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[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Twelve

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing, Actually Redeemed Snape

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter Twelve: Everybody Make a Scene

Summary: Even inner House friendships are hard.

DRACO is burning with curiosity all the way to Professor Snape’s office, wondering what Harry could have meant about “officially” getting detention as well. Madam Hooch, upon her return, had asked for Potter’s whereabouts and with the students all speaking over each other to explain, she had dismissed them all before informing him, Ron Weasley, and Tobias O’Bannion that she would be speaking with Professor McGonagall to get a clearer picture of what had transpired while she was gone, so they were going to have detention and if the need for additional punishment was determined, they would be informed at a later date. They would also lose 5 points each per House, which Draco was unhappy about for all of a moment before realizing that it meant Gryffindor lost more points than Slytherin anyway.

He supposes that this meeting with Snape is in regards to this detention. He likes his Head of House and thinks the students from other Houses simply don’t like that he takes Slytherin’s side over theirs the way many other professors do. That being said, everyone knows how much he dislikes hearing they’ve been caught misbehaving, particularly in classes with the other Houses, as he wishes for them to always maintain the dignity of their House. If anything is going to get him in trouble, it is misbehaving in a class with Gryffindor and losing House points as a result.

When he reaches the professor’s study, he knocks and is told to come in. Professor Snape is seated at his desk, writing, but he puts his quill down as Draco enters. He motions for him to come over and sit, and only once he has, does he ask for an explanation of the day’s events. Draco obediently explains the events that transpired, ensuring he is being brief as, based on the way their Potions class is conducted, he’s determined that Professor Snape can be much like his father in these instances. He does not want excuses or explanations, he wants the important points, and nothing more.

“Getting onto your broom, against Madam Hooch’s explicit instructions to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground, was a lapse in judgment on your part that I hope to not see you repeat,” Professor Snape lectures once Draco is finished recounting the events. “However, as it was in response to Mr. Weasley’s clear instigation, I find myself not particularly inclined to punish you to the same degree. Your loss of points is punishment enough. I am changing your detention to a study hall session, to be served with me, where I expect you to do the homework you would otherwise be doing in your dorm.”

“Understood, Professor. Thank you, sir.” Draco tries to stifle a grin, knowing full well that Professor McGonagall is much stricter than the Potions master with her own students, so it is highly unlikely that Weasley and O’Bannion will get out of detention. Which reminds him that Potter somehow may have, and reignites his curiosity. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. I will escort you back to your dorm, Malfoy. Would not want Filch to think you are wandering about without permission.”

He has a point. The first years are discouraged from being out after dinner unless they are serving detention or, like this, with a professor as their curfew is the earliest of all the years. It is frustrating, but even if he were to refuse, the professor’s own quarters are somewhere down in the dungeons so he’s likely going in that direction anyway. At least this way, Draco can be sure he won’t run into the professor on his way back from the library, as he’ll have already turned in for the evening.

En route, the professor asks after his parents, and he imparts what he has gleaned from their letters. He takes the opportunity to ask some questions about Potions, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Professor Quirrell is a disaster of a teacher. All of Slytherin knows that their Head of House appreciates intelligent students who take advantage that their Head of House is knowledgeable in multiple fields, especially if it is likely to improve their ability to answer questions and complete work in class. As his mother would say, it never hurts to keep on the good side of those who would best assist his growth here at Hogwarts.

“You have a good evening, Draco. I trust that I shall not hear you have lost us more House points again.”

“No, sir,” Draco promises. “Have a good night.” 

Snape nods his head and turns to go further into the dungeons. Draco provides the password required to get the stone wall to open and allow him into the Slytherin common room. He steps in, allowing it to close behind him, and then steps to the side. He makes a show of looking through his bag, in reality wanting only to allow enough time to be sure the professor is no longer in the hall, then he asks Theodore to drop his school bag on his desk while he returns to the professor’s office to grab something he’d left behind. 

Harry is being shooed out of the library and told to get back to his dorm by Madam Pince when Draco finally arrives. “There you are!”

“Sorry, Professor Snape insisted on taking me back to the dorm,” Draco explains, trying to catch his breath. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”

“Right, but you have to promise not to say a word to anyone,” Harry says gravely. “If Professor McGonagall finds out I’ve told anyone, she’ll definitely rethink punishing me for today.” He then goes on to explain how rather than scold him, she had taken him to meet the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and he’d been allowed to try-out for the Seeker position they are trying to fill.

“Good thing you gave me that Quidditch book,” Harry finishes with a grin. “If I get the spot, I won’t seem completely out of place.” 

“Yes, well, you’re welcome,” responds Draco with a grunt, obviously jealous. “Ugh, if only Slytherin’s team had an opening, I could use this to get them to let me try out too. You have to admit, my flying today was pretty amazing, right?”

Harry agreed, admitting he’d been impressed with Draco’s ability to maneuver around Weasley and O’Bannion. They had all done their bit of bragging, and while it had been clear that none of them were new to being on a broom, the Gryffindors had been visibly clumsier than the Slytherin. Draco’s pride was not misplaced, and it made Harry wonder how his own abilities might compare. It would be fun to figure out one day.

“Where are we going, by the way?” Draco asks.

“I wanted to see if Neville was still in the Hospital Wing,” Harry says. “Sides, you have to head back down anyway.”

“True. Are you going to get your own broom, or are they going to make you use the garbage school ones?”

They start talking about possible brooms the rest of the way, getting so engrossed that Harry has walked halfway down the marble staircase to the ground floor before he realizes he needs to go back to the first to get to the Hospital Wing. He stops there with Draco, reminding him he needs to go to the Hospital Wing before promising that he’ll try to remember to talk to McGonagall about trying to get the new Nimbus, if possible, even if it means pulling from his vault at Gringotts. He doesn’t remember what they cost, but he’s confident he has more than enough to get one in there. They are getting ready to say goodbye when the doors from outside open and in comes a group of Slytherin students all holding brooms. 

Harry realizes this must be the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he looks them over, wondering who among them is the Seeker for the team. They all glance over at the two of them, but ignore them as they head for the dungeon entrance, with the exception of a tall, muscular boy who raises an eyebrow and comes over in their direction. His dark brow is prominent, even more so with the scowl on his face, as it closes the very small gap between his hairy eyebrows so it appears as one big unibrow, and his teeth are distractingly crooked.

“On a date, Malfoy?” he asks. “You would do well to keep away from the likes of Potter and his lot. Wouldn’t want to turn into a blood traitor, now would we?”

Harry isn’t sure what exactly a “blood traitor” is supposed to be, but it’s obviously an insult based on the way this boy says it, and by the scowl it elicits out of Draco, who responds with an anger-filled, “Watch what you say, Flint.”

“Or what? Li’l first year’s gonna go running to mummy and daddy?” Flint mocks, laughing. 

Next to him, Draco’s eyes narrow, and he looks like he’s about to go down the stairs towards the older boy, but Harry grabs his arm. The boy is easily twice their size, so even without the possibility of magic they have yet to learn, he could probably easily trounce them. 

“How long do you think it took him to come up with that, Draco?” Harry asks instead, falling back on the one thing he always had over his more physically intimidating cousin. If this kid was anything like Dudley, he was probably as dumb as he was strong. “He clearly couldn’t wait to share it with you.”

It works to at least give Draco a moment to come to his senses, who takes a breath as if to calm himself down before he says, “Good question, but I’ve a better one. Hey Flint, after meeting your mother, I’ve always wondered: what is it like?”

“What?” Flint scowls, eyes narrowing at the question.

“What is it like being a half troll? After all, it doesn’t seem to have done you any good in looks or intelligence.”

“Why you little-”

They don’t stick around to hear the rest, or for Flint to come up the stairs. Harry and Draco take off running back up the stairs and down the first floor hall, Draco laughing uproariously at having made his housemate so angry. They head for the stairs to continue up to the second floor, the sounds of Flint yelling still behind them, so that they try to pick up speed hoping they can get far enough away to slip out of view.

Harry is just thinking that they should have tried to get to the Hospital Wing, where they might have been able to get safely under the watchful eye of a staff member, when he spots two familiar figures ahead. Hermione and Neville seem to be heading up to Gryffindor Tower, and when the sound of quick footsteps reach them, they turn around and share similarly shocked faces at seeing the two boys barreling towards them. 

“Harry? Wha-” Hermione starts. 

“No time!” Harry interrupts, grabbing her arm to pull her along.

“Move it, Longbottom!” Draco calls out.

“GET BACK HERE!”

The sound of Flint yelling down the hall gets the other two moving as well, and soon the four of them are running together up to the third floor. Harry starts to turn in the direction of the stairs to the fourth floor when he spots Mrs. Norris and he makes an abrupt about face. They can’t afford to have her following them, giving them away to Flint or worse, going off to find Filch. Everyone knew that the caretaker and his cat had an understanding, and she was his partner in crime when it came to catching students being in places or doing things that they shouldn’t. If they were lucky, Flint would run into her instead.

When they reach the Trophy Room, they duck inside and stop, all of them doubling over to catch their breaths. Harry stays near the entryway, keeping an ear out in case he hears the sounds of Flint heading in their direction.

“Wh-Wh-WHAT was that all about?” Hermione demands between breaths. “Shouldn’t you two be in the dorms already, especially after all the trouble you got in earlier? Are you trying to get expelled?”

“Oh, quiet, Granger,” Draco responds, straightening though his chest is still heaving. “Harry didn’t get in trouble at all; he was allowed to try out for the Quidditch team.”

She blinks at this information, surprised, while Neville gives his breathless congratulations. She recovers quickly enough, though, as she then says, “So that’s reason enough to be out after curfew? It’s very selfish of you, both of you, to just do as you please without regards to the rest of your Housemates.”

“Who-”

Harry cuts Draco off with a shush, emphasizing it with a wave of his hand, indicating that he can hear someone just outside. The voices are muffled, though, and he can’t tell if it’s Flint or someone else, but they seem to be getting gradually closer. He motions for them to go through the Trophy Room, into the adjacent room, which turns out to be an Armor Gallery. They make their way through quietly, occasionally looking over their shoulders and listening out for the possibility that the voices have gone into the Trophy Room, when Neville knocks into an armor. He tries, desperately, to keep it from falling over but only manages to hold onto a gauntlet as the rest topples over.

There’s a shocked silence as they all jump, staring at where it has fallen, and then they clearly hear not a student, but Filch yell out for them to stay where they are. 

“Run!” Draco hisses, taking the lead and making a beeline for the opposite door from whence they came. 

Neville drops the gauntlet and all three Gryffindors are hot on Draco’s heels, running as far away as they can from the Hogwarts caretaker. Harry quickly catches up to Draco as they hurl down one corridor after another, coming across a tapestry that they tear through to find themselves in a hidden passageway that spits them out not far from the Charms classroom. It’s pretty far from the Trophy Room, and so they all stop again to catch their breath. 

“I think–” Harry finally manages to say, though his chest is still heaving with the effort to catch his breath, “--we finally lost ‘em.”

Neville is sputtering and wheezing, and it’s only now that Harry notices that the wrist he’d injured in class seems to be fine. He points it out, and Neville tells him between gasps that Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, had fixed him up in no time but kept him resting in the Hospital Wing due to his anxiety. 

“Glad you’re feeling better, mate,” Harry says. He straightens and looks around, getting his bearings before he starts to head down the corridor. “Think we should try to get back to the dorms before we’re caught.”

“Finally, a sensible plan,” Hermione mutters, but they’ve barely started walking again when they hear the sounds of voices at the end of the hall.

“Now what?” Draco whines. 

At first, they think it might be Filch, as he often talks aloud to Mrs. Norris while he patrols. The second voice is clearly Peeves, his teasing sing-song voice easily distinguishable. When the first voice is raised in anger, Draco and Harry immediately recognize it as Flint, though they can only make out his yelling at the poltergeist to get out of his way. As always, antagonizing Peeves is never the right move, and his response to being yelled at is to raise the alarm that a student is out of bed. It is guaranteed to bring Mrs. Norris, with or without Filch, to investigate, and the group immediately backtracks to find somewhere to hide lest they get caught up in the trouble. 

The need to hide becomes more urgent when they hear running footsteps that seem to be getting closer, and it occurs to all of them that Flint may also be looking for somewhere to hide from the caretaker. They pick up the pace, trying to remain quiet, but come upon a locked door. Harry, who is in front, pulls at it uselessly before Hermione shoves him aside, pulling her wand out to cast the Unlocking Charm they’d just learned that day. They tumble in, Harry pushing the door closed and twisting the lock on it as soon as Neville is through, and then he leans against it to try and listen. Hermione leans against it next to him to listen, forcing Draco to crouch down in front of Harry to do the same.

It means that when someone–surely Flint–throws themselves against it to try and open it, they all jump back in surprise, Hermione bringing her hands up to cover the yelp she nearly lets out. There’s a moment of fear, wondering if like they had just done, the older boy will use the Unlocking Charm to try to get in and find them, except it never happens. Harry tentatively leans back against the door, just in time to hear Filch’s voice. There’s a tug on his sleeve, but Harry shakes the hand off, trying to listen.

“Marcus Flint, think the Headmaster’s rules don’t apply to you, eh? Well, we’ll see what Professor Snape thinks about you being in the forbidden corridor.”

Harry’s eyes go wide with surprise, and this time when he feels the tug on his sleeve, he looks over to find Neville is the one pulling at his robe. His face is pale, eyes wide, but he’s looking at something behind Harry. He turns to look, and finds himself looking at an impossible creature: a dog with three heads, towering over them all, all three bearing their teeth as they growl. Harry thinks they must have caught it by surprise, perhaps it had been sleeping before they had so abruptly come barging in, but regardless it was clear that it was not welcoming their presence. 

Without taking his eyes off of them, his hand gropes along the door trying to find the lock so he can undo it and let them out. Sure, Filch taking them to Professor McGonagall would definitely lead to punishment, maybe even to her revoking his recruitment to the Quidditch team. Maybe he’d even be expelled! At least he would be alive and in one piece.

While it feels like forever, in truth it takes him mere seconds to find and undo the lock, then he’s pulling the door open and the four of them are collectively falling over each other to get out of the room. Draco, who manages to not fall over when Neville topples out and knocks into Harry, slams the door shut. He pulls his wand out with a shaking hand, but then stands there staring at the door without doing anything. It’s as if he is waiting for the dog to somehow open the door to follow them, but although it had been clearly growling when they were inside, from outside no noise can be heard. 

“W-W-We should g-g-go,” Neville stammers, scrambling to his feet, and the others nod.

Harry bids Draco good night, and then they all take off running, wanting to put distance between themselves and the three-headed dog as well as avoid the possibility of running into Filch once he is done dragging Marcus Flint to Snape.

Back in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Neville, and Hermione get into the common room and collapse into the chairs in front of the fire. It’s still early enough that there are still people sitting at tables, talking, playing games, and working on homework, but although they draw attention to themselves by bursting into the room, sweaty and out of breath, they are quickly forgotten in favor of other activities. 

“What could they be thinking, keeping a dog like that in a school ?” Harry asks once he’s caught his breath, though he keeps his voice low to avoid being overheard.

“N-N-No idea,” Neville responds. “M-Maybe it’s why i-it’s f-f-forbidden to go th-there?”

Hermione huffs, annoyance clear in every line of her body. ““You don’t use your eyes, either of you, do you?” she snaps. “Did you not see what it was standing on?”

Harry, who finds himself at the end of his patience with her, replies sarcastically, “I don’t know, the floor ? I was a little busy watching its three heads , in case you didn’t notice.”

“ No , not the floor ,” she says witheringly, glaring at him. “It was standing on a trap door; it’s guarding something, clearly.” She stands up, giving him a withering look. “I hope you’re happy. You could have gotten us killed, or worse–expelled. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

