#Reptilia28's reaper challenge

[nidamae-approvedhpfanfics]

The Eighth Time is the Charm

Another Reptilia28's reaper challenge featuring Hermione who also remembers but isn't allowed to meet Harry till he's completed his main task or till their first train ride.

Harry sent back to 9 yrs old with Ignotus as guide in dreams giving him 2 yrs to get rid of horcruxes and basilisk, save unicorns, and woo Hermione with wandless magic.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46068682

Harry tried to remember the reason why he was sitting, apparently waiting his turn, at the longest line he had ever seen. The long headcount behind him made him realize something was amiss. Then he heard it, "Not you again!" The death angel yelled. "Oh, gods, please have mercy, I'm going to lose my job, Potter, this is the seventh time!" A fic for Reptilia28's reaper challenge.

Harry Potter, M, English, Romance & Supernatural, chapters: 15, words: 41k+, favs: 1k+, follows: 1k+, updated: Nov 20, 2018 published: Jul 24, 2018, Harry P., Hermione G., Sirius B.

[justletmeramble1701]

How far out of character can you go before you need to make them an original character?

Like, I know that they are not acting like themselves, but I don't want to lose the context and I don't know how to add that context without it sounding redundant.

[writingmyselfout]

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 12

Chapter Thirteen: Everybody Make a Scene

Summary: Harry's first Quidditch match has arrived.

PERCY Weasley, the newly minted Hero of Gryffindor, is not really used to being the center of attention. He’s a decent public speaker, he thinks, and is certainly capable of addressing a group of his fellow students. That isn’t quite the same, however, as being popular. 

He finds after only a weekend of it that he doesn’t particularly like it. Draco Malfoy had insisted they not tell anyone he was involved in the evening’s events, and now Percy rather wishes he’d thought to do the same.

Certainly, it is nice to have the younger students in his House look at him with a newfound respect, and he definitely enjoys that his peers are impressed to learn that he isn’t simply booksmart. Goodness knows he’s heard how he’d be better suited to Ravenclaw than Gryffindor more times than he cares to even attempt to count.

But when it means constant interruptions when he’s trying to study or do homework to ask yet again about the troll–or saving the Boy Who Lived, or whatever else they want to talk about–the novelty wears off. When he snaps at the twins to stop announcing his arrival, further drawing attention to him whenever possible, Harry assures him that eventually the attention will die down. It reminds him that the younger boy has been dealing with some degree of this since he walked into the school.

It’s strange, really, to find himself relating to kids his youngest brother’s age, and he doesn’t simply mean this sudden attention that makes him understand Harry Potter more. After all, he also understands Neville’s anxiety, although Percy is proud to say he’s much better able to manage his own.

In truth, part of what propelled him to take action on Halloween directly rather than go looking for a teacher is a deep sense of guilt towards Hermione Granger specifically. It isn’t just because it was his brother who bullied her, or that despite being told what was happening he didn’t immediately go to Professor McGonagall, although those things certainly played a part. It is because if anyone in Gryffindor can understand the trouble the girl is having fitting in, it would be one Percival Ignatius Weasley. At least, he partly can anyway.

After all, he has also always had a voracious appetite for knowledge. Unlike his peers or even his siblings, he’s always enjoyed learning just about anything and everything. While he may not necessarily approve of his father’s penchant for tinkering with Muggle items, he can acknowledge that it stems from a never-ending well of curiosity that Arthur Weasley has passed on to varying degrees to his children. For instance, Bill has always been fascinated by the intricacies of curses and ancient spells which has lead to his career as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts; for Charlie, it is a fascination with magical creatures that has lead to his working with his favorite, dragons; meanwhile, curiosity can definitely explain some of the trouble the four youngest Weasley children get into at every given opportunity. For Percy, well, he simply wants to know everything. There isn’t a thing about the magical world he lives in that he isn’t interested in knowing about, for even when it is something he later finds he has no particular passion for–such as flying, hence his being the first Weasley sibling to not be on the Quidditch team–he enjoys the knowing. So he knows not only how to fly a broom–an important piece of knowledge for any witch or wizard, really–but also that the history of broomsticks dates back to 962 AD, the many improvements made to flying on brooms over the centuries, and that the Cleansweep Broom Company was the first of its kind.

