Severus was just… tired.
"Care for a nightcap?"
He only just barely managed not to sigh out loud.
"No, Minerva. Have a good night, Merry Christmas." He responded dutifully, attempting to leave her in the hallway, the festivities of the day finally over. He hadn't quite managed to slip under Dumbledore's radar to avoid the Christmas dinner feast, but at least the food was delicious as always. He wasn't one for festivities, but he wasn't a monster who didn't like well made food so… there was that.
But it didn't make him any less tired so he wasn't interested in his colleagues' pestering.
"Oh come now," The Transfiguration professor chided him gently, in a much more upbeat tone that normal given the holiday and the drink she'd already been helping herself to at dinner, even if only slightly. "It's Christmas. Are you really going to leave me alone to deal with Pomona?" Meaning the only adult present who thought it was a good idea to get that close to actually drunk before the students were safely away for the night.
Yeah, sounded justthrilling.
"That is exactly what I'm going to do. Goodnight, Minerva."
He heard her half amused, half exasperated huff under her breath. "Merry Christmas, Severus."
Finally free of all these people today, he left her in the dark hallway retreated quickly back to his chambers.
As if the Potter boy didn't already give him hives, just by existing, he had to make a mess of things almost as if it were his goal in life to destroy everything Severus was just barely maintaining to keep himself sane.
Dumbledore had not been thrilled with the… events of this morning, and of course that meant he'd spent not an insignificant amount of time on Christmas day (not that he celebrated) in the headmaster's office talking about what it could mean and what went wrong with the boy. The scene from this morning made no sense since, by Albus' calculations, the boy was a meek-mannered, polite child who wanted to please.
Severus returned to his chambers, locked the door and silenced the room.
Only then did he let out a slightly hysterical, derisive laugh at the headmaster's expense. Was the old coot blind? Some great wizard he was, he had definitely lost his touch somewhere along the line if he didn't realize he'd bought into his own fabrication of the Boy Who Lived, and not the actual boy himself.
Mild-mannered my ass. Severus scowled darkly as he stalked to his liquor stash and pulled out his own nightcap, rubbing his temples tiredly. He's only eager to please Minerva, and she's playing right into it. At this point I honestly don't know if it's because he's after something, or he legitimately liked her. The original Potter bastard liked her best too, so it wouldn't be new.
Severus did not know what was so special about that cloak, as he'd never seen James Potter wear it, but going from Dumbledore's reaction it was a special thing indeed. And apparently enchanted, and a family heirloom that was clearly not widely broadcasted as Severus had no idea what it was. And if James Potter had a powerful object as a family heirloom, then he would definitely have used it against him for a prank or something similarly terrible at least once in high school. Or he had and Severus had just never known about it—which meant even the loud blabber-mouth that was James Potter had managed to keep something secret for once in his life.
Which would explain why Dumbledore was so taken aback that the mini-Potter hadn't even waited an hour before showing it off to literally everyone. Snape wasn't so shocked—he was his father's child and had to flaunt, to brag, to show off like the pompous brat they both were.
But…
I never met the man but I don't think my dad had much style.
He was just… so… flippant! His parents (his mother) were dead and that damned eleven-year-old brat had the audacity to just casually throw out there statements like that! No he'd… he'd never met either of his parents so he wouldn't know what James Potter or Lily Evans might've said in reaction to whatever it was Dumbledore was so concerned about, and occasionally Severus liked to fool himself into thinking he might know what Lily would say but…but hell he'd never even considered what James fucking Potter would possibly do when confronted by his son.
By Harry.
Harry, who was being fretted over by Severus own god son (and Jesus Christ he always thought Draco took after his father but these past months he was seeing so much Narcissa it kind of terrified him) who wore these obscene clothes no muggle would even be caught dead in, starting muggle sports clubs and sitting at the Slytherin table for every other meal…
As a point, Severus did not care what James Potter would think about his son sitting at the Slytherin breakfast table. But… he couldn't help but imagine it for a brief moment here and there and was… conflicted, about what his assumptions were telling him. Potter had hated Slytherins almost as much as Black did, and the two fed into each other's hatred and school rivalries until it was positively evil—even said as someone who willingly took the Dark Lord's mark and actively served him both legitimately and as a spy for years. Many Death Eaters had nothing on the kind of legitimate animosity Severus had felt from some Gryffindors when the house rivalry shit had gotten particularly bad during his school days.
Maybe it was exacerbated in his memories, as he'd been a child then. He was an adult when he dealt with the Dark Lord and his followers, but in school he'd been a child who'd been against not only his own house, but a wrathful pack of senseless, vicious lions with no teacher willing to back a slimy snake from harm.