The last is said in such a way that Harry is sure she means quite the opposite, but he doesn’t respond as he watches her stomp away. Sure, maybe he and Draco could have ignored them and kept going on their own, but he didn’t know if Marcus Flint would have seen them and demanded they tell him in which direction they’d seen them go. Or if he would have instead taken out his anger and frustration on them. Not that she seems to care about that possibility; she was too busy being judgemental and calling him selfish. Well, he wasn’t going to apologize for trying to protect his friends.

~~~

Things are noticeably frosty between Harry and Hermione beginning immediately the next day. In fact, Hermione refuses to even look at him or acknowledge his presence in any way. She greets Neville like normal, but otherwise pretends Harry isn’t there, and sits elsewhere for breakfast. Harry doesn’t care, taking the first opportunity to instead talk to Draco about the trapdoor.

He reminds him and Neville of their conversation following their visit to Hagrid’s hut, regarding his birthday trip to Diagon Alley. If the three-headed dog was guarding something, chances were high that it was whatever Hagrid had pulled from the vault he’d emptied. It made perfect sense, but now begged the question of what it might be that required such a creature to stand guard over it, quite literally! Neville was less keen to find out, stating he rather hoped to never go near the dog again. Draco rather agreed, except he too was as curious as Harry.

For a week, most of their conversations center around the many possibilities regarding this treasure worth guarding. It serves to distract Harry from the try-outs that take place over the course of that week, which he’d been allowed to watch under the guise of serving one of his detention. In actuality, it had more or less been a real detention as Madam Hooch had made him help her clean and trim the school brooms. But he doesn’t want to admit he’s nervous about possibly not getting the spot to an older student, all of whom to his inexperience eyes had seemed just as qualified if not more so, with few exceptions. So instead, he encourages Neville and Draco to consider what is being hidden in the school, so that they spend countless conversations throwing out and discarding various ideas, until they ultimately decide that something as mundane as jewels and expensive magic items that can easily be bought wouldn’t warrant someone attempting to steal it from Gringotts. By the Friday the following week, they’ve exhausted all possibilities they can think of, and if it weren’t for the fact that they still are not speaking, Harry would ask Hermione for her thoughts on the matter.

That morning, however, gives them something new to think over. The morning mail delivery begins as usual, except for a large package carried by six owls, drawing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. Harry watches it, intrigued, as surprised as everyone else when it’s brought directly to him. He blinks in surprise, staring at it as another owl brings a letter that it unceremoniously drops on top of the package before flying off again. He tears it open to find a professionally typed letter, the letterhead for which reads “Quality Quidditch Supplies”, which read:

Mr. Harry Potter,   Please find enclosed the Nimbus Two-Thousand ordered by your guardian, Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall, on your behalf. She requested the following message be included with your purchase:   Congratulations on becoming the Gryffindor Quidditch Team’s new Seeker. Please be sure to keep your new broom out of sight; wouldn’t want your classmates getting jealous. Speak with Oliver Wood when you receive this for the practice schedule.   We at Quality Quidditch Supplies thank you for your business. We humbly request you and your guardian review our endorsement proposal, enclosed with this letter, and get back to us at your earliest convenience.

Neville, who had been reading over his shoulder, gasps. “A Ni-”

“Shh,” Harry hisses, slapping a hand over the boy’s mouth. “Not here. Let’s go.” Harry doesn’t bother skimming the rest of the letter before shoving it into his bag. Chances are high that Professor McGonagall already turned their offer down on his behalf, and she was likely to be very displeased that they’d sent him the package to arrive with the morning post, as it seemed she would have preferred it be kept secret. He had seen others receive things from their owls in their dorms after classes, in the afternoons before dinner, or even in the evenings afterwards. Nothing for it now, though, except to get out of the Great Hall as soon as possible.

Snatching it up, he gets up with the other boy scrambling behind him to follow. Across the hall, he catches Draco watching them, an eyebrow raised in question. Jerking his head towards the doors, he heads out the door expecting the blonde to follow suit. 

“You get the position? Is that your broom?” Draco asks, as soon as he catches up to them outside of the Great Hall.

“It’s a Nimbus Two-Thousand!” Neville declares as Harry nods yes to both questions, impressed despite his own continued fear of flying. 

The previous day’s class, for example, had seen him much too afraid of back on the broom, much less re-attempting the kick off he’d botched the week before. Harry had tried to help him, explaining as best he can what to do, but as Madam Hooch had declared him among those not needing further lessons, he can only help outside of class now. Hermione had looked annoyed to be told that she would benefit from another lesson, but Harry thinks that at least it means Neville will have her around the next class to help. After all, she’s not mad at him , so it’s only Harry she’s giving the cold shoulder to right now.

“Nice! What are you waiting for? Open it!” 

Harry looks around, but makes no move to remove the wrapping around the broom. “Professor McGonagall’s note said she didn’t want others seeing the broom just yet,” he explains. 

“Tsk.” Draco huffs, making it clear how he feels about it. “Would have been nice seeing Flint’s reaction. I overheard him and some of the Slytherins talking about how good of a broom it seems.”

Harry was sure that anything that might annoy the other Slytherin would make his friend happy. From his understanding, Marcus Flint had started attempting to bully Malfoy when their Head of House wasn’t around, but upon realizing how much the younger Slytherin enjoyed Quidditch, had gone instead to talking about how he would never put him on the team. It had crushed Draco realizing that he would either have to appease the fifth year student the rest of the year and into the next, when a position would open up with this year’s seventh year Seeker graduating, or give up on getting recruited until after Flint has graduated himself. 

“Anyway, you had better go put it away quickly, if you’re going to,” he says, waving Harry on. “If you’re late to Potions, Professor Snape will have your head.”

“Good point,” Harry concedes. 

He tells them both to go back and finish breakfast, and that if anyone asks, to tell them that he refused to open it and so they aren’t sure what it is and give whatever wild speculation they think might throw people off. Neville opts instead to go with Harry, explaining as they go that he doesn’t think he can handle it if everyone bombards him with questions.

In his own words, “I think I would get too flustered and I might let out that you’re the new Seeker, or that you’ve gotten a broom.”

They’ve just reached the first floor when they run into Professor Flitwick, who notes the package and congratulates Harry, as he’s been made aware of the special circumstances regarding his recruitment from Professor McGonagall. He asks after what type of broom he’s gotten, and seems genuinely pleased with hearing Harry’s gotten the best on the market. With no one else around by the two Gryffindor, he confides in a low voice that he looks forward to a team giving Slytherin a run for the Quidditch Cup this year. Harry thanks him, beaming with pride.

Saying goodbye to the Charms teacher, they’re caught off-guard when someone asks, “I suppose you’re pleased with yourself, getting rewarded for breaking the rules?”

Harry turns to find Hermione approaching, scowling at the package in his hand. It’s clear she heard at least some of the exchange with Professor Flitwick and knows what he’s holding. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me,” Harry reminds her, frowning. He takes her comment to mean his getting the position of Seeker, which he wasn’t just given . He’d been a nervous wreck all week, and the fact that she can’t even offer a congratulations hurts.

“Um, guys, d-don’t fight.” Neville looks nervously between them. He’s uncomfortable with them fighting, and feels helpless as to how he can help them make up with each other.

Not that Hermione gives him a chance to say anything, as she turns her nose up and walks away from both of them, heading down the stairs they just ascended. Harry huffs, annoyed at her inability to be happy for him, and goes to put his broom away. He hides it under the pillows of his bed, not wanting to risk the curiosity of any of his dorm mates getting the best of them so that they try to peek at what’s inside. Then, both boys take off running to ensure they arrive at the Potions classroom on time, albeit out of breath.

It’s a struggle for Harry to actually pay attention. Much as he likes Snape and wants to do well in the subject, his mind keeps wandering. He’s likened Potions in his mind to cooking back at home at the Dursleys’ place, only with much stricter recipes and cooking instructions. He thinks someone like Professor Snape, a master in the field, is probably much like a chef, who can make adjustments on the fly to get the desired result, but a novice like him had better pay attention. And he tries, he really does, but he still finds himself daydreaming about the broom upstairs enough that he adds the ingredients in the wrong order not once, but twice, so that he’s instructed to come back after lunch to redo his potion from scratch, and given an extra assignment of writing an essay to explain why the order of ingredients for this particular potion is necessary.

Neville at lunch tries to use the essay as a nudge for Harry to try to make amends with Hermione, with the reasoning that if anyone can help him with the explanation, it would be her, but he refuses to entertain the idea. She’ll want an apology or for him to admit she was right about his behavior the week prior, and he refuses to do either. He says he’ll talk to Percy and ask for his help instead, and then tells Neville to drop it. 

The only bonus is that having to essentially do an extra two hours of Potion after lunch makes the afternoon go by much quicker. Oliver Wood caught him on his way back to the dungeons to explain that their practice would be late as Hufflepuff’s team was using the pitch in the afternoon for their practice, and so they wanted to avoid them seeing Harry coming down. He would be their secret weapon, and as such, the goal was to keep anyone from finding out about him for as long as possible.

To that end, the twins end up serving as a distraction, playing a prank on Percy that has the common room in an uproar. Harry uses that time to sneak out with his new broom, Neville following as he’d promised Draco not to open it until the three of them were together. They meet outside the castle, and by the light of their wands, he unwraps the Nimbus Two-Thousand. They gush over it, with Draco explaining in much finer detail than either Harry or Neville could on all the ways the broom is an innovation over its predecessors, and then he extracts a promise from him to let him try it out for himself at some point in the future, once all the secrecy of his position is over and done with. 

Harry had worried that Draco’s loyalty to his House would mean him telling them about Gryffindor’s new Seeker, but Draco had said that while it was tempting, because he does want his House to win both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup, he also rather liked the idea of Marcus Flint losing face in front of everyone. After all, if he tries to get mad that Draco hasn’t said anything, he can point to the fact that even those in Gryffindor weren’t aware of their new Seeker, and he can’t possibly expect Draco to magically know something that Harry has managed to keep from his own Housemates. 

It’s a perfect excuse, considering that keeping the secret turns out to be the hardest thing Harry’s ever done. Oliver suggests after practice that he hide the broom in McGonagall’s office, considering the difficulty of hiding it in a shared dorm, and Harry’s glad upon his return to Gryffindor that he’d agreed. His roommates all want to know what the package was, some even speculating that it was a broom, but he quickly denies it, saying instead that it was a series of things that he’d bought for his Muggle relatives back home. It’s a lie none of them can possibly refute, considering that he never speaks of his family, and so none of them are aware of his actual relationship with them. Or the fact that they would never accept anything from the wizarding world. 

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of classes, homework, and practices. They never practice before seven, as by then nearly everyone is busy with schoolwork and studying so they are not out and about. If anyone asks about his whereabouts, he lies and says that due to his actions during the first Flying Class, he has multiple detentions with Professor McGonagall, to be served either with her or Hagrid, and as both Ron and Tobias were vocal about how miserable it was, no one questions it. In fact, they seem sympathetic, which seems to further annoy Hermione, although she never disabuses anyone of the lie.

Sometimes, particularly when he’s struggling with some of their reading assignments, Harry wishes they were still speaking. Hermione’s ability to explain things so they are easier to understand, and he thinks he would have a much easier time getting the work done so he can get more sleep each night, but he’s too stubborn and prideful to make the first move. Even if he does miss her company. Instead, he relies more on Percy, who is smart but not necessarily the most engaging tutor.

Turns out that as a fellow fifth year, he and Oliver are friends. When the Quidditch Captain catches Harry falling asleep over an assignment, he talks to the prefect, letting him in on the secret of their newest recruit and requesting that he try and help the first year so he doesn’t fall behind due to the practices. Much as Professor McGonagall may want the team to do well, their studies would always take precedence, and he fears that she would pull the new Seeker off the team if his grades seem at all affected by the constant practices.

Still, Harry finds that for the first time in his life, he’s genuinely happy. Classes are challenging, but he can study and put his all without having to worry that he might upstage Dudley by doing well. Perhaps he’s not the best student–that is undoubtedly Hermione, who never seems stumped by the material–but he’s certainly not the worst. Plus, overall, he likes his Housemates even if he’s not particularly friends with the other half of the boys of his year. His friendship with Draco has them believing he’d be better off in Slytherin, but he thinks they’ll change their tunes once the first Quidditch match comes around. 

Before he knows it, Halloween is upon them, marking two months since term began. The older students are abuzz with excitement, telling the first years all about the feast to come that evening. Most teachers also have a tendency of either teaching something tied to Halloween, or something fun to match the mood of the students. Professor Quirrel, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, uses his lesson to stutteringly explain how Eastern European wizards of the late seventeenth century helped the spread vampire lore among Muggles so as to allow them to find ways to protect themselves after a noticeable uptick in vampire killings among the Muggle population was noticed. Much of what modern-day Muggles knew of vampires was still fairly accurate, although they no longer actually believe in them. As far as Defense classes, it’s one of the more interesting, at least for the Muggle-born among them.

It only gets better when in Charms, Professor Flitwick announces that he feels they are ready to learn the Levitation Charm. As they all remember the way he made Neville’s toad fly about the classroom, they are all excited to get to it. Although the professor tends to pick their partners for them, which Percy once explained was his way of ensuring that students mingled outside of their direct friend groups, in a rare move he tells them he’ll allow them to pair themselves up. Due to the uneven number of students in their year–ten boys and nine girls for a total of nineteen Gryffindor first years–there is usually a group of three, which has allowed Hermione to stay with some of the girls. Today, however, Amos in his dorm woke up so sick that after one look at him, Percy had personally marched him to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey. He had yet to make an appearance, meaning that when the girls paired up like normal, Hermione was left to be paired with the one boy also left without a partner today: Ron Weasley.

No one else in their year butted heads more than the two of them, and Harry is tempted to offer to switch except he doesn’t think Hermione will appreciate it since they still aren’t talking. So despite feeling bad for her, he turns his attention back to the professor, who is reminding them of the wrist motion they’ve been practicing, as well as the fact that like many other spells, pronunciation and enunciation were key to performing the spell correctly. Then there is a chorus of Wingardium Leviosa as everyone begins attempting the spell.

Seamus, not unexpectedly, manages to set his and Dean Thomas’s feather on fire, to the laughter of those around them. It keeps Neville from prodding theirs with his wand lest he do the same, and the two struggle to get the combination of wand motion and pronunciation right. While they take turns trying and failing, Harry can overhear Ron and Hermione arguing as she tries to correct his pronunciation.

“You’re saying it wrong ,” he hears Hermione snap, not for the first time. “It’s Wing- gar -dium Levi- o -sa, not Levi-o- sa .”

Ron snarls at her, “If you’re so clever, then, you do it.”

Harry turns around to watch, trusting that if anyone can get this right and therefore give him a clue as to what he and Neville are doing wrong, it’s Hermione. He watches her roll up her sleeves, perform the flick and swish movement the professor has had them practice countless times by now, and recite confidently, “ Wingardium Leviosa .” Unsurprisingly, the feather does as intended and begins to float up into the air accordingly with the movement of her wand, until it is nearly four feet above their head.

Professor Flitwick is over the moon at how quickly she’s understood and executed the spell, bringing the attention of the class to it, as if they hadn’t already noticed the only feather floating about. Hermione is undoubtedly pleased with the praise, but Harry thinks that judging by the scowl on Ron’s face, it may have been better for the professor to not have singled her out.

Eventually, a few others manage it as well, to varying degrees of success. When class is done, they are all excused to go. Neville tells Harry to go on ahead, as he wants to get some pointers from Hermione as he had only managed to get the feather to float for a few seconds just before the end, and he wanted to understand what he was doing wrong. 

Harry agrees, offering to take his DADA book with him. After lunch they have History of Magic, and while Neville will only need that as he’s still taking the Flying class, Harry will also need his book for Magical Theory and he’d rather grab it now and then take his time eating, then have to wolf lunch down in order to run up to the dorms before History.

As a result though, he ends up going in the complete opposite direction of everyone else in class, so he misses out completely on the drama that ensues. When he gets to lunch and sees Neville, sans Hermione, he asks what happens and Neville fills him in on them overhearing Ron bad-mouthing Hermione to other boys in their House, calling her a nightmare no one could stand to be around, with even Harry being fed up with her. When she stormed off and someone pointed out she must have overheard, he had doubled down, saying she must have noticed she had no friends.

“That bloody arsehole,” Harry starts, moving to get up out of his seat to see where the offending git was seated. Neville grabs his arm and pulls him back down, pointing out that Harry can’t afford to get in trouble and end up with detention when he’s got practices to attend. 

“I’ll talk to Percy later,” Neville says. “H-He’ll say something to his brother. We should try to find Hermione.”

Harry agrees. He’d never intended to spend this long not talking to Hermione, and really, it was stupid that he hadn’t tried to make amends sooner. His previous desire to take his time with lunch is forgotten as the two boys eat quickly, and then attempt to find Hermione in the short amount of time they have left before class. Unfortunately, she isn’t in the Gryffindor common room, they can’t check the girls’ dorms, and the library also yields no results. They resign themselves to having to talk to her after History class, only to find that she isn’t there. When they point out her absence to Professor Bins, he tells them she was not feeling well and received permission to go to the Hospital Wing.

They rush there after class, but it’s to no avail. All they get is scolded for running in the halls by Madam Pomfrey, who tells them the only Gryffindor she has is Amos, who is currently sleeping. They’re baffled by this news, and go off to their respective classes, both deciding they’ll ask around. Draco seems not at all concerned, going so far as saying that he’s surprised no one has told her she’s insufferable before. It angers Harry, he makes a point of telling Draco that he’s disappointed to find he and Ron might be more alike than he thought. He’s well aware doing so will make Draco mad, but he doesn’t care in the moment, wanting only to lash out. Having been bullied by his own cousin for years, he knows all too well that no matter how much you don’t want it to, hearing mean things being said about you hurts. 

With neither one of them having any luck in locating Hermione, Neville goes to speak to Percy about their missing friend, Harry in tow. He’s gratified to see the prefect get visibly upset at hearing that his youngest brother was acting like a bully, but the feeling is short lived when he speaks to Annalena Murk–the other Gryffindor prefect–and she informs them that Hermione is not in the girls’ dorm. She tells them that chances are she’ll show up for the Halloween feast, especially if she skipped out on lunch. Neither is happy with this, but Percy assures them that if she doesn’t show up, he’ll personally speak with Professor McGonagall to inform her of what’s happened, leaving them with nothing to do except kill time until dinner.

They both give up fairly quickly on getting any homework done. They’re too worried and distracted. In fact, their worry over Hermione’s absence puts such a damper on their mood that everyone else’s growing excitement as the hour for the Halloween feast draws near is incapable of lifting. When it’s time to go down to the Great Hall, they trudge downstairs along with everyone else, Harry visibly annoyed at seeing Ron laughing it up like nothing’s wrong.

There is a moment of surprise and wonder at seeing the transformation that has taken place in the Great Hall, with the normal candles replaced entirely with floating jack-o’-lanterns that shine brighter than any Harry has ever seen before. Besides the pumpkins, live bats fly about the room, in large clouds that make the candles flicker, and singularly as they move between the walls and the unseen ceiling beyond the enchanted sky. All other meals since the start of term had plates along the center that seem to magically refill themselves without any discernible change to the quantity on them. Now, like that previous feast, the food appears on golden plates before their eyes once they have all been seated. 

The novelty is lost on Harry, though, when he looks up and down the row of students and fails to see Hermione among their numbers. Parvati Patil, coming over from Ravenclaw where she was presumably speaking with her sister, sees him looking around and comes over.

“Are you still looking for Hermione, Harry?” 

He blinks up at her, and then nods his head. “Yeah, have you seen her?”

“Lavender and I stopped at the girls’ lavatory on the second floor and heard her crying,” she tells him. “We told her the feast was starting, but she asked to be left alone.”

“All right, thanks.” Harry and Neville frown at each other, unsure of what they can do now. It wasn’t as if they could go marching into the girls’ restroom to go find her. “We should let Murk know.”

Neville nods, and they get up to do just that. She tells them she’ll go check on her once she’s finished eating, and encourages them to enjoy the feast in the meantime. Reluctantly, they sit back down, Neville commenting that perhaps they should try to grab some food to take up with them for Hermione. 

They’re only just settling in to eat when Professor Quirrell comes sprinting into the Great Hall. “Troll!” he yells as he goes, stopping only when he’s reached the staff table, where he leans heavily. He’s standing in front of Dumbledore, gasping for air as he says, loud enough for most of the room to hear in the silence that has fallen upon his entrance. “Troll–in the dungeons–thought you ought to know.” Then he falls over in a dead faint.

Immediately, the room erupts into a roar of sound, as multiple students begin screaming. It isn’t until multiple purple firecrackers get shot into the air by Dumbledore that it quiets down, the headmaster speaking into the silence immediately.

“Prefects,” he calls out. “Please lead your Houses back to their dorms.” Then he turns to instruct the teachers.

Professor Snape stands and adds smoothly, “Slytherin, as the troll is in the dungeons, you will head up to the Hospital Wing until we can be sure the way to the Slytherin dorms has been cleared.”

Percy is in his element, calling for order and instructing the sixth and fifth years to take the lead with the fourth through first years following, and the seventh years–and therefore the most magically experienced–taking up the rear to ensure the safety of the first years. The only other House as organized turns out to be Slytherin, and so the two Houses depart the Great Hall almost simultaneously, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff close on their heels. The prefects take turns calling to the students in their House to try to maintain some semblance of a line so they can ensure no one accidentally follows the wrong House in all the confusion.

There is still some mixing up of students, as some practically jog in an attempt to get away from the Great Hall and the nearby entrances to the dungeons quickly, while others have trouble keeping up in their panic. Harry and Neville find themselves not far from Draco, who looks paler even for him, and it’s clear that the thought of a troll in the dungeons is as terrifying to him as it is to Neville. 

Taking pity on his friend, Harry sidles up next to him and asks, “How do you think a troll got into the school?”

Draco looks over at him, surprised, and admits, “I have no bloody idea, but wait until my father hears about this. If I get even close to being injured, he will have that old coot’s head for certain.”

Harry thinks that it would be warranted. He may not have Hogwarts history memorized, but he was pretty sure that a troll getting into the school was rare, if not completely unheard of until now. He rather wishes Hermione were here so he could ask her, as she would definitely remember such a thing being mentioned in Hogwarts, A History . 

Suddenly, he grabs both Neville and Draco by the arm as he stops, realizing that at least one person is still unaware of the danger. Some students who walk into them complain about their being in the way, and Harry comes to his senses enough to pull them both aside.

“What are you doing?” Draco demands, watching as his Housemates go by.

“Hermione. She’s in the girls’ loo on the second floor. She doesn’t know about the troll.”

“Oh no,” Neville moans. “W-We should tell Percy.”

They look around but there are simply too many students for three eleven-year olds, none of them particularly tall, to spot one specific student. Even with the Weasleys’ distinctive red hair, all they can see is a mass of bodies jostling each other to get to their destinations quickly. 

“They said it’s in the dungeons,” Draco reasons. “She should be fine on the second floor.”

“What if she decides to go to the Great Hall?” Neville asks, already thinking of the worst case scenarios. “Or worse, what if the troll doesn’t stay in the dungeons? Oh no, oh no, this is bad.”

He’s starting to panic, and Harry’s grip on his arm tightens. “Calm down. Let’s go try to find a prefect, any prefect. It doesn’t have to be Percy. One of them can find a teacher for us.”

“Wh-What i-i-i-if we don’t find one on ti-ti-time?” Neville asks worriedly, his anxiety making him stutter.

Harry, who had already started pulling the other two boys along down the hall, stumbles to a stop. What if they couldn’t find someone on time? They were only on the first floor right now, just past the stairs, but already he couldn’t see any of the Hufflepuff students. They must have already broken off to get to their dorm, meaning there were two prefects they were guaranteed not to find. The Gryffindors were headed up to the seventh floor, but they might be too late if they have to climb all the way up there and then come back. He has no idea where Ravenclaws are going, so they would have to grab those prefects before they broke off from the crowd as well, with no knowledge of what they even look like. 

“Hurry, let’s see if we can find someone,” Harry says, practically sprinting. The Slytherins are heading for the Hospital Wing, so if he can’t find the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw prefects, that might be their best bet. “We at least know where the Slytherins are going.”

He’s running up the steps, jostling other students and calling quick apologies as he does, with Neville and Draco on his heels. Draco keeps calling him, but Harry doesn’t stop until they reach the third floor. Once there, he breaks off from the crowd of now mostly Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students to catch his breath. Neville follows suit, breathlessly asking a Ravenclaw girl for her prefect, but she either doesn’t understand or she doesn’t know, as she shrugs and quickly pulls away to keep going. Harry tries again while Neville catches his breath, but once again there’s a shrug as the boy he’s asked waves vaguely ahead of him. A Gryffindor seventh year, bringing up the tail end of the Gryffindor students, spots them and tells them to move along and not get left behind, but she doesn’t wait to see if they follow her. 

Harry looks down the hall where he can see a few Slytherin students heading towards the Hospital Wing, but Draco grabs him and shakes his head. “Look, I guarantee the Slytherin prefects aren’t going to leave the Hospital Wing with a troll on the loose,” he tells him. He thinks, but does not say aloud, that they aren’t stupid enough to endanger themselves for some Muggleborn first year.

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters. He seems to have an internal debate, looking towards the Hospital Wing, the stairs back down to the second floor, and then in the direction of the stairs leading up to the fourth where the other students have disappeared. He’s quiet for a beat before he finally makes a decision and declares, “Fine, then I’m going to go get Hermione.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco argues. “She’ll be fine . You expect a troll to come up to the second floor from the dungeons ? Let’s say you’re right, and you do: what can you do against a troll ?”

It’s a valid question, but truthfully? “I don’t care,” Harry replies. “We can’t just leave her there.”

“I-I-I’m c-c-c-coming with you,” Neville announces, though he’s visibly shaking.

Draco scoffs. “ You ? Some backup. Well, I’m going to the Hospital Wing, with the rest of my House, like I’m supposed to. Good luck and try not to get yourselves killed.”

He turns on his heels and marches away from them in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Harry’s disappointed, but he can’t say he doesn’t understand where Draco is coming from. He really doesn’t know what he’ll do if the troll is down there, but he’s sure the same goes for Hermione, and he kind of blames himself that she’s spent the afternoon crying alone. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, she might have felt they were good enough friends for her to come to him– them , him and Neville–instead of crying by herself.

“Come on, Neville.” They head for the stairs, and are barely halfway down when he hears steps behind them and he turns to find Draco has run back.

“Ugh, if you get me killed, Potter, I will haunt you for all eternity,” he declares. Then he grabs Neville and shoves him back up the stairs. “You go find one of your prefects. They’re more likely to listen to you than me.”

Neville nods his head and takes off at a stumbling run. He is more likely to find Percy or Annalena, knowing the direction to their dorms, Harry thinks. But more importantly, he rather appreciates that his best friend is willing to have his back in this, when he very clearly would rather they not do this at all.

“Thanks,” he says, before taking the lead.

They rather hope to run into a teacher along the way, even if it means getting in trouble for not doing as they’re told. A sense of foreboding seems to follow them with every step, so that every little sound–real or imagined–makes them practically jump out of their skins. When they reach the girls’ restroom on the second floor what feels like an eternity later without incident, they are too relieved for words. Instead, Harry knocks on the door before opening it slightly and calling to Hermione within.

“Go away.” Comes the sniffled reply from within.

Glad to hear her voice, he opens the door all the way and steps in. “Hermione, you are here. Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“I already told Parvati and Lavender I’m not hungry,” she says, audibly annoyed. Her voice seems to be coming from the last stall, which is confirmed by it being the only closed stall door. “And what are you doing here? Do you just think none of the rules apply to you?”

Draco, who had been lingering in the open doorway, follows Harry into the room. “Move it, Granger! We don’t have time for this.”

“ Malfoy ?” Hermione pulls the stall door open.

“Please, you can scold me on the way upstairs,” Harry reasons, coming forward to grab her now that she’s come out of the stall. “There’s a troll loose in the dungeons; we can’t stay here.”

“What? A troll ?” Hermione is trying to pull her arm away as he manages to pull her halfway across the room, clearly not believing them. “What are you talking about?”

Before Harry can respond, they all freeze at the sound of grunting and shuffling footsteps. Draco moves away from the restroom door, trying not to make a sound as he backs up towards the other two, and then a foul stench hits them. Draco gags while Harry coughs and tries to cover his nose and mouth with one arm, still holding onto Hermione with the other while she tries to use both hands to cover her own face. They all look up almost simultaneously and watch in horror as the ugliest creature they’ve ever seen comes shuffling through the doorway.

The ceiling over the door breaks from the sheer size of the troll, who straightens once inside to his full, towering height. Harry can’t tell exactly how tall it is, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was over ten feet tall, possibly much bigger than that. It certainly looked to be the size of a house, with its head appearing only just shy of the vaulted castle ceilings above it. Everything about it, from the dull, granite color and lumpy appearance of its skin made it seem like a walking boulder someone had attached tree trunks to in order to give it limbs. Its head, by contrast, was ridiculously small, like a tiny gumball set atop a football. Its long arms hung low, almost ape-like, along its side with one large hand gripping a large club nearly two-thirds the length of its arm. 

It wore rags that seemed to be some semblance of clothes, and the smell coming off of either them or the creature itself was bad enough to make Harry’s eyes water. But he did not dare blink as the troll’s mean little eyes took them in, and it lumbered ever closer. The club it was dragging knocked into the sinks along the wall, causing them to break, one of the pipes bursting and shooting water everywhere.

“What do we do, what we do, what do we do?” Draco demands, backing away from the troll.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Any ideas?”

He can see Draco shake his head from the corner of his eye, but Hermione is behind him and he can’t see her. He can, however, hear how heavily she’s breathing and he thinks she might be having a panic attack right now. He hopes Neville has managed to find someone, anyone, but even if he does, they have to stay alive long enough to be rescued. Harry’s eyes move from the troll, to the door behind it. The castle’s many lavatories are all fairly big, meant to accommodate many students, but the troll’s size makes it seem so much smaller than it is. There is no space underneath the stalls for them to try to crawl underneath the partitions, and with it destroying the sinks, they can’t crawl underneath those either.

Frankly, it seems like their best bet may be to try to run around either side of the creature, and attempt to get around it. It’s unlikely they’ll all manage it, but if even one of them can, they can try to lure it out into the corridor where there’s more room, assuming it doesn’t just decide to go for the easier targets still trapped inside.

“I think we’re going to have to try to get around it,” Harry says. The only saving grace is that the thing is moving at a steady, fairly slow pace, possibly due to its size. “One or two of us go left, the other goes right, and if someone manages it, try to get it to follow out into the corridor maybe?” Actually, Harry thinks maybe he can try to slide between the thing’s disgusting, horned feet, as the floor is now slick with water.

“Are you insane?” Draco practically yells, causing the troll’s glance to move over towards him. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Harry demands. The troll swings its gaze back to him, all the time moving steadily forward, while the three of them continue to move back. Hermione has still not said a word, but when her back hits the wall, she lets out a small squeak of surprise, and Harry finally looks back at her.

She’s clearly terrified, eyes wide and focused on the troll. He looks at it himself, then turns around completely to face her, shaking her a little. “Hermione, when I say go, you have to try to get around the troll on its left side,” he explains. She shakes her again until she looks at him, and asks, “Do you understand? On my signal, move along the stalls and try to get around it.”

“I guess we’ll go right?” Draco asks, eyes moving towards the sinks. He realizes that although getting over the broken pieces may be tricky, the fact that it has destroyed a lot of them means there’s slightly more space between it and the wall, if they can just safely get around the club its dragging along.

“Yeah,” Harry says, thinking it best to not say what he’s really planning. Last thing he wants is for them to argue about it. “All right, everyone ready? Ready…set…”

Before he says go, he takes off running at the troll, causing Hermione to gasp and Draco to demand what he’s doing. He does not answer, simply yelling “Go!” as planned, as loudly as he can, to draw the trolls attention onto himself. Harry doesn’t look up, hoping to not psych himself out, certain that if he hesitates, he’ll surely end up dead.

Draco takes a moment to get over his shock, and then he’s shoving Hermione to prompt her to move towards the left while he goes right. His hesitation turns out to work in his favor, as it prevents him from being close as the troll drags its club forward, breaking more sinks as it moves to swing it at Harry, who never slows down.

The troll swings the club downwards, causing Hermione to scream, certain that it’s going to manage to catch the other boy, but at the last second Harry dives forward and ends up sliding across the floor right between its legs. Draco takes advantage of the trolls surprise to clamber over the broken sink pieces, managing to get around it, but his feeling of triumph is short-lived. Behind them, the troll’s focus has moved back to Hermione due to her scream. She’s trapped herself inside a stall, and it moves to lift the club.

“Oh no, Hermione!” Harry is standing next to Draco, frantically looking around for something he can use to draw the troll’s attention. He grabs one of the broken faucets and lobs it at the creature, yelling loudly for its attention. “Oy! Pea-brain! Over here!” 

Draco thinks that the yelling is what does it, as it doesn’t seem at all phased by the piece of metal that hits it. He thinks this is undoubtedly the stupidest thing he has ever done in his entire life, but still, he grabs another broken off piece of sink and throws it at the troll, adding his yells to Harry’s to cause it to lumber towards them. Slowly, they backup towards the door, hoping to draw it out of the bathroom completely before it remembers that there’s another person still trapped inside.

It’s working, and Harry dares to hope that they’ll actually get it out into the corridor before his hopes are dashed. The floor is still wet, and he is soaked through from his slide across the floor. It gets tangled in his feet, and he falls backwards with a loud, wet flop . The troll seems to sense his opportunity, as it draws the club over its head, ready to swing it down towards him. Draco tries to draw its attention, but it does not look away from where Harry is scrambling to get back on his feet. 

Then from behind them, someone yells, “ Oppugno !” Draco turns, and the relief he feels at seeing Percy, a Weasley of all people, has his knees buckling as his legs lose all strength to support the rest of his body.

Harry watches as the spell hits the troll’s club, yanking it from its grasp as it roars in surprise. He feels a hand wrap around his arm and yank him to his feet, and then Percy is shoving him out into the corridor towards Draco. They watch, astonished, as the troll tries to grab at the club before there is an audible crack as it connects solidly with the creature's head, and then it’s lumbering forward like a fallen tree, and crashing into the floor. Silence reigns with the exception of the sound of water still bubbling out of a broken pipe, and then Percy is calling into the restroom in a strangled voice. 

“Hermione?”

Timidly and shaking, Hermione comes out from the stall she’d been trapped in. “I-I’m here. Is it dead?”

With a sigh, he says, “I don’t think so. Come on out of there.” He directs her to come around the thing, reaching out a hand to help her once she’s close enough to grab it. 

Percy’s so pale that the freckles on his face visibly stand out. Harry thinks that from this day forward, if he ever hears the twins ragging on their studious older brother, he’ll tell them they should hope to be half as brave or smart as he is. Without hesitation, he had single-handedly taken down a troll , and saved all three of their lives. At the very least, he had saved Harry’s. 

Loud footsteps draw all of their attention  down the corridor, and they all look over to see Professor McGonagall running towards them. Not far behind her is Professor Snape, with Professor Quirrell bringing up the rear. They slow down as they catch sight of the four of them, Professor McGonagall’s gaze seeming to assess them quickly before moving on to the bathroom beyond them and the destruction within, surrounding a clearly unconscious troll. When he spots it, Professor Quirrell faints dead away again, and Harry can’t help thinking that he makes a poor Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher if he can’t handle even seeing a troll, and an unconscious one at that.

“What is going on here?” McGonagall demands, oblivious to her colleague lying unconscious behind her. Snape, for his part, goes around all of them to inspect the troll inside. “What were all of you thinking? You could have been killed! I want an explanation this instant !”

They all look at each other, none of them seeming to know where to start, when both Hermione and Percy speak up at once. 

“Please, Professor–they were looking for me.”

“I can explain, Professor; this was my fault.”

The two look at each other, as McGonagall glances from one to the other, before she opts to listen to her prefect. “Explain, Mr. Weasley.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Percy says. “I was made aware prior to the Halloween feast that Miss Granger had not been seen for some hours. I meant to inform you of this if she failed to show up, but forgot in trying to get all the other students upstairs. Mr. Longbottom made me aware of the fact that she was done here, and that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy had come in search of her, and I found them cornered by the troll.”

“Did it not occur to you two to go with Mr. Longbottom in search of a prefect?” Professor McGonagall asked, looking from Harry to Draco.

“We tried,” Draco insists, crossing his arms. Of course they were going to get in trouble for trying to do something nice.

“There were just so many people,” Harry adds, “and when we asked, no one could point anyone out. We thought we should try to come get Hermione before she could wander down to the Great Hall on her own while Neville went looking for Percy.” Then, thinking that if any prefect is going to get in trouble, it shouldn’t be Percy he adds, “We’d told Annalena about Hermione being here during the feast.”

This information causes McGonagall to press her lips in a tight line before she looks over at Hermione. “And why, Miss Granger, were you not with the rest of the students earlier?”

“Well.” She hesitates, and looks over at Percy briefly, and she seems torn on whether to tell the truth or not.

Percy saves her the trouble. “It appears that my youngest brother may have been bullying Miss Granger earlier today.” This doesn’t seem to improve McGonagall’s mood, as she lets out a sigh. Professor Snape comes back at that moment, asking Percy if he is the one who took the troll out. “Yes,” he admits sheepishly. “I cast the Oppugno Jinx when I saw it was trying to swing its club at Harry.”

“While I admire the fact that you both thought of Miss Granger’s safety,” McGonagall says, looking from Draco to Harry. “You should not have come down here yourselves. If Mr. Longbottom had not informed Mr. Weasley of your whereabouts, all three of you may have been killed. And Miss Granger, if you are having trouble with your Housemates, I expect you to reach out to the prefects or myself–that is what we are here for.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the three first years chorus together. 

The remorse they feel is clear, and standing in a line just in front of Percy, they look in a sad state indeed, especially Harry, who is still visibly drenched. She eyes them for another quiet moment, before looking over at Snape. They seem to come to a silent agreement before she speaks again.

“You all were very lucky. I hope you learn from this,” she tells them. “That being said, I am very proud of you for looking out for each other in such a situation. I will be awarding five points to each of you, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, for coming to assist Miss Granger. As well as to Mr. Longbottom, for his assistance in notifying a prefect.

“As for you, Mr. Weasley, not many fifth year students would have the knowledge or presence of mind to take on a mountain troll on their own to come to the rescue of three younger students.” There is no mistaking the pride in her voice as she says this, and she does manage to smile at him. “For that, you will earn an additional 20 points for Gryffindor. I will be sure to notify Molly and Arthur of what an upstanding Gryffindor they have managed to raise.”

Percy looks shocked, as if he’d been expecting punishment instead of the praise being heaped on him. “If none of you are injured, you may go to your respective Houses as they will be finishing their feasts in their dorms, and classes tomorrow will be canceled,” she tells them. It is now that she looks around, spots Professor Quirrell and lets out yet another sigh. “We will attend to things here.”

“Mr. Malfoy, please let your Housemates know I shall be at the Hospital Wing shortly to escort you all back to the Slytherin dorms,” Professor Snape says. Then he steps aside to speak to a portrait that has up to this point been watching them intently. After a moment, the gentleman in the painting nods his head, then scurries off into the other paintings.

Percy thanks the professors, then instructs the three of them to come along. They’re all quiet as they walk to the stairs and climb up to the third floor, the Gryffindors escorting the sole Slytherin among them by silent agreement. When they are close enough to see the doors of the Hospital Wing, though, Draco stops, causing the others to stop as well. They all share awkward looks, then all three first years speak up together, looking at Percy.

“Thanks.”

The prefect flushes red in embarrassment. “It was nothing,” he says. “It’s my duty as a prefect to ensure the safety of all students, especially first years.”

“Thanks to both of you too,” Hermione adds, looking from Harry to Draco. “I…would’ve been in real trouble if you hadn’t come…”

It’s Draco’s turn to look embarrassed, a visible pink tinge creeping into his cheeks. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it get to your head.” He bids them a goodnight, then rushes off to the Hospital Wing doors to pass on his Head of House’s message to the rest of the Slytherins. 

Percy, Harry, and Hermione continue on up to Gryffindor, where they are greeted by the loud sounds of their Housemates enjoying the feast that had been cut short below. No one seems to notice their return except for Neville, who looks relieved upon sighting them as he rushes over and pulls Harry and Hermione into a tight hug. Over his head, they smile at each other, glad to be back in the safety of their common room, surrounded by their classmates.

Soon, they’ll regale everyone with the night’s events, testing the limits of just how red in the face Percy Weasley can get in one night as they dramatically recount his arrival at the most crucial moment. It will give the twins a new way to embarrass their older brother, as they spend the weekend announcing the arrival of the Hero of Gryffindor, Percy Weasley, Savior of the Boy Who Lived wherever he goes until he threatens to feed them both to the next troll he finds. But it will not change the fact that he is a hero, and that his relationship with a small group of first years, as their relationship with each other, has irrevocably been changed.

[forfuckssakejim]

BICNSFD has been submitted 👀👀👀👀👀

(link)

[amynchan]

sospiiro replied to your post: Guys I’m scrolling through tumblr when I need to...

so what’s the next para about

SO!!!   This paragraph is kind of on how the Romantic period of literature saw and represented Death, more specifically on Emily Dickenson’s poem “Because I could not stop for death”.  I’ve got an article on the Romantic period (ish), an analysis on “BICNSFD”, and a bit of a blurb on death itself.  So far, I’ve incorporated the first article and am working on the second.  The third is kind of optional since the entire paragraph on death has been done already.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Eleven

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter 11: We'll Kick It

Summary: Inter-House friendships are hard.

THE change in their friendship changes their routine come the second week of school. For Draco, it results in his spending less time with Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom are easily influenced by the older students who like to whisper about the friendship behind Draco’s back. Few are willing to say it to his face, of course, because of his family name. Lucius Malfoy, after all, is a very important man. However, his friends are another thing, although they seem to tell him less because they want to keep him informed and more because they agree. Harry, after all, is in a rival house and friends with that Muggle-born witch, they remind him. It gets annoying, and after a few days, Draco opts instead to go to breakfast and class with Theodore Nott, whose only comment on the matter is Draco was welcome to befriend whatever weirdos he wanted so long as he didn’t expect him to as well, and Blaise Zabini, who either doesn’t care or at least doesn’t care to share his opinions on the matter, as he says nothing at all about it, not even to share whatever whispers he overhears.

They aren’t the most welcoming, sometimes barely acknowledging Harry’s greetings and other times ignoring him and Neville completely. Not that Harry can complain when Hermione not only ignores the Slytherins as well, but goes so far as to leave Neville and Harry in favor of sitting with the other Gryffindor girls, typically as far from the Slytherins as the class would allow. She makes little effort to disguise her dislike of Draco, more than once leaving as he arrives with barely a word of farewell. Not that it bothers Draco, as he seems just as happy to have her gone as Hermione is to leave. For the life of him, Harry doesn’t know how to get them to get along, and Neville only shrugs when Harry asks him if he has any ideas.

Then their third week of school changes things up on them. First, they find out that Astronomy will finally begin, as the professor has finally returned, and then it’s announced that beginning Thursday, 19 September, the first years will have Flying lessons instead of Magical Theory for a few weeks. Hermione isn’t particularly keen on the idea, and immediately bombards Percy with questions on the way down to breakfast.

“Do we have to take Flying lessons?” She asks. “What if we’d rather just have Magical Theory?” Harry and Neville are walking with them, as usual, and Harry notes Neville’s hopeful look at this question, which quickly disappears when Percy answers.

“The class is mandatory,” he tells them. “It’s to ensure students learn the fundamentals of flying, particularly those who might later be inclined to play Quidditch, but also because some students don’t have the ability to learn at home, but it’s useful knowledge to have even if you aren’t particularly inclined to play Quidditch or take up synchronized flying.”

“Synchronized flying ?” Harry has heard of synchronized swimming, but flying? He wonders how that’s done.

Percy nods his head. “Sure. There’s an international competition that takes place every three years, and you’ll often see teams perform at celebration events, like the ones commemorating the defeat of You Know Who on Halloween.

“Anyway, the class only lasts about a month for most people, and then you’ll be back in Magical Theory. Unless you’re really struggling to get the fundamentals, in which case Madam Hooch might require you to take additional remedial lessons.” He leaves them to go investigate some students who seem to be arguing, and Neville, Hermione, and Harry continue on to breakfast.

Hermione is interested in learning about Flying, but laments that they have to lose a day of Magical Theory a week for it, and for an entire month too. Neville admits his grandmother never allowed him near one, and considering his general clumsiness, Harry thinks he understands why. Most of the others in their year, however, seem just as excited about the new class as Harry is, although Dean Thomas says he still doesn’t quite get how you’re supposed to play Quidditch, probably the result of an older Muggle-born third year attempting to explain it as “football, but in the air” the week before. It results in a few talking over each other to attempt, again, to explain it to him. 

Draco is equally excited, although he tells Harry he’s just glad to be able to do something fun as he already knows how to fly, and doesn’t need lessons at all. He’s not the only first year to declare as much. Many of those who come from magical households claim the same, including Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan, both of whom tell anyone who’ll listen of adventures zooming around the countryside on their brooms, managing to only just barely avoid being seen by local Muggles. 

Thursday could not arrive soon enough. Despite the fact that the Flying lesson for the Gryffindors and Slytherins will be the last class of the day, nearly all of the first years are up earlier than normal, abuzz with excitement. Neville, of course, is a nervous wreck about it. When the mail arrives and the Rememball he receives from his grandmother turns a smoky red just as he explains to Harry what it is, it’s no surprise to find out he’s forgotten something.

Draco is just walking over, and he snatches the Remembrall up, laughing, “Forgotten something again, Longbottom?”

Neville nods, lamenting, “Yes, ‘though I can’t remember what.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Everyone else is wearing it.”

Neville looks at him confused, then around at everyone else before looking down. Suddenly, he jumps up to his feet. “My robe! I forgot my robe!” He takes off back to Gryffindor tower without a second thought.

“Guess I’ll hold on to this, then,” Malfoy says with a laugh, tossing the Remembrall he’s still holding up in the air once before pocketing it. “How long ‘til Longbottom realizes he’s forgotten it?” he asks Harry. 

“Draco,” Harry starts to admonish. 

But the blond cuts him off, waving his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll give it back to him by the end of the day if he still hasn’t remembered.” Harry rolls his eyes, but agrees to stay quiet for now so long as Draco promises to return it. 

Harry doubts Neville will remember any time soon. He’s noticed that the more flustered the other Gryffindor is, the harder it is for Neville to focus on things, which only makes his anxiety worse which in turn continues to make it difficult for him to think straight. Sometimes, he and Hermione can distract him enough to calm him, or help him with something he’s struggling with which allows him to complete a task well enough to pull him out of the cycle, but other times, like today, there is no helping him.

Having forgotten his robes means he arrives in DADA just as class is starting, out of breath and robes askew, and all eyes are automatically drawn to him standing in the doorway. He turns a bright shade of red, then makes his way to the seat saved for him between Harry and Hermione. He slouches down into his chair, pulling his book out and never once looking up until class is over. Hermione helps him straighten his robe before they head to Charms, at which point Harry thinks perhaps he’s calmed down enough to be fine. 

They go into Charms and, once they are seated, Professor Flitwick calls for attention. Once they have settled down enough, he begins: “You will recall Tuesday we were discussing locking and unlocking charms. You were to look into what the first widely used spell was; now who can give me that answer?”

This is one of the few times Harry has seen that numerous hands shoot up into the air. Every student who has ever heard the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves–mostly those who have grown up in Muggle households–is eagerly holding their hand up. Harry is among them, although it is Dean Thomas who gets called upon.

“It was ‘Open Sesame ’,” he announces confidently. 

“Correct! Two points to Gryffindor. In reality, Arabic wizards first created it, and it was ‘aftah ya simsm ’, but the phrase was translated and adopted by wizards the world over in their own languages, and worked pretty much the same. The problem with this first spell, however, is that it is a rather volatile method. I will demonstrate.” Professor Flitwick points at the classroom door and, with a wave of his wand, repeats the phrase in Arabic. Then, without missing a beat, points at a closet door off to the side and says the phrase in English. 

Before their very eyes, the wooden doors are torn off their hinges and then broken down into pieces about the size of firewood, that fall down to the ground in two heaps. “If you were too close when casting this spell, the door might hit you as it came off, or the broken pieces might fall on top of you, so its user ran the risk of injury. Furthermore, well,” he motions towards the broken doors, “it isn’t very subtle, is it?” With another wave of his wand, the wooden pieces on the floor reconstruct themselves back into doors before returning to their places.

“Its successor was less volatile, and certainly less likely to hurt the caster, but it was still rather rudimentary . Can anyone tell me what that spell was, and what the results of using it were?” Significantly less hands are raised this time around. “Miss Granger, if you would?”

Hermione, who had looked distinctly disappointed to not be called the first time around, drops her hand into her lap and says, “That would be Portaberto, which was created by the Galicians, and was used to splinter the lock from a door but sometimes left a smoking hole in its wake.”

“That is correct! Five points for Gryffindor, for knowing the spell and its history.” Hermione sits a little straighter, smiling. “Now, the Unlocking Charm we use today has been in widespread use all over the world since the early 1600s, so nearly four hundred years, and is significantly more subtle than its predecessors. To cast it, you move your wand over the lock in a clockwise motion like so-” Professor Flitwick lifts his wand, drawing a circle that for them appears to go counterclockwise “-and then bring your wand down from twelve o’clock to six o’clock.” Once his wand is back at the starting point of his circle, the professor brings it down in a straight line. “While doing this, you will say the incantation Alohomora . This is the charm you will be practicing in class today.”

Suddenly, a frame with double doors that looks like it belongs in a small castle meant for a child appears between every other person. They’re instructed to work in pairs based on where they are seated and practice the Unlocking Charm, with a stern warning not to attempt the others to avoid any injuries. Harry and Hermione end up working together, while Neville is paired with Seamus. Things start off just fine, except that Seamus goes first and somehow manages to set his and Neville’s little practice door on fire. Then, likely flustered by having the entire class’s attention on them as Professor Flitwick puts the fire out, Neville uses the wrong charm and causes a second fire. The ringing laughter of some of their fellow Gryffindors only increases his embarrassment over the mistake, and no amount of assurances from Harry or Hermione work to ease his mind over the blunder. As is their custom, they go back to the dorms to switch out what  they’d needed for the morning with what they need for the afternoon, before heading to the Great Hall for lunch. 

Word, of course, has spread about the mishap. Seams, completely unselfconscious as he is, relishes the attention and is ready to regale any and all who ask over the hilarity of their door catching fire not once, but twice ! In fact, he embellishes the story with every retelling, so it goes from the door to their own robes to them setting all the desks on fire! Everyone, especially other Gryffindors well acquainted with Seamus’ penchant for wild stories, know better than to believe the incident was that big but seem to enjoy the tale all the same. Neville, on the other hand, is visibly glum. He remains hunched over the table, picking at his food, and doing his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone. He looks so miserable even Draco, whose initial reason for coming over was likely to laugh about them setting the classroom on fire, changes gears and instead gives Neville's Remembrall back. 

“Oh! I-I didn’t even realize I’d lost it,” Neville laments, taking it back with a sigh. Before any of them can try to cheer him up, the prefects start telling students who’ve finished eating to head to their next class. 

An uneventful class such as History of Magic at least serves to not further Neville’s worsening day. Especially since, in Hermione’s preferred front row seats, they can’t see who is passing notes. Harry doubts that any notes being passed are about the Charms class, but Neville in this state tends to assume the worst, which Harry learned the hard way the one time he tried to tell him that no one cared that much about his mistakes. Neville understood it as no one cared that much about him and had spent a solitary weekend avoiding everyone until Hermione, confused by the sudden cold shoulder and fed up, made Harry recount the conversation. She’d muttered an exasperated “ Boys ” before dragging Harry over to Neville to clear up the misunderstanding. 

At the end of the class, which Harry always struggles to stay awake in, he stands with a stretch. “Finally, Flying!”

Neville heaves a sigh. “Great.”

Harry pats him on the back. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Besides, Hermione and I haven’t used a broom before either.”

“Do you think that will matter?” Hermione pipes up. “Maybe we should have asked Percy if there was a way to practice beforehand…”

Harry looks over at Neville, then makes a point to roll his eyes as they follow after Hermione and her ongoing rant. It works to get a small smile out of the other boy, and they continue out onto the grounds with everyone else. 

It’s bright and breezy outside, the sky clear of most clouds. The Slytherin half of the class was already there, having come from Transfiguration on the ground floor, as opposed to the first floor like the Gryffindors. They were grouped together, looking critically at the brooms laying in two neat rows on the grass. The Weasley twins, among other Gryffindors, had complained about the quality of the school brooms, sharing that some had a tendency to drift in one direction or another, vibrating if the rider went too fast or flew too high, and generally lacking in comparison to what most had at home.

Draco is huddled with Blaise and Theodore, the look on his face making it clear he is less than impressed with the brooms before them. When he spots Harry and his friends, he nods his head in their direction. He says something to the other two Slytherins before coming over to Harry and Neville, Hermione pointedly turning away to speak with Lavender and Pansy behind them. 

“Hey Draco,” Harry greets. “Neville, I know today’s been kinda bad, but I’m sure you’ll love flying. I mean, Draco can tell you. He’ll do fine, right?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, seeming to disagree with only a look, but Harry frowns, hoping to silently convey that he should just agree. He seems to get the point as he says, “Almost as easy as picking up a wand. Even you can manage that, Longbottom.”

“Any tips?” Harry prompts.

“Lean into it?” It’s almost a question, that Draco follows up with a shrug. He’s never tried to explain broom flying to someone else, so he’s never really thought about it. He tries to think of what his father said when he was learning, and he adds, “It follows where you lead.”

“Lean into it,” Neville nods, repeating it three times when a voice interrupts.

“Good afternoon, class!”

Collectively, they turn to look at the witch coming from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. She has spiky gray hair, and unmistakably yellow hawk-like eyes. She gives them all a brief once over as she comes to stand between the two rows of brooms.

“Welcome to your first flying lesson. I am Madam Hooch, and I will be your flying instructor. Well, what are you waiting for?  Come on now, hurry up.” The two groups of students quickly scramble to do as they’re told, the Slytherins taking the row to her right while the Gryffindors take the row to her left, and every student among each side attempting to take a broom that is–at least visually–among those in better shape than others. “Good, now then. Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, ‘up’!”

A chorus of voices calling out “up” to varying degrees of confidence rings out. Harry is surprised when, upon his first attempt, the broom next to him flies up into his hand. Across from him, Draco’s does the same, and the two boys grin at each other. Hermione on his left stares at him in disbelief, while Neville on her other side is too focused on the broom at his side to notice much of anything. His trembling voice can barely be heard, but his broom is reacting, as it turns over in place a few times. On Harry’s other side, Ron Weasley is frowning down at his broom. It, like Neville’s, shifts in place a few times before he practically growls a final “ up ” and its handle goes flying up, past his hand, to whack him in the face. Harry does his best not to laugh, sputtering, but he does a poor job as Weasley mutters for him to shut up. Draco, across from them, has no such qualms and laughs heartily.

Madam Hooch walks up and down the line, patiently watching for a bit before instructing them, “With feeling !” Explaining to the students that their hesitancy will affect the way the broom responds to them. Hermione’s impatient voice repeats “up” a few times, her broom reluctantly following instructions as it lifts slowly in the air and up into her hands after half a dozen times. Neville’s, too, eventually lifts itself up into his grasp as well. 

“Now that you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end.” There’s a few scattered chuckles at imagining someone sliding off their broom, but they do as they’re told. Once again, she goes up and down the line, correcting a few people’s grips, and encouraging a few white-knuckled individuals to relax. Upon reaching the other end of the line of students, she instructs, “When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly to touch back down. That is it. On my whistle...3...2…”

Harry’s focus is on Madam Hooch, but before she’s put the whistle to her lips or even finished counting down, there’s a gasp to his left from Hermione. He turns in time to see Neville taking off, his grip on his broom tight. He can hear Madam Hooch calling out for him to come back, but it’s as if it’s coming from far away, as he watches his friend helplessly getting ever higher. 

Next to him, Hermione’s dropped her broom and is wringing her hands nervously as she calls out to their friend. “Neville!”

“He probably doesn’t remember how,” Harry tells her, knowing the other boy well enough to know how he blanks when he panics. 

“Surely Madam Hooch-”

Whatever Hermione is about to say disappears as a collective gasp overtakes all watching, as Neville loses his grip on his broom and falls faster than anyone can react. Or at least, any of the students. Madam Hooch calls something that Harry thinks might sound like a spell, but it’s hard to know for certain when his heart is pounding in his ears. What he does hear is a sickening crunch when Neville lands with a cry, followed by the other boy’s whimpers. He’s landed a few feet behind the line of Gryffindors, but before any of them can react, Madam Hooch is leaning over him, face pale. Harry and Hermione are steps behind her, calling Neville’s name, but she waves a hand to indicate the students should stay back, although the two of them are still close enough to hear her mutter, “Broken wrist”, as she gently rolls Neville over and looks him over.

She gets him to a seated position, ensures there are no other injuries, and then helps him to his feet. “There we go, good boy. Let’s get you to the Infirmary, okay?” Her soft voice turns to steel as she addresses the rest of them. “The rest of you are not to move; keep those feet firmly planted on the ground or you’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Quidditch’.”

They watch Neville, face red and tear-streaked, hobble off with Madam Hooch keeping a firm arm around him. Soon as they enter, Hermione on Harry’s left and Draco on his right both move, albeit in different directions. Hermione walks somewhere behind him, while Draco moves forward. Harry pays them both only a little attention, frowning as various students from both houses laugh, although the Gryffindors laughing have the decency to stop upon realizing that their rival House is also laughing about it.

“Poor Neville,” Hermione says, coming back to Harry’s side. The broom she’d been holding now lays on the grass, as she has traded it for Neville’s forgotten bag.

Draco is also coming back now, shaking his head. “Forgot his Remembrall again.” He’d noticed it lying in the grass and now tosses it up in the air and catches it again. “Guess I’ll ho-”

Loudly interrupting, Rons demands, “That belongs to Neville, Malfoy. Give it here!” Harry frowns, considering Draco probably talks to Neville more than Ron does, so it is strange that he feels the need to butt in like this.

“Oh yeah, and who’s going to make me, Weasel? You?” 

Everyone has stopped to watch and listen to the exchange, a few of them encouraging them to fight. Harry wants to tell Ron to drop it, but somehow before he can get a word in, the redhead makes a dive in Draco’s direction, as if to forcibly take the Remembrall from him.

“Really, that is enough!” Hermione calls out angrily from next to Harry, but her words are lost among others calling out their own words of encouragement or admonishment.

It means that Draco’s response is lost in the noise, as he’d moved further away from Harry when he’d dodged Weasley. Whatever he says, he ends up on a broom and taking off, with Ron close on his heels. Harry instinctively looks towards the castle’s doors, worrying that his friend will be caught. He thinks Percy mentioned the Hospital Wing being on the first floor, in one of the towers, but he’s not actually sure where. How long will it take the professor to get there with an injured Neville and return? 

The other students are moving about, trying to keep Ron and Draco in their sights while simultaneously trying not to be underneath them in case there is a repeat of Neville’s accident. Hermione has given up yelling about them all getting in trouble, and instead is muttering under her breath about boys and their immaturity. Watching them, Harry thinks they’re essentially playing a game of cat and mouse, with Ron chasing after Draco in an attempt to make him give the Remembrall but Draco seems to not have been exaggerating when he said he was good at flying. He manages to stay well out of Ron’s reach, and though he can’t hear what’s being said from the ground, Harry can easily imagine the smug look on the Slytherin’s face. He wondered if he should get involved and is just deciding against risking getting himself in any trouble they might face if they don’t finish soon, when he catches sight of one of the other Gryffindor boys Ron hangs out with getting on a broom. Tobias O’Bannion, one of the many who’d claimed he had been flying since before he could walk, takes off into the air to give Ron a hand and now Draco is having to avoid two people getting progressively more aggressive in their attempts at catching him.

“Someone is going to get hurt,” Hermione says, and Harry decides then and there that he needs to even the playing field and help his friend.

Before he can second-guess himself, he gets on a broom and takes off, hearing but ignoring Hermione calling out behind him. As he takes off into the air, he’s exhilarated at the feel of the wind in his hair, and how easily the broom responds to him. He doesn’t necessarily struggle in his classes, but he has to this point not really found anything which he feels comes naturally to him. This, however, feels easy and right, and he takes a moment to relish it before turning his focus back on the reason for his being up in the air. 

His fellow Gryffindors have not spotted him, as he comes up into the air behind them. Draco, however, does and clearly understands he’s there to help. He starts to move towards Harry’s left, looking for a way to get around the other two boys, but is forced to go higher up when Ron flies straight at him while Tobias follows after Draco, keeping his attention so that he forgets to account for the redhead. He pulls his arm back to throw the Remembrall towards Harry at the same time that Ron slams into him from behind, and his throw goes wild as he’s forced to focus instead on keeping himself seated on the broom.

Harry’s eyes follow the Remembrall’s arcing path through the air for a second before taking off after it. He watches it start to fall towards the ground and, instinctively understanding what to do, he picks up speed and follows after it. Vaguely, he can hear gasps and thinks someone–Hermione, perhaps?--shouts his name, but he has zeroed in completely on the Remembrall. When he is finally closing in, he reaches his left hand out, using his right to keep control of the broom and snatches the small glass ball out of the air mere feet above the ground. He pulls the broom upwards, quickly changing directions, so that it goes straight and allows him to take a few stumbling steps as his feet touch the ground. Adrenaline pumping, he triumphantly holds the Remembrall up, both impressed with his own accomplishment and somehow completely unsurprised by it, as if it is something he’d known ahead of time he could easily do.

All those feelings, however, drain out of him in an instant when he hears a stern voice call out, “HARRY POTTER!”

Professor McGonagall is coming towards him, moving faster than he has ever seen her move and his heart drops. If there is one person here he does not want to disappoint, it is his Head of House, and he drops his gaze so as to avoid seeing the look in hers as she nears.

“Never, in all my days! How dare you–you could have been gravely injured–” She seems to be struggling to find the exact words she wants to say, jumping from one sentence to another, and somehow it is worse than all the scoldings from the Dursleys combined.

“Professor, it’s not his fault, I–”

“Quiet, Mr. Malfoy!”

“But Professor, they–”

“Enough, Ms. Granger!” There is silence, and Harry cannot bring himself to look at his friends, though he appreciates their attempts to help. “Potter, follow me. Now.”

Harry quietly nods his head, waiting until Professor McGonagall has turned on her heels to finally look over at his classmates. Hermione is wringing her hands, and Draco is frowning. The Slytherins mostly look amused at his getting in trouble, while many of the Gryffindors are frowning. Ron and Tobias are pointedly not looking in his direction, so he can’t make out their expressions. Turning away, he moves to quickly catch up with the professor.

The professor’s silence unnerves him, but he dares not break it, lest he somehow make things worse for himself. He thinks about all the punishments he may get, spiraling from detention to endless homework, until he is suddenly sure that he has earned himself a ban on ever being allowed on a broom again or worse, that he has ensured that he will be expelled. Would they send him back to the Dursleys, even knowing how they had treated him? 

When instead, he is introduced to the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood, with their Head of House praising his innate abilities on the broom, his legs almost give out in relief. Perhaps Hermione’s tendency to assume the worst for rule breaking is starting to rub off. 

Both boys are taken to her office, where she informs Oliver Wood of what she’s seen. He’s impressed to hear that aside from reading Quidditch Through the Ages and discussing flying with Malfoy, he’s had no other experience, and is now intrigued enough to support the possibility of a first year being recruited. The plan is for Oliver to hold try-outs as planned, but to watch Harry at some point before or after on his own; she says she’ll leave it to them to figure it out. If he agrees that Harry is their best option, Professor McGonagall says she’ll see about getting it cleared with Dumbledore. That way, if he decides to stick with the rule to not allow first years to play–a rule she seems to not personally be fond of–then Oliver can still decide among the other students interested. If, however, he does allow it, then they can keep Harry’s involvement under wraps to best surprise their biggest competition: Slytherin.

The fact that she thinks so highly of Harry’s abilities makes the Quidditch Captain eager to see for himself, so he gets her permission to drag Harry down to the Quidditch pitch and see him in action. Harry, who is still holding one of the school brooms as he hadn’t thought to put it down, obediently follows the fifth year on his roundabout route back outside. Oliver spends that time alternating between reviewing Harry’s knowledge of Quidditch, and explaining the previous four years of matches. 

By the sounds of it, Oliver was recruited onto a mediocre team when he was in his second year and had spent that and his third year playing with a team that was much more casual to their approach to the game than he would have liked. In his fourth year, captainship had gone to a seventh year student who had simply wanted the accomplishment of being both Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, but had no real drive to get the team to win since he was more focused on getting good enough grades to earn an apprenticeship at St. Mungo’s, which at his confused look Oliver explained was a wizarding hospital in London. As a result, he made the much more motivated Oliver his Vice Captain and left him with most of the work of recruiting new players and planning their practice schedule. 

“He was our Seeker, and he was all right, but just not good enough to make up for the difference in skill with the other teams,” Oliver finishes. “Not to put pressure on you, but I’m looking for the best possible Seeker to round out the team; it’s really the last thing we need and then I’m confident that Gryffindor will have the best team in Hogwarts!”

No pressure, he says . After that spiel, Harry’s afraid of not living up to Oliver’s high expectation for the Gryffindor Seeker, but he figures there’s nothing for it but to at least try. McGonagall seems confident in his abilities, at least, so surely there was something to that. When they get to the pitch, Oliver instructs Harry to go ahead and fly around. It’s not uncommon, he explains, for people to get nervous before a try-out and psych themselves out. Flying around would help him loosen up, relax, and be more prepared to go when he returned. Harry nods, straddles the broom, and kicks up off the ground.

At first, he feels clumsy. Despite his earlier enjoyment and confidence when in class, the thought that Oliver might be watching him and assessing him makes him second guess himself, making it so it feels like the broom has a mind of its own. He wonders if this is how Neville felt when he’d kicked off in class, too early and much too hard, and it makes him even more sympathetic to his ever-anxious friend. He can see how, already upset over a rough day, he’d have panicked too much to control his broom. It reminds Harry to take a breath and relax, he had already proven to himself that he could fly on a broom so there was no need to panic, and soon he’s guiding the school broom around the pitch with ease.

Oliver expresses his pleasure at seeing how, despite being an inexperienced first year, Harry has fairly flawless control. “Do you have a broom of your own at home? No? Well, if you get the spot, we’ll have to talk to McGonagall about getting you one of the newer lines. A Nimbus Two-Thousand would be ideal, with its reported maneuverability, but it’s a lot pricier than a lot pa-, I mean, guardians want to get their kid.” He coughs, seeming embarrassed by the near mention of Harry’s parents, and quickly continues. “But a Comet Two Sixty, or even a Cleansweep Ten like mine, would be good too.”

Having said that, he gets on his own broom holding a bag that Harry has only just noticed. It turns out that inside, he has a number of golf balls that he tells Harry he will be throwing in whichever direction he feels like. Harry’s job is to keep track of and try to catch all of them, allowing Oliver to assess his reaction times, his ability to change directions, and how good he might be at catching small objects, as a Remembrall was slightly bigger than a traditional Snitch, while the golf balls were more or less the same size. He admits he has no idea what Muggles use golf balls for, as he’s never heard of “golf”, but he’s glad at how abundant and easy they are to get.

Then the talking is over, and Harry’s try out officially begins.