That studious nature, however, does not necessarily translate well into social settings. He knows this on a deep, personal level from his own experiences. In truth, Percy had been extremely fortunate to have older siblings already established at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat had considered putting him in Ravenclaw, had made very compelling arguments for why that House would suit him best, and even now he can admit that he sometimes wonders if he wouldn’t have been better off. Except he was from a family of Gryffindors, and that was where his brothers were, so that was where he had wanted to be. It had made his first year infinitely easier than it could have been, because first-year Percy had been pretty much exactly like Hermione is now, down to the eagerness that some saw as arrogance, or a need to show off and be a know-it-all. Any annoyance he caused, however, rarely led to more than a few exasperated comments and snarky remarks, which had stung sure, but it never led to more for one simple reason. Who would dare to tease the younger brother of popular Gryffindor prefect Bill Weasley, a sixth year with a glowing reputation, or the talented Gryffindor Seeker Charlie Weasley? Both of whom, upon witnessing their more socially inept younger brother spending most of his time alone with his nose in a book, went out of their way to occasionally force him to sit with them at mealtimes or at least join their table to do his homework and study, ensuring that many of the older students got to know him as well. Even now, he often has more to talk about with the sixth and seventh year students, although his relationships with his own year-mates has improved as they’ve matured.

Hermione’s plight of being an only child, and a Muggle-born one at that, gives him a picture of what his first year might have been like without the benefit of older siblings easing his way. It makes him examine himself in a way that frankly, he’s never bothered doing, and maybe it isn’t simply his fellow fifth years maturing that has improved, but that he’s also learned their personalities well enough after all these years. He’s come to recognize who might appreciate his reminders that a test is coming up or a piece of homework is due (Oliver Wood, who was notorious for forgetting any and everything not related to Quidditch, especially in the lead-up to a match), and who best to leave alone lest they take his well-intentioned advice as a personal attack (Peter Jones, who he is now realizing reminds him a lot of Ron). 

Perhaps he can’t necessarily advise her on how to be popular with her Housemates, or even how to cultivate close friendships, but did he not have experience on how well-intentioned but unasked for advice can be misconstrued? He’s had plenty of experience with that not just here at Hogwarts, but with his own siblings at home.

If nothing else, he thinks back to how reassuring it had been to know he had a spot for him waiting with Bill and Charlie at any table they were at in the common room, the library, or the cafeteria. To have an older student watching your back, easing your way if not with your classmates, at least with the other stresses that come with being in a new environment, away from home, responsible for managing your own responsibilities for the first time.

Surely even Percy, socially awkward though he might be, can manage that much?