In retrospect, Minerva had always been an extremely fair teacher, and still was to this day. But Severus had never wanted fairness or justice from his bullies—he'd wanted vengeance. He wanted to make them hurt like he hurt, and no teacher would ever torture a student just because they'd done it to someone else. They would give them detention and Potter would accept it since he was in detention every single fucking day anyway for some reason or another, but he never for a second was actually ever punished enough to regret what he'd done—to Severus or any other Slytherin.
Teachers had been fair, but that didn't fix anything in the end. Not really.
He took a long draw from his drink and slumped into his favorite armchair, the fire already alight and warming the room thanks to the house elves. He took a couple seconds to breathe, trying to sort his thoughts out.
The things he knew:
First, he hated James Potter.
Secondly… he missed Lily, and her son was constantly flooding his days with flashes of bright hair and keen eyes that made it nearly impossible to forget that he really, really missed her. There's been full years he'd almost forgotten she was gone, because he could just push it away and focus on the day to day—but with her child in the same building as him, large as this castle was, it was impossible to ever forget for a second that he was still not over missing her, and perhaps hadn't even finished mourning her even. His day to day was not just filled with reminders of her, and he was…
…he was so tired.
Thirdly, Harry Potter was not anything like Dumbledore had assumed he was, but for some reason the old man refused to actually look at the boy and figure it out. Severus had tried to mention it in several ways, but got brushed off like a child as Albus clearly considered anything that came out of his mouth to be biased rhetoric about James Potter's son.
Which, okay fair.
But this time he honestly wasn't spouting bias, the boy truly was odd.
He didn't seem to mourn himself being an orphan, but he certainly did not like his relatives if what he'd gathered from Draco was true (and he'd met Petunia, so he didn't need to even dig that hard to guess that one). He liked Draco as a close friend but would hold him at arms reach if need be. He was interested in and clearly understood pureblood dealings but was fully okay with starting muggle sports clubs. He was a Gryffindor who'd escaped outright violence for blatantly sitting at the Slytherin table. He was a Gryffindor who was somehow on speaking terms with a Zabini.
Severus took another drink.
Fourthly… Severus' cover of hating the boy was going… well, he supposed? But that wasn't supposed to be a question, he'd made a thousand Gryffindor's fear him and his wrath as Slytherin head, but for some reason even his best and most blatant attempt to make it abundantly clear that he hated the Potter brat didn't seem to actually be doing anything.
And with the boy in question sitting with Draco or Zabini during Potions class, it was almost as if the boy just didn't hear him when he was singling out other Gryffindors in the room—and if he did, he did not care enough to stick up for his house mates in any way. He didn't seem to react or care when Severus went after him personally, but then felt no obligation to defend any of his fellow Gryffindors when they were on the chopping block around him.
And that was a positively Slytherin attitude to have that really took the Potions master off guard. He'd spent years perfecting the art of tricking a Gryffindor into lashing out by jumping to someone else's defense like they so gallantly tended to do, giving them as many detentions or extra assignments as he wanted for talking back or even worse. He had had some upper years even throw spells at him, but since it was all part of the plan he simply defended and failed them outright—not even Minerva argued that, with the added bonus of her usually siding with him and scolding her lions within an inch of their life for attacking a teacher.
Slytherins were the ones who kept to themselves and gleefully let those around them sink or swim depending on how well that individual traversed the dreadful waters of the world. Gryffindors were supposed to act first, think later—and usually they were thinking with their foolhardy hearts, which only made them so easy to manipulate.
The Potter brat acting like a Slytherin in his own classroom really threw a wrench in his plans, though.
Annoyingly enough, sitting with Draco even protected him from getting failed for classwork as Draco's potions were immaculate and always had been—and the small snake knew better and was careful to make extra bottles of their potions just in case something happened to it (or more importantly Harry's) if it got lost before being graded. He couldn't truly argue he needed two bottles for each of them and give them different grades—the potion was from the same cauldron and he wasn't that bad at being a Slytherin that he needed to actively stoop to that level.
And to top it all off, he was more than a little annoyed that his simple ploy of featuring the final exam around the potion the boy has missed because of the damned troll hadn't just not worked, but backfired.
Because he'd watched the boy carefully as he turned over his test paper, and the brat had the audacity to smile.
Smugly too, like he'd known.
Which meant clearly he had known, and Severus was not about to be outwitted by an eleven-year-old Gryffindor.
Even if… he was forced to admit…
…he took another drink.
Even I can't deny this brat should've been in Slytherin. Severus winced as the thought finally formed—the one he'd been avoiding thinking of for weeks now.