~~~

Of course, to an eleven-year old boy with friends for the first time, the thought that his try out is meant to be a secret kept from everyone including his closest friends does not even occur to him. Harry is nearly vibrating with excitement to tell his little group once he is done with Oliver at the Quidditch pitch, especially as Oliver is over the moon with him. He tells Harry that he’ll still hold the try-outs, as discussed with their Head of House, but he’s now very happy with their chances for the Quidditch Cup. Harry, he’s certain, is what they’re looking for, and if anyone is even more skilled than him, then Gryffindor will be unbeatable. It would be especially impressive if Harry is recruited as the rule forbidding first years playing means he’ll be the youngest player in a very long time.

Unfortunately, he’s sorely disappointed when he finds that Neville is still in the Hospital Wing, Hermione is also not at dinner as she had requested permission to keep him company, and he can’t possibly tell Draco while he’s seated at the Slytherin table with his Housemates. Oliver was especially adamant about keeping his new position from the Slytherin Quidditch team, and as Harry doesn’t know who those upperclassmen are, he can’t risk one of them overhearing or being told by one of Draco’s friends.

“So tell us, what happened with Professor McGonagall?” Amos, one of the other boys in his dorm, is leaning across the table. He and Dean were the ones to inform him of Neville’s and Hermione’s absence.

Harry shrugs, “Few of detentions with Madam Hooch down at the Quidditch pitch.” It was the reasoning they–Professor McGonagall and Oliver–decided would make the most sense to explain his upcoming absences once practices started should he end up on the team. If he doesn’t make it, they can give some reason for why they’ve been canceled.

“More than one?” Amos frowns. 

“Ron and Tobias are only getting one each. I think Malfoy too,” Dean explains. “Seems a little unfair you were singled out.”

“Probably ‘cause I was the only one she actually saw,” Harry offers. At their look, which he interprets as surprise he’s not more upset, he adds, “But it is unfair. Ron started it all, the git.”

“It really is,” Dean agrees. “Everyone knows you and Neville hang out with Draco. He was just looking to start a fight with him.”

At the end of dinner, Harry tries to catch up with Draco. Theodore and Blaise make a comment about being surprised Potter wasn’t kicked out, but otherwise say nothing else, bidding their friend goodbye without another word or look at Harry. 

“You get detention too?” Draco asks. 

“Well.” Harry waits until the other two are out of earshot before saying in a lower voice, “Officially, that’s the story.”

“Officially?” Draco looks puzzled, but before Harry can explain, a Slytherin prefect coming out of the Great Hall behind them calls over.

“Malfoy. Professor Snape wants to see you in his office.”

“Be right there,” Draco responds. 

“I would go now if I were you,” the prefect advises dryly. “He seemed displeased.” They say nothing else, moving past. 

“Fine, fine.” Draco rolls his eyes but says, “Make it quick, Potter.”

Harry frowns, as the growing number of students coming out of the Great Hall now means they’re very likely to be overheard. “It’s okay; there are too many people. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Now Draco is extremely intrigued. “Oh no, if you didn’t get in trouble, I want to know why. Wait for me in the library. I’ll head there soon as I can.”

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Ten

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 10: Gimme Some Truth

Summary: The will.

MINERVA McGonagall was not generally known for impatience. In fact, quite the opposite: she was quite possibly one of the most patient women in the world, Muggle or otherwise. So it is with an uncharacteristic sense of impatience that she wakes early Saturday morning to get ready for her day back in London. When she realizes just how early, she forces herself to take her time with eating breakfast before taking the time to leave a reminder to her prefects and the Head Girl, a Gryffindor 7th year girl, that she would be away from the castle most of the day and they were to reach out to either Professor Flitwick or Professor Snape should the need arise.

In truth, she doesn’t anticipate anything of great importance occurring on the first weekend of the school year, but she’d also been teaching for long enough to know that when it came to hundreds of adolescent witches and wizards, it was best to prepare for the worst just in case.

She considers, briefly, letting the headmaster know of her plans but opts not to. His own weekends were usually busy, often resulting in him rarely leaving his office or leaving the school altogether for business elsewhere. Even if this were one weekend in which he was free enough to note her absence, she’s not inclined to give him advance notice of her plans. Perhaps it was paranoia, but considering his attempt to maintain guardianship over Harry, she thinks it possible that he might try to dissuade her from looking into the will, which she was determined to do. 

Finally, she heads out. The school’s security measures means she’s unable to leave directly from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley. Instead, she goes into Hogsmeade, greets a yawning Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks, and borrows her fireplace to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron in London. Most of the shops that made up Diagon Alley kept regular opening and closing hours, including those on Horizont Alley, Knockturn Alley, and Carkitt Market--side shopping areas--with only a few exceptions. Among those exceptions were the Owl Post Office and the Gringotts Money Exchange in the Carkitt Market, and the Healer Shop, Leaky Cauldron and Gringotts Bank directly on Diagon Alley, which were open all day, every day, for the convenience of their patrons. Some of the locations on Knockturn Alley likewise kept such hours, but McGonagall was not one to frequent that district, so which is knowledge she does not, nor cares to, possess.

What matters is that at eight o’clock in the morning, there are few out and about on Diagon Alley, but Gringotts Bank stands at attention at the end of the street, ready for its customers at all hours. And at this particular hour, there are few enough people even within the bank to ensure that she can be attended with little to no delay.

If there is one thing about Gringotts to be appreciated above all else, it is their efficiency. The goblins are not interested in wasting time, and are remarkably good at ensuring that all spells corresponding with Hogwarts and Ministry of Magic records are always working so their own documents are always up to date. They therefore are already well aware that guardianship has moved from the Headmaster to Harry Potter’s Head of House, one Minerva McGonagall. 

Upon stating her business, a goblin by the name of Nagnok is called to lead McGonagall to a room off of the main lobby. It’s a small office, with two chairs facing a desk behind which there is a chair, then a set of drawers set against the wall next to a back door. She’s instructed to take a seat as they would return shortly with the documents in question, then they leave through the back door. They are gone for less than five minutes when they return with a large envelope which, in place of a wax seal, has a string and button seal. Nagnok takes a seat at the desk, modified so that he is eye-level with the witch, and passes the envelope across the desk.

McGonagall looks at the envelope for a moment, then undoes the tie to open it. Inside, tied neatly together, is a small stack of papers with two envelopes slightly smaller than the one they’d been in sitting on top. She undoes that tie as well, places the original envelope and tie to one side, then separates the items before her. She sets down first one envelope, then the next, and finally the pages in a stack together. 

The first letter has Harry’s name written across it. When she flips it over, there is a gold wax seal with the image of a crest pressed into it. McGonagall realizes she has never seen the Potter family crest; had in fact never thought, as with most wizarding families, that there was none. The practice dated back to the twelfth century, and with the exception of families that had dealings with Muggle royals and received recognition from them, wizards and witches typically earned them for great contributions to the wizarding world after which the crest was magically included in Muggle records so as to avoid its use among Muggle nobles. McGonagall doesn’t quite remember when its usage fell out of favor and stopped being bestowed, simply that it was mostly only seen for institutions. Each wizarding school, for instance, and Gringotts as well as the Daily Prophet possessed their own heraldry. Not that she could recall what it looked like, but she was certain some of the older, wealthier families such as the Blacks and Malfoys similarly possessed their own unique family crest and coat of arms. 

She runs her fingers over the wax, feeling the small indentations of the different charges on the small shield imprinted there, and Nagnok advises, “That is spelled to only allow Mr. Potter to open the letter.” 

“I’ve no interest in reading a private letter addressed to my student,” McGonagall informs him, setting the letter aside. The second has no name written on the outside, and the wax seal on the back on this one is red and broken, indicating it had been opened before. She assumes by Albus, and she opens it and pulls out a folded parchment, surprised to find it completely blank. “Is there nothing written in this one?”

“As you can see, it is blank, but we were instructed to include it unaltered with the other letter and will. Albus Dumbledore also did not know what to do with it.” Nagnok grinned, amused, and McGonagall had a feeling that he took enjoyment at their befuddlement. There was likely a spell of some sort that only the guardian, or guardians, James and Lily had wanted for their son would know how to surpass. 

She put the blank parchment away, setting it aside with Harry’s letter, and turning at last to the will itself. The topmost page was clearly the bank’s, providing information on when the will was last altered, when it went into effect, the date it was first accessed, and a blank spot at the bottom denoting when will was fully carried out. As she set the page aside, magically adding today’s date as the last time the will was accessed. 

The details too small to see on the wax seal without much closer inspection were now enlarged and clearly visible. The next page had the full coat of arms and crest in all its magicked glory at the top of the page, before the official writing announcing the document to be the last will and testament of James Potter and Lily Jade Potter nee Evans. The shield of the coat of arms is black, with one large green chevron and three gold chevronelles. At the bottom is an open, azure book with black script that appears briefly, only to disappear again. The coat is charged with three red stags in the right corner, and two grapevines with a wheatsheaf, all three tawny in color, in the left corner. Above the shield, a stag with a caduceus makes up the crest, standing on a wreath of black, green, and gold, with a banner over it with the family motto in Latin. Briefly, she thinks she sees a hint of silver on the edges but the outline of the shield is black, and the lions on either side are gold with a red sash. She’s confident that the lions, considering their colors, are meant to represent Gryffindor, and she smiles. James had once mentioned, while Lily was pregnant, that he was sure to give McGonagall another Gryffindor to look after as all his family had been Gryffindors. She wishes she could tell him he’d been right.

She moves on, not wanting to dwell on things she could not change, and begins to skim through the documents. The will isn’t particularly long, so much as it is filled with legal jargon that makes it tedious to read. Ultimately, it outlines what items constitute the Potter estate, with related legal documents where necessary included with the will. Among such items was a London property that dated back to the 1600s, the cottage in Godric’s Hollow which was an ancestral home older than the London property, and the Gringotts vault, and the two deeds and Gringotts contract for each. There was also a small list of family heirlooms, with equal parts valuable and sentimental items, with a note as to whether it should be found at one of the properties or within the vault. 

All of this McGonagall skims over, until she finally reaches the section she’s been looking for, which states that should James and Lily pass before Harry was of age, guardianship is to be passed on to his godfather, Sirius Black III. In the event that he is unable to carry out his duties, Harry is to be given into the care of Frank C.J. Longbottom and Alice Longbottom, or Remus John Lupin. There is not a single mention of Lily’s sister anywhere to be found. 

Then there is a section regarding the funds in the vault. Once Harry’s old enough to go to Hogwarts, he’s allowed access to the vault directly, but until such time his key and the funds were to be overseen by his guardian. In that, Dumbledore had been adhering to the will, since he’d had the key, and it probably had been best to not give it to the Dursleys. McGonagall cannot imagine the Muggle pair coming to Diagon Alley to stand face-to-face with goblins, but stranger things had been known to happen in the pursuit of wealth. Granted, as she continues reading and notes that in order to protect Harry’s interests, funds removed from the Potter vault by anyone other than Harry would require an annual accounting to verify its use was in regards to needs directly associated with raising Harry, with a generous allowance to accommodate additional expenditures not directly related to Harry, but likely intended in the case of Harry going to one of his parents’ bachelor friends who might not be able to work as much if they were single-handedly raising a child.

“I have some questions,” McGonagall finally says to the goblin, who has been looking over papers and now looks up at her. “At the time of their deaths, all of the people noted here as possible guardians for Harry Potter would have been perfectly capable of carrying out those duties and being notified. Why, then, was Mr. Potter’s physical guardianship passed on to relatives not provided in the will, and magical guardianship given to Albus?”

“That would be the doing of your Ministry of Magic,” Nagnok informs her, the tone and sneer on his face making it clear how he feels about their interference. “Emergency provisions were put into place to allow for government intervention in the carrying out of wills and guardianship where they felt it best served the safety of the wizarding community, the Statute of Security, and-or the individual or individuals involved.” He’s clearly reciting the mandate from memory. “This was to be effective for two years starting October of the year one thousand nine hundred and eighty-one. It was extended an additional six years, and finally expired just prior to the current Minister of Magic taking office. Instead, it was decided that the provision would only continue to apply to Mr. Potter due to the extraneous circumstances, and there was no interest in challenging it.”

Of course there hadn’t been; the boy’s Muggle relatives were oblivious to the fact that he’d inherited a fortune, or that there had been a will at all left behind. McGonagall had a feeling that, had they known guardianship had been meant for others, they might have jumped at the chance to pass Harry off. It annoyed her to think that Albus had used his influence as such, and prevented Harry from going where he might have been wanted.