Still, maybe he’ll write to Bill before he goes to bed this evening…

~~~

THE first week of November, aside from being the first week after the troll incident, also happens to be the last week before the first Quidditch match. Thus far, they have succeeded in keeping Harry’s position a secret, mostly by having Percy pretend to be doing one-on-one study sessions with Harry during the time he’s really down at the Quidditch pitch. This is put into jeopardy in light of his new status as school celebrity, but the rekindled friendship with Hermione actually helps them. Upon hearing some second-years asking if they can join in, Hermione purposely goes over to ask Percy if they’ll have time to go over some of the theoretical aspects of spellcasting they haven’t yet touched on in Theory of Magic in the next study session. Percy’s response in the affirmative, followed by his admitting it’s complicated enough it may take more than one session for her to understand, works to kill interest instantly at the reminder that Percy is, in fact, extremely studious and they’d be expected to actually study and not pester him to regale them with the story of the troll again.

The study sessions do happen, of course, since it means that Percy and Hermione can’t be seen around the school without Harry during his practice. Neville ends up joining them, usually in McGonagall’s empty classroom, while they study and do homework. Percy and Hermione end up alternating between helping Neville with his classwork while the other reviews whatever homework Harry’s managed to finish between classes, mealtimes, and practice so that he can get to any corrections after practice before bed. If he’s not too tired to get to it.

Frankly, he thinks that if he didn’t have Hermione to help him, he might not have managed to get as much done as he does. Slytherin has purposely booked the pitch every evening for their own practices, which would be fine since Oliver insists on their own being later to avoid people seeing Harry, but time and again the other team attempts to linger or have someone hide out to try and catch sight of the new Seeker. Harry typically stops in to see Hagrid first, specifically to wait until any non-Gryffindor team members have left, and by Wednesday their attempts stop as a fight breaks out in the locker room and Madam Hooch reminds them playing is a privilege she will revoke, regardless of when the match takes place and how much time that leaves the teams to find replacement players. Then she escorts the entire Slytherin team up to the castle, telling them their options are practice and leave under her supervision, or they forfeit the pitch altogether the last two days before the match. Only once they’ve left does Oliver use his wand to signal Harry to come down.

Harry hears the story of the fight from the twins as they get ready for practice, but about Madam Hooch’s threat to Slytherin from Draco, who complains about how blatantly the teachers favor Gryffindor over Slytherin. Hermione remarks that it isn’t favoritism if the Slytherins are actively antagonizing the Gryffindor team, and then they’re off arguing about it. The events of Halloween served to illustrate to Draco that Hermione is just as important a friend to Harry as himself or Neville while demonstrating to Hermione that Draco isn’t all bad, but they still don’t like each other. If anything they are both simply putting more effort into tolerating the other when necessary, and while they can mostly manage civil conversation, arguments like this one still break out between them.

Which would be annoying, except that Harry is too stressed out and nervous about the upcoming match to really be anything else at the moment. He’s started having dreams of humiliating himself in front of the entire school by being unable to fly, or letting all of Gryffindor down by proving to be the worst Seeker in the school’s history. He’s taken to re-reading Quidditch Through the Ages, but it hardly helps as it simply reminds him that most serious accidents in Quidditch happen to the Seeker. 

Friday before the match finds them taking advantage of the courtyard once their free afternoon begins, as the freezing cold has kept most others inside, allowing them the freedom to talk without the risk of being overheard. Draco gives Harry some last minute pointers on making sharp turns, as well as falling, his way of supporting his friend while maintaining House loyalty, as he’s been very vocal about cheering for Slytherin to win. Admittedly, while also hoping that the Weasley twins manage to catch Flint with the Bludger once or twice. Hermione has conjured a small blue flame that she can keep in a jam jar, one that Harry isn’t sure is strictly permitted, but he’s hardly the one to gripe about the rules considering how he got the Seeker position. So he neither asks about or comments on the possible rule breaking except to say it’s an impressive and useful bit of magic. Neville is simply there for moral support, offering his assurances that Harry will surely do fine, considering how well he flew his first day on a broom without the benefit of any kind of practice. Which, surprisingly, does remind Harry that if nothing else, it won’t be as bad as his nightmares of being unable to fly because he has already proven he can do that much at least.

“S-S-Students!”

There’s the crunching of snow underfoot and Harry turns to see Professor Quirrell coming into the courtyard. Draco half turns as well, serving to block Hermione from view as she scoops her little blue flame up into the aforementioned jam jar. 

“B-B-Bit cold to b-b-be outside, w-w-wouldn’t you say?” 

“We were just about to head inside, professor,” Harry replies, wondering if the stutter is getting worse due to the cold, or if he’s simply imagining it.

From behind him, Hermione has straightened and adds, “Are you all right, Professor Quirrell? You seem to be limping.”

Their professor waves a hand dismissively, a small shy smile on his face. “J-J-Just a minor sp-sprain, nothing to b-b-be worried about. Th-thank you, Miss Granger, for y-y-your concern.”

She wishes Professor Quirrell a speedy recovery, and then the lot of them head inside. With the afternoon free, most of their classmates are also roaming about, meaning any further talk of Quidditch has to be curtailed lest someone overhear. It would be a shame if after all this time it gets out the night before, and not only because Oliver Wood has been over the moon to have managed to fool everyone. Instead, Hermione suggests they get to any homework they had pending, since they’d all be watching the Quidditch game come Saturday, and win or lose, she was certain the day would be a wash when it came to schoolwork. Draco takes that as his cue to go hang out with his housemates.

They see him again later in the library when Draco deliberately comes over, but rather than join them, he remains standing as he not-so-subtly tilts his head towards the shelves as he asks the trio of Gryffindors if they’ve figured out who in their house might be the new Gryffindor Seeker. 