Imagine that. James Potter's son was probably more Slytherin than a good handful of actual Slytherin in the snake house right now. For some reason the rich, vindictive irony of that statement didn't feel nearly as good as it should've—it was overshadowed by the deep, bitter melancholy that Lily's son should've been in Slytherin.
Lily should've been in Slytherin.
Severus needed to pour himself another round just to get through the clouded thoughts that senseless wish assaulted him with. Of all that could've—should've—be different if Lily Evans had just been sorted into Slytherin all those years ago. James Potter never would've looked at her again in his irrational hatred of the snake house, and Lily would've understood from the very beginning why he'd had to distance himself from her at least for appearances sake, why he had to play all those games he'd always known she'd hated.
The alcohol had fully taken effect at this point as he rubbed the side of his head meticulously, settling down from these thoughts that were in no way new, and frankly he was a bit tired of going over them yet again for what felt like the fortieth time this semester alone. There had to be a limit to how many times he could get properly riled up and distressed over the same old thing, but as of yet he didn't know if he was even close to that limit. He could spend the next six and a half years of this boy's tenure at Hogwarts routinely draining his liquor stash like clockwork in some horrific, endless cycle.
And if that thought didn't make him want to curl up in bed and never wake up again, he didn't know what would.
He downed his next drink in one go, really ready to be done with this whole year by now.
He could at least switch his focus onto Quirrell, as a slightly less annoying hindrance in his life (and one he almost welcomed addressing, given the alternative). The stuttering Defense teacher was useless and smelled horrible, but he'd been acting off since he came back from Albania and Dumbledore's orders of 'watch him' left a lot open to interpretation. He knew someone was after the Philosopher's stone, as someone had tried to get past the Cerberus on Halloween night (that damned dog bit him and the oaf of a groundskeeper had the audacity to say the beast didn't mean it!?) although he didn't know who, and then no less than two weeks later someone had tried to knock the Potter brat from his broom.
The boy had been in no real danger as literally all the teachers had been there, and Snape wasn't the only one saying a counter-curse or two. And he'd seen half the Gryffindor players hovering beneath him, ready to catch if need be, so he wasn't concerned exactly… but that jinx was definitely not from a student.
In fact, he was only half sure most of the teachers at this school could do something of that level, and delicacy. It was a brief event, so he hadn't had time to really understand what the jinx itself was, but it did not feel like it was something from the Hogwarts library. Severus knew enough of the dark arts to know that spell had been tricky in a way only the most annoyingly brutal dark spells could be. Still easily reversible as professional brooms were far too well protected to be damaged long, but still.
Severus half thought the intent was to cause the boy to drop as a distraction while they went after the stone again, but the wards he'd set up around the Cerberus' room after Halloween remained undisturbed the entire time. And even if that was a trial run for another attempt later, Filius had taken to putting up a rather potent ward around the Quidditch pitch before every game, just to prevent any pesky jinxes from doing a repeat of the incident. The ward, combined with how fast the players moved, and how well protected the brooms were charmed to be, meant not even Dumbledore would get away with interfering again without tipping his hand.
Still. It wasn't like he didn't know someone was after it—Albus had removed it from Gringotts mere days before a break in where nothing was stolen, asked the teachers to create obstacles to protect it (which, just why? Couldn't he do it himself?), and someone had made an attempt on Halloween. Clearly Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on, as always, and Severus just had to do as he was told and catch up.
The extremely vague and ominous 'keep an eye on Quirrell' he got at the start of this year gave him a big clue though.
He just couldn't figure out why. Did Quirrell honestly think he'd actually get the stone, given everything? And the fact he specialized in trolls and a troll got out—
—oh for god's sake it was probably too much for him tonight. He'd had too much to drink and his nerves were already in shambles. He stood and moved off deeper into his chambers to call it a night, deciding this was definitely a problem for tomorrow.
He maintained that he did not like James Potter's son, however… Quirrell was a fucking idiot if he thought he'd get the stone acting so god damned obvious about it, and Dumbledore might not want to get involved for whatever stupid manipulative reason, but the stuttering idiot had let a troll loose in the castle and it'd almostkilled Lily's son.
Severus needed an outlet and Quirrell had unknowingly volunteered.
000
Well, this is not nearly as helpful as I thought it'd be.
Harry pouted to no one as he trailed carefully through the restricted section of the Hogwarts library at what was very well after curfew one night. While he had found a book with a ghost in it that'd scared the living daylights out of him, all the Transfiguration texts he'd found were still well above his skill level for now—he'd had half a thought that reading far enough ahead would somehow help him, but even he wasn't foolish enough to involve this stuff in his plans. He needed McGonagall to be a witness to his skill after all, and if he unveiled skills she knew were in the restricted section that she hadn't given him permission to enter, he wouldn't be in an opportune spot anymore.