He could argue, for instance, that by doing so he had saved Harry from falling into the hands of his godfather, Sirius. However, Frank and Alice Longbottom had been perfectly capable at the time of taking in Harry. And with a child of their own the same age, Harry would have had at least a few happy years before the Longbottoms were captured and tortured by rogue Death Eaters fleeing the law, still trying to locate their defeated leader.Harry then would have likely stayed under the care of the formidable Augusta Longbottom, who was no doubt a strict woman, but one who would have done a much better job at raising Harry than his Muggle relations had done. 

Remus Lupin is the only one listed who might still take guardianship, but that as far as she knows lest Dumbledore failed to mention, the man has never reached out regarding Harry either. She could guess why, and thought it likely that even if he had known about being a possible guardian for Harry, he would have relinquished said guardianship to Dumbledore easily. But he is the boy’s only connection to his parents left, and she wonders if she can convince him to take up the mantle his friends had intended for him.

Moving back to the list of heirlooms, she taps a finger at the symbols indicating their locations. “The items listed as being in the Potter vault, of course, I’m sure are present and accounted for; this is Gringotts, after all.” It isn’t mere flattery; McGonagall is certain that if anything had been removed from the vault at any point after the will’s creation, they’d have noted as much. Their records were always meticulously kept. “Would it be possible to get verification that the items that should be here or at Godric’s Hollow are where they should be?”

“For a fee, we could provide services to do just that,” Nagnok advises. “However, bear in mind that Godric’s Hollow was for a time cordoned off by the Ministry as they dealt with the...aftermath of the Dark Lord’s attack.”

She recalls. “Then they let reporters and tourists visit, like it was an attraction instead of the site of a tragedy.” She sighs, still annoyed by it. “Are you saying it’s possible the Ministry, or some other party, removed items from the cottage?”

“Thieves and looters are not uncommon, even today, but especially in times of war.” 

Quickly and efficiently, she begins to gather everything altogether. “I presume I will be able to take this with me, in order to review its contents with Mr. Potter?”

“Fine.” Grumbling, Nagnok reaches out to take the Gringotts page, grabs a quill to sign it, and then passes both the page and the quill to the witch to do the same, as there is now a new record indicating that the will is being removed from the Gringotts property by Harry Potter’s acting guardian. “Please note we have a copy of the main will, and should there be any attempt to destroy or alter these pages, our records will be adjusted accordingly. We highly recommend, once Mr. Potter has seen the contents, that the will be returned here for safekeeping until he is of age.”

McGonagall nods in understanding, says she will be in contact in regards to contracting their services to verify the heirlooms not currently at Gringotts, and soon after is walking back outside. It’s perhaps been an hour since she arrived, maybe a little more, but foot traffic on Diagon Alley has already begun to pick up significantly. Nevertheless, she simply stands there for a moment, gathering her thoughts, trying to decide what to do next.

She can go back to Hogwarts, will in hand, and give everything to Harry. She would have to explain what the will says, certain that the will itself will be difficult for an eleven-year old boy to read and comprehend himself, but he would have it. He would know. There have already been so many secrets kept from him, she’s loath to continue the tradition, but she also does not want to do anything that might hurt the boy. What if Remus does, in fact, prefer to relinquish his rights as guardian? What if the London property is no longer habitable? What if he asks to go see the cottage in Godric’s Hollow? What if there’s something in that letter, written just for him, that prompts questions she can’t answer? Or an heirloom that they can’t locate? 

“Enough of that,” she scolds herself. She is worried about scenarios that may not happen, and as a former Gryffindor and the current Head, even if the worse were to happen, she would face those challenges as she always did: directly and without hesitation. 

