because of its connection with your dad, but it's not yours." He's paying attention, but my words aren't making sense to him. I decide to be blunt.
"You are not your father." I look him in the eye "The wand will never work for you."
"I-I but—" the stuttering is back, he looks close to tears, as if his deepest fears are coming true. They probably are…
"You told me that your mum was my godmother and mine was yours right?" He's confused by the seeming change in topic. He manages a nod. "So that makes us brothers right?"
"B-brothers?" He pauses a bit to take in the word, shock colouring his expression, "Ye-yes, we're brothers." I ignore the voice crack and the emotion that looks suspiciously like worship rising in his eyes.
"So then trust your older—"
"I'm one day older than you." He squeaks out childishly.
I stare and he wilts.
"Trust your Older brother to know what's best for you. Give the letter to your Grandmother and she'll get you a new wand. Your parents are already proud of you but they will be prouder still, once you stop trying to be someone else." There's hesitation in his eyes and for a moment I believe he's going to decline. But he collects himself, he decides to put his faith in me and he speaks with more surety.
"Alright Harry. I trust you." We head back to the train in comfortable silence, as we arrive Neville speaks.
"I-I" he thinks on his words and gathers himself, "Even if she doesn't, if she— well, I just want to say thank you. You're the best friend I've ever had, you always include me, m-make sure I'm not left behind. I'm happy I met you Harry. Y-you're my brother." He hugs me then, and of course I return it. What else am I supposed to do in the face of such honesty and vulnerability.
When I turn to leave, he asks, "Harry, what exactly did you write in the letter?"
"Oh, I didn't write anything. I modified the howler charm, so it'll speak to her once she opens it, instead of screaming." His eyes widen slightly.
"That's really advanced Harry, how did y—"
He remembers who he's talking to and coughs, "Right."
I give him a small smile and turn to leave.
"Enjoy the break Nev."
I wake to snow on Christmas morning. A white Christmas…
I should feel merry, it is the season after all. I do not. It's like this every year. I remember that this is not my world, not truly. I am reminded of Christmas' spent with those who actually knew me. Loved ones who I have left behind, who I will never see again…
I drown the emotions as they start to rise.
I turn away from the window and am met with a mountain of presents. Only Ron and I remain in the boys first year dorms. I spot his gifts by his bed where he lies, asleep. The mountain is for me.
I trust Dumbledore would not let me receive jinxed presents, yet I check them anyway. Once I'm sure they aren't tampered with, I begin to open and sift through them.
Some are from classmates and their parents, even classmates with whom I've barely shared a word or two. My celebrity status still surprises me.
I am like a myth to these people.
Others are from ministry officials like Madam Bones, thanking me for my help and wishing me a happy holidays, and Minister Fudge, I open his, "Merry Christmas Mr Potter, I know that you must be extremely busy with your first year at Hogwarts but perhaps during the summer, you and Mr Black could make an appearance at the ministry to speak—" and discard it after the first paragraph. I continue to sift until I reach the important ones.
Sirius and I have exchanged a few letters since he was released. From the letters, I can tell that though he is broken, he wants to see me, to meet with his best friend's son and apologise. He wants to be there, to be the guardian he should have been all those years ago.
I sympathise with his plight, he isn't a bad person. Just a reckless one. I told him I'd meet him after he was cleared by the mind healers so that my first memory of him is a good one. He seemed touched in the reply.
He does not truly know anything about me, other than the fact I am extraordinarily gifted with magic, as the newspapers say.
So I am not surprised when I receive a book, A beginners guide to human transfiguration. I set it aside and my eyes are drawn to one of the remaining parcels. This one, from Albus Dumbledore. I know already what it must be.
The invisibility cloak is just that, to my eyes at least. To my senses, there is… nothing. Nothing at all. It's as if there is a void in space. I cannot feel anything.
The deathly hallow is cold to my touch and I hear a whistling of wind.
When I place it around my shoulders, I can still feel magic through it but to the outside world, I am invisible, I am less than a ghost. The power of death.
"Erm, mate." Ron's voice pulls me back to reality, he sits up in his bed, groggy from sleep and continues with a constipated look on his face.
"I'm not going mental am I? Where's your body!?"
The only response I can give is a laugh.
"Where are we going Headmaster?" I look to him, and as always, his attire puts mine to shame. Deep blue robes, shimmering with bits of gold strewn throughout. His hands are tucked into his well trimmed beard just above his stomach. But this time it is not his apparel that draws my eye, but his wand.
The wand.
I noticed it before of course, but it was silent then. Even as he used it to perform spells, I could hear nothing. Not even a whisper.
It doesn't speak now either but occasionally, I feel its eyes on me. Pondering me and my existence. The only thing I can think of responsible for this change in behaviour is the cloak.