Turns out the cloak that turned him invisible did have a pretty solid use, when he'd had the passing thought of seeing what the restricted section was all about when Ron's snores had kept him up too late this evening, and he was also regretting not getting the kitchens location from the twins already because that would be another target he could've hit with this new magical heirloom of his.
Resigned that he was probably done snooping for the night and not particularly interested in risking getting a detention when he needed to be McGonagall's golden child this year, he quickly vacated the library—slipping by Filch muttering disturbingly enthusiastic things about torturing students and Mrs. Norris, who seemed fully aware he was there under his cloak and just watched him silently tip-toe by with wide, reflective eyes. Good thing cats who were not McGonagall couldn't talk.
He had to remind himself not to hum as he wandered the dark halls of the empty castle, even the paintings snoring gently in their frames and not a ghost or poltergeist in sight. Christmas had been lovely, but true to his suspicions the Weasley twins were a whirlwind and a half so he was rather looking forward to the last week or so of break where he could do nothing but laze about and take his time exploring, as well as reading whatever he wanted. Transfiguration work didn't feel like work but even he got bored sometimes, so he'd spent the day kicking around a football in the very empty hallways, combing through Dell's journals just for his own amusement, and playing around with all the new magic he knew.
He liked magic, in a way he knew he would never really show in front of a Slytherin, or even just a pureblood he guessed. Four months he'd been living in the wizarding world now, but the fact he could wave a bit of wood in his hand and things would spring to life around him was… well, magical. Breathtaking and exhilarating, whimsical. He felt like a little kid (although, he supposed he still was one, technically, but you get the point) in jumping around the Gryffindor common room with no one around to see him get silly excited that he could do magic.
Honestly, he understood Hermione's enthusiasm to a point. Why wouldn't you want to spend every minute of your day drowning in magic? It was cool! And yeah, it was a lot harder than one would think it'd be at first, but Harry was not untalented apparently and even though he was no prodigy in other subjects apart from Transfiguration, he knew a couple charms and had several books on magical creatures that were closer to fairy tales than textbooks, so he had a feeling he would absolutely never get bored of this place, even while he was entertaining his own time alone for now.
This wasn't lonely in any way shape or form. He was alone, but he found it oddly peaceful and freeing to just amuse himself however he wanted for a while, and Hogwarts was just filled with such amusing things that he never wanted for a distraction.
It also gave him time to think over a lot of the things he'd been shelving in the face of his busy every-day life as a wizarding student.
He had a plan for what to do about Draco and Montague, which was a lovely distraction but the plan was all but fleshed out now and he really just needed to keep plodding along with his Transfiguration work and wait patiently until at least after Easter. Plotting the third year Slytherin's demise was a lot of fun, but now that he had his answer he was free to consider other things.
Like… Dumbledore.
No, I don't want to think about him right now. There's not much I can say about him, is there? He frowned to himself, unseen in the darkness and the enchanted invisibility swaddling him. Something about him gets my instincts up, but he's done nothing outright wrong except being a bit nosy and self-centered. Giving back my dad's cloak as a Christmas present is just flat out rude, letting Hagrid keep a Cerberus on a third floor is ridiculously unsafe, and the fact he's a headmaster and a politician is just filthy with suspicion. I'm not sure what exactly about it bugs me, but it does.
He shook it off, not really wanting to spoil his mood with yet another problem he had no answer for. Currently the best tactic was to just avoid him if possible, and that should be easy. Why would the headmaster want to corner him for any reason, after all?
Except… if his plan with McGonagall worked, he would definitely be on Dumbledore's radar then, so there really wasn't any avoiding it. After the troll incident Harry knew the old man fully believed the Boy Who Lived hype, and if he didn't get the message on Christmas morning, he probably still did. Wizards were kind of gossip freaks who believed any rumor like fact until otherwise proven wrong, so Harry could probably bank on his show with the cloak not having that much impact on how the professor saw him. And then, like Fred and George had said, he'd likely attribute his prodigy-like skill to the fact he was the Boy Who Lived.
Which… you know…fine.
Harry slumped a bit in defeat, finally just giving in. If Dumbledore wanted to see him as some famous celebrity, then he could do that. Just like with Snape—if he knew how they perceived him, and he could control how they perceived him, then he would always have the upper hand as they would never be able to guess his true motives or plans.