The most important task to tackle was attempting to locate Remus Lupin, wherever he might be. She could ask the headmaster, who she suspects has kept a running tally on the whereabouts of all the living former members of the Order not currently working at Hogwarts, but she thinks she’ll leave that as a last resort. She has her own connections in London; friends, former students, or the parents of ones, with whom she might be able to find something out. Particularly those who had been familiar with James Potter and his group of friends during their time at Hogwarts. McGonagall thinks it would be ideal to speak with him face-to-face, but if she’s unable to do so, then the next option would be to try to write to him and hope that he can be found by owl. If that fails, and only if that fails, she will turn to Albus for assistance.

~~~

WHEN she has returned to Hogwarts, it is shortly before dinner. She is tired, frustrated that she’d managed to find three students who’d gone to school with James and Lily, two of whom had been Gryffindors, and yet none knew anything about Remus Lupin. The man, for all his friendliness and general good nature, had kept few friends during his time at school, and of those, none had made it out of the war alive except the one responsible for the others’ deaths. She would have to write to him, which meant deciding how much to put in a letter versus waiting until she could speak to him. McGonagall doesn’t want to admonish him for his lack of interest in Harry to this point, no doubt believing as she had that he’d been well in hand under Dumbledore’s care. However, she does want to impart on him the gravity of the boy’s upbringing, and that he was likely the boy’s best hope of getting away from the Dursleys. He was the last person named in the will, so without him, next of kin took precedence. 

If only James hadn’t been an only child.

Then there had been the added frustration of realizing, upon a second look, that there was no address in the will or the deed itself for the London property. She would have to submit an inquiry to the Ministry of Magic, but considering the state of things before their deaths, she wonders if perhaps the London home was also put under the Fidelis Charm. Without that secret keeper, forget finding the place herself, how would they be able to send someone to confirm the heirlooms that should be there?

“Hello, Professor.”

“Good evening.” She looks over at the student moving past her in the hall, notes it’s one of her Gryffindors, and says, “Ms. Spinnet, if you can locate Mr. Potter, please have him come to my office.” 

The girl answers in the affirmative before she runs off to do as requested, and McGonagall heads to her office. She’s decided; she will tell him that she has the will, but wishes to look into a few things before sharing it with him. Hopefully his trust in her will extend into believing her when she says she thinks it’s for the best. 

She’s a few lines into her letter when there is a knock on her door. McGonagall is only mildly surprised when the one who comes in is not the student she’s waiting on, but the Potions Master. “Severus--” She’s only just started to greet him as he’s closing the door, when there’s more knocking a small, messy-haired head peers in around the still open door.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Yes. Do come in, Harry. Have a seat.” She motions at the chair across from her, and Snape opens the door further to let him in. The Potion Master then looks back, raising an eyebrow at his colleague who nods for him to stay. She watches him close the door but remaining close to it, as if to ensure no intruder will come in.

“Is this about my parents’ will?” Harry asks.

“Yes. I was able to obtain their will from Gringotts, however there are some things I’d like to look into, now that I’m privy to its contents. I’d like you to wait until then for me to share it with you, all right?” She has set the quill down to one side, letter momentarily forgotten as she clasps her hands together on top of her desk.

Harry is quiet, considering. “How long will that take?” he asks after a few moments.

“Hopefully not long,” she tells him, but admits, “But I don’t know exactly. It may be a few days, or a few months.” She meets his gaze steadily. “I do promise that, one way or another, you will know before the school year ends.”

Silence again for a beat, then another, before he nods his head in agreement. “Okay.” 

“Thank you. Now go on, dinner should be starting soon.”

She sends him off with a smile, after which Severus comes over to take the seat he has vacated. “These things you would like to look into; anything I might assist you with?” 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Remus Lupin is nowadays, would you?” She knows the answer, even before Snape’s lip curls in disdain and he scoffs, answering in the negative. It had been highly unlikely, she’d known that, but it was worth a shot anyway. “Well, he is the only one left in the will named as a possible guardian who could possibly take the role.” Severus’s raised eyebrow and incredulous look perfectly convey how he feels about that, but she continues anyway, “If he declines, then it would go to next of kin and Harry remains with the Dursleys. 

Snape sighs. “I assume you are going to try to write him?” She nods, and he continues, “I suppose I could reach out to some acquaintances of mine that may be able to locate him, just in case.”

She nods her head, grateful. “Thank you.”

“Is that the only matter?”

“Unfortunately, no. Before they went into hiding, the Potters were living in London. I’ll be sending an inquiry to the Ministry to see if there are records as to where, but as the address is missing from the deed itself, I suspect it may not be so easy.” She reaches into her desk, where she has stowed the will for the moment, and pulls out the blank envelope. “I suspect this might have additional answers, but as its magicked, I’ve no way of reading it.”

“May I?” McGonagall passes it over and Snape looks it over before pulling out the blank parchment.

“According to the goblin at Gringotts, Albus was equally befuddled by this blank letter, so it’s probably safe to assume that it’s not a simple matter of invisible ink or the like.” 

Snape nods his head in agreement, passing it back once he has replaced the parchment in the envelope. “I’ll look into what spell may have been used, and whether there’s a potion that might negate it.”

“That would be helpful,” McGonagall agrees, putting the envelope back in her desk. “Otherwise, we can only hope that Remus may have the answer. Other than him, the only one who might help is--”

“Black,” Snape finishes.

“Precisely. And I don’t fancy a visit to Azkaban, though I doubt he’d be keen to be of assistance.”

“Assuming, of course, that his sanity is still intact.”

“Excellent point.” Ten years surrounded by dementors. McGonagall shudders at the thought, and despite his crimes, she pities the man who’d once been her student and James Potter’s best friend.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is a John Lennon song. Hopefully, this chapter doesn't disappoint.

And look, I have no idea what the “J” in Lily’s name actually stands for, so I went with Jade for the obvious connection to her eyes. I didn’t want to put too much thought into it, lol.

For my own edification, and because I couldn’t actually find an answer to this, does anyone know at what point it was no longer required for the heir who inherited the family crest/coat of arms to change it in England? If anyone knows, or has better research skills and can actually find the answer to that, please let me know ‘cause I’m curious. I frankly spent way, WAY too much time looking up information on heraldry, especially considering what a small part the Potter crest I created plays in this and the artistic liberties I took with it anyway, hahaha.

In canon, Harry’s family has no known family motto or crest, which is not impossible but Linfred (the oldest family member we know of) made enough of a reputation for himself that he was able to leave a “significant gold pile” to each of his SEVEN children, laying the foundation for the Potter fortune; and his work was influential enough that some of his remedies/potions were the precursors for stuff in modern use (Skele-Gro and Pepperup are specifically named). Plus, his eldest went on to marry THE granddaughter of Ignotus Peverell, one of the brothers who inspired the Tale of the Three Brothers. Their names were lost to history, sure, but considering there’s a story about them, it means they would have been influential/famous enough in their own time to have warranted that kind of attention. His granddaughter would not be so far removed from his time to not warrant respect due her station, and a marriage to match, considering the attitudes of the time (assuming witches/wizard society was classist, which I think they would’ve been considering current attitudes in canon).

Anyway, I’ll stop rambling now.

[writingmyselfout]

This is one of my favorite Hermione fan arts. Feel free to imagine Because I Could Not Stop for Death's Hermione as looking like this because it's pretty damn close.

When in doubt, go to the library!

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Author: MBM

Summary: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has died. Voldemort has won, and all his sacrifices were for naught. Surprisingly, the one who is angriest about it is his own Grim Reaper because his third time wasn’t a charm after all. He’s got to convince his Reaper that he’s worth betting on one last time, knowing that if he fails again, they’re both screwed.

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue: The Show Must Go On (1/?)

HOW often had he seen that flash of green fill his vision? He had relived that fateful night so often throughout his seventeen years that he had long ago lost count. Now, he blinks his eyes open, trying to remember where he’d fallen asleep. Were they still in the tent? No, Bill and Fleur’s beach cottage? It would explain why everything is so bright. But as he blinks, squinting as he expected everything around him to appear blurry as they always did when he didn’t wear his glasses, he is surprised to find that he’s not in any cottage at all. He has no idea where he is currently.

    “Mr. Potter? Harry Potter?” Harry moves his eyes away from the corner of the otherwise empty white room he’s been looking around, over to where a door has opened and a figure stands. A pair of dark eyes in a brown, androgynous face glares at him from the doorway. “This way, then.”

    They don’t wait to see if he is going to follow, disappearing back through the doorway, and Harry stands up quickly. He wants answers and he figures he’s more likely to get them with that person than he will sitting around in a room by himself. He goes through the open door and into a long hallway with doors lined on either side. The figure who called him is continuing on, their gray robe barely brushing the ground and a hood lying flat against their back. They are halfway down the hall when they stop, look back to see he’s currently coming, and then open the sixth door on their left. When Harry catches up, he sees that they have sat down behind a desk.

    He steps cautiously into the office, his brain trying to make sense of what is going on. Wasn’t he just fighting at Hogwarts? What happened? He’s still disoriented, trying to piece together the events that lead him to be in this unfamiliar place with this stranger.

    “I can’t believe you’re here again ,” the person says, waving a hand towards one of the chairs in front of their desk, indicating Harry should sit as they continue, tone clearly exasperated, “ **already **.”

    “Where is ‘here’, precisely?” Harry questions, slowly sitting down and moving his head only slightly to take in what little else is in the room without actually losing sight of this person.

    “Limbo. Purgatory. The place between. So on and so forth.” They wave their hand in a circular motion to indicate they could go on, then turn to a stack of folders on the right side of their desk. “Basically you’re dead.” They start muttering, ranting really, almost as if they have forgotten Harry’s there as they go through the folders. “Again.” They slap a thing folder they’d picked up on the other side of the desk for emphasis. “Record breaking destined hero, and he can’t even manage to stay alive to confront said destiny.”

    The flash of green , Harry recalls. That’s right, he was hit with the Killing Curse by Voldemort. Again. It wasn’t a memory, it was him dying. Then the implication of what was just said hits him. “Wait, ‘again’? I’ve died before ?”

    A nod. “Yup. Three times before, to be precise.” They pause in their search to tap a finger on a nameplate sitting between them and Harry, drawing the wizard’s attention to it for the first time. Before his eyes, the strange markings morph into letters he recognizes: ‘Maquetauire Guayaba’. “Call me Yaba. You’ll butcher my name otherwise.” Meaning he’d done it before.

    Fair, as Harry couldn’t begin to guess how to accurately say their full name. “Okay, Yaba. You said I’ve been here three times before? So I’ve died-”

    “Four times.” Yaba confirms. “FOUR!” They slap another folder down. “‘Destined Heroes’ was supposed to be an upgrade, you know; less frustrating than Catalysts. Catalysts are unpredictable. Destined heroes have a moral compass . I was well on my way to breaking the record. FIFTEEN straight destined heroes with no failures, but no. You -” Yaba points an accusing finger at Harry, eyes narrowed “-were assigned to me, and instead of defeating your enemies, changing the world for the better, living to some ridiculously old age with your soulmate, and cementing my success as a Reaper, you keep dying . You can’t even keep your soulmate straight! Mixing up some Granger girl with that other one with the G name. Or is it the other way around? I don’t even know anymore!” Yaba throws their hands up in frustration before grabbing another folder. “It’s downright-” they slapped another folder down on their left “-fucking-” and then another “ infuriating !” ending with another loud slap. This time, though, the folder is a thicker one that they smack down in front of themselves.

    Mind racing with questions, and unsure where to even begin, Harry blurts out one word before he’s actively decided to ask any of them. “How?” It seems as good a place as any to start figuring things out, his mind whirling between the astonishing idea that he’s died so often, and the possibly equally surprising revelation that Hermione is his soulmate. Or could be, if Yaba hasn’t mixed her up with Ginny, the only other “G name” Harry can think of at the moment. Unless he means that Slytherin girl, Greengrass? He shakes his head, not wanting to get distracted.

    “How?” Yaba flips the folder in front of them open with a sigh. “Let’s see. This will probably start triggering memories, by the way, so try not to freak out. It’s normal, since this is where your lives converge.” They flip past the first two pages, Harry catching enough of a glimpse to see that even if he wasn’t looking at them upside down, all the information was written in unfamiliar markings he neither recognizes nor can he begin to guess what language or culture they originate from. They have no problem, however, as they stop on the third page. “The first time, you died approximately forty-four days short of your sixteenth birthday, after getting hit by simultaneous dark curses in an attempt to protect your soulmate.”

    Yaba adds more details, giving the location, but Harry’s remembering even as they speak. The Department of Mysteries, with members of Dumbledore’s Army. They had been tricked. No, he had been tricked, into believing that Sirius was in danger and the others had run headlong into danger with him. They had been running through one strange room after another, trying to stay ahead of the Death Eaters, and Hermione had tried to silence one but missed and they’d responded with a dark curse Harry had never heard of but resulted in a whip of dark purple flames heading right for her. He hadn’t stopped to think when he put himself between it and Hermione, his body had just moved and he’d grabbed her, turning them so it struck him in the back. At that same moment, someone else had aimed the Killing Curse at him, and his last memory was of Hermione’s shocked eyes on his. Then he had woken up in the empty white waiting room Yaba had pulled him from.

    “What happened after?” He interrupts, leaning forward in his chair. “Hermione, after I died, did she escape?”

    Yaba looks up from the folder, staring at Harry, annoyed. “What do you think? Not that it matters. It was all undone when I sent you back for your second attempt. That time…” They trail off, flipping through to another page. “Here we go, yes, the second time you go through the Battle of the Department of Mysteries -- what a stupid name -- you managed to get through that whole debacle pretty much unscathed.” Harry frowns, starting to recall his second life and remembering that the second time, although she survives, Hermione was hit with the curse he’d protected her from the first time.

    “Instead, you die at the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. You were knocked out of the tower when you were hit with the Killing Curse. Wait.” Yaba lifts the previous page, squinting at the edge. “No, that was the third time. I remember, that’s one of the times you inexplicably didn’t choose your soulmate. Ah ha, stuck together.” They pull the two pages apart and go back. “The second time you didn’t drink enough Felix Felicis and ended up accidentally drinking some of the Acromantula venom your professor collected.”

    Harry winces, remembering suddenly the way the venom had seemed to burn him from the inside a few minutes after drinking it. When he had been bitten in his fourth year, the effects had been infinitely slower, and less noticeable. “Right. That almost destroyed my magical core. I had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s from the infirmary, and Mrs. Weasley offered to take me home for a few weeks over the summer while I recovered. I was trying to get away from Ginny, who kept trying to get me alone on my birthday, when-”

    “You fell down the stairs and broke your neck.” Yaba is actually grinning . “I’ll admit, that one was kind of funny. It’s like the less interested you are, the more persistent and desperate that girl becomes.” They frown then. “Still, would have preferred you not dying. Then there’s this latest-”

    “-which doesn’t make sense.” Harry interrupts. He’s on the edge of his seat, leaning forward onto the desk. “All those other times, something happened to kill the piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to me. I remember, we talked about it after the second time, ‘cause I was wondering why the venom didn’t kill me when it had basically drained me of almost all my magic and you said it was because it burning through magic attaching Voldemort’s soul to me first kept my last bit of magic from being destroyed.”

    Yaba nods. “Correct. And all the other times, something killed that soul piece first too. Including this time.”

    “How?”

    “You interrupted,” they point out. “This last time, Tom Riddle destroyed his own soul piece, and then you were eaten.”

    Harry blinks. “I was what ?”

    “Eaten.” Yaba repeats, slowly. “The snake passed by you after the curse hit you, felt the warmth of your body, and decided to bite and eat you.”

    “So let me get this straight. I’ve been cursed multiple times, fallen to my doom twice, and then eaten ?”

    Yaba nods. “It’s quite impressive, and if you weren’t making my afterlife miserable, I might even be entertained at all the ways you manage to fail.”

    “Look, I’m trying my best,” Harry argues. “I’m working blind here, and I wouldn’t have ever gone to the damn Department of Mysteries if Dumbledore had just been open with me about what was going on so I didn’t have to keep trying to figure it out through my literal enemy . I mean, a prophecy? They were protecting a prophecy ? And one that basically Voldemort already knew the general gist of? It was such a stupid secret!

    “And that memory he had me try to get from Slughorn! I nearly died getting it, and it was just Slughorn telling Voldemort about Horcruxes. Pointless, and okay, maybe he wasn’t completely aware of it at the time, since he didn’t actually know what Slughorn’s memory was going to be, but his pulling me out of St. Mungo’s and forcing me to go to the Burrow was on him. He kept making comments about Ginny reminding him of my mom and asking how things were going; it was not subtle.”

    Harry suddenly snaps his finger. “Oh! The tower! That killing curse wasn’t even aimed at me, it was aimed at him ! They were trying to kill him and he basically used me as a meat shield!” Harry practically growls, hands balling into fists. “Manipulative bastard, playing everyone like bloody pawns in a chess game. This last time, too. I didn’t know a damn thing about Voldemort’s soul but he did. He’d long suspected, and it was seeing Snape’s memory that gave me that info. Months wasted looking for Horcruxes when I bloody was one.”

    Harry slumped back into the chair, momentarily overwhelmed. Why had he trusted the old wizard so implicitly? Even after knowing that he’s the reason that he was left at the Dursleys’ abusive,neglectful home all his life? It didn’t make a lick of sense, now that he was fully aware of just how many situations throughout his school years Dumbledore had manipulated. It wasn’t to say that the old man was necessarily evil , that was a designation better given to Voldemort and his ilk; but at the very least, the wizard was fairly self-serving.

    Yaba is quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Yes, well, unfortunately for you and my record, Albus Dumbledore is a Catalyst.”

    “A what?” This is the second time Yaba mentions him. “Can you explain? You mentioned that before. And I’m a-”

    “Destined Hero. Essentially, people fall into a bit of a hierarchy, I guess is the simplest way of putting it,” Yaba starts to explain. “Most beings are normal, living fairly normal lives, and they are what we call the Standard. They have no specific destinies, and their lives are shaped by a combination of uncontrollable factors such as where they are born, to whom, when, etcetera, and their choices. Grim Reapers-”

    “Someone like you?” Harry interrupts.

    Yaba shrugs. “Yes and no. To you lot on Earth, we’re all Grim Reapers, and it’s easiest to just go with that. In reality, it’s a bit more complicated. What you imagine, or imagined before dying, as a ‘Grim Reaper’ is really a Soul Reaper. They collect souls after a being dies and bring them to the In-Between. There, they weigh that being’s circumstances against their choices.

    “Catalysts are beings capable of affecting great change. Various villains and heroes throughout history were Catalysts. There is no predicing if they will be good or bad because they tend to live by a complicated set of beliefs. They may begin with good intentions, but be corrupted, or vice versa. Bunch of pain in the asses, to be honest.”

    “I’m assuming both Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore are Catalysts?”

    “Yes. As I said, pain in the asses. A Catalyst in turn causes the existence of a Destined Hero. Sometimes that Hero is just someone who acts like a positive influence in the Catalyst’s life, preventing them from going down a dark path. Sometimes, as in your case, they are opposing forces that cannot coexist and determine the fate of the world.”

    “Lucky me.” Harry grumbles. Granted, he can’t imagine a world in which he would somehow be a “positive influence” on Tom Riddle, thus preventing his becoming Voldemort. “Do Destined Heroes always get multiple tries?”

    Yaba coughs, clears their throat, and looks aside. “Uh, well, no. Usually, if a Hero dies without fulfilling their destiny, they are given a choice: a second chance or acceptance. It’s rare that a Hero didn’t at least try , and even in those cases, it’s often because they died before understanding what their destiny even was . If they accept, they are reunited temporarily with their loved ones in Heaven.”

    “Temporarily?”

    “Yes. You see, eventually, most beings in Heaven forget their lives. Once all of their loved ones have died, there is no longer an attachment to their lives. Heroes who have fulfilled their destiny and lived great lives, along with their loved ones who reach Heaven, are the exception, but that is because where they reside is like an upper level of Heaven, I guess you could call it. An eternal reward, essentially.”

    “So it’s worth it for a Hero who fails to not accept and instead ask for a second chance,” Harry concludes.

    “Yes. Although a second chance could be one of two things: attempt to fulfill your original destiny, or await the need for a new Hero and accept a new destiny. Namtar, the one you call Death, may decide that a failure cannot be reversed because of” Yaba pauses and then shrugs “reasons. And he’s the boss, so what he says goes.”

    “Why then have I had more than just a second chance?”

    “If you remember, I mentioned Soul Reapers, correct? Well Grims are the ones who handle Catalysts, since their lives tend to be more complicated than Standards. Grims who have worked for a very long time, with countless Catalysts with little error can be promoted to Demons.” Yaba indicates themselves. “Many of your kind used to call us ‘death gods’, but as religions changed, so too did our names. And because you all fear death so much, ‘demons’ became synonymous with evil beings, so we’ll sometimes go by the technically incorrect title of ‘Grim Reapers’.

    “Demons such as myself are basically directly under Death, and we get the mostly cushy job of just supervising a department of Grims and Standards, with the occasional Destined Hero. The record for most Destined Heroes without failures in a row is fourteen.” Yaba leans across their desk. “I am tied with Iku, and he currently doesn’t have a Destined Hero, so the new record should be mine , but you keep failing .” They throw themselves back into their chair, looking defeated.

    Harry blinks, unsure whether he should sympathize with his Grim Reaper, or Demon--whatever they were called--or not. On the one hand, they seemed to be another self-serving being using him as a pawn, but on the other, perhaps he could get himself another chance.

    “So if I’m understanding this correctly, rather than give me a choice, you just kept giving me more chances?” Harry clarifies.

    “Oh no, you kidding me? That would get me demoted all the way back to Soul Reaper if I took your choice away!” They look scandalized at the very idea. “I always ask, but no offence, you’re predictable. I knew you were never going to turn down the chance to go back and help your friends, especially ‘cause you always ask the same thing first. ‘What does my death mean for my friends?’ The answer,” Yaba rushes in, anticipating Harry’s need to know, “is that most of them die.”

    “Then of course I want to go back!”

    “You’re not understanding, I can’t keep doing this. Someone is bound to have noticed by now that I keep looping time to allow you to start over. I mean, it’s not hard to keep that under the radar; death is a busy business. But I’ve done it three times .”

    “So what’s one more?” Harry argues.

    “Easy for you to say. At this point, I’m not sure you can succeed.” Yaba taps the folder for emphasis. “Not that I necessarily think it’s your fault. Not entirely, anyway.”

    Harry frowns. “So, what? I just have to accept my fate? Doesn’t that mean you lose your streak? What happens then?”

    “Then I hope that since it’s my first failure in centuries, they don’t decide to audit your file. Iku’s gloating would be bad enough but if I get audited, forget the record and my streak, I might lose my position and be demoted back to working with Catalysts .”

    “They don’t audit the file if I succeed?” Harry asks, fairly certain he knows the answer.

    “No, they don’t.” Yaba confirms. They’re staring at each other, and Yaba shakes his head at Harry. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do; convince me to send you back again . But every time I break a rule, it’s one more thing to be punished for when you fail and I get audited. At least if I quit now, I might be able to talk myself out of the worst of it.”

    “The problem is, you keep sending me back to, what, six months to a year before my last death? And with no memories of those deaths, I am right back in the middle of my hero-worship of Dumbledore, and all my other relationships are pretty much established. Of course I’m going to keep failing!” Harry stands up, pacing about the room. “If you send me back farther, with my memories, I’m sure I can do it.”

    Yaba watches him pace. “I don’t have the ability to let you keep your memories. That’s a separate department altogether. Not sure that’s possible, really.”

    Harry looks over at his Grim Reaper, noting the thoughtful look on their face, and he’s suddenly standing by the desk, leaning forward. “Can you find out? If I could just remember , you could send me all the way back to the beginning. I mean, not all the way, but before I even start at Hogwarts. I could make sure to not repeat those deaths, and save other lives.” Like Cedric’s and Sirius’s.

    There’s a moment of contemplative silence, then suddenly Yaba calls out. “Opiel!” A shadow suddenly appears next to the desk, like a large curtain that has been balled up, and unfurls into a large dog-like creature. It’s dark eyes take Harry in before it turns its head over to look at Yaba. They speak words to it in some unknown language and just as quickly, the creature disappears. “I’m not making any promises, there’s maybe half a dozen under Death who might have the ability to do what you’re asking, and only one who might be willing to help.”

    Harry has barely nodded when suddenly the creature, Opiel, is back. This time, accompanied by another. Harry vaguely remembers a school lesson, back before Hogwarts, in which their history book had shown images of ancient Greek statues. The woman before them looked like one of those statues come alive, although rather than all white marble, she had skin of a light brown, almost golden complexion, wore a dress of pale pink, and the hair curling about her face and pulled back into a bun at her neck was almost as dark as his own.

    “You summoned me?” Harry suppressed the urge to shiver. The tone of her voice was cold, and it was clear she was offended.

    “Summoned? Lethe, I just asked Opiel to tell you I was looking for you,” Yaba explains. “I couldn’t very well take a Destined Hero to the Library, after all.”

    Lethe’s dark eyes move over Harry as she crosses her arms. “No,” is all she says after a moment, and Harry assumes she means Yaba could not have taken Harry to this Library. She looks away from him and back to the Grim Reaper. “What is your purpose in seeking me out?”

    “Ah, see, Harry here needs to go back to reattempt his destiny. I was hoping you could make it so that he recalls his past life?” Yaba gives her a hopeful look. “You know, as a favor to me.”

    “That I have not let it be known he has been thrice revived should be favor enough,” Lethe responds, and Yaba grimaces.

    “Ah, you noticed?” Their eyes widen. “Has anyone else?”

    “No.” She does not elaborate further, looking between them for a quiet moment. It isn’t until Harry shifts restlessly that she says, “My domain is oblivion and forgetfulness.”

    “Yes, that is your expertise,” Yaba agrees, “but it’s all memory. You could prevent forgetfulness too, couldn’t you?”

    “Assisting you would be worth more than what I owe.”

    Yaba nods their head in understanding. “So instead I’ll owe you in turn. Absolutely. So you’ll help?”

    She unfolds her arms and comes around the desk to stand next to Yaba, holding her hand out. They pass her Harry’s folder and she takes a moment to flip through the pages. “What were you thinking?”

    “Further than the previous times. Age eleven.”

    “He cannot maintain all his memories.”

    “Why not?” Harry asks.

    “Because.” She looks up to meet his eyes and states matter of factly, “You would go mad. Your mind is not intended to hold the memories of various lives, and it is especially not intended to remember its own death, much less multiple deaths.”

    “I’m fine right now, though.”

    “You’re dead,” Yaba reminds him. “So your mind and body aren’t constricted by the normal limitations.” Lethe nods her head in agreement, setting the folder down. Yaba turns to her. “What do you suggest then?”

    Her head tilts to the right slightly as she thinks, eyes still on Harry. “I would suggest he choose a few memories to take back with him. The ones he feels to be most pertinent to ensuring his success, and I can make it so that they come to him in dreams or are triggered by something.”

    “Then it will be more like an intuition or a glimpse into the future. Your mind will basically come up with a plausible reason for why you seem to just know those things,” Yaba explains.

    “Okay,” Harry agrees. He’ll take whatever he can get, before either of these beings changes their mind. “Let’s do it, then.”

    “Not so fast.” Yaba opens a drawer in their desk and pulls a paper out. They read over it and then pull out a long item that seems to be some type of writing utensil. It’s carved out of one piece and is all white, including the pointed tip, but when they press it to the paper it writes in blue, the words around it moving to make space. “This has to be the last time, and to make sure Lethe doesn’t get caught up in my trouble if you fail again, we’re doing this the right way and drawing up a contract. This is a big exception, so if you don’t succeed, your acceptance means you’ll have to work some time for the the Library of Memories to make up for essentially wasting Lethe’s time.”

    They finish writing then flip the page around so it’s facing Harry. With a tap, it’s all legible, and Harry pulls the chair forward so he can sit and read over it. The basics seems to be what they already discussed, that he’ll be sent back for a final chance to fulfill his destiny and that he understands that should he fail, he will be forced to accept with no additional chances. Furthermore, for using up the time of a Memory Librarian, he agrees to give back the equivalent amount of labor before being allowed to take his place in Heaven with the understanding that it may prevent him from meeting with his loved ones if he does not complete his time prior to the limitation of a being’s memories in Heaven. At the bottom is a place for his to affirm his understanding and sign, and then a second page that is blank except for an area for signatures at the bottom.

    “What is the second page for?”

    Lethe is the one who answers him. “That is where you shall write the memories you choose to keep. You can pick no more than a dozen, so choose wisely, and I shall review to ensure it can be done. If no changes are needed, we will both sign that we are in agreement with those memories.”

    A dozen memories. A dozen memories out of the collective seventeen years he had lived. Twenty-one, if they were counting the years he’d relived. Surely he could come up with moments that if he did differently, would change the course of his life? He had to, he was only getting one more shot at this. So he began writing, beginning with:

The Dursleys will take your Hogwarts letter: hide it...

Story Notes:

Title of the fic comes from the Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.

Chapter title is from the Queen song of the same name.

Maquetaurie Guayaba was the name of a Taino death god. Opiel was the demon guard dog protecting the entrance to the ancestral spirit realm.

Lethe, in Greek mythology, was the personification of oblivion and associated with (sometimes considered the goddess of) the river in Hades of that name that made its drinkers forget the past.

[writingmyselfout]

Chapter Six: Just As Well Be Blind

Summary: A conversation.

---

I was hoping to get this up yesterday, but work has been busy and they offered overtime so I ended up working about six hours. Got started on this much later than I wanted, and then it hit like three in the morning. Today was a rough health day, too, so it’s also not as long as I wanted.

Because when I finally sat down to start the next part, I realized I didn’t have the class schedule down. I love when things maintain continuity, and for me to do so, I find it best to have certain things noted down so as to avoid confusion later on. If, for instance, double potions is every Friday with Slytherins, I want to write that down so that if something happens on a Friday and they’re late for class, I know what class they’re late for. 

The problem is that canon doesn’t do a great job of establishing a solid class schedule beyond a few days/classes. Even the students’ curfew is a mess, as you have one year stating it’s 10p for some older students, but then them worrying about an earlier 9p curfew in another year where it likely would have been the same? And because there are shared classes, I wanted to get everyone’s class schedule down. So that if I need it later on, I’m not throwing in conflicting info. 

It may very well be completely unnecessary, and ends up being just one of those background things that exists for me but never makes it into the story in a way that anyone else will appreciate the work I’ve put into it. STILL, it’s going to drive me nuts if I don’t get it done and have it for my own peace of mind, hahaha. 

[writingmyselfout]

8: Chapter Seven: Absolute Beginngers

Summary: Classes begin.

---

I hate this chapter because it was such a huge struggle to write. I restarted it at least 3x. Maybe more? I tried writing while utterly fatigued from my vaccine earlier this week and may have deleted a large portion but I honestly don't fully recall.

Before that, had a couple of bad health days, both physically and mentally, and neither is conducive to getting writing done. It's worse when it's a section I was already struggling with because then the motivation isn't there either.

But it's done! I can move on to the next section which will hopefully be better. I may try to map out the rest to get an idea of how many chapters until first year is done. Idk if I'll be rewriting the whole series or not yet. I may combine years? IDK. I've yet to decide! We'll see where the story takes us!

[writingmyselfout]

Fun fact:

I often write BICNSFD to dark academia playlists on YouTube because it's the vibe I've always associated with Hogwarts in general, especially in the later books as events become darker and more harrowing for the trio.

dark academia is just when the lightbulbs in the library haven’t been replaced in nine years

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Five

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5: This Is My Now

Summary: Sorting Ceremony

THE ride to the castle is not as eventful as Draco predicted, despite the slight delay caused when Ron Weasley loudly complains that Draco took his spot and Hagrid, realizing that all other boats already have four students, redirects him to be the fifth in the next boat over. Harry is too busy admiring the sight of the giant castle before them, with what looks like every visible window lit up against the night sky, to pay Weasley much mind. He understands now what someone means when they say something is breathtaking, because he’s sure he stopped breathing for a moment when he first saw it, and isn’t sure he’s quite managed to catch his breath as the boats take off across the lake.  

   He’s not the only one fascinated. There is silence except for the sound of water lapping against the magically propelled boats as their journey starts, with whispers only starting up when they’re about halfway across. Their boat is in the lead, but the fleet of boats--which Hagrid informs them is nineteen out of the school’s total of thirty-six--are close enough that the voices of one carry over to the occupants of those closest. Granted, Harry thinks, it’s possible that it only seems that way because Ron Weasley, in the boat just behind theirs on the left, is loudly complaining about Draco Malfoy having shoved him out of the way when he was going to sit with Harry Potter. A blatant lie that Draco scoffs at, but doesn’t deem to try to refute from this distance.

    When they disembark on the other side of the lake, they are on a landing stage slightly sheltered by rock formations. Hagrid looks them over, making Draco smile at Harry knowingly when he picks Neville’s frog up from their boat and hands the animal back to him, reminding him to hold onto it this time. Then, when he’s sure that no student has been lost, he leads them up some stone steps. Harry thinks this must have been a cave at some point, rocky walls closing in slightly on either side with lanterns alternating from one side to the other to light their way, and he thinks it’s a good thing he’s not claustrophobic as the shadows they cast on the ceiling make it almost look like it’s moving down closer to them.

    At the top of the stairs is a stone landing, similar to the one below they’d stood on after getting out of the boats, but the bright lanterns on either side of the door make the design on it clearly visible. The stones are gray, with a darker one used to create a capital letter H. The door before them, a large, sturdy-looking wooden door with metal bands across it and a small little hatch in the door. When Hagrid pounds his fist heavily against the wood, Harry expects it to open and a face to peer out, but instead the door opens completely, light flooding out from inside, and standing there is none other than the dark-haired witch, Professor McGonagall, in emerald green robes.

    “Evenin’, Professor,” Hagrid greets. “Got yer first years here, all seventy-seven of ‘em.”

    “Thank you, Hagrid. Come along then.”

    They shuffle in after her and find themselves now in a brightly lit room. There’s a large rug covering most of the stone floor, and directly across the door they come in through is a large fireplace, with an equally large fire lit and blazing within. It makes the room pleasantly warm after the cool air they were just in. There are two long tapestries on either side of the fireplace, totaling four, each of them in different colors and with an animal displayed prominently in its center around a letter. To the left are some benches along the way, and some portraits of landscapes above them. To the right is a door, which is where McGonagall walks to as she waits for them to all come into the room.

    Harry goes over in her direction after a brief glance around the room. “Hello, Professor,” he greets, a little shy. He’s never really been close to a teacher before, but while he doesn’t want his new classmates to think he’s a teacher’s pet, he rather likes the woman who helped ensure he could attend school.

    “Mr. Potter.” She addresses him formally, but she gives him a small smile, which negates her stern tone and her previously stern demeanor. “I see you made it onto the train all right.”

    Harry nods, and almost goes on to tell her about being moved into the smallest bedroom upstairs, but Hagrid closes the door then, signaling that all the students are inside. The big man makes his way around the students and out of the room through the door they are near, and Harry realizes this conversation will have to wait as the older witch clears her throat to draw the attention of all the students. Once all eyes are on her, she speaks.

    “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she begins. “The term officially begins with a start-of-term banquet attended by the entire school, which you will be joining shortly over in the Great Hall. Before you can take your seats, however, you will be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts houses.” She gestures over towards the tapestries hanging on the wall by the fireplace.

    The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are students here, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will sleep in your house dormitory, study and spend free time in your house common room, and most, if not all, of your classes will be with the rest of your housemates. You will also work together with your house to earn points for your house. Your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to your house, whichever it may be.

    “Now, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the whole school, so I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you wait.” She runs a critical eye over them, pausing here and there on specific students. “Now wait quietly while I check to see if they are ready yet.”

    Without another word, she leaves through the same door Hagrid left, and voices erupt in her wake. Students asking each other what house they think they’ll join, and what the Sorting might entail.

    “Harry.” He turns to see Draco just off to the side with a group that seems to already know each other, waving him over. Harry goes over to the group, which consists of two girls and three boys besides Draco, assuming that these are the friends he previously mentioned. Sure enough, once he’s reached them, Draco says, “These are the friends I mentioned earlier. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabb, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode. Guys, this is Harry Potter.”

    Others nearby hear the name and there’s a ripple effect through the room as it’s whispered back and forth. Harry tries to ignore it as he greets Draco’s friends. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

    Theodore Nott replies in kind, but he’s the only one. Pansy Parkinson leans into Millicent, saying in a loud whisper, “ The Harry Potter, huh? Somehow not as impressive as the stories would have us believe.”

    Harry feels his face grow warm while Draco scowls at her, but before either can respond, there’s a collection of gasps and a few screams. Looking around, they see what has startled some of the others, as a group of almost two dozen ghosts have come streaming through one wall. They’re just far enough that Harry can’t make out any conversations until a ghost in tights and ruff notices the students below them and asks what they’re all doing.

    “New students!” The answer comes from the ghost the first had been speaking with, a pleasant looking, chubby man dressed in a long corded tunic robe of some sort. Harry isn’t sure what it’s called, but he’s certain the man is a friar of some sort. “I believe they’re waiting to be Sorted, yes?”

    Various students nod. Harry looks over at Draco, and he hopes this isn’t a stupid question because it didn’t occur to him until now, but he wants to ask before McGonagall comes back. “How are they going to sort us?”

    “Honestly? Don’t know,” Draco admits with a shrug. “Mother and Father wouldn’t say. It’s tradition to go in not knowing.”

    “My brother Fred said it hurts.” They turn to see Ron Weasley, who’s clearly been eavesdropping.

    “H-Hurts?” Neville Longbottom, using one hand to try to fix his robe which is fastened under one ear, stares at Ron wide-eyed. His grip on his toad goes slack and he almost loses it before Hermione Granger nudges him.

    “I doubt it,” she responds once Nevile has regained hold on the toad. “It is a school, after all. They aren’t going to let us get hurt .”

    “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, what do you think it is?” Ron grumbles at her, glaring. “Since you know more than me.”

    She frowns at him. “I am just saying, it is highly unlikely that a school is going to purposely allow students to get hurt for, what, dorm assignments?” Neville next to her visibly relaxes, and there are a few murmurs of agreement. Ron’s face goes a little pink. “Now it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History what the Sorting entails, but I imagine it’s more likely a test of some sort.”

    “Oh, ‘it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History ’,” he mocks, pitching his voice higher and causing a few kids to snicker. “That’s not even one of our textbooks. What kind of nerd does extra reading before school?”

    Her darker skin doesn’t visibly change colors, but the way Hermione presses her lips together and crosses her arms reads to Harry clear as day as if she’s embarrassed. She doesn’t respond though, and Harry is annoyed with Ron Weasley all over again. He thinks of all the times he was bullied by Dudley in front of other students just before teachers came back, or in front of his aunt and uncle, leaving Harry unable to defend himself or talk back, and he decides he’s not putting up with it here. Even if the bullying isn’t directed at himself.

    “Just because you can’t read doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy it.” Both Hermione and Ron look over at him in surprise, though Ron’s face turns a shade of red that almost matches his hair.

    Then, to avoid getting caught in a confrontation on the first day by Professor McGonagall and because Neville was struggling one handed to fix his robe before he froze to watch the back and forth between Hermione and Ron, he goes over to him. “Want me to hold Trevor while you fix your robe?”

    “Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”

    Neville hands the toad over and adjusts his robes, just in time for McGonagall to return. She calls for them to get in a line and follow her, turning to lead them out. Hermione hurries to do as she’s told, very clearly trying to put distance between herself and Ron Weasley. Neville takes his toad back with another muttered thank you, hurrying to get in line as well. Harry follows suit so that Neville is in front of him, with Draco at his rear. They’re led across the large Entrance Hall, so big that he’s certain the entirety of the Dursleys’ house could fit in there, and the ceiling so far above that he can’t make it out despite the many flaming torches lighting up the room. They pass massive double doors to their right and a grand marble staircase to the left, towards another set of double doors.

    There’s the dull roar of hundreds of voices on the other side of those doors, which grows steadily louder as they approach, and Harry swallows nervously as his mouth suddenly goes dry. What if it is a test? He read through the books, but it’s not as if he could practice any of the spells, and he’s never been good at instantly memorizing stuff. He’s always been a hand on learner, needing to put whatever was being taught to him into practice to really grasp it. How embarrassing if he fails out of the school before he’s even started?

    The doors are thrown open and the voices die down to a silence as all eyes turn to look at the line of students being led inside. They walk between the center two out of four long tables, that start a few feet from the entrance and down across the large room almost towards the other end, from what Harry can see. He tries to not make eye contact with the students on either side of him, so instead he draws his attention up to the floating candles and the night sky above, half listening as Hermione explains to Neville that she’d read it’s enchanted to look like the sky outside. He thinks maybe he read that, but isn’t sure, and is tempted to ask how many times she’d read her books or if, unlike him, she has the kind of memory that allows her to read something once and just remember it.

    “What is that ?”

    Draco’s question makes Harry look down, and he sees that they’re approaching a platform that is shaped in a half circle. There’s a single step to get up onto the platform, and then there’s a stool set in the center, with a battered looking witches’ hat. Behind that is another two steps leading up onto a slightly higher platform where a table runs from Harry’s left to his right. There, a long line of adults are seated, and he realizes these must be the school’s teachers and staff. Before he can find Professor Snape to wave, he finds a pair of twinkling blue eyes staring at him, and he recognizes the face from his Chocolate Frog Cards. The headmaster is literally watching him.

    Unintendedly, he stops in the spot as he’s overwhelmed with the most powerful feeling of mistrust he’s ever felt, and a voice seems to scream in his mind, Do not trust Albus Dumbledore!

    Then Draco walks into him, not having noticed what he’d stopped, and they almost fall over. Harry quickly apologizes, face red, and hurries forward as McGonagall directs them all to line up between the professors’ table and the stool so they’re facing the rest of the school. Once they’re all lined up, they stand there for a moment, nothing happening until the hat suddenly begins to sing.

    Harry’s eyes go wide and he is able to momentarily forget the headmaster behind him, astonished at this turn of events. Getting Sorted by a magic hat is better than anything else he’d imagined, and he’s immensely relieved. He claps along with everyone else when it finishes, and then listens as the first couple of names are called and students begin being sorted into the different houses. It isn’t until after each house has received one student that Harry remembers that he and Draco might not be in the same houses.

    “Draco,” he whispers, turning to the other boy. Draco looks over at where McGonagall is standing, holding a long roll of parchment from which she is reading students’ names, and then back at Harry, a single eyebrow raised in question. “Remember, if we’re in different houses, we’ll still be friends, right?”

    Draco blinks at him surprised. Hadn’t Harry asked him that right after they met, when they were first discussing the houses? Draco still isn’t convinced that it’s possible for them to stay friends, but he figures it won’t hurt for them to try at least. So he nods. “Sure, but don’t be mad when my house gets more points than yours.”

    Harry just grins in response, looking back at the students being sorted in time to see Hermione Granger is still sitting on the stool. He wonders if it’s normal for it to take this longer before she finally gets sorted into Gryffindor. His parents’ house. It would be nice, he thinks for what must be the hundredth time, to be in the house they were in, and get to see some of the places they once spent time in. There probably weren’t any traces of them or anything, but it’d be one more thing he would have in common with them. Plus, he would already know his Head of House with Professor McGonagall, whom he already knew he could trust. The only other professor he felt that way about right now was Professor Snape. Granted, if he ended up in Snape’s house, Slytherin, that might not be so bad either. Draco was sure he’d be in that house, so at least he’d have a friend there.

    Neville Longbottom also ends up in Gryffindor house after slightly longer with the hat than most other students, and he grins happily as he goes to join them. When it is Draco’s turn, the hat is set on his head and there is a few seconds of silence before he is, as he’d predicted, announced as the next Slytherin. Harry is happy for him, knowing that is the house Draco wanted, though it’s tinged with a bit of disappointment that he wasn’t last minute put in Gryffindor, like he himself hopes to be. Then he waits for his own turn to come. He tries to ignore the irrational fear that he won’t be Sorted at all, thinking it is just his nerves, but it isn’t easy. He still thinks it’s been too many good things after another, so surely the other shoe will drop soon.

    When Professor McGonagall finally calls, “Harry Potter,” the room is overtaken by a deafening silence. He’s actually tempted to stick a finger in his ear to see if something is suddenly blocking all sound, because it’s such a drastic change. Instead, he takes a few slow steps forward, hoping he doesn’t do something embarrassing like fall flat on his face as he’s acutely aware of every eye in the room being directed in his direction.

    He’s actually a little relieved to finally reach the stool and have the hat placed on his head, as it falls down and covers his eyes so he can no longer see all those faces staring at him.

    Well, well, what do we have here? Harry startles, although after the singing, he’s not sure why the hat speaking comes as a surprise. Strange…

    Suddenly, Harry’s certain the hat is going to tell him he doesn’t belong, and he feels his heart drop. Great , he thinks. I really don’t belong here.

    Oh, but you do , the hat contradicts, surprising Harry again because of course it can read his mind. Plenty of talent here, good head on your shoulders, and quite a bit of courage, with such a thirst to prove yourself. Yes, no question, you belong here.

    Then what is strange? Harry asks, curious now that the hat has assuaged his fears.

    The hat is quiet for a moment, as if it’s searching or perhaps deciding how to explain. Then, it says, There is magic here unlike any I have seen in all my time, and I’m quite old. Yes, strange, varying magics are at work in you. How very intriguing you are, Mr. Potter. Harry wants to ask more, try to understand what the hat is telling him, but the hat moves on, asking, So where shall I put you?

    Harry frowns in response, wondering that question himself. He has no real feelings towards being put in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Based on the hat’s song, he thinks he’s loyal enough for the former and maybe not smart enough for the latter, but he’s indifferent to either. He hasn’t met anyone interested in either, or made friends among those already sorted into it yet, so it’s hard to muster any enthusiasm besides it meaning he will remain at Hogwarts so long as he’s sorted somewhere . Gryffindor, though, has most of the few people he’s met and liked thus far, besides his emotional connection to it. But Draco is now in Slytherin.

    So Gryffindor or Slytherin, eh? Any of the Hogwarts houses could help you on your way to greatness, I’m sure, but these two especially.

    Then where are you putting me?

    I’m rather partial to Slytherin for you, but where would you like to be ? The hat counters.

    If those watching could see his face, they’d see Harry blinking in confusion and surprise. Instead, he blinks at the inside of the hat, not having expected the question. I’m not sure. I mean, Gryffindor, I think? It’s just, I’ve a friend in Slytherin. He said those houses are rivals.

    Hm . The hat is quiet for only a moment, before it says, Their founders Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rivals and friends, you know. For a very long time.

    Oh . If the founders themselves could be both rivals and friends, surely Harry and Draco could manage that too, right? Gryffindor then .

    You’re certain? Won’t have any regrets? Then off you go, to “GRYFFINDOR!”

    Professor McGonagall removes the hat, and Harry blinks at the brightness of the room as he stands. The table on the far left has erupted into cheers, with many of them standing and clapping, and the Weasley twins chanting, “We got Potter!” repeatedly.

    Harry makes his way over, noticing as he does that the rest of the hall is staring at him still as the next student is called to be Sorted. His face warms, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to the attention as a boy with a badge comes over to shake his hand. His red hair is such a distinctive, familiar shade that he’s not at all surprised to learn this is another Weasley, and in fact the one he’d heard speaking with the woman at the station.

    “Harry Potter! Welcome to Gryffindor. I’m Percy Weasley, one of the Gryffindor prefects. Such a pleasure to have you join our house!”

    “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

    Percy lets out a long suffering sigh before he turns and hisses at the twins, “Stop it! Do you want us to be the first to lose house points?” He shakes his head, then motions for Harry to follow him back to where he’d been sitting.

    Harry sits to Percy’s right, returning Neville’s shy smile and wave with a nod. Hermione is sitting on Percy’s other side, shaking her head at the twins who were still chanting a few seats further down, although they’d brought their volume down. Presumably to avoid notice from the teachers.

    “I wish people would stop staring,” Harry mutters, noting as he takes a seat that people are still looking over in his direction.

    Neville, sitting across from him, replies, “Well, y-you’re Harry Potter . You’re famous, you know.”

    “Well, that, and you’re the first hatstall in years,” Percy adds, taking a seat to Harry’s left.

    “A what?”

    “Hatstall. It’s what it’s called when the hat takes a while to place you.” Percy motions towards the hat where someone is almost instantly sorted into Ravenclaw. “Most people only take a minute or two. You three,” he motions to Harry, Neville, and Hermione, “took longer than most, but it’s only a hatstall if it’s more than five minutes.”

    “Was it really that long?” Harry asks, surprised.

    “It doesn’t feel that long in the moment,” Hermione muses. Neville nods his head in agreement.

    They watch the rest of the students get sorted, cheering whenever another Gryffindor is added to their ranks. If Harry’s cheering is a little less enthusiastic when the youngest Weasley also becomes a Gryffindor, he doubts anyone notices over the brothers’ loud cheers. Percy gets up again specifically to congratulate him and then comes back, his brother in tow. Harry, seeing that the free seats are on either side of where he currently is, moves to his left to take the one Percy had previously been occupying. Hopefully, the older boy won’t think anything of it except that Harry is trying to be considerate, and not hoping to avoid sitting next to his younger brother.

    Luck is with him in that although he doesn’t know what Percy thinks about the switch, not only does he not bring it up, but he takes Harry’s previous seat, leaving Ron to take the second one on his other side, so at least they’re separated. It has the added bonus, Harry thinks, to put him farther away from Hermione, who Harry thinks likely doesn’t want to risk another confrontation over dinner.

    The room quieted as the old headmaster stood up to welcome them all, saying a few gibberish words and sitting back down to applause and cheers. Harry doesn’t pretend to join in this time, frowning at the old headmaster. He doesn’t see Draco across the hall giving him the same raised eyebrow he had on the train, curiosity piqued.

    In any case, soon his and all the other students’ attention is drawn down to the tables as the golden place settings magically fill with food. He’s astonished, having never seen so much food in one place in all his life. Best of all, for only the second time in his life, he could eat to his heart’s content and no one would stop him or take the best for themselves, as his cousin often had. He filled his food with some of nearly everything on offer, and Harry is sure after a few bites that he has never had anything so good before.

    While they eat, talk revolves around questions from younger students to the older regarding classes or when the first Quidditch match will take place. Some discuss how happy or surprised their parents will be about their Sorting, which draws attention to the three seated near each out who had taken the longest to be Sorted.

    “What took the Sorting Hat so long to place you?” Ron asked, leaning around Percy to address Harry.

    He shrugs but Neville responds with another question himself. “Was the hat trying to convince you too? Thought I’d end up in Hufflepuff, but it insisted. Gran will be really happy about it.”

    “It was between here and Ravenclaw for me,” Hermione informs them, though she doesn’t look over in Ron’s direction as she answers.

    “What about you, Harry?” Neville asks.

    “Slytherin.”

    Percy looks at him in surprise. “ Slytherin ? That, uh, well a bit of a surprise, really.”

    “How come?” Harry asks.

    “ You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, s’why,” Ron offers, mouth full of food. “So were a bunch of his followers.” Ron looks directly at Harry. “Including Malfoy’s dad.”

    “He was found to be innocent and under the Imperius Curse,” Percy reminds his brother.

    Ron gives him an incredulous look. “ Dad thinks that’s a lie.”

    “Yes, well, the Ministry doesn’t,” Percy rebutts, mouth a thin line of disapproval. “So you would do well not to spread rumors about the Malfoys."

    Harry puts away this bit of information, but refuses to give Ron the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he pointedly ignores him, turning back to his food. He’ll think about what he’s just learned and decide what, if any of it, to bring up with Draco later.

    Talk then turns to their families. Neville tells them all to laughter about his uncle trying to get him to do magic, although Hermione gasps when he tells them he was dropped out of a window. Seamus Finnegan takes over then, causing more laughter when he explains the shock his father received the first time his son performed accidental magic, as it led to finding out his wife had secretly been a witch the whole time. Many others have parents who are both witches and wizards, so they’d expected coming to Hogwarts, while others had been caught completely off-guard like Hermione, whose parents were both Muggle. Harry admits he was raised with Muggles himself, and therefore hadn’t a clue about being a wizard, much less famous, prior to receiving his Hogwarts letters.

    Many are surprised by this new and Harry, realizing he doesn’t want to answer any additional questions about his Muggle relatives or the parents he doesn’t remember, turns to Percy and asks about what they might expect from their first day. Percy is more than happy to tell them all about the things they’ll learn first year, his enthusiasm matched only by Hermione, so that Harry is drawn into talk of classes and schoolwork. It effectively makes everyone else lose interest in being a part of Harry’s conversation for the moment, and although he’s not nearly as keen on what Percy is telling them as Hermione clearly is, he nevertheless finds himself looking forward to getting to learn real magic for himself.

    It is while Percy is telling them about starting off small in Transfiguration with their Head of House, Professor McGonagall, that Harry happens to glance over towards the High Table. At some point, the stool and the Sorting Hat were removed. On the closest end is Hagrid, drinking from a goblet, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore speaking to each other somewhere around the middle. Further down he sees Professor Snape, speaking with a man wearing a purple turban, whose back is currently to Harry. He wonders if it might be the same turbaned gentleman from Diagon Alley he’d seen Snape speaking to, but he isn’t sure just how common turbans are in the wizarding world to say how likely that might be.

    Just then, Snape looks over and catches his eye. He nods his head towards Harry, who lifts a hand to wave when there’s a sudden pain in his forehead.

    “Ouch!” He presses his hand against his forehead, surprised.

    “Are you all right?” Percy asks while Hermione tilts her head to peer at Harry’s face.

    “Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Harry assures them, the pain in his scar already fading.

    “Is it your scar? Does it often hurt?” Hermione’s gaze is curious as it runs over his forehead.

    “No, actually. Never,” Harry admits. Which is true. It’s never once, in all his life, bothered him. “Say Percy, who is that speaking with Professor Snape?”

    “You know Snape, do you? Let’s see.” Percy runs his gaze along the High Table until he spots the purple turban, just as the man turns allowing them to better see his face. “Ah, that man would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell.”

    The desserts disappear from the table then, and the room quiets as Professor Dumbledore stands up. He addresses the room to inform them of a few start-of-term notices, of which were included the information that the forests on the ground as well as the right side of the third floor corridor were forbidden to students, the latter coming with the warning of a gruesome death for any who did not heed the warning. Percy mutters about this being news to him, noting that the prefects should have been informed, just as the headmaster has them all sing the school song to whatever tune pleases them.

    At no point does the man ever directly look at him, as far as Harry can tell, but somehow, he’s sure that the man is still watching him. It’s an unnerving feeling, and he’s glad when the Weasley twins finally finish their funeral dirge version of the school song and they’re dismissed to go to their houses.

    Already, Harry has so much to think about, and classes haven’t even started yet. He thinks he’ll definitely need to get some sleep if he’s to be prepared for what tomorrow will bring.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is a Jordan Sparks song.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Four

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3

Chapter 4: Writing on the Wall

Summary: Off to Hogwarts

                                                                                                    2 August 1991

DEAR Draco,

Sorry if this is messy. I thought I’d practice writing with a quill. It’s easier than I thought it’d be, but messier to. I have to remember not to leave the tip on the paper or it leaves big smudges.

What was the name of the restorant restaurant we went to lunch to? The cake at that place was the best I’ve had! I hope the food at Hogwarts is that good too. I can’t wait for classes to start. I’ve been reading a few of the books in the meantime. I decided to name my owl Hedwig, after a witch I read about in A History of Magic .

Will you be taking the train too? If you aren’t already sitting with friends, maybe we can sit together? If that’s okay, of course. You’ll be the only person I know so far. If you’ve got other friends sitting with you already no worries. I guess I’m just nervous. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape told me about being famous, but I didn’t realize what they meant until I saw people’s reaction to hearing my name and seeing me. Do you think it will be the same at school?

Write back soon please!

Harry Potter

4 August 1991

Dear Harry,

Practice writing with a quill? Do you mean you’ve never used a quill before? What were you using to write until now?

The Copper Crup was the name. Mother would take me there for my birthday because their food is of much better quality than most of the others around. Of course, they have nothing on what our House elves can prepare at home, but it’s nice to go out sometimes, as Mother points out.

Mother and Father have said they have gotten me an owl from a breeder to take with me to Hogwarts. I haven’t seen him yet, but I think I’ll name him Vespid, after the most famous Wimbourne Wasps Beater.

Of course I’ll be taking the Hogwarts Express. All students have to take the train. Some of the others starting in our year I think expect me to sit with them since our parents are friends. Father probably wants me to, since their families are part of the Sacred 28. You can probably sit with us. Some of them are kind of dumb, though.

Did you really not know you are famous? Have you been living under a rock? Forget just school, or even England. Every witch and wizard in the WORLD knows who you are! They write an article about you every year in the Daily Prophet.

Draco Malfoy

                                                                                                    5 August 1991

Draco,

They write a WHAT about me every year? What’s the Daily Prophet? Is that like a newspaper for wizards? I thought I was just a normal, non-magical kid for years. I live with non-magical family, and they don’t like to talk about magic. But after what you said, I looked at more recent years. Did you know I’m mentioned in our A History of Magic book? Only a small bit, I guess ‘cause they don’t know anything else, but it’s embaressing. Embarassing? I can’t remember how to write that.

I guess if you’re used to quills, maybe you’ve never heard of a pen? It’s what non-magical folks use. It’s a big of plastic with ink inside of it and a metal tip to write with. Or pencils, which is wood. I’ve sent one of each over for you ‘cause I think it’d be easier than trying to explain in writing.

It doesn’t sound like you like those other kids. Do you have to sit with them? Can we move seats during the trip? Maybe you can sit with them for a little while and then leave.

But what do you mean, their families are sacred? What are House elves? I remember what you said Beaters did, but who was Vespid? Sorry if my questions are dumb. There’s so much I don’t know. But if my questions bother you, I’ll stop asking them.

Harry Potter

8 August 1991

Harry,

You live with Muggles? No wonder you don’t know anything! I can’t imagine growing up with no magic. How terrible. Lucky for you, I know all there is to know.

The Daily Prophet is the wizarding world newspaper. It gets delivered by owl every day. House elves are magical servants, but only older, more magical families have them. Most of the Sacred 28 do, anyway. The Sacred 28 are the oldest, pureblood wizarding families, and a lot of them are very important. None, of course, more than the Malfoys. Father is on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, and he knows the Minister of Magic personally. Mother says that because of that, I must be careful with who I become friends with, as they might be trying to get close to me so their parents can get closer to Father, or because we’re wealthy.

It will probably be the same for you, since you’re famous. Mother said the Potters were very wealthy, too, when I asked. Did you inherit everything? Are you and your Muggles relatives living at the Potter estate?

Most importantly, we must do something about how little you know about Quidditch. Elric Vespid was a Beater for the Wasps something like 600 years ago. He hit a wasps’ nest so hard at the Appleby Arrows’ Seeker that he retired, and it’s why the team became known as the Wasps. I have sent over my favorite book, Quidditch Through the Ages. It will tell you all you need to know about the game. Mother says it’s polite to return gifts when you’re given something, so consider it a thanks for what you sent me. I have never seen a pen or pencil before. They’re strange. I think I prefer a quill.

If there’s no magic at your house, what do you do for fun?

Draco Malfoy

                                                                                                  11 August 1991

Hey Draco,

Thank you for the book! I’ve read it all. I can’t wait to see a real game.

Muggles aren’t all bad. But you should probably never meet my family. They are pretty terrible. If they’re the first Muggles any witch or wizard meets, they’d never want to meet another ever again and I wouldn’t blame them. They’re the worst, really. But my mum’s parents were Muggles, and I’ve mostly only known Muggles.

Wow, is your dad really that important? You must’ve been surprised when I didn’t know who you were then! It sucks you have to worry about people being friends with you only ‘cause of your dad or your family’s money. I hope we can both make friends who don’t care and just want to be our friends ‘cause they like us , you know?

As for what my parents left me, I actually only found out at Gringotts right before meeting you that they left me a lot of money. I had no idea before, but I guess technically, I am wealthy now? But I don’t know anything about an estate. I tried to ask my aunt and uncle, but like always, they didn’t really give me an answer. I think they don’t actually know, ‘cause if they knew about how much money they’d left me, I’m sure they’d have tried to take it. My uncle actually said my dad wouldn’t have had anything to give me worth writing a will for. Can you believe it? I decided not to tell them anything. Maybe the professors can help me look into it.

How cool would it be to find out there’s some big ol’ house somewhere they left me?

Harry Potter

   With letters to read and respond to every few days, the month of August flies by for Harry. It helps that aside from when he first came by and his aunt informed him he was to move his things to the upstairs spare bedroom, his family has mostly ignored him. Their daily interactions were limited to letting him know meals are ready, and one time when Uncle Vernon told Harry to stop letting his owl come in and out of the bedroom before the neighbors noticed. Hedwig was less than pleased with the restriction, but Harry opts to avoid any issues by only letting her out at night.

   Draco’s letters were an insight into the world he would be entering in a way that reading through his books could not provide.Occasionally, his comments about Muggles or Muggle-borns, directly or what seems to be implied, make him pause. Harry tries to avoid complaining about the Dursleys once he notices, because he doesn’t think it helps his case when he tries to explain to Draco that Muggles aren’t all bad.

   After all, Harry isn’t exactly Muggle-born, but his mother was, and he feels like he may as well be when he grew up knowing nothing about magic. It makes him wonder if others think the same, or if maybe Draco grew up in a family similar to the Dursleys in that they hated people who were different. It meant either having an entire world that might think less of his mom if she were alive, or having a friend who might have a lot more in common with his dreaded cousin than he’d hoped. Harry prefers to not worry about it now and just enjoy having someone his own age to talk to for the time being.

   He’ll worry about everything else once school begins.