The professor's smile has a slight teasing hint to it and I know, before he answers, that I will have to wait and see.
"Oh just stretching the legs my boy." He says, "The house elves cook a mighty fine roast do they not?" They do. It might be the best Christmas dinner I've ever had.
Shame about the company though. Snape's hatred and Quirell's curiosity really brought down the mood the other Professors and the Weasley twins had set.
We walk around the castle in companionable silence for a while, until a question comes to mind and I know he will have an answer. I learn more from our chats than my actual lessons…
"How does one create a spell Professor?" He looks to me, pleased at my question.
I knew how to modify spells, simple ones were easy enough, modify the intent. For the howler creating spell, modifying that took some trial and error to ensure the letter delivered my voice in a calm tone. More complicated spells would require added wand movements and incantations, that was easy enough to infer and understand.
In developing my butterfly shield, I had the intent and I was visualising the outcome but the result was hit or miss. The conjuration was easy, I had that down in less than two days but the rotation… it was still too delayed, too slow. I am still missing the perfect incantation with the correct symbolism…
"A good question Harry." We turn the corner and he continues, "There isn't just one way to develop a spell my boy. Some would say that it is mostly trial and error, if you don't succeed, try and try again. There is more danger to that method, if the spell in question is particularly volatile. Others would say it's a study of Arithmancy. Both of those can be true. There is also a third path. Sometimes, during intense moments, in the heat of a duel perhaps, inspiration strikes. We are talking of magic here Harry, there is not just, one clear answer." As he finishes, we arrive at our destination. An abandoned classroom.
I look to him, amused despite myself.
"Professor, if people found out you were leading young students to abandoned classrooms…" He's surprised for a moment and then he chuckles, eyes twinkling.
"Oh, you are much too young for me Harry." That was the point "One point from Gryffindor." Fair.
We enter the classroom, and it's completely empty. No desks or chairs or anything that would denote the subject thought within. The only item in the room is a simple, if gold-trimmed mirror. I do not need to read the inscription. Erised. As I approach, I know already what I will see. I am right.
I see myself.
Not as I am now, in this body, but from before. Before the eight lonely years at Privet Drive. From my life. I am surrounded by family and loved ones and all I hold dear. I have no magic. I am as I remember, but the features in the mirror are fading. After eight years I do not remember what they look like. But the emotions… the feelings that threaten to drown me are still present.
I see my heart's desire, I know I will not have it and it burns.
I remember that day like it was yesterday, waking to find myself in a body not my own. In a world I had thought fiction. Can you imagine waking in a cupboard under the stairs with a fealing of oddness surrounding you? In the body of a toddler? The helplessness? And when someone lets you out, all you see is contempt and resentment on their face.
I saw myself in the bathroom mirror and I had no explanation for how I had awoken in Harry Potter's body. I closed my eyes on one earth and opened them on another.
There were two possible explanations. One, it was random happen stance. It was random that I, of the eight billion people on my earth woke up to find myself in the body of the main character in one of my favourite pieces of fiction. It was random that my soul beat out two magical souls to win control over this body. It was random that magic came easy to me. Or…
The real explanation. That I was chosen because I was the best for the job. That I was better than the eight billion others. Because I was special beyond measure. I am the chosen one. That is the real explanation.
It had to be, or else… what was the point?
I turn from the mirror, wiping my tears. Dumbledore looks to me, his face melancholy.
"Do you know what this mirror does Harry?" He asks.
"It shows us our deepest desire." I pause, looking to him. I already know but… "What do you see Professor?"
"I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks." His voice is pleasant but I sense a deep sadness to him. "And you my boy?"
"Thick woollen socks Professor." I look him in the eye, there's no Legilimency from either of us but we understand each other like we never have before.
"Don't worry Harry, we will see them again. But in the mean time, whilst there is still breath in our lungs, it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live my boy." He looks at me intensely and he continues. "If there is one thing I teach you that I hope you take to heart, it is this: Don't forget to live."
Dumbledore will never know the effects those word have on me. I have been holding on to the thread of the past for too long. It's been long enough.
I decide to let go, and I embrace this life.
I am the chosen one. I am here because I am special.
Some would question how would I know if I was doing the right thing, if I was achieving my purpose in this world. What a stupid question.
My purpose, is whatever I decide. The right thing, was whatever I chose. Being the chosen one means whatever I want it to be.
People have asked me how I do certain things and why I do certain things. The answer will always remain the same.
Because I am Harry Potter. Because I can.
So I know I will not fail, just like I have yet to. I will continue to succeed. I will continue to thrive, I will continue to win and I will do whatever I please. I will grow old, as I couldn't last time. I will live free.
Fate wills it so.