He wasn't sure what he'd need the upper hand for against the Headmaster in the future, but if he'd learned anything from Blaise it was that there was never a moment when he should waste an opportunity to mislead someone. Particularly not someone who had something you wanted—and he didn't know what Dumbledore had, but the man was old, probably well educated, well-connected, and in several insanely powerful positions in the wizarding world. There had to be some benefit to having a guy like that willing to listen to you.
Still, the concept of playing into his undeserved, ridiculous fame irritated him beyond belief and he yet again reminded himself that he should finish that book on anger management Hermione gave him. That reading definitely felt like work, but all evidence thus far said he probably needed that bit of information the most right now. Besides, the chapter he'd left off on had breathing and mental imaging exercises to try which were said to help with memory retention too, and he liked the sound of that—not only of the memory aid but the doing something instead of just reading about it.
With that problem crossed off his mental to-do list, Harry moved on to his next one—which he'd also been avoiding on the most part because it tied into the one thing he… really wasn't ready to face just yet.
He'd been pretty lazy about corresponding with Axeclaw since they'd met over the summer, but he had at least been getting his bank statements now that they'd fixed his mail wards (although where the original mail had been directed was still as of yet unknown, but they were working on it diligently, he was told), and the goblin account manager was pleased to give him full updates on his portfolio and field questions on the ever-continued donations he was getting from people who willed stuff to him. Apparently they'd also gone about liquidating all the clothes and furniture he hadn't wanted and added that into his spending money, and while he still didn't know a ton about finances, he knew he was a very rich child who wouldn't really have to think about money ever.
Which, was a nice thought to have.
What wasn't so nice was the deflected answers he'd gotten from Axeclaw while trying to learn about his Slytherin friends' families since they all liked to tout their wealth so much, and he got the impression that while he was a very rich child, Slytherin families were in a whole other league of their own.
He'd even gotten a mini-run down on what he might expect from… well, a certain inheritance given it was connected to Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mom. Let's just say he'd known his cactus of a friend was rich, but even he couldn't wrap his eleven-year-old mind around how snitching rich the Malfoys actually were. It seemed rather ridiculous, actually, but certainly explained a lot about Draco.
It also explained why Draco, who was no older than him, somehow had a huge repertoire of financial terms in his brain and actually knew what he was talking about when Harry had probed him casually about things like assets and investments. He did not show any of his financial papers to any Slytherin, not even Draco who he liked, because that seemed like a terrible idea, but Draco was quick enough to know he was trying to educate himself on his bloodline situation and was very supportive of it. With his explanations Harry at least knew that Axeclaw was doing good things with his freedom of Harry's money, and while yes Gringotts was getting a hefty cut, it was not in anyway unreasonable either.
Goblins were brutal as hell, but they were pretty gosh darn fair and Harry liked that about them.
He hadn't been very interested in his financial situation as there was really no need to be concerned about it, but from the amount of gloating Blaise and Draco had with each other about their family's connections and wealth, Harry knew it was probably important to spend more time on it—even if it bored the life out of him. His half-formed plan he'd given to McGonagall of opening a clothes shop and then (silently) taking over the world would only be helped if he had some kind of Slytherin-like wealth to aide him and from his mild understanding he was well on his way to getting there if he didn't ignore it outright.
So, with several letters exchanged with Axeclaw, the goblin agreed a good way to get his feet wet in the art of money making money, would be to pick an investment of his own and they would discuss the benefits of who, what, and how much the investment would go towards. The first thing Harry had thought of was Osmias' Optical Solutions—he liked Contrair Alley and Osmias was a funny guy even if he was a bit rude, and the fact he'd had a solution for 'Potter eyes' when there'd previously been no known magical solution for that was not exactly unimpressive. It showed ingenuity, and he'd found his contacts with added sun-glare protection had become extremely helpful while playing Quidditch—heck, even the heat-protection had spared him from one of the twins' more aggressive pranks involving coughing powder! On the daily, he rarely even remembered he had contacts on they were so unobtrusive, giving him the full experience of having 20-20 vision for the first time ever, which he'd quickly gotten used to (and learned to like a lot).
He planned one day to open his shop most likely in Contrair, and if he had a hand in all of his neighbors' workings, well… all the better, right?
Axeclaw didn't seem to care about Osmias' Optical Solutions in any way but had added it to his portfolio dutifully. He had rejected the amount Harry had wanted to spend on the place though, and done his own thing which, seemed kind of flippant, but then again Harry was an eleven-year-old wizard who didn't know magic existed half a year ago and Axeclaw had been protecting his family's money for significantly longer than he'd been alive so he could probably let it go.