~~~

DRACO wakes up on the first of September practically vibrating with excitement, and much earlier than needed, as the sun is only just beginning to lighten the sky outside his window. It’s not as large as the one in his room back at Malfoy Manor, but this residence is in London, and therefore much closer to King’s Cross Station, where he’ll need to be in a few short hours. He calls for a House Elf to ready a bath for him and is a whirl of movement as he double checks his trunks to ensure that nothing was forgotten when the House Elves finished packing it the night before. They didn’t, of course, but he needs to move, to do something, or he feels like he might explode.

   He’s been waiting his whole life to go to Hogwarts. He’s imagined grand adventures and wow-ing other students with his natural talents at magic and Quidditch, and winning the House Cup for Slytherin for the next seven years. Sure, now that he knows he’ll be going to school with the Harry Potter, he realizes that maybe he won’t be the most popular, but he’s basically made the most famous kid in school his best friend before anyone else has even met him! So they’ll just be the most popular students together.

   The Malfoys had hosted an end of summer party to celebrate the incoming class of Slytherins a week before the term was to begin. Such get-togethers was really an excuse for the parents to talk privately of whatever matters adults spoke of, while the children basically bragged and attempted to ingratiate themselves with whoever their parents had told them to, often those present considered one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or pestered the older among them to tell them more about Hogwarts.

   This specific gathering had only those whose families had children of Draco’s age and would be attending Hogwarts for the first time. Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Theodore Nott, Gemma Runcorn, and Daphne Greengrass--with her little sister Astoria in tow--were all expected to be sorted into Slytherin with Draco. They talked about what they expected based on information gleaned from older Slytherin students they knew, or some of the wild rumors they couldn’t seem to get confirmation or denial about, such as the Sorting being a test of skills. It quickly devolved into comparing the quality and price of the things they would be bringing to school.

   “Did you know,” Pansy suddenly piped up, interrupting Daphne Greengrass bragging about robes she’d gotten in Paris over the summer for school, “that Harry Potter is supposed to be starting this year too?”

   A new round of rumors and speculations they’d overheard from their parents were shared. Draco had been tempted to tell them that he had met the famous Boy Who Lived, the elusive child celebrity no one had ever seen. At least not accurately. The Daily Prophet had an artist rendering every year when they ran their anniversary article about the end of the Wizarding War, but the only description that anyone knew to be accurate was the lightning bolt scar on Harry Potter’s forehead.

   Instead he had kept it to himself, thinking it would be much funnier to present his good friend Harry Potter to them all on the Hogwarts Express. Imagining their expressions had delighted him, and as he gets ready, still brings a grin to his face. It helps to pass the time, which seems to drag on as he waits for it to be time to leave. Once his parents are awake and breakfast is served, though, it seems to be no time at all before they are at the station.

   They aren’t the first ones there, although he thinks if he had rushed his parents through breakfast, they might have managed it. Draco is certain his mother, who would normally only allow them to be either promptly on-time or fashionably late, is indulging his excitement. Being early means he practically has his pick of compartments. He opts for one in the middle, the House Elf that accompanied them puts his trunk in the compartment for him before disappearing back to Malfoy Manor, and then he goes to say goodbye to his parents. He allows his mother to fuss over him, smoothing his hair back and adjusting his robes as he tries not to impatiently look around. Even his parents are in for a surprise, as he has only told them that he’s been writing to the student he met at Diagon Alley with the Slytherin Head of House, Professor Snape, but not who that student is.

   “Lucius!”

   The Malfoy family turns as one to the voice calling. Mr. Parkinson is heading over, wife and daughter in tow. He’s pushing a cart with two trunks, presumably Pansy’s. It’s left to one side as the parents start talking, and Pansy comes over to Draco’s side, asking if he’s picked a compartment and where, so she can go sit with him.

   Draco doesn’t particularly want to sit with any of the girls he knows. For one, in his small experience, they tend to get bored with talk of Quidditch. For another, the compartments look like they’d fit about four to six comfortably, which means there’s just enough room for him, Harry, Theodore, and likely Vincent and Gregory, and still be able to sit one more. But if Pansy joins them, she’ll want at least one other girl to come, and then they’ll be over by one or squished in together.

   So he lies. ““Somewhere towards the front.” He makes a vague gesture, glad that his mother, if she notices, doesn’t correct him even though he knows she kept an eye on where he went when he boarded. Narcissa Malfoy always knows where Draco is at all times.

   Pansy nods her head, intercepting Crabbe and Goyle when they head over to get their help with her trunk. Ordering them, really, and Draco realizes that since she got to them first, they don’t know where he’s really sitting. Ah well, he’ll have to try to catch them on their own otherwise they’ll just have to sit with Pansy the whole trip.

   Hoping to catch Theodore before Pansy does so he can at least give him the right compartment, he suddenly catches sight of a familiar figure coming through the barrier from the Muggle side of King’s Cross station.

   “Oh, he’s here!” Draco announces, catching the attention the adults with the outburst. Before either of his parents can react, Draco is off, weaving his way through the crowd.

   Harry is moving slowly, pushing the cart with his heavy trunk and his caged owl, fascinated with the sight before him. He’d known, logically, that the professors wouldn’t have lied to him about how to get to the platform. It hadn’t prevented him from feeling like he was going to crash into a solid wall and cause a scene as he moved towards the barrier. He’s surprised and delighted to instead find a whole hidden section of the station. There are people all around, adults saying goodbye to their children, students greeting each other and gathering in small groups, and then there’s a blond boy standing in front of him, bringing Harry to an abrupt stop.

   “There you are,” Draco says by way of greeting. “What took you so long?”

   “Hey! We left a bit later than I’d hoped,” Harry explains. “It’s like a two to three hour drive for us. How’d you get here?”

   “We have a London residence,” Draco explains, his tone suggesting that this should be obvious. “And of course, with Father’s connections, we got a Ministry car to drive us. Come on then, my parents will want to meet you before we board.”

   Harry follows after Draco, slowing his steps when he gets a good look at the group awaiting them. He recognizes Mrs. Malfoy from the glimpse he got of her at Diagon Alley, and Draco’s practically the spitting image of his father, so it’s easy to figure out which is Mr. Malfoy. The rest of the adults, however, he can’t begin to guess who they are. What’s more, all eyes are on him and although he’d tried to remind himself that morning that this might happen once people realized who he was, there’s something distinctly unnerving about the way he’s being watched right now. They leave his cart by the train entrance, just to the side so as to not be in anyone’s way, and then Draco leads him over to the group watching them.

   “Mother, Father.” Draco stops in front of his parents. “This is the boy I met at Diagon Alley, Harry Potter. Harry, my parents Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

   “H-How do you do?” Harry mutters, trying to stand still under their scrutiny.

   “Why, Mr. Harry Potter. This is a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Malfoy says, smiling. It’s not a very friendly look. “How exciting for the students of Hogwarts to get to go to school with the wizarding world’s biggest hero.”

   Something about the way Mr. Malfoy says it makes Harry feel like he’s being insulted or mocked to his face. “I, uh, I should put my stuff on the train.”

   Harry forces a smile, and then starts to move towards the train. He’s sure it’s his imagination, but he is certain he can feel their gaze on his back and he’s distinctly uncomfortable. He has a hard time trying to explain to himself what it is about these adults that makes him want to flee, as it’s not quite the instinctual knowing he’s occasionally felt since the day he received his Hogwarts letter. But it’s close enough that, as trusting his instincts thus far with the wizarding world has turned out in his favor, he thinks he would be better off leaving their company as soon as possible.

   “Hold on.” Draco hurries after him. “Go right from here, and it’s the fourth one down. My trunks have the Malfoy crest on them.”

   He’s basically being ordered, which might have bothered him if he weren’t so desperate to get away right now. Harry instead just nods before he grabs Hedwig’s cage, deciding to get her inside first and moving the heavier trunk once he knows for sure where he’s going. Finding Draco’s trunk with his family crest, an image he’d grown accustomed to seeing pressed into the wax Draco used to seal his letters, was rather easy. He set Hedwig’s cage inside, and then went back to get his trunk. He pauses briefly before stepping out, hoping to avoid notice, but a group of students coming off the train block him from view for a few moments as they stand around just a few steps away.

   Quick as he can, he grabs his trunk and starts to try to single handedly drag it up. “Need a hand?”

   Harry looks over his shoulder to find a tall, lanky redhead. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’d be great.”

   The redhead looks back down the train and yells out, “Oy! Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” Looking back at Harry, the boy waved him away before coming around to grab one end of the trunk. When another, identical redhead appears, he grabs the other without question and the two lift the trunk onto the train.

   Harry quickly follows, directing them over to the right compartment. There’s an eyebrow raised at seeing the crest on the trunks already there, but they simply lift Harry’s trunk before nodding at him.

   “There you go, firstie. All set.”

   “Thanks,” Harry replies, pushing his glasses up.

   He stands out of their way to allow them to leave the compartment, debating on whether to introduce himself or not. Before he can decide, one of them seems to take a closer look, hitting the other’s arm suddenly. “Hey, is that a scar? You wouldn’t happen to be--”

   “Harry!”

   Harry turns around briefly to see Draco approaching, but his attention is drawn back to the twins as one says, “Well, we’ll be off then!”

   “Oh, okay, bye!”

   “The train will be leaving soon,” Draco tells Harry, eyes watching the twins leave for a moment before looking over at him. “I only saw a few of my friends, so I think they might be sitting with Pansy. I told her I was towards the front so she wouldn’t sit with us, but I think she told them the same, so they might be with her.”

   Harry frowns a little, thinking he doesn’t want to have to try to move his trunk. “Did you want to move over to where they are?” he asks.

   “Hm, no,” Draco responds after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll tell them I’m back here, see if they want to move. Do you want to come with me to find them?”

   “I think I’ll sit with Hedwig, I don’t think she’s used to all this activity yet.” It’s an excuse, when really Harry just doesn’t think he’s up for another group of people staring at him just yet, but when he looks over at his owl she seems to understand and starts flapping her wings and hooting loudly. “I should probably sit with her until she’s calmed down.”

   Draco shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.”

   Harry closes the compartment door, goes and then sits down, reaching a finger into Hedwig’s cage to stroke her head. “Thanks.”

   She hoots at him once in reply before settling down. Harry turns to look out of the window, the panel above open so he can hear the sounds of the crowd of parents and students, many of them starting to say their goodbyes. The platform is starting to clear, an indication that they’ll be departing soon. A flash of red catches his eye, and he sees a group of redheads, only just visible as they stand a little ways down from his compartment

   He thinks for a moment it might be one of the twins, but decides what he can see of them isn’t quite right. This boy is shorter, though the hair is the right shade. The woman standing with him speaks up, and Harry can hear them clearly.

   “All right, Ron, you be sure to behave. Listen to Percy and, what’s that on your nose? Come here.”

   A younger boy jerks into view as he pulls away from the woman. “ Mom , geroff!”

   The twins appear then, and with them standing together, Harry notes the resemblance. He listens to them joke and tease the younger boy, who grows obviously more annoyed and sullen with the teasing, and then yet another boy appears. He’s already changed into his robe with a badge on his chest, and the twins start to tease him about being a prefect as well. Harry thinks it’s rather nice, to come from a family close enough to tease like that, even if the twins’ siblings seem to be annoyed by it. The one already in his robes allowed their mother to kiss his cheek, said goodbye to someone outside of Harry’s line of sight, and then seemed to board again.

   That was when one of the twins said, “Oh, guess who we just met on the train, Mom?”

   “Who?”

   “Harry Potter !”

   The one out of sight suddenly piped up, and it sounded like a little girl, her voice carrying as she loudly begged to be allowed on the train to see him. Harry leaned away from the window then, hoping to stay out of sight. How embarrassing would it be to be caught eavesdropping on them as they started to talk about him?

   “No, Ginny, the train is about to leave. You can’t get on,” the boys’ mother responded, cutting off the little girl’s begging. “Are you sure, Fred?”

   “Pretty sure,” was the response. “Saw a bit of a scar on his forehead. Malfoy’s kid called him ‘Harry’, too.”

   “Malfoy ?” The way the woman said the name made Harry frown automatically, not wanting someone to say anything bad about his only friend. Then he remembered Lucius Malfoy’s smile and thought perhaps, if that’s who she was thinking of when she said it, the reaction might be warranted. “Are they friends, do you think?”

   “Who knows? Maybe they just met? Anyway, we should be getting on, Mum. We’ll know for sure during Sorting. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be a Gryffindor!”

   “Be sure to let me know,” she tells them. “Try to befriend him if he is, okay? Poor thing, being an orphan raised goodness knows where or with who, he could probably use all the friends he can get.”

   Harry decides to close the window, distinctly uncomfortable with hearing the obvious pity, and not particularly interested in hearing any more. Especially since the little girl starts to cry, half-pleading and half-demanding to be allowed to go with her brothers or at least be allowed to get on and see Harry. It sounds like the beginning of a tantrum, at least in his experience based on his cousin’s tried and true methods, so he is relieved that closing the window prevents him from hearing the rest of it.

   What he is able to hear, loud and clear, is the train's whistle as it goes off to announce their departure. Outside, it looks like there are no more students on the platform, instead just a few parents and younger siblings, waving at students in other windows before leaving or waiting to see the train off.

   The door to the compartment opens as the train starts to move, and the youngest of the redheads is standing there. He’s taller than he appeared while standing outside, Harry notes absently. Ron, as they’d called him, starts to back out with an apology when he suddenly stops, staring at Harry.

   “Are you him?” he asks.

   Harry blinks at him for a moment, surprised. “Who?”

   “Harry Potter?”

   “Oh, him. I mean, yeah, that’s me.”

   His eyes go over to the trunks, and he frowns. Harry follows the direction he’s looking at and realizes it’s Draco’s trunks that have drawn that reaction. “I’m Ron Weasley. Are you really friends with the Malfoys’ kid?” Blue eyes lower again to meet Harry’s gaze. “You shouldn’t be, you know. Just warning ya, they’re-”

   “We’re what?” Behind Ron stands Draco, arms crossed, scowling.The redhead half turns, still standing in the compartment doorway.

   “Draco’s my friend,” Harry interrupts before either can say anything. “So can you step aside so he can come sit down?”

   Draco doesn’t wait for the other to obey, basically shoving him aside to come in and sit across from Harry. He gives him a smug look, crossing his arms as he waits to see what he’s going to do. He knows this kid’s type, trying to ingratiate himself with someone better than him. Clearly, he thinks, Harry can spot the type too.

   “Weasley, you said, right?” Draco drawls. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

   The stubborn look that comes over the other’s face makes Harry think that this might turn into a bigger confrontation when one of the twins comes by. “There you are, Ron. Are you bothering people?”

   “Yes,” Draco announces instantly, frowning at seeing another redhead.

   “Really, Ron, can’t leave you alone for a second.” The other twin appears, grabbing the youngest sibling by looping an arm around his neck and dragging him back away from the door. “Come on, you. You’re with us; Mum’s orders.”

   “We didn’t introduce ourselves earlier,” says the remaining twin. “I’m Fred Weasley, that was George--” the other twin, clearly still within earshot yells a hello “--and that was our brother Ron. Our fault for telling him Harry Potter was here. He’s not used to meeting famous people. Consider him an overzealous fan.”

   Harry blushes at the reminder. “Uh, no, no worries. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the help earlier.”

   “No worries.” George waves a hand dismissively. “We’ll see you later. Oy, Fred! You just passed our compartment!”

   The compartment door is closed behind them, and Draco shakes his head. “Weasley, the youngest one, clearly wanted to be friends with you because you’re famous. Like I wrote you, you’ll run into those types all over. Who knows, maybe the twins were in on it too.”

   “You think?” Harry considers it for a moment then shrugs. “George and Fred seemed nice even before they knew who I was earlier. As for their brother, well, I just don’t like people talking about my friends. Or telling me what to do. If he wanted to be friends, he should’ve just said so.”

   Draco is surprised at Harry’s reasoning, and starts laughing. “You’re weird, you know that?”

   “What happened with your friends?” Harry asks when Draco’s done laughing.

   “Ah, I ran into Theodore. Pansy convinced them I’d be sitting with her so they sat in her compartment. I told him we’d be back here, but it’s fine. They were being rather loud anyway. And this way, we don’t have to worry about Crabbe and Goyle trying to steal any snacks we buy. They’re always hungry.”

   “Their names are Crabbe and Goyle?”

   “Family names,” Draco clarifies.

   “Why do you call some of them by their first name and some by their last?”

   “Ah, it’s considered polite to only address those you’re close with by their first name, and everyone else by their last name.”

   “Oh, so when I wrote you that first letter, it should have said ‘Malfoy’ instead of ‘Draco’?” Harry wonders aloud.

   Draco shrugs. “Well, yes, but it’s fine. I realized since you were raised with Muggles, you probably didn’t know any better.”

   “I think it’s less because I grew up with Muggles, and more that your family is super upper class,” Harry argues. “That sounds like the kind of rule rich people have.”

   “Hm, maybe.” Draco thinks it over, never having thought of it like that. “Although,” he points out after a moment, “didn’t your parents leave you a bunch of money? So you’re rich, too.”

   “Honestly, I still forget,” Harry admits. “I’ve never really had my own money to buy whatever.”

   There was a knock on the door and then a woman opened the compartment door with a dimpled smile asking if they wanted anything from the cart she was pushing.

   Draco grins. “Well, here’s your chance to spend some, then.”

   Harry jumps up, more than a little hungry after skipping breakfast, only to realize he wasn’t familiar with any of the snacks on offer. “Wow, I’ve never seen any of these.”

   “Are you joking?” Draco shakes his head, answering himself. “No, of course you’re not. We’ll just have to take some of everything then.”

   Harry insists on paying, and then dumps the giant load on the seat next to Draco, sitting on the same side so the snacks are piled between them. Draco insists on letting him have the box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, laughing loudly when Harry immediately eats a green one he’d assumed would be apple or lime flavored only for it to turn out to be grass. The Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties are great follow-ups to recover from the strange jelly bean. When Harry opens a Chocolate Frog before Draco can explain it will jump, he’s so amused he opens a couple of the other ones, both of them laughing as the compartment is momentarily filled with half a dozen hopping frogs. All but one have stopped when the door opens and a round-faced boy is momentarily caught off guard when it suddenly jumps at him.

   “Trevor?” He pulls the treat off the front of his robe where it jumps and visibly deflates at seeing it’s just chocolate. “Oh, no. Have you seen a toad? I can’t find mine.”

   Harry shakes his head, smiling. “A toad? No. Sorry.” Draco shakes his head as well, and the boy leaves.

   Once he’s gone, Draco starts looking through the cards, showing them to Harry and explaining what they are when he realizes it’s yet another thing the Boy Who Lived knows nothing about. He’s highly amused at Harry’s surprise when, right before his eyes, Merlin stretches and then moves out of frame. But it’s Harry’s reaction to seeing the Albus Dumbledore, frowning down at it as he studies it, that piques Draco’s interest.

   “What is it?”

   Harry looks up at him, shrugging as he puts the card aside with the others he’d gotten. “Ah, no, I was just surprised. I’ve heard of Albus Dumbledore, but it’s the first I’m seeing of him.” Harry stops, wondering if he should explain the feeling of distrust that comes over him at hearing the name--and now seeing --Albus Dumbledore, but not quite sure how to explain himself. He has no frame of reference for what might be weird in the wizarding world, so he doesn’t know if this sense of déjà vu he gets is normal or not. “He’s older than I expected,” he finishes lamely.

   “He’s pretty famous too,” Draco informs him. “Father doesn’t like him.”

   Harry’s tempted to ask for more info but they’re once again interrupted by someone opening the door. The boy who’d asked about the toad is back, standing behind the girl who’d opened the door. She has brown skin, bushy brown hair, and brown eyes that look around the room, taking in both boys, the owl, and the pile of wrappers and uneaten snacks quickly before gazing back at the boys. When she speaks, her large front teeth stand out, and her tone is distinctively bossy, but something about her is so familiar that it takes Harry a moment to put together what she’s said.

   He is too busy realizing that the same sense he’d gotten from Draco back in Diagon Alley, that had prompted him to befriend him, is coming over him again twofold. Somehow, he knows that Draco might be his first friend, but this girl was going to be his best friend. He should probably look into why he gets these feelings at all.

   “Have either of you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

   Draco sighs. “Harry already told him we haven’t. It’s just a toad anyway.”

   “Harry? As in Harry Potter?” the girl asks, eyes moving from Draco over to Harry. Blinking, Harry just nods. “I’m Hermione Granger and this is Neville Longbottom. I know all about you. You’re mentioned in our History of Magic book, of course, but I got some extra books for background reading and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts , as well as Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century .”

   Harry stares, surprised, looks over at Draco who shrugs, then back at her. “Am I?”

   “Didn’t you know? I’d have learned all I could if it were me,” she announces.

   “Yes, well, it’s not. Shouldn’t you be off looking for a toad?” Draco reminds her.

   Hermione frowns at Draco. “No need to be rude. Who are you?”

   “Draco Malfoy. We need to change since we’ll likely arrive soon, so leave already,” Draco orders.

   “Draco.” Harry shakes his head at him, then looks back at Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. “I’ll keep an eye out for the toad, but we haven’t seen ‘em.”

   “All right, thank you.” She starts to close the door, telling Neville, “Come on, let’s ask them down there.”

   “Longbottom’s family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Draco says after they’ve left. “Granger, on the other hand, is probably Muggle-born . They really shouldn’t be letting any of them into Hogwarts, I think. Keep it in the old wizarding families.”

   “What?” Harry challenges. “Why does it matter?”

   Draco stares at him for a moment like he can’t believe he’s asking. “They’re just not the same! They’re not brought up to know our ways or anything.”

   “Neither have I,” Harry points out, then reminds his friend, “And my parents might have been a witch and wizard, but my mum was a Muggle-born. If she hadn’t been accepted at Hogwarts, my parents wouldn’t have met and I wouldn’t be here.”

   Draco is about to say something more to defend his point, but he closes his mouth with an audible click at this reminder. He wants to push back, make Harry understand why Muggle-borns just aren’t the same, but he can’t think of how to do so without sounding like he’s insulting Harry’s mother. If Harry got annoyed with Ron for seeming to insult Draco, a friend he’s only just made, chances are insulting his mum is a surefire way to make him angry.

   They change without exchanging another word, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Harry, wondering how he can get his friend to understand why his way of thinking is wrong. Draco, trying to think of a way to get through to Harry that pureblood witches and wizards are superior. It’s an awkward silence, and when they’ve finished changing, neither seems sure of what to say or how to change the subject. Finally, at a voice announcing they’re about to arrive and are to leave their luggage on the train, they decide to divvy up the remaining snacks and stuff them into their pockets.

   When the train stops, they shuffle out into the corridor and make their way onto the platform outside. The night is cooler here, farther up in the north, and Harry hopes they aren’t going to be outside for long. It’s with relief that he recognizes the booming voice calling for first years. When Hagrid spots him and greets him, Harry’s mood is instantly lifted.

   Draco is standing next to him still, and by the way he’s looking around Harry thinks he might be trying to find his other friends. He wonders if their brief friendship is due to be over already. Still, Harry nudges him and nods his head towards Hagrid and the lamp he’s holding as he calls the first years over before heading over. He doesn’t want Draco to think he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, but he also doesn’t know if now that he’s been reminded that Harry’s parentage isn’t as “pure” as his own, if he’ll want to stay friends. All he can do is act like he normally would and leave Draco to make his own choice.

   Hagrid leads them all down through a slippery dark path down to the edge of a large lake where they all get a glimpse of the castle for the first time. He gives them all a moment before announcing they’re to get into boats, keeping to 4 per boat, and he waves Harry over clearly to join him. When he reaches Hagrid, he’s holding up a toad he’s just found. Neville Longbottom cries out the toad’s name, rushing forward to claim the animal, and Hermione Granger comes following after him at a slower pace. It’s clear they’re going to also join Hagrid’s boat, and so Harry assumes even if he’d been inclined to join, chances are Draco will take one look at who else is there and opt to sit with his friends instead.

   It seems all the more certain when after getting in the boat, Harry spots Ron Weasley making a beeline for their boat to claim the last spot.

   So he’s surprised when Draco materializes in front of him, climbing in and muttering, “Mark my words, Potter. Longbottom is going to let that toad go and knock us all in the water trying to catch him.”

   “Hope you know how to swim then, Malfoy,” Harry answers with a grin.

   Then they’re off across the lake, making their way towards the glittering castle on the other side.

Story Notes:

Title is from a Pink Floyd song.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Three

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2

Chapter 3: Here We Are, No One Else

Summary: School shopping.

SNAPE and McGonagall wait until they are outside, standing a short ways from the steps of Gringotts but still clearly visible for anyone coming out of the doors to discuss their recent discovery.

    “Severus, if memory serves, the Potters were wealthy, were they not?” McGonagall questions, looking around for a moment as she clasps her hands behind her back.

    “Yes.” Snapes tone is bitter as he agrees. “Quite.”

    McGonagall nods her head. “As I thought. So James Potter was likely the sole heir, and would have in turn left everything to Harry. I cannot imagine he, and especially not Lily Evans -- bright girl that she was--would have been so careless as to not leave a will in case of their demise. Not with how things were back then.”

    “Highly unlikely.” Snape’s arms are crossed, eyes on the bank’s doors. “Perhaps Albus Dumbledore was who they chose, because of You-Know-Who.” Despite his words, it does not sound like the Potions Master himself believes that to be the case.

    “Could be,” McGonagall concedes. “But considering how close knit James’ group of friends were, however, I find it hard to believe though. Only one of them might have been viable in the end, but considering he was the most responsible of the lot, I can’t say I’m not confused that Remus Lupin was not named as a guardian for Harry in case the worst came to pass.”

    She pauses, seeming to consider her next words before continuing, voice a little lower. “I am concerned with Albus’s decision to not only leave Harry with Lily’s sister and her family in light of what we saw, but to not once check up on the boy in nearly ten years. At the very least, the boy has been neglected, and at worse-” She looks over at Snape, expression grim. “I shudder to think.

    “Not to speak ill of the headmaster, but I must question his motive for leaving the child alone in that situation for as long as he has.”

    “He, perhaps, was simply more optimistic about what awaited Harry in Petunia’s care,” Snape offers diplomatically. “Regardless, while he is the boy’s guardian in the wizarding world, he will have the ultimate say in various things, including access to the Potters’ will and whoever else may have been named guardian.”

    “At least not until guardianship passes to Harry’s Head of House.” McGonagall considers. “I could speak with Albus about the will, but with the term due to begin soon, it may be better to simply wait for that guardianship to transfer over.”

    Snape is quiet for a moment, before he points out, “If he is in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, Flitwick and Sprout will leave Harry’s guardianship in the headmaster’s hands.” It’s hard to tell whether he thinks that’s for the best or not, his tone even.

    “I think if concerns were raised regarding the boy’s upbringing, both Filius or Pomona would take a more active role than that,” McGonagall argues. “Considering both James and Lily were Gryffindor, however, I suspect I’ll have another lion.”

    “It would be in his own best interest,” Snape states flatly. “I don’t imagine he would be all that welcomed among the Slytherin fold.”

    He does not need to elaborate for her, and McGonagall says nothing, knowing that among her students, many are the offspring of parents who had remained neutral or openly sided with the dark wizard Harry is famed for bringing down. Many of those students, unfortunately, belong mostly to Slytherin. Although she tries to treat her students fairly, and most of all to separate them from whatever deeds their families may be responsible for, she can’t deny that it may be in Harry’s best interest and safety to be in any other House.

    Before their conversation can continue, they see the hulking figured of Hagrid coming out of Gringotts, with the more diminutive Harry only visible when the groundskeeper stands aside to hold the door open for the boy. The deputy headmistress lifts a hand to draw their attention.

    “That was amazing!” Harry gushes, eyes bright. “It was like riding a rollercoaster!”

    “A Muggle ride,” Snape explains at McGonagall’s raised eyebrow and glance.

    “Infernal carts,” Hagrid grumbles under his breath. “Harry’s got more ‘an enough teh get his school supplies. I’m off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron.”

    He starts to walk away from them, but stops at McGonagall’s stern, “Hagrid.”

    “Yes, professor?”

    “While I can’t say for certain, I do have my suspicions as to what it was that Albus had you come pick up,” she lectures. “It would be best for you to take it back to Hogwarts promptly, don’t you agree?”

    “Well, yes, but.” Hagrid shifts from one foot to the other like a schoolboy who’s been scolded, and Harry tries to stifle a grin at the sight. The big man looks back the way they came in, towards the pub at the end of the road. “It’s just one drink.”

    McGonagall sighs. “Fine, but I shall accompany you until you leave. For my own peace of mind,” she declares. She looks over at Snape and Harry. “Harry, for your uniform requirements you’ll need to go over there to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Just let her know you’re starting at Hogwarts; she knows what you’ll need and get you measured.”

    “I assume you can handle that without supervision,” Snape adds. “I will get your books at Flourish and Blotts in the meantime to save time. I will get you after.”

    With that plan in place, Harry goes off to the shop he’d been directed to, a coin pouch full of more money than he’s ever had access to bouncing in a pocket. Hagrid had given him a brief rundown of the coins, and he thinks he’s got it squared away, but he’s not too worried about being overcharged. The professors had felt confident he could manage on his own for a bit, and they surely wouldn’t have if they thought he might be overcharged or cheated.

    Still, he’s nervous as he enters the shop, whose front room has some seats, but is mostly floor to ceiling bolts of fabric, with a few ready-made robes apparently for, as the shop sign declares, all occasions. Some mannequins are spread throughout, floating in the air and rotating softly to best display the styles. He stops a few steps in, hoping that the ringing of the shop bell will bring someone over as he’s not sure where to go.

    Some curtains hanging between two tall shelves of fabric are suddenly pulled aside and a smiling, squat woman dressed entirely in mauve--from the witch’s hat on her head to the bit of shoe visible just under her matching robes--comes out.

    “Another for Hogwarts?” she asks. At Harry’s quiet nod, she waves him over. “Come on, then. I’m Madam Malkin. I’ve another student back here as well.”

    Harry walks over and she leads him into the backroom of the shop. Sure enough, there’s a boy being directed to stand up on a footstool. His blonde hair is almost white and the eyes that look over at Harry as he comes over to stand on the stool next to him are light grey. Harry feels like he has seen him somewhere before, although he can’t possibly say where, and thinks it may be down to the same feeling that had come over him when he first saw his Hogwarts letter. That déjà vu feeling is becoming so familiar now, and has worked out so well for him thus far, that he doesn’t think to question it.