But then… that line of thinking brought him to the one thing he'd been avoiding. Except he hadn't really been avoiding it because being alone on Christmas, while he was fine with it, had reminded him that all his friends had family to go home to.
And he didn't.
Except, he had the Dursleys who were relatives, NOT family… and…
And apparently he also had a godfather.
Who was in prison.
For betraying his parents.
He winced, letting his feet walk him randomly through Hogwarts dark halls for a while, trying to remember those breathing techniques to calm his temperament as he tried to entertain this line of thinking he'd been avoiding since September.
Draco knew not a lot, unfortunately, and while he offered to write to his parents to see what they knew, Harry didn't exactly want them involved just yet. He was more familiar with the concept of the Malfoy family heads being some seriously intimidating, powerful people and while Draco just saw them as mom and dad, they were not exactly people Harry wanted knowing all about his business more than they already did. He was close to their son, so he knew he was on their radar and he didn't know how to handle that so he would hold off on addressing it for now.
The best plan would be to ask Draco to get the information from his parents about what happened to Sirius Black in person over break sometime, when he could be far more delicate and subtle about it. Like say just asking over breakfast because he was curious, and not because Harry himself was dying to know. And Draco was spoiled rotten: if his parents knew and Draco asked, he would get it.
But… Harry had chickened out and hadn't asked him to do such a thing over this particular Christmas break. Maybe Easter… or even the summer.
Even though Harry felt a little sick at the realization if he didn't figure this out quickly, he'd be back at Private Drive come June. Hell, the answer he was looking for about Sirius Black might reveal nothing to help him in the end and he'd still be back at Private Drive.
And then he'd have gotten his hopes up for nothing.
But it was just so hard to not get his hopes up, when the tiny pieces he had were so… well, inconclusive. All Draco knew was that Sirius Black was his mom's cousin, and had been put into Azkaban without a trial because he killed another wizard and a bunch of muggles. When asked if he, as a guy from a previously dark family, knew if Sirius Black was actually a dark guy, Draco had only seemed surprised at the question and admitted he had no idea.
Which, while frustrating, made sense. He'd never cared to know about such things before, so even if his parents had ever talked about it, he probably hadn't listened or cared to retain the information.
And Axeclaw's attitude on his questions about it really got his interest up, because the goblin had been nothing but fair and cold in everything they talked about, and his only response he ever gave when asked what crimes Sirius Black had committed was that Sirius Black never got a trial.
Wizards were gossip whores and prejudiced, traditional and gullible.
Goblins were fair.
There'd been no trial, so they would not comment on what crimes a man had committed without there being an official crime charged to him.
And you know, Harry liked that line of thinking. It was logical and just—and yes he was extremely biased as there was the chance he had an actual family connection out there that wasn't dead and wasn't confirmed evil and… well, honestly what were the chances he was worse than the Dursleys?
It came back to the unfortunate fact that he wasn't confirmed evil. Killing a bunch of muggles didn't sound very promising he had to admit, but he was also technically an un-charged man sitting in jail right now. That didn't sound great either. Something was just off about the whole situation and Harry was caught evenly between the desire to get an answer from someone right now… and also perhaps being a little afraid to face whatever truth he found.
Draco had told him about Azkaban. Even Blaise hadn't made a joke about it, and Neville had looked like he was going to throw up when he'd tried bringing it up with him—hell, even Nott had glanced up from his reading to give him a sharp look about it as if silently warning him not to bring that up casually at the Slytherin table.
When Harry finally figured out how many Slytherin family parents were probably in that prison these days, maybe Nott wasn't even being kind in silently warning him—maybe he'd just been angry.
Harry knew that even if magically his estranged godfather was totally innocent and cleared of all charges, there was still a huge chance he wouldn't be allowed to take him in as a guardian, and even if he could… would he?
He didn't know what a dementor really was, but he knew it didn't sound good. It didn't sound like the man who'd walk out of there would be happy and sane and strong enough to take on a first year Hogwarts student as a responsibility, even if Harry could pretty much fend for himself.
I just need someone to be a legal guardian that's not a Dursley.
Except, he thought wryly to himself, that wasn't all true, was it? That was the Slytherin answer: that he just wanted a legal guardian.
The Gryffindor answer was that he wanted a godfather who'd actually be his godfather.
And it was a long shot that Sirius Black would actually ever be free enough to be his legal guardian, but there was almost no chance this stranger who'd been beaten by ten years in literal hell would actually be his godfather too. That a man who'd essentially been tortured would actually want him, as either a responsibility or as family.
The man probably didn't even know him.