    “Hi,” Harry says, not waiting for the boy to greet him first. “Are you starting at Hogwarts too?” Harry belatedly realizes it might seem like a stupid question. He’s not sure if there even are other magic schools in the country. Surely in other countries, right?

    “Hello. I am.” The boy confirms in a drawl. “Mother is next door getting books while my father is over on Knockturn. She wants us to look at wands after, but I think I’ll drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own.”

    “Is it just first years who can’t?” Harry asks, interrupting. He’s stunned at the idea of actually riding a broom, like in cartoon depictions of witches, and almost launches into more questions about it but refrains, thinking he doesn’t want to yet reveal just how completely clueless he is about all things magical. This kid clearly has magical parents and has grown up with it like it’s just a normal thing.

    “Yes, just first years.” The boy confirms.

    Around them, the witch in mauve and another has each rolled out a measuring tape that, with a wave of their wands, begins to measure each boy. Harry tries not to stare, fascinated, partly because he’s instructed to hold still. While the tapes measure them, the bell at the front rings and one woman goes to the front while the other moves to the other side of the room to start rifling through a line of black robes.

    When they’ve moved away, the blonde boy leans over to Harry and adds conspiratorially, “If I can get Father to buy me a new broom, I may try to smuggle it in.”

    “Do you think they have spells for that?” Harry asks. If there’s a rule, surely they have a way to enforce it?

    “Hm, I hadn’t thought of that,” the boy admits. “Maybe.” He seems to take a better look at Harry, then holds a hand out to him. “My name’s Draco Malfoy, by the way. I’m sure you’ve heard of my family.”

    The name he’s given brings the same feeling seeing the boy had, accompanied by a certainty that he should try to be friends with this boy. Taking the hand, he admits, “Not really, sorry. I’m Harry Potter.”

    Draco’s eyes widen, but they’re both distracted by a squeak of surprise behind them. They turn to look, and the second woman is bent over, picking up the robes she dropped. She stares at Harry, eyes comically wide, before she scurries towards the front room.

    “Are you really?” Draco asks, head tilted as he takes Harry in from head to toe. The bored quality of his voice is gone, curiosity taking its place.

    “Uh, yeah,” Harry admits. “I, uh, forget that people know me.”

    Draco raises an eyebrow at that, but whatever he might have to say is kept quiet as the two women come bustling back into the room.

    “Harry Potter! I thought I might be seeing you this year,” the mauve witch exclaims delightedly. “Are the rumors true? Do you have a scar from You-Know-Who?”

    Harry blinks at the question before simply lifting his bangs, his scar clearly visible on his forehead. The three others in the room all lean in at least slightly to get a better look, but Draco is the first to straighten, feigning disinterest.

    “Wow,” Madam Malkin breathes. Uncomfortable at how long he’s being stared at, Harry lets his bangs fall back to cover the scar, and the older woman’s eyes drop to his. She smiles at him. “Well, we have to make sure you are very well dressed for your school debut, don’t we? We’ll finish up these measurements and be sure to get these to you in an hour or so, okay?”

    Harry nods and looks over at Draco, trying to think of something to talk about with the other boy. He’s momentarily at a complete loss as to what he could possibly talk about, then remembers the questions he’d asked Snape while they walked. “Uh, so what House are you hoping to get into?”

    “Slytherin,” Draco announces immediately, explaining, “All our family have been.”

    “Oh, that’s Professor Snape’s House.” Harry’s pleased to be able to display some knowledge about the school.

    “You know him?” Draco asks.

    Harry nods. “Oh, yes, he’s actually next door getting my books right now too,” he admits. “I’m here with him and Professor McGonagall. He said both my parents were in Gryffindor, so I guess that might be where I end up.”

    “Slytherin and Gryffindor are rival Houses,” Draco says in response.

    Before Harry can reply, Madam Malkin declares she’s finished. When Harry asks how much for his robes, she waves him off, declaring it’s on the house. “Least I can do for the Boy Who Lived,” she tells him proudly.

    Harry feels his face get hot with embarrassment, and he’s not sure how if he should insist he pays or if it would be rude to refuse. He’s saved from responding by them finishing with Draco, and attention being diverted to him instead as they tell him to tell his mother that his items should also be finished within the next hour or so. It makes him relax some knowing that the other boy isn’t going to have to wait longer, although he’s still uncomfortable with the obviously special treatment.

    The two head outside, and Harry picks up the conversation where they left it. “Even if we end up in different Houses, we can still be friends, right?”

    It’s the most forward he’s ever been with someone his own age. He’s never really had a friend, his classmates always opting to steer clear when it becomes obvious that he’s Dudley’s favorite target for bullying. He can’t say he blames them, understanding not wanting to be bullied, but he wishes at least one of them had been brave enough to be his friend anyway. He hopes now things will change, and he’s willing to make the effort to make new friends.

    Draco himself seems taken aback by the question, and he looks at Harry for a moment, before shrugging. “I guess so.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, but he’s not refusing outright, so Harry takes it as a win. “Mother is probably still in the bookstore,” he says, pointing at the store next door.

    “Professor Snape too,” Harry agrees. “Should we go find them?”

    Draco agrees, and the two boys make their way into the store. They’re forced to navigate between stacks of books and a number of other customers to search the store. When they find themselves next to some stairs leading up to the second story, Harry goes up three steps then stops suddenly, causing Draco to run into him. He laughs before pointing Snape out, who he just spotted, and they backtrack to make their way towards the front of the store.

    “Professor Snape!” Harry calls when he’s close enough to think the man will hear him over the din of the crowd.

    Snape looks over, spotting the boy’s waving arms in the crowd. “Mr. Potter, just in time to pay for your books.”

    “Sure thing!” Harry readily agrees, excited to be able to pay for his own things for once. “Oh, Draco, this is Professor Snape. Professor, this is Draco-”

    “Ah, yes, Lucius and Narcissa’s son.” Snape recognizes the boy immediately, his resemblance to his father striking. He’s surprised the two are together, though, and notes that his parents aren’t around. “Where are your parents?”

    “Father had an errand on Knockturn,” Draco immediately supplies, his tone respectful. “Mother is in here.” He looks out over the crowded store, and adds, “Somewhere.”

    Snape nods, assuming the boys met in Madam Malkin’s. He directs the store employee to wrap Harry’s purchases before turning to the boys. “The two of you wait outside. I will locate her and let her know you’re outside.”

    He waits for Harry’s books to be wrapped before he shrinks them down and hands them over to Harry to hold onto. Snape shoos them outside and then turns to go search for Narcissa Malfoy. He locates her fairly quickly, her slim figure and long blonde hair--only a shade or so darker than her son’s--familiar enough to him that he can recognize her quickly.

    “Narcissa.” He waits until he’s only a step or so away from her and the woman she is speaking with to say her name.

    Blue eyes look over and, raising an eyebrow, she says, “Why, Severus Snape. I can’t say I expected to see you today.”

    “I am assisting with a student,” he explains simply, not elaborating further. “Your son was looking for you; I advised him to wait out front.”

    “So you’ve met my Draco.” She smiles fondly. She bids her companion goodbye before motioning for a house elf behind her carrying a stack of books to follow her. “Thank you for letting me know. He’s certain to be in your House this year, so I do hope you’ll do me the favor of keeping a close eye on him. You know boys that age are prone to getting into trouble.”

    “It goes without saying,” Snape agrees readily. “You know I could do no less for you and Lucius.”

    Outside, Harry and Draco move away from the bookstore’s door to avoid getting in the way of customers entering or exiting. Harry decides to admit to Draco he doesn’t know much about brooms and ask him about it, which gets the other boy going into detail on what makes a good racing broom versus what makes a good Quidditch broom. When Harry asks what Quidditch is, Draco is stunned speechless for half a second, before he launches into an explanation of what the game is and the rules. He’s just starting to get into why his favorite team (the Wimbourne Wasps) are the best when McGonagall comes over.

    “Harry, where is Professor Snape?” she asks as she comes by, looking the two boys over. “And who might this be?”

    “This is Draco Malfoy, we met in the robes store,” Harry replies. “Draco, this is Professor McGonagall, she’s the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.” Draco greets her, and Harry answers the other question she asked. “Snape was looking for Draco’s mum in the bookstore ‘cause it’s busy.”

    “Unsurprising, considering the time of year.” She looks over at the store briefly before looking back at Harry. “Hagrid is getting you a birthday present.”

    “It’s your birthday?” Draco asks. Harry nods, blushing at the idea of someone very deliberately buying him a gift. First the clothes, and now something from the groundskeeper.

    “He doesn’t have to,” Harry mutters, embarrassed.

    McGonagall smiles at his reaction. “No, but he would like to, so it’s only polite to accept.” Snape and Mrs. Malfoy emerge from the bookstore and McGonagall lets the boys know.

    “If it’s your birthday, we should get cake,” Draco announces matter of factly.

    Without waiting for a response from Harry, he goes over to meet his mother and Snape, pointing briefly back at Harry where he stands with McGonagall. There’s a brief discussion in which Snape nods, and then he and Draco come back over to where Harry is watching them.

    “Mr. Malfoy will be joining us for lunch,” Snape informs them, “while Mrs. Malfoy finishes his school shopping.”

    The two professors and their charges make their way to one of the many cafes located in Diagon Alley. They were seated immediately despite their being decently busy, and it soon became clear Draco was the reason when the manager on duty came to greet him and ask after his parents. He seemed to sit up a little taller speaking to the man, telling him importantly that his friend Harry Potter was celebrating his birthday today and they were hoping to have a small celebratory lunch.

    As it had earlier in the day, it causes a flurry of activity, and they very clearly become the center of attention. Word spreads through the other patrons, who crane their necks to try and get a clear view, seemingly being kept from coming over by the staff. Harry is both embarrassed and amused, as his self-proclaimed new friend Draco is clearly enjoying the havoc his words have wrought. Snape grumbles under his breath, but Harry doesn’t catch it, though he does see Professor McGonagall, stifling a smile, leaning over to speak to him in a low voice the boys across from them can’t quite catch. Not that Draco seems to be paying them any real mind.

    Soon, neither is Harry. He’s too fascinated by the servers taking orders while simultaneously serving water or setting drinks from a tray down, a floating notepad and quill by their heads writing down everything being said. Trays heavily laden with food are also brought out with magic, followed closely by a server with a wand out, whose occasional flick of the wrist directs the tray to gently move to avoid other servers, patrons, and even other floating trays. Their own server makes a show of having their food fly off the tray, making elaborate turns in the air before landing softly in front of each of them, with nary a crumb falling off the plate.

    He doesn’t think he could be more impressed, until they come out with a cake for him. He doesn’t recall even seeing cake as an option on the dessert menu, so clearly they’ve either had it made or brought over specially for him. Instead of candles, little magic flames dance around the edge of the cake until it’s set down on the table. Soon after, the servers break out into a birthday song that the other patrons soon join in on and Harry’s red face doesn’t distract from the smile he’s unable to keep off his face. When they’re done singing, the little dancing flames rearrange in the air to say ‘Happy Birthday!’ and he’s directed to blow them out like he normally would.

    It’s hands down the best birthday he’s ever had.

    After lunch, Hagrid finds them and gifts Harry with a snowy white owl of his own which, he’s told, he can use to communicate with others in the wizarding world. He and Draco agree to write before the blonde goes off with Snape to meet back up with his mother. Harry in turn goes with McGonagall to continue getting the rest of his school supplies, with Hagrid tagging along.

    They go for his wand, and he’s glad to have the stern professor with him, unnerved when the old wandmaker Ollivander informs him that his wand is the brother to the one that gave him his scar. McGonagall dismisses the information, thanks Ollivander for his assistance, and outside promptly tells Harry that regardless of whether that information is true or not, he’s not to put any weight into the information. A wand, after all, is an extension of its wizard. Whether the things done with it are good or bad lies solely with the wielder. Then she marches him off to get the rest of his things and pick up his robes. Snape joins them when they reach the Apothecary, doing his own shopping. When Harry picks up a “Student’s First Potion Kit” marketed for new students, Snape scoffs loudly, takes it out of his hand, and promptly marches him over to where the fresh ingredients are, explaining that so long as he can afford fresher ingredients, they would always serve him better than any cheap kits or bundles.

    Soon, it’s time for him to go home again. He’s sure both professors are more than ready to call it a day, but Harry still finds himself wishing he could somehow prevent it from ending. His things are all put away inside his newly bought trunk, with the exception of his owl, who sits serenely in her cage. They leave through the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid bidding Harry a good summer before heading for the bar before they make it out the door.

    It’s like emerging from a dream, Harry thinks, looking around at normal, non-magical people going about their day. No one is in robes, holding wands, or making things float or change colors or anything.

    McGonagall holds her wand out, and the Knight Bus returns once more. “I’m afraid we shall have to send you back on your own, Mr. Potter.” She directs her next comment to the conductor, an older gentleman than the one from earlier in the day. “Please see that my student gets to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, if you please. Could you assist with his trunk? Thank you.

    “Now.” She turns back to Harry, reaching into her pocket for something. “One last thing. This is your ticket for the Hogwarts Express. It will leave promptly at eleven o’clock on September first, so please be sure you are on time with that ticket. The platform is hidden from Muggles. Go to the barrier betweens platforms nine and ten, and there you’ll walk through the barrier to reach platform nine and three-quarters.”

    Harry nods his head in understanding, slipping the envelope into his back pocket. They remind him his new owl can reach them if necessary, so he’s to write immediately if there is any trouble with the Dursleys when he gets home, though McGonagall states she’s confident that they will behave themselves from here on out. Reluctantly, he climbs into the Knight Bus, sitting at a window seat where he can see the professors one last time. He manages to wave before they are suddenly gone, and the bus lurches forward with a BANG!

Story Notes:

Chapter title is from the song "We Are Going To Be Friends" by The White Stripes. Heh.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop For Death - Chapter Two

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1

Chapter 2: Wind That's Carrying A Change

Summary: Harry receives magical visitors.

MORNING on Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday dawns with the boy in question wide awake, having barely been able to sleep for the excitement coursing through him. Mrs. Figg had assured him Friday that she had sent his letter out while he napped, then said no more. He had been left to worry on his own whether it would be received in time, and anxious about what the response to it might be. He was afraid to hope he could attend this mysterious school, to hope for something better than what he’d come to know in his short life. So he had received the news delivered to him Saturday morning that not only had the school’s deputy headmistress received his letter already, but that she would be coming to see him on his birthday with a great deal of surprise.

    He was a ball of anticipation the rest of the weekend, incapable of sitting still for long. Time seemed to crawl by, to the point that he was actually happy to be picked up by the Dursleys come Sunday afternoon, as it meant the weekend was basically over, and The Day, as he’d come to think of it, was that much closer. No amount of bullying or teasing from Dudley and Piers could bother him Sunday, no amount of chores heaped on him Monday, and certainly no amount of yelling from his aunt and uncle come Tuesday, could dampen his spirits. He had tried, in vain, to go to bed early Tuesday night in the hopes that if he just went to sleep, time would fly by and he would wake up to find his visitor waiting for him, but it was no use. If he dozed, it was for minutes at a time, for he’d suddenly be wide awake and alert, desperately wishing the sun would just hurry up and rise already.

    It’s how his family comes to wake up to the smell of breakfast. Harry had needed something to occupy his time, and maybe if they’re in a good mood when his guest arrives, they’ll be less likely to be rude. In truth, Harry doesn’t believe that, but he needs something to do anyway.

    It really only serves to make Vernon suspicious, although he only grumbles ‘the boy is up to something’  before shoveling food onto his plate. When breakfast has been consumed, Harry waits to be told to clean up to avoid further speculation.  

    He’s not surprised that no one remembers his birthday or thinks to give him anything. His birthdays were as unlike Dudley’s as was possible; just another day, barely worth noting, and certainly not cause for celebration. Before the Hogwarts letter, he’d hoped for something more, like he did every year. A candy bar would be an improvement to some of the terrible gifts of previous years, when they’d bothered to give him anything at all. This year, all he wants is the okay to go to this school, even if it means that they never again remember much less give him anything for said birthday.

    Once the dishes are clean, Harry sits in the living room, keeping an eye on the window as best he can without appearing as if he’s watching for something. His fidgeting doesn’t go unnoticed, though, and Vernon snaps at him eventually to stay still or get out of his sight. Harry wishes he’d thought to ask Mrs. Figg what time Mrs. McGonagall was due to come, because it’s barely ten in the morning and he doesn’t think he can do this for hours longer. He’s sure he’ll lose his mind first.

It’s with great relief that he hears the doorbell ring precisely as the living room clock strikes eleven.

“I’ll get it!” Harry announces, jumping up to his feet.

    If he were thinking straight, he’d have waited for them to tell him to go open it, as they usually did anyway, but his excitement gets the better of him. As a result, Vernon stands up and grabs him, practically throwing him back onto the couch.

    “Stay put, boy,” Vernon orders him. “You’ve been acting strange all morning. I’ll see who it is.” Then he storms out of the living room.

    His reaction has drawn both Petunia’s and Dudley’s attention from the television, with the other boy looking from his father over to Harry. The cousins share a brief look and then they are both on their feet scrambling for the hallway. It isn’t a fair race, never is with Dudley, and Harry gets shoved into the doorframe  by his larger cousin, practically collapsing into the hall just as the door is opened.

    “Whatever you’re selling, we are not interested,” Vernon announces as he opens the door. His large body blocks Harry’s view so he can’t tell who is on the other side. “Soliciting isn’t allowed in this neighborhood, I’ll have you know.” Harry doesn’t know if he hopes his wait is over, and this is indeed the woman he’d written to, or if he rather hopes it’s not to avoid the embarrassment. His uncle hadn’t so much as offered a ‘good day’ before offending their visitors.

    In response to this rather rude declaration, an older woman’s crisp Scottish accent states, “Vernon Dursley, I presume? If you would be so kind as to let us in, we have come regarding Mr. Harry Potter.”

    “For Harry?” Vernon half turns as he yells out. “Boy! What did you do now?” He spots Harry and Dudley behind him, and his eyes narrow as he opens his mouth.

    What he might have said next goes unheard, because there’s suddenly a gasp of surprise from Petunia, who had followed the boys out of the room to sate her own curiosity. Harry looks at her but her eyes are focused on the doorway where just beyond Uncle Vernon stands a man in a business suit, his long, greasy black hair brushing his shoulders, and an older woman dressed in an old fashioned button down shirt and skirt.

    “You!” Petunia’s voice is a strangled sound, but Harry recognizes that tone of disgust, although there’s some definite surprise in there as well.

    The man does not seem as surprised. “Petunia.”

    “I don’t know who you are, but I think you should leave now,” Vernon announces after this brief exchange, taking a cue from his wife’s reaction that these are people he does not want around.

    “Not until we have discussed Harry’s acceptance to Hogwarts.”

    “Hog-what?” Dudley pipes up, just as Aunt Petunia lets out a small shout.

    “Absolutely not !” Vernon roars. Harry jumps involuntarily, caught completely by surprise by the vehemence with which his uncle shouts, and only used to having that level of anger directed at himself.

    Petunia rushes over to him, ever cognizant of what the gossips might say, and reminds him, “Vernon, the neighbors-”

    “I’ll not have this nonsense in my home,” he announces, ignoring his wife as he then goes to close the door.

    But suddenly it flies out of his hand and is flung wide open. He and Petunia jump back and away as it does. The man standing outside holds a stick in his hand that Harry was sure he didn’t have a moment ago, and he watches him slip it into his suit jacket as he strides in. Petunia and Vernon practically flatten themselves against the wall to get away from him, and the older woman comes in calmly, unperturbed, closing the door softly behind her.

    The two pause at seeing Dudley and Harry. Their eyes flicker over the larger boy, then move onto Harry. He tries not to fidget as they look him over, acutely aware of the second hand clothes he’s wearing that are obviously a few sizes too big. He isn’t sure what to make of their frowns, wondering if they disapprove of what they see and deciding he has to break the silence or he’ll go mad.

    “H-Hullo,” he manages to get out. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky to them as it does to his own ears.

    The older woman smiles at him reassuringly suddenly, reminding Harry of a handful of old teachers whom he’d actually liked over the years. “Mr. Potter. I’m very glad to meet you. I’m Professor McGonagall, and this here is Professor Snape.” She motions to the man who continues to frown at Harry. “I must thank you for writing to me, for I’m afraid we had made some assumptions regarding how much you might already know about Hogwarts.”

    The school’s name suddenly seems to stir his aunt and uncle, as Petunia suddenly steps forward. “Now, see here, he will not be going to that school of-of-of freaks .” Professor Snape’s eyes narrow as he turns to look at her, and Harry watches his aunt visibly shrink away from him. “We-”

    “You what?” he asks. “Think you’ll stop Lily’s son from going to Hogwarts, Tuney ?” He looks back at Harry, then down the hall as if he is looking for something. His eyes narrow and he moves past the boys.

    “Severus, what are-” Professor McGonagall stops mid-sentence as Snape reaches the stairs and walks just past them, stopping at Harry’s cupboard. He swings the door open, takes a moment, and then looks past them all to meet Petunia’s gaze.

    Petunia looks away, her face red as Snape practically slams the cupboard door shut. “She would be ashamed of you.” The words are low, but they carry down the hall, and Harry’s wide eyes move between this man and his aunt, whose entire face and neck are covered in red splotches.

    “Mr. Potter.” Harry looks back at the deputy headmistress, who motions towards the living room area. “Let’s have a seat. I’m sure you have many questions.”

    Harry nods, looks back at the other adults for a quick moment, then follows after the older woman. Professor Snape is only a few steps behind him. McGonagall motions for Harry to sit with her on the couch, and he sits so he’s facing her. Snape moves past them to stand behind Harry, just next to the arm of the couch, facing the doorway where the Dursleys have collected, seeming unsure of whether they should enter the room or not.

    “Now Mr. Potter. Harry. You wrote in your letter to me that you had not heard of Hogwarts.” Harry nods his head and McGonagall continues, “What do you know of your parents?”

    Harry looks from her, to the Dursleys, then over his shoulder at Snape before he answers. “Not much?” he admits, then rushes to add, “I mean, I know they died in a car crash-” Behind him, Snape snorts and Harry looks back at him to see him shaking his incredulously.

    “As if James Potter had the faintest idea how to drive a car.” Snape shakes his head in disbelief

    “Uncle Vernon said they were drinking and we got into a crash,” Harry tells them, looking and sounding confused, before turning accusing eyes on his aunt and uncle. “You lied to me?”

    Snape is also suddenly angry, his wand in his hand again, pointing in the direction of the Dursleys. His eyes were on Petunia again. “You would have him believe that of Lily? She died protecting him and this is what you tell him?”

    “Wait, protecting me? Protecting me from what?”

    “Now, see here,” Vernon suddenly interrupts, seeming to finally find his voice again. “We agreed when we took him in that we’d stamp out this affliction. We won’t have it here.”

    Harry opens his mouth to ask his uncle what he means, but a hand on his shoulder keeps him quiet. “Severus.” McGonagall’s voice is stern, and after a moment Snape puts his wand away. She turns her gaze back on the Dursleys, and her tone is cold as she says, “Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Mr. Dursley. You may be ignorant of our world, but I am perfectly aware of the laws of yours. Having a child sleep in a cupboard alone would warrant a visit by local authorities under the Childrens’ Act of 1989, which is not to take into account what other treatment may be occurring that might negatively impact a child’s development. Furthermore, under our laws, you could very well be prosecuted for neglect and abuse as well.

    “Finally, I am more than certain that the letter left here with Harry explained not only the circumstances by which he came to you, but that he would be expected to attend Hogwarts in the future. I am certain of this because I was here that night. You can no more prevent his attending than you can stop time, so I suggest you leave us be before I am the one to lose my temper.”

    She keeps her eyes on them for a moment, the threat hanging in the air, before turning back to Harry, effectively dismissing the Dursleys in their own home. In a gentler, quieter tone, McGonagall explains to Harry that his mother and father were a witch and wizard that met while they attended school in Hogwarts, and the events that led to his being orphaned and raised by the only family left to him, the Dursleys. He’s famous for defeating the dark wizard who’d given him his lightning scar, and non-magical folks--Muggles--may not know him, but all of wizarding Britain had known his name since that fateful night.

    Harry swallows, not sure he likes the idea of being famous for something he can’t even remember. Especially not when it ended with his parents dead and him an orphan. He’s quiet as he stares at his hands, processing all this new information.When he looks up, he realizes both professors are watching him, and he shifts uncomfortably.

     “So, uh, h-how do I get all the stuff on that list for school anyway?” He makes a vague motion towards the door as he says, “They won’t want to buy me new school supplies.”

    “How would you feel about a shopping trip?” She stands up, smoothing out her skirt and pulling a key from her right pocket. “This is the key to your Gringotts vault. As your father had no other siblings or next of kin, you are the sole heir to the Potter fortune. I don’t know the specifics, but I’m certain there’s enough there for your school supplies.”

    Blinking at the key, Harry repeats, “Fortune?” He’s inherited a fortune ? He stands up and takes the old fashioned key, the weight of it somehow making it all feel more real. “Did the Dursleys know?”

    “Likely not.” Snape answers, thinking if Dumbledore had kept the key this long, he had likely also kept the vault’s existence from Lily’s sister.

    McGonagall nods her head in agreement, half turned as she looks back towards the doorway as if she could see the Dursleys through it, wherever they had retreated. “Severus, why don’t you go on ahead while I speak with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley? I will meet up with you afterwards.”

    “Excuse me?”

    She looks back to meet his gaze, a challenging look in her eye. “I do believe in this, I am the better choice. Don’t you agree?”

    Harry looks between them as her question is met with silence. There’s a long stretch where Snape does not answer before he sighs in defeat. “How, pray tell, do you suggest we get there? I am certain that the fireplace here has not been connected to the Floo network.”

    “I was thinking the Knight Bus,” McGonagall states. She stifles a smile at the audible sigh that response elicits. “You know how the Ministry feels about Side-Along Apparition outside of an emergency, Severus. Besides, it may be a bit much for the boy.”

    Harry frowns, not liking the implication that he couldn’t handle whatever this ‘apparating’ is, but he holds his tongue not wanting to give either adult a reason to cancel this trip either. He’s never been anywhere that wasn’t school or Mrs. Figg’s without the Dursleys, and he’s definitely never been shopping for himself. He’s not sure the Dursleys have ever bought him anything in his entire life, aside from his glasses, and even those had been bought second-hand so as to be as cheap as possible.

    Snape mutters something under his breath, but Harry only catches the word ‘Ministry’. The man looks him over and his frown deepens. He seems like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, and seeming to read his mind, McGonagall adds, “There are some shops on Oxford Street, if memory serves. Could probably get some better clothes for Mr. Potter there.”

    Red-faced, Harry looks down at his ill-fitting, visibly worn clothes. He’d set aside the clothes that fit him the best and looked the least worn, but considering what little care Dudley took of his clothes, knowing they’d be replaced as needed, very little of what Harry received was in any good condition.

    He looks back up when a hand is placed on his shoulder, and his eyes meet the kindly blue ones of the deputy headmistress. “Think of it as a gift. It’s your birthday today, is it not?” Harry finds he can only nod in response, a lump in his throat as he suddenly gets the urge to cry.

    “Very well, then. Come along, Potter.” Snape strides past them and back towards the front door, leaving Harry to run to the cupboard to hurriedly put his shoes on and then out the door after the professor. He closes the door on the sight of Professor McGonagall giving him a small wave before heading down the hall towards the kitchen, presumably to look for his aunt and uncle.

    Outside, Professor Snape is waiting for him by the street. When the door is closed, he pulls the stick out Harry had previously seen and now assumes is his wand, holding it out in the air as if he’s hailing a cab. Seconds later, there’s a loud, almost deafening BANG, and a bright purple, triple decker bus pulls to a stop in front of Snape. Harry stares wide-eyed, too shocked to move for a moment, as a conductor in a uniform the same purple as the bus hops out.

    “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency trans-”

    Snape cuts him off. “Two to London.” He puts his wand away inside his coat and produces a coin purse from which he passes money over to the conductor. When that’s done, he takes a step as if to get on, then stops to look back at Harry. “Come on, then. We don’t have all day.”

    “O-Oh, right!” Harry quickly follows after, getting onto the bus.

    Snape motions for him to move towards the back, instructing him to take a seat, so Harry moves almost to the very rear, just a few rows ahead of stairs leading up to the higher decks. He sits by the window, wondering what the neighbors might think if they looked outside to see this bright purple monstrosity, and almost wishing he could at least see his aunt’s reaction. The professor is holding onto a pole behind the driver’s seat, speaking with the driver as the conductor jumps back on. With another loud BANG, they’re suddenly on a completely different street, and Harry can’t keep the shock and delight on his face. If he had doubted the existence of magic before, this surely was proof enough to wipe away all doubt.

    Snape finishes his conversation with the conductor, which had amounted to specifying he needed to be dropped off by a clothing store on Oxford street, preferably one where children’s clothes might be purchased, and as close to Charing Cross Road as possible. He starts to head back to where his charge has taken a seat and finds himself stopping halfway to study him.

    He looks incredibly like his childhood bully and nemesis, which he supposes is to be expected considering he is James Potter’s son. His eyes, though, are entirely Lily’s. A bright, disconcerting green he was not prepared to see when he first laid eyes on him, but which coupled with his uncanny resemblance to his father had made him easily distinguished from his cousin. Frankly, Snape had been entirely prepared to hate the boy on sight as soon as Dumbledore reminded him he would be starting at Hogwarts this coming school year.

    Now, he is just deeply uncomfortable with the boy. He looks like his father, but he was nothing like him in manner. Not yet, at least. He also doesn’t resemble his mother either, the Lily he had grown up with, who had been playful and gregarious, entirely familiar with her magic long before she’d heard of Hogwarts or even known what she was. Instead, Harry Potter reminds Snape of himself as a child, the product of an abusive home and not used to speaking with others. He is perhaps less uncomfortable than Snape was himself, it’s hard to tell after such a short time in his company, but there’s a distinct familiarity in the way he seemed unsure as he spoke to them. Even the way he had been embarrassed at the quality of his clothes, though they hadn’t distinctly pointed them out, is something Snape could relate all too well to from his own childhood.

    Strange, he thinks, that this boy seems more like him than he ever thought would be possible for a son of James Potter.

~~~

OXFORD street is almost overwhelming for an eleven-year old boy used to being left behind before such excursions. For the first time in his young life, Harry Potter can actually take in his surroundings without having to worry about somehow stepping out of line and getting in trouble with his aunt and uncle, or somehow inviting his cousin’s violence. He’d been too engrossed in watching the world speed by, and too intimidated by the serious professor, to ask Snape anything on the trip there, but as the Knight Bus disappears with what he thinks should be an audible bang, he notes that no one looks over.

    “How did they not see the bus?” Harry asks Snape.

    “Spells,” is the simple response he receives. Snape looks about, notes the large store they were dropped off, and moves towards the store. “Come. Stay close. I would rather not have to search for you in this crowd.”

    Harry hurries after the man’s longer stride as he heads for a store named Marks and Spencer. Inside, they find their way to the children’s section and Snape instructs Harry to start looking for clothes that seemed likely to fit him. Having never actually worn clothes that fits him, Harry has no idea what size he is, and after a few minutes, looks hopelessly lost. Snape stifles the annoyance he feels, finds a store clerk a section over putting things away, and enlists their help by flat out lying. He tells the woman his nephew’s recently lost all his possessions in a house fire, and could she assist them in replacing his wardrobe? He was sadly unfamiliar with the boy’s size and could use the help of an expert.

    In moments, the woman has Harry trailing after her as she goes and grabs a few basic things before directing him into a dressing room. Once his size is found, she chats amiably with Harry, putting him at ease as she determines the colors he likes best, all the while creating a small pile of clothes. In the end, there are five pairs of jeans, three pairs of shorts, some slacks, half a dozen T-shirts, another half dozen polo shirts, and a two button down shirts, all in mostly neutral, darker solid colors with about two plaid patterns, and the only white shirt being one of the button downs. Two packs of half dozen underwear, a new pair of sneakers, and a pair of dress shoes top it all off.

    “If you’re anything like my boys,” she says, ringing it all up, “you’d be a right terror on light colors.” She adds to Snape in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Don’t think I want to know where even half those stains come from, to be honest.”

    Harry ends up changing into a pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, while the rest is bagged away and his formerly ill-fitting clothes unceremoniously tossed into the closest bin. If it didn’t seem likely to annoy the professor, Harry thinks he’d jump for joy. He grabs the bags with his new clothes, almost like he’s afraid that if they’re out of sight, he’ll never see them again.

    “Can you manage?” Snape asks, an eyebrow raised skeptically at seeing the small eleven year old juggling the numerous bags. At Harry’s nod, he adds, “We will be walking to our next destination, nearly two kilometers away.”

    “Oh.” Harry still looks reluctant, but he relinquishes some of the bags over to the professor to carry.

    Snape takes most of them, noting the boy’s reaction. He considers trying to comfort him for a moment, decides against it, and instead prompts him to follow. The silence that ensues feels awkward, so after five minutes, he finds himself asking him if he has any questions about Hogwarts.

    “Loads,” Harry admits after a moment.

    They pass the next twenty minutes of their walk with Snape telling Harry about the subjects he’ll be taking the first year, being sorted into a House the first night of the semester, and a little about each House, explaining who the head of each House is as well. Of course, Harry asks what House his parents belonged to, which then prompts him to ask if Snape knew his parents well.

    Uncomfortably, he admits, “Your father and I were never friends, but Lily and I were friends before starting at Hogwarts. We...grew apart…”

      Before he can ask for Snape to elaborate, they reach a broken-down shop front whose better days are, clearly, a distant memory. To the side of a door sits a tabby cat who, at their approach, starts to walk towards them and changes, mid-stride, into Professor McGonagall. She’s no longer dressed in the button down shirt and skirt he’d originally seen her in, instead wearing long black robes and a pointed witch’s hat. Harry stares, wide-eyed, and she gives him a small grin.

    “You’ll learn about it in school,” she tells him to head off any questions, then motions at the bags between them. “I see clothes shopping was quite successful, Severus.

    Harry flushes, remembering that the professor had paid for it all. “Yes. You said there’s a bank? I’ll pay it back,” he offers immediately, looking up at Snape. It’s hard to gauge whether the man likes him or not, as he seems to never smile unlike Professor McGonagall, but as someone who once knew his mother, he hopes to at least stay on the professor’s good side. Given the change, he’d like to find out more about his mother. Even a little bit about when she was a kid would be a vast improvement on the complete lack of information from his aunt, his mother’s own sister.

    “Nonsense,” McGonagall says with a wave of her hand. “I will take care of it. Consider it eleven years’ worth of birthday presents.” Harry thanks her, and McGonagall continues. “Come then. We’ve still plenty to do. I’m sure Tom can hold onto these purchases in the meantime.”

    She motions to the door of the shop front behind her, and as they approach, it seems to change before Harry’s eyes. The sign above the door reads ‘Leaky Cauldron’, and when he is ushered inside, he finds himself inside the dimly lit interior of a pub. They make their way towards the bar, Harry between the two professors, when a booming voice calls out.

    “Professor McGonagall! Professor Snape! Fancy seein’ yeh here.”

    Harry turns and finds himself looking up, up, up into the face of a giant of a man. He nearly falls back trying to see him, and ends up taking a few steps back when the man approaches, as he seems to not notice Harry at first and gets too close for the boy to comfortably look up at him without moving. The movement catches his eye, and after a moment, recognition sparks in his eyes.

    “Why, if it ain’t Harry,” he says, his voice carrying easily in the suddenly quiet pub. “You was only a baby las’ I saw yeh. Look just like yer dad, yeh do. ‘Cept the eyes, yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”

    Snape groans, as they’ve inevitably drawn the attention of everyone else in the pub. Harry hears his name being muttered, and suddenly many are approaching, trying to introduce themselves and shake his hands. Professor Snape ends up taking his bags and going to speak to the man at the bar, while McGonagall attempts to prevent people from crowding around the child. She throws an annoyed look at the giant man who first saw them, and he seems to realize the problem as he flushes and then loudly speaks over the growing noise.

    “Now, now, that’s enough,” he calls out, moving close to Harry’s other side. The sheer size of the man forces the patron’s crowding Harry on that side to move back and away. “Leave the boy; very busy, he is. Gettin’ ready fer Hogwarts an’ all.”

    He maneuvers them towards the back of the pub, one heavy hand on Harry’s back to push him along. Harry looks over his shoulder to find McGonagall directly behind them. Further back, he thinks he might see Snape talking to a man in a turban briefly, but people shift and his view is blocked. Finally, they’re in the backyard of the pub, and the door is close decisively behind them.

    “Really, Hagrid,” McGonagall scolds. “There was no need to draw attention to the boy.”

    “Sorry.” The big man looks chagrined, but he directs a smile at Harry. “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. Be seein’ quite a lot of yeh this comin’ school year, I reckon.”

    Harry finds himself smiling back, already liking the giant man.

    “Speaking of Hogwarts, what brings you from the school?” McGonagall questions.

    Hagrid looks down at Harry briefly, then says simply, “Business fer Dumbledore over at Gringotts.” This causes McGonagall to narrow her eyes, but she says nothing as Snape steps out of the pub to join them. He, too, is now dressed in a robe, much like many of the patrons of the pub had been, and Harry wonders if that’s just normal attire in the wizarding world. “Professor! Good of yeh to join us!”

    “Hm.”

    Snape says nothing else, walking over to the brick wall and pulls his wand out. Harry watches him tap the wall three times, and then a hole appears in the middle of the wall that expands until it has turned into a large archway. Beyond is a cobbled street with more people of various ages in robes bustling about or standing looking into shop windows. He can’t get enough of the sights and sounds, and Harry finds himself following after the adults in a daze, wanting to look in every direction at once and lamenting his inability to do so.

    Vaguely, he hears them agreeing to head to Gringotts, and he brings his attention around as they approach a large, towering white building with bronze doors. Outside is a very short creature, impossible to mistake for anything human, and Harry finds himself wanting to ask but not quite wanting to do so where the creatures will hear him.

    “Goblins,” McGonagall supplies suddenly, and Harry looks up to see her watching him. “They run Gringotts.” Harry nods in understanding, and they collectively make their way inside, to a second pair of doors in silver this time, and then into a marble hall. They approached a counter and McGonagall waves Hagrid forward.

    “I’ve a letter from Professor Dumbledore,” says Hagrid proudly. He searched through the pockets of his large, black coat until he produced said letter. Puffing up his chest proudly, he passes it over to the goblin at the counter. “About the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

    The goblin reads over the letter. “Very well. Someone will escort you down. Griphook!” As another goblin approaches, the one at the counter turns to the rest of them. “And you?”

    “Mr. Potter needs to access his safe.” Snape replies.

    McGonagall then tells Harry, “Show him your key, Harry.” Harry, who stuffed it in the pocket of his new pants when he changed back at the store, takes it out and holds it out for the goblin. As he’s examining it, McGonagall adds, “I also had some questions regarding the Potters’ last will and testament.”

    Snape seems surprised, turning to look at her and raise an eyebrow in question. She ignores him for the moment, turning to Hagrid. “Could you accompany Harry to his vault?”

    “Course,” Hagrid agrees readily. The goblin passes Harry back his key, directing him and Hagrid to follow after Griphook.

    Once they have left, the goblin looks back at McGonagall. “What question did you have? Be aware, client confidentiality limits what information we can provide to anyone except for Mr. Potter’s guardian and Mr. Potter himself when he’s of age.”

    “That is precisely the question I have,” McGonagall explains. “Mr. Potter’s legal guardians to this point have been Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. Would he need to bring them here with him to hear his parents’ will?”

    The goblin stares at her for a long moment before answering. “They are not his magical guardian.”

    “Who is?” Snape questions, knowing James Potter died with no known relatives, and Lily’s only living relative was her Muggle sister.

    “If a magical child is orphaned and his parents or legal guardians have not designated a guardian in their place,” the goblin states, almost as if reciting from a document, “one is determined for the child.”

    “That is normally their Head of House,” McGonagall says aloud. “But Mr. Potter has not yet started school. Which would make his guardian--”

    “The Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore,” the goblin finishes. “We therefore would require the headmaster’s authorization to release any information from the will to Mr. Potter or anyone else.”

Story Notes:

Chapter title comes from the Christina Perri song "Burning Gold".

Marks and Spencer is a real place.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter One

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue

Chapter 1: Death Tore the Pages All Away (2/?)

Summary: Harry's final chance begins...

HARRY Potter awakes to the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs, alerting him to the fact that his cousin Dudley was awake. Soon, either his Aunt Petunia or his Uncle Vernon would note that he had not yet gotten up and call for him. Unless they very specifically didn’t want to see him, he wasn’t allowed to linger in bed late into the day unlike his cousin. Still, he finds himself not quite ready to get up as he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming of just moments ago.

    He has this lingering sense of déjà vu, but can’t quite place why, and a niggling feeling in the back of his mind makes him think that whatever he’d been dreaming of was important. Try as he might, though, he just can’t recapture any of it. Not a word or image to even  hint at what it might have been. Finally, after a few minutes, he heaves a sigh, opens his eyes, and sits up in bed, careful not to hit his head on one of the shelves.

    Not for the first time, he wonders what the Dursleys will do when he becomes too big to fit in the bed wedged into the cupboard. A part of him hopes it will force them to give him the spare second bedroom upstairs, but another worries and thinks it more likely that he will have to forever fit himself into this tiny little space. It might be best then for him to stay rather small as he gets older.

    “Get up, boy!”

    There it is, Uncle Vernon realizing he’s still in bed. Without further hesitation, he gets his glasses on and gets up out of bed. His nose wrinkles as he opens his door and the faint whiff of whatever is happening in the kitchen. It’s not until he’s finished washing up and goes into the kitchen that he finds out that the smell is coming from his soon-to-be new Stonewall High uniform. Hopefully, his looking like he was dressed in giant flabs of elephant skin wouldn’t keep him from enjoying his Dudley-free school life, but somehow he doubts it’ll do much in the way of keeping him from becoming the target for other bullies. At least with bullies unrelated to him, he’ll only have to deal with them at school, and if he has to fight back, he’s less likely to get in trouble the way he would if he tried to ever hit Dudley. He can already imagine the amount of trouble that even just thinking about hitting his cousin back would result in, even if it is in self-defense.

    There is suddenly the sound of the mail slot opening as the post arrives, and without looking up from his newspaper, Uncle Vernon says, “Dudley, go get the mail.”  

    Unsurprisingly, his cousin whines and Harry instead is the one made to get it. His inner grumbling about his cousin’s laziness is halted as he spots his name in the pile, written in fancy script on an envelope between what is likely a bill and a postcard from Vernon’s nightmare of a sister, Aunt Marge. The green ink on the thick yellow paper--unlike any he’s seen before--sparks that same déjà vu feeling from before, only this time he does remember something.

    The Dursleys will take this letter; hide it.

    It’s as if the words are spoken in his ear, and he doesn’t quite know where the thought comes from. He’s certain as soon as he thinks it, however, that it’s right. Who hasn’t the faintest idea of who might be writing him, but whoever it may be, he can’t imagine his aunt or uncle allowing him to know the contents, regardless of whether it was meant for him or not. They hadn’t asked him about the school he wanted to go to, he was never allowed to go anywhere even on the rare occasions over the years that he’d been invited by other students or their parents to partake in birthday parties or outings, and aside from his sometimes-babysitter Mrs. Figg and the other kids or adults he encountered at school, he was virtually kept isolated from strangers otherwise. No, it is best he keep this to himself, at least until he’s gotten a chance to read what it says.

    With no hesitation, he slides the letter under the doormat, checking to make sure that stepping on the mat makes no sound, before quickly heading to the kitchen. He’d considered hiding it in his pants, but his clothes are so loose and baggy, he can’t be sure the letter would have stayed unnoticed. Instead, he hopes by hiding it under the mat, he can get to it later when no one is paying him any attention. It takes every ounce of patience he has to sit through breakfast, listening to Uncle Vernon tell Petunia about Marge’s postcard, and for them to discuss her vacation and whether or not they should look into a trip as well. He’s careful to not let his eyes stray out of the room or seem impatient, but he nearly groans when he’s ordered to clean the kitchen up while Petunia goes to hang her horridly home-dyed uniform for him in the yard to dry. His uncle and Dudley go to watch TV, their version of father-son bonding time, as Uncle Vernon always took additional days off throughout the summer to spend more time with Dudley.

    He had hoped to immediately grab the letter to read upon finishing the dishes, but as soon as he’s done, he’s roped into helping in the garden. His aunt insists on keeping the garden as immaculate as possible, but it’s Harry who does most of the work to maintain it, and during the summer it meant slaving away at it in the middle of the hot afternoons. Normally, he only minds the heat, but is otherwise fine with it as it means he’s out of sight when Dudley’s friends arrive and his cousin is unlikely to interrupt him mid-chore. Today, however, his mind strays to the letter waiting to be read. All he wants is to get a few moments alone to read it, sate his curiosity, and decide if it’s worth telling his family about.

    Of course, that means today is a day he is kept busy non-stop. After washing up, he’s sent upstairs to wash up because his aunt can’t stand the smell of him, and then told to clean the bathroom while he’s up there. Nevermind that he missed lunch while out in the garden. He’s lucky she remembered to set out a glass of water for him. When he’s done, he’s set to mind the dinner Aunt Petunia began cooking, as the phone rings and she instead sits gossipping on the phone. Then he’s made to clean up afterwards again, only for his aunt to call for him to make some tea to bring in to them before he’s even finished.

    He comes in just as the show they’re watching cuts to a commercial break. Shots of a family in a circular raft on water, shouting and laughing as they go down a river to some upbeat music that then cuts to a newly open ride called the Dive Bomber, and an announcer enthusiastically encouraging all and sundry come and check it out with the kids, assuring great family memories were to be made. It is barely over before Dudley is on his feet, demanding his parents take him. Harry appreciates the excited shouts, sure that his aunt and uncle will pay him little to no mind as they attempt to placate their spoiled son.

    “Duddey-kins,” Aunt Petunia starts. “Ilkeston is quite far, my darling.”

    “Near three hours,” Uncle Vernon agrees. “Not sure it would be worth the money.”

    Dudley stomps his foot and Harry slowly moves back to leave the room. “I don’t care ! We have to go! I want to!”

    Petunia is the first to cave, as she always is, and turns to Vernon. “We could rent a room, do a short weekend trip?” She stands up to put an arm around Dudley, the both of them giving Vernon their own pleading looks. “A late birthday gift, to make up for that horrid trip to the zoo.” Harry freezes where he’s standing just inside the doorway at the mention of the zoo trip as eyes flicker briefly in his direction. He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to seem semi-interested in the conversation if only to not arouse suspicion, but he’s frankly more interested in the letter.

    “I suppose a small trip would be nice,” Vernon says slowly.

    He may as well have said yes, and they all know it. Dudley breaks out into a grin, going on and on about how jealous his friends will be. Then he stops, throws a malicious grin in Harry’s direction, and suddenly adds, “But he can’t come! He’ll ruin it like he did the zoo!”

    This time, Vernon half turns on the couch to look at Harry, then back to his wife. “Mrs. Figgs is better, right? See if she can take the boy for a few days in a week or two--”

    “A week ?” Dudley is indignant. “It’s Wednesday, why not this weekend? Let’s go this weekend!”

    Aunt Petunia places a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’ll call tomorrow, sweetums, and we’ll see what she says. If she can take Harry, you can invite Piers to come with us.” She is careful not to specify that it might not be that weekend.

    It does the trick, and soon their attention is back on the television. Harry slips out of the room, grabs the letter from under the mat, and then makes his way to the cupboard. Finally, he can see what this is about.

    The light in his cupboard is dim, but he can still make out his name on the front in the fanciest script he can ever recall seeing.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

    He only now notices the rest of the address and frowns. How do they know where he sleeps? He flips it over and runs a finger over the wax seal, feeling the ridges of its design and holding it up closer to his face to study the seal, only just making out that there are four animals surrounding a capital letter ‘H’. The snake and lion are easy enough to make out, but he can’t quite make out the last two. A bird and a fox, perhaps? He’ll have to try and see it in better lighting later.

    Carefully, he picks at the seal with a nail until he can get a finger under, trying to keep it as intact as possible. There’s a novelty to getting his first ever letter, addressed to him personally. Once he gets the seal off, he opens it, smoothing it out and moving the letter closer to his face to better making it all out.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

    Harry blinks at the letter in disbelief, not quite believing what he’s reading. If it weren’t for the fact that he knows how much they despise magic and such, he might think this was an elaborate prank his aunt and uncle were playing on him. It could still be a prank, he thinks, but by who and for what purpose? Dudley wasn’t smart enough to pull something like this off, and his friends wouldn’t think to do something like this either. He also doubted that his cousin could’ve managed to not give something away had he been keeping a prank secret. No, this was either someone else’s doing entirely or the thing was real.

    That previous feeling of déjà vu hits him again, though he can’t quite place what about the letter is causing it. He flips to the second page, curiosity momentarily overtaking his confusion and doubt.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

    Very carefully, he folds the letter back up, then folds it even smaller to hide it under his pillow. His mind is racing, trying to process it all. If this is a joke, it’s a very thorough one. It looks so official, though, that it’s hard to think who would go through this level of effort to fool him. And to what end? He can’t figure that out.

    If it’s real, though, he’s not sure that’s any better. A school for witchcraft and wizardry, accepting him as a student? He remembers talking to the snake at the zoo on Dudley’s birthday, and the glass disappearing, plus all the other weird, unexplainable things that had happened to him before. In light of this letter, it all suddenly seemed to make much more sense. But how? Perhaps from his parents? It might explain why his aunt and uncle refused to talk about them or the accident that killed them, considering how much they despised all talk of magic.

    He couldn’t imagine, then, that they would be happy about this letter, much less at the thought of him even attending. No amount of begging on his part has ever worked to get them to give him anything he’s ever wanted, and somehow he doubts this will play out any differently. But without their approval, how can he hope to afford even half the things on this list? Where would he even buy it all even if he could somehow convince the Dursleys to not just let him attend this mysterious school, but also part with enough money to buy him his supplies?

    The questions plague his thoughts, keeping him awake long after the rest of the house has turned in, and he’s sure they haunt his dreams for he wakes up still thinking of the letter. It keeps his mind occupied and distracted from all else, earning him a few shouts when he fails to do as he’s told all morning, until finally Vernon takes Dudley’s smelting stick and hits Harry with it.

    He yelps in surprise, instinctively moving away as he rubs at his shoulder. Uncle Vernon is holding the stick out, arm almost fully extended, and the thinks the shoulder blow might have been a hit to the head had he been slightly closer. He wonders automatically if Hogwarts has dorms. They probably do, right? Meaning he could live most of the year away from the constant threat of verbal and physical abuse, and maybe that was worth trying to make the impossible possible after all.

    “Are you listening, boy?” Vernon demands. Harry mutters an apology. “Pack a bag. We’re dropping you off in the morning to Mrs. Figg’s for the weekend.”

    Harry nods his head, wondering if he can use the time away from the Dursleys to his advantage. If he can’t figure out a way to make this school work without telling them, he can at least figure out how to bring it up once their trip is done so that they might be inclined to let him go. After all, the letter had clearly stated a response was required by 31 July, his birthday, so he only had six days left to work something out.

~~~

WHEN they drop him off at Mrs. Figg’s house, it’s all Harry can do to hide the fact that’s actually quite glad to not be going on this mini-vacation with his family. Especially as any sign that he was happy while they were all grumpy would likely not go over well. Dudley had made his displeasure at having to wake up early on a vacation day quite plain, and no amount of pointing out that it was for the trip he’d wanted was going to change that. But Vernon was also not much of a morning person, and his own patience had worn to the point that he’d threatened to cancel the trip when Dudley had finally complained one too many times. Which resulted in a minor tantrum, until Petunia promised him all sorts of treats would be bought at the park that they couldn’t get at the store. She’d been pinching the bridge of her nose the way she did when she had a headache, so she was ready to promise just about anything to get some quiet.

    They were going to be in for a long trip, Harry thinks. They still had to pick up Piers, and then drive three hours.

    “Come on then, Harry,” Mrs. Figg tells him after they’ve watched the Dursleys drive off. “You have breakfast? ‘S quite early, I imagine you might have been too tired for it.”

    “Breakfast would be nice,” he agrees.

    Really, he wants to put the plan he thought up into action. He had slipped the letter into his shoe, just in case Petunia wanted to check his bag before they left this morning. All night, he had pondered over his dilemma and perhaps actually reached a solution. Plenty of the more expensive schools offered scholarships, so perhaps he could reach out to the headmistress and ask about it. Having never heard of the school, he isn’t sure what requirements for scholarships they might have, but he figures asking won’t hurt. Plus, at least he can make his wanting to attend clear, so maybe if he can’t get his aunt and uncle to agree by the deadline, he might buy himself some extra time to convince them. He really wishes he’d received the letter more than a week before they needed his response.

    So he plans to write to them. Coming to Mrs. Figgs would help, as she would likely agree to let him use some pen and paper of hers to write it, and if he said it was for a school thing, maybe she wouldn’t bring it up to the Dursleys, figuring it was something they already knew about. At the very least, she’s not likely to stop him from writing the letter. Perhaps she might actually help him send it out, considering the one he’d received has no return address, and so he’s not sure how to actually get his letter to the school.

    After breakfast, she shows him to her guest room so he can put his things away. She’s barely left him when he pulls the letter from his shoe and then follows her back out into the living room, where she immediately sits down, sets her crutches aside, and props a leg up before reaching for some knitting next to her couch.

    “Mrs. Figg,” Harry starts. “Could I get some pen and paper? I needed to write something for school.”

    “Oh? Homework already?” She looks up at him, smiling. “There’s some stationary at the desk over there. Help yourself. I hadn’t asked, where are you going to school after summer?”

    Harry goes over to the desk, hesitating for a moment before he says, “Well, that depends.” He sits down at the desk, half turning to look at her. “I was supposed to go to Stonewall High, but I was accepted somewhere else I want to go to.”

    Mrs. Figg frowns, hands stilling as she looks up. “Stonewall, huh?” At his nod, she goes back to knitting as she asks, “But there’s another school?”

    “Yes, maybe. I, uh, don’t know if I’ll be allowed to go,” he says, trying to decide how much to say. “Maybe my aunt and uncle might let me go if I can get a scholarship to attend.”

    “So you’re writing to the school?” At his affirmative, Mrs. Figg nods her approval. “Good. Just let them know and I’m sure that he’ll-- they’ll help you attend.”

    “I hope so,” Harry admits. “I’m not sure where to send it, though. There’s not an address on the envelope for Hogwarts.”

    She stops knitting again and gives him a smile. “You just write that letter, dear. When you’re done, I’ll take care of sending it out and you can try and get some more sleep, okay?”

    Something about the certainty with which she says she’ll send it out has him agreeing to her plan. He pulls out a pen and some of the stationary located in the desk’s middle drawer, then stares at the blank page for a moment before pulling out the original letter and opening it. He pauses in his re-reading to frown at the headmaster’s name, which immediately gives him that same niggling déjà vu feeling once more, and then moves on. He decides he’ll write back to the one who signed this first page, the deputy headmistress, and begins.

Dear Mrs. McGonagall,

    He hopes it’s ‘Mrs.’, but wonders if he shouldn’t address it to her title? Too late, he’s already written the beginning, so he just continues.

My name is Harry Potter, and I just received the letter from your schools, Hogwart. It is very nice of you all to accept me to the school, although I have never heard of the school and never applied. It seems like it would be an interesting school to go to, but I am not sure my family can afford to send me there. Does Hogwarts offer scolarships? If so, could you tell me what I might do to get one?

If not, then I don’t think I will be able to go there. Maybe if my aunt and uncle say yes, but probably not if it will cost a lot. Since you needed an answer by 31 July though, I wanted to send this letter just in case.

    He taps the pen against his chin in thought, rereading his letter. He notes a few mistakes, but decides to leave them as opposed to scratching them out. He considers asking if he can use a different page, but he doesn’t want to push his luck on the older woman’s generosity when he still needs her to send the letter out for him. Harry thinks he should just keep it short, then remembers that letters are supposed to have return addresses and he frowns again.  

    Should he address it the way they sent it to him? It shouldn’t need where exactly he sleeps, at least he doesn’t remember anyone mentioning that in class, but he worries if he doesn’t give them the same address, they’ll think maybe he’s a different Harry Potter. He decides then that he’ll put the full address as they put it inside , but keep the cupboard part off the letter on the outside .

You can write back to the same address where I got the first letter:

Harry Potter

Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Hope to hear from you soon.

Harry Potter

    He hasn’t yet mastered writing his name in cursive, so he doesn’t sign it, only writes his name. His other mistakes are embarrassing enough; he doesn’t want to make the letter look worse than it already does. Instead, he folds it carefully, find an envelope in one of the desk drawers, and slips the letter inside. He licks it closed, then stares at the front for a moment. Putting the school’s full name would probably be best, but he worries that Mrs. Figg will see it and change her mind. Plus, shouldn’t he address it to the deputy headmistress, to make sure she gets it? Finally, he decides he may as well write both her name and the school’s full name, just in case there happens to be more than one place called ‘Hogwarts’, and scribbles it across the front directly in the middle. On the back, he puts his return address without the cupboard line. Then he stands up and walks over to Mrs. Figgs.

    “Finished, then?” she asks, smiling at him as she lays her knitting on her lap. She holds a hand out and he passes the envelope over after only a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll get this out. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll wake you for lunch.”

    She glances at the envelope, but doesn’t bat an eye or ask any questions, and Harry finds himself relaxing. If she’s not saying anything about the name, maybe it’s not as weird as he thinks? Or maybe she’s more open minded than  his family. Regardless, he isn’t as anxious anymore and he agrees that a nap would be nice. He can only hope now that the school gets his letter and can help him.

~~~

A MERE hour later, the sound of the heels of a pair of well worn boots echo off the stone walls of the hallway their wearer is hurrying down. Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration, Gryffindor Head of House, and Deputy Headmistress does not like to be caught by surprise, especially where her students are concerned, and that one had done so before ever setting foot inside the school did not bode well for the coming school year. With a letter written on flimsy Muggle paper in hand, she heads for the office of a certain wizard who has some questions to answer.

    In a few minutes, she is barging into his office with barely a knock. “Albus Dumbledore, you have some explaining to do.”

    Two men look over at her as she storms in. Severus Snape half turns, an eyebrow raised at her tone. It’s well known that she and the headmaster are close friends, but the woman is very careful about being respectful even when she disagrees with a decision so long as there are students or colleagues around. Yet here she is, speaking to the older man as if he’s one of her wayward students.

    For his part, Albus only raises a single eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. “Why, Minerva, whatever is the matter?”

    “This, Albus. This letter I just received, and you’ll never guess who from.” She waves the offending letter in the air. “Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. How has he never heard of Hogwarts? And asking about a scholarship ! Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how does the Boy Who Lived not know about this school?” She slams the letter down on his desk, finger pointed down at it as she adds, “And look at the address. I checked the outgoing letters, and that is how his letter was addressed. Care to explain that?”

    Albus looks down at the letter, and although he is quiet as he skims it, the amused smile is no longer on his face. He’s done in a moment, looking back up at the angry face of his deputy headmistress. Snape moves forward, holding a hand out to look at the letter for himself. He knew the boy would be among the incoming students, but it hadn’t occurred to him the boy might arrive completely ignorant of the world he would be entering.

    “It appears that my instructions to inform Harry of his heritage have gone unheeded.” His calm demeanor only serves to further annoy McGonagall.

    “I told you I didn’t like the idea of leaving him there,” she reminds him. “Horrid, horrid Muggles. I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely sister to Lily Evans--”

    “You left the boy with Petunia .” Snape did look up now, surprise evident on his face as he stared at the headmaster. It had never occurred to him to ask where the boy had been placed. He hadn’t cared, to be quite honest, but that had been because he never imagined Dumbledore putting the hero of the wizarding world with someone who had so openly despised all things magic.

    Albus frowns. “It is the safest place for him.”

    “They have him in a cupboard , Albus! I hardly think that’s the safest place for him.” Unbidden, Snape recalls some of the cruel things Petunia had called her sister, someone she had once grown up with and been close to, and tries to imagine her with Lily’s son. Somehow, he can’t see her being any kinder to the boy. “Is this the first you’re hearing of this?

    “Didn’t you go to see him, ever? In these last ten years?” McGonagall’s question draws Snape’s attention to the headmaster, who stands up and looks over at neither of them as he walks over to his phoenix, who sits on his perch in a corner watching them all.

    “I have been too busy these past ten years,” he admits, “to go see the boy. Plus, it would have only served to confuse him. I thought it best he grew up as normally as possible before he could enter into a world where his fame will follow him around forever.”

    McGonagall scoffs. “Normal? He isn’t normal , Albus, and now he is completely unprepared for joining the world he belongs in.” Snape finds himself silently agreeing, imagining all the things the boy won’t know the first thing about. “What’s more, what’s ‘normal’ about being shoved into a cupboard? I don’t even want to think of what else he may have endured there,” she adds, voice low as she shakes her head, clearly imagining what else people who put a barely 11-year old boy to sleep in a cupboard might be capable of doing.

    She shakes her head, then asks, “Is Gringotts in possession of the Potter vault key? A scholarship, as if the son of James Henry Potter and only heir to the Potter estate would need one.”

    “I am in possession of that key,” Dumbledore informs her.

    McGonagall frowns. “I will need that, then. I will have to go see Mr. Potter this week about his letter, and I imagine he’ll need to be taken to Diagon Alley. Really, if I had known what his situation was like, I’d have included him on my list of visits along with the Muggle-born students.”

    “There’s no need, McGonagall, for you to go out of your way. Hagrid was going to handle some school business at Diagon later this week. He can take the boy.” Dumbledore was still facing the phoenix as he spoke, and behind him McGonagall and Snape shared a look.

    “If I may, sir,” Snape spoke up, although he did not wait before continuing. “Sending Hagrid to speak with Petunia Evans will hardly help the situation.”

    “Dursley,” McGonagall corrected. “Her married name is Dursley . And I insist on going. The boy wrote to me, and after leaving him there all those years ago, I would feel much better seeing how he’s fared firsthand.” There was a pause, then she added, “Perhaps you should come with me, Severus? Since you know Lily’s sister.”

    A sneer crossed his face, “Knew. I knew her sister. We were hardly friends.” Frankly, he had hated her from the very beginning, and it seemed unlikely time had changed the girl he’d hated into anything other than a woman he would hate as much, if not more.

    “All the same, I never met Lily’s sister as she was out when I went to go speak to the Evans’ when she was accepted. A familiar face might help persuade her that Mr. Potter will be coming to Hogwarts. Besides, you knew the boy’s mother and can tell him about her time here.” She knowingly said nothing of telling him about his father.

    Nevertheless, Snape’s immediate instinct was to deny the request. He wanted nothing to do with Potter’s son beyond what was required of him as a professor at the school. Dumbledore looked back then with a knowing look, as if he anticipated the man’s refusal, which only served to rouse the Potions master’s ire. Instead of the no he had been fully prepared, he found himself agreeing to the scheme.

    They had things they each had to take care of the next couple of days, but it was decided that come Wednesday, they would venture to Surrey together to speak with Harry Potter.

Story Notes:

Chapter title comes from a Kenny Chesney song.

[writingmyselfout]

Chapter 9: Chapter Eight: Reaching Out to a Heart In Doubt

Summary: Expectations are hard.

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Just a forewarning, I am going to reupload all the links sometime later this week with the full chapter included in a read more section underneath the summary so people who are too lazy to go to AO3 can just read it here on tumblr instead.

I want to get that done before the next chapter, so that starting from chapter 9 (ten with the prologue), the updates will be simultaneously posted on AO3 and tumblr. I want that next chapter up by the 20th (preferably sooner, but that’s the deadline I’ve given myself while I get on a steady work schedule at this new job).

Wish me luck!