Lower your expectations, he scolded himself angrily… and maybe a bit sadly. There is no good answer here. Rip the band-aid off and find out the truth already, and don't get upset when it doesn't work out. I can work with six more summers of Dursleys—it'll suck, but that was the plan. That is the plan.
He hadn't been paying attention to where he'd been walking for the last hour at least, and as he shoved the tapestry in front of him open in his frustration at his current thoughts, it only occurred to him belatedly that he should really have more caution in banging around the castle while he was invisible and technically trying to be sneaky.
"…think you should watch your step, Quirrell."
"W-w-what- a-a-a-re-"
"Don't play dumb with me."
Harry froze, slipping a step back towards the tapestry he'd just come through before remembering not to touch and that he was invisible—cursing silently when he realized in an almost abandoned castle he still managed to run into someone. And he'd been so caught up in himself he hadn't even realized it until he was essentially on top of them.
The them in question being a rather odd scene to see this late at night when Harry realized Professor Snape had Professor Quirrell backed into a corner of some of the stone pillars that lines the hallways, and the Defense professor looked terrified as always. Snape looked equal parts pissed and amused to be in his natural bully state.
"I'm n-n-n-n-ot s-s-ure wh-what y-y-you're-?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "You showed your hand too quickly, fool. Do you really think you can get the stone? What would you even want with it that would be worth risking such stupid attempts for?" The Defense professor tried—and failed—to defend himself but Snape just cut him off sharply. "And to be clear: even if Dumbledore in his infinite wisdom may spare you should you harm another student bumbling about as you are like the desperate lunatic you clearly are, I will not."
This is SO FAR into the realm of NOT MY BUSINESS I'm on Mars.
Harry was sweating actively as he tip-toed as fast as he could the opposite direction from whatever was happening here, really trying to forget he heard that as their hissing disappeared behind him. Whatever it was about, it sounded serious as hell and also if professors were threatening each other's lives, then this school was even worse in professionalism than he'd thought it was.
And given Hooch was the actual devil, Snape and Binns' teaching style sabotaging students left and right, Filch actively campaigning to hang students by their thumbs in the dungeons, McGonagall buying a student a professional broom out of sheer bias, and Dumbledore clearly knowing stuff was going on and deciding to never get involved, Harry didn't exactly have a high opinion of Hogwarts' professionalism in the first place.
This kind of took the cake though.
Although, at least it sounds like Snape is on the side of students not dying. He was probably referencing Slytherins in particular but… Harry shook his head, scolding himself for being as biased as he liked to call everyone else. No, Snape is a jerk of epic proportions, but he was right there with McGonagall when I was caught by the troll, trying to get me out. Bad teacher and terrible person aside, he doesn't want kids to die… which is more than can be said for people like Filch and Hooch.
And apparently Quirrell, which is a surprise but not a shock at this point.
Harry was almost glad he hadn't actually had the thought of 'nothing would surprise me at this point' to follow that up, as he slipped into a nearby classroom to hide out for a bit and found it absolutely empty.
Except for a huge mirror at the other end of the room, that looked very enchanted and important and very suspicious to be in an empty classroom for no reason.
Hogwarts is so cool.
He grinned, loving this odd stuff he could stumble upon in this castle even if some of it was alarming and weird, closing the door quietly behind him and being briefly thankful there was no window a passerby could see him through.
He approached the mirror curiously, immediately noticing it was super cool and old and fancy. All solid signs for something interesting, and he walked right up to it to give it a closer look. The designs around the edges of it were in a language he didn't recognize but beautifully crafted of intricate golds and fine metals, the glass itself very weathered and actually a bit dingy from extreme age, but otherwise flawless.
And because he was vain and wasn't afraid to admit it, he gave a quick glance around the classroom to confirm it indeed was empty before pulling down his hood and pushed up his cloak's sleeves, it returning to its more long-jacket-like appearance with just a little nudge from him. It was still novel to him and the color beautiful in its silver smokiness that was highlighted by the ancient mirror that he enjoyed tossing his arms out to let the fabric fly around him and enjoyed his reflection mimicking him, letting his hair fall free from being cooped up under the hood and fixing it happily. Since he'd wandered straight from bed because Ron's snores had kept him up, he wasn't wearing any baubles or clips, not even having it pinned back so it just fell free and he enjoyed the shock of red in the muted light of the room immensely.
He felt like a bird noticing itself in a reflection of a lake for the first time, but it was one of life's simple pleasures, so he just enjoyed himself for a moment.
Until he suddenly realized someone was standing over his shoulder.
With a sharp gasp he whipped around, not an expert but still damn fast at getting his wand out from where it rested in his cloak's sleeve—the magical fabric seeming to just release it and let it slide into his hands almost in response to his heart leaping into his throat and instincts demanding he point a wand at this new threat—
Only to be greeted by a still very empty classroom.
What the hell?
Adrenaline pumping through his veins and almost being afraid to turn around, he glanced over his shoulder at the mirror again. Hesitantly he turned around fully now… trying to clam his heart and look properly at his reflection this time… and had to take an alarmed step back in shock when people seemed to fade into existence behind him. He wanted to be terrified, but… they were all smiling.
Smiling at him.
He turned around again an nope—classroom was still empty.
…he looked properly back at the mirror now, realizing that this super-cool looking mirror had to be special for some reason so… was this it? Who were these people?
He blinked, moving his head to the side slightly… and the shock of red he was seeing didn't move. Or, it did, but not the hair he thought was his for half a second.
There was a woman with hair the color of apples and Christmas standing over his left shoulder, smiling at him widely with bright green eyes he couldn't help but think were familiar. She had fair features and a thin nose, young looking… kind looking.
He reached up and touched a lock of his own hair almost unconsciously… and watched with widening eyes as the woman leaned forward to put a hand over his, her smile widening as if to say—look, we match!
He couldn't feel her hand over his, but he saw it. He saw it.
"…Mom?"
The spectral woman smiled, still silent as the grave, but she was there.
She seemed… so real.
Almost unwillingly he glanced at the figure over his right shoulder now, mind filling in what he was already assuming was happening, and maybe he didn't recognize the man as he'd never seen him before in any pictures or even in the mirror looking back at him but—
But the man had a dark mop of truly wild hair, and glasses over a large nose. He didn't look old enough to be a dad despite the fact he had on a very dad-like sweater—and it just kind of hit him that—
My parents died really young, didn't they?
His breathing was uneven as he tried to get it out, but he couldn't form a single word and the man didn't seem to care at all. All the compassion and love and acceptance Harry needed was written there right on his face as the man wrapped one arm around his wife beside him, and the other around his shoulder as if pulling his family closer to him.
He felt tears pulling at his eyes and over the snitch in his throat, eyes searching the rest of the mirror as he saw others. Others with more red hair—less like his mom's, definitely just ginger but definitely familiar— a whole army of those with messy dark hair and round glasses—a full crowd of various people he didn't recognize with dark curly hair and bright grey eyes—even more people in robes and muggles clothes and—
And—
And a man with long black hair and the eeriest pair of blue-silver eyes seemed to casually lean into frame, one arm up to lean on James Potter's shoulder like it was only natural. His eyes were alight with life and laughter, and even young as he was he had lines at the corners of his eyes from how free-spirited he seemed to be. He was handsome and relaxed, silent as they all were but Harry could see him saying something that made his parents crinkle their eyes in delight.
They were all looking at him.
Happy.
Lovingly.
And the man with blue eyes seemed to lean around James as if to touch Harry's hair too—only when he pulled away Harry saw a tiny clip in his hair. It seemed to be made of diamonds, in the shape of a tiny paw print.
He reached up to touch his temple where it should've been… and there was nothing there.
The three in the mirror beamed, clustering closer to him and his mother running ghostly, non-existent hands through his hair as if trying to comfort him.
He saw her doing it. He saw the clip. It all… meant something.
But he couldn't hear them.
He couldn't touch them.
He couldn't feel them.
He wanted them all so badly it felt like he was going to start suffocating, and he clapped his hands over his mouth automatically as if that would keep it in—but it didn't. Tears started streaming down his face and it just didn't matter.
Not when they silently soothed him, as if telling him it was alright.
We're not here, but we still love you. All of you.
He turned on his heel and ran out the door of the classroom as fast as he could, not even caring that his cloak was still down. He didn't know how he made it back to the dorm with the tears streaming down his face, much less unseen when he very much was not trying to hide, but somehow he did… and when he buried himself under the covers of his four-poster bed, he cried harder than he could ever remember crying in his life until he passed out from the emotions he just wasn't ready to confront yet.
000
Harry didn't know there were other ways of becoming invisible other than a cloak, and he didn't know that on that particular night, he hadn't been alone in that classroom at all. Someone else had been there, waiting to offer a word of wisdom about the ancient, enchanted mirror in hopes that the boy would use its power for good one day soon.
Luckily, not even Albus Dumbledore knew what Harry had seen in the mirror that night, nor what possibly could've prompted that suddenly dramatic response.
And if the old Headmaster returned to the classroom every night until the new school year began, hoping to catch a first year out of bed and enchanted by a magical mirror, he would be disappointed to realize it was all in vain.