They’ve practiced this, specifically for Neville’s benefit, and Hermione sets them off with an annoyed sigh as she tells Draco matter-of-factly that they do not, and she can’t wait until Saturday’s game reveals it because she’s sick of being pestered about it. With a huff, she goes back to the book she’d been working out of, which isn’t an act itself as she really does go back to doing her homework. Harry and Neville, meanwhile, admit that they’ve been debating and start running down a list of possible contenders. By the third name, Draco cuts them off, rolling his eyes as he tells them that if they don’t know, they should just say so. Then he walks off, going around the bookshelf he’d previously nodded towards. A few minutes later, they see him with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott as they three leave the library.

Time the rest of that afternoon feels strange to Harry, both dragging at a snail’s pace but also moving way faster than he’d like, ever closer to the match’s start. Before he knows it, it’s evening in the Gryffindor common room, and he’s finding himself too restless to read or work on homework. Ron is pestering the twins to tell him who the new Seeker is, or at least to give him a hint. They’re having a ball refusing him in ways that actually do hint at it being Harry–such as “We can’t quite remember–” George would start, only for Fred to interject, “All those bludgers to the head, ya know?”, or “We can scar-cely tell you a team secret, Ronniekins”–but it seems no one else is picking up on it except those already aware. Still, Harry is relieved when Oliver marches over and tells the twins they should probably turn in early. 

Of course, there are still whispers as people speculate, and the team’s Chasers–Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet–are also getting questioned by some of the older students. Needing to just move, Harry stands up and mutters about needing to talk to McGonagall. He doesn’t wait for Neville or Hermione to respond before he’s heading out of the portrait and down towards his Head of House’s first floor office.

After the last practice, he’d brought his Nimbus back up to her office but if he’s to get down to the Quidditch pitch without drawing attention to himself tomorrow morning, he can’t exactly be walking around with a broom in hand. Hopefully, she’ll let him take it down himself. At this time, and with how chilly the day has been, he’s pretty sure no one will be outside to see him. Maybe he can get in a few laps around the pitch before he heads back upstairs, tire himself out enough that he can go straight to bed.

When he gets there, however, he finds that his knocks go unanswered. Testing the door, he finds that it’s locked, so he assumes that she’s out of her office completely. There are any number of places she could be, considering her position both as a Head of House as well as Deputy Headmistress, but Harry figures the next best place to check would be the staff room. At least if she’s not there either, he can possibly find someone who can point him in the right direction. It’s down on the ground floor, so it won’t take him long to get there either.

The door of the staffroom is slightly ajar and Harry is about to knock when the sound of familiar voices causes him to hesitate, just long enough to hear, “--think much when Hagrid brought him in, but judging by the blood we found, the blasted thing did the job.” It was Filch.

“Yes, well, with three heads to keep track of, they were bound to lose track of one,” is the response. From Snape, who Harry is certain will not be pleased to find him eavesdropping behind the door. 

So Harry knocks, at the same time that a meow comes from below, and he looks down to find that Mrs. Norris is peering up at him from the other side of the door. If he hadn’t thought to knock, she’d have given him away.

The door swings open and the Potions Master looks down at him, then back up to look quickly around as if to see if anyone else might have been lingering within listening distance. “Mr. Potter, what brings you here at this hour?”

“Is Professor McGonagall here?” Harry asks. “She wasn’t in her office, so I thought I might find her here.” 

“No, she is not. Head back to your common room, Potter, and I will inform her that you were looking for her,” Professor Snape advises.

Harry agrees, bids the man goodnight, and then turns to retrace his steps back up towards Gryffindor. He wishes he could have listened to at least a little more of the conversation, but he’s at least heard enough to reignite his interest into what the three-headed dog is guarding. Because if he’s understanding what he did hear correctly, Filch has discovered evidence that someone has tried to get past the beast. If they were willing to risk injury for it, the item being guarded has to be pretty impressive. He’s so engulfed in thinking about it that when Professor McGonagall catches up to him en route, it takes him a moment to remember why he’d been looking for her in the first place. When he remembers, she informs him that she’s already taken his broom down to the pitch. 

“You will do fine tomorrow, Harry,” McGonagall adds, putting a hand on his shoulder gently. “Just be sure to get plenty of sleep tonight.”

Harry thanks her, appreciating her kind words, but also eager to discuss what he overheard with Hermione and Neville.

The night passes quickly while he, Neville, and Hermione talk about who might possibly have tried to get past the three-headed dog. Had any of them heard any rumors of another student getting badly injured lately? Harry points out that Neville’s broken wrist was healed in no time, so surely if they got treated quickly enough, whoever the would-be trespasser was could have gone unnoticed completely. Except, Hermione informs him, wounds from magical creatures are often resistant to healing magics, which is why they often require potions to aid in the healing process. She shakes her head, adding that if they’d bothered to finish reading their Potions book, they’d have known that information as well. It meant that student or teacher, that person was likely still sporting their injury, unless the blood wasn’t recent. 

“What if the troll getting into Hogwarts was a distraction?” Harry speaks the thought as soon as it pops into his head, eyes wide as he looks between Neville and Hermione.

“But who would do that?” Neville asks, looking around nervously, as if that person might be watching them at this very moment.

“Who could do that?” Hermione challenges. “Trolls aren’t exactly known to take orders well, based on my readings.” Because of course Hermione had started reading up on trolls after the Halloween incident. 

“So we rule out any of the students,” Harry counters. “It must be one of the professors.”

Neville’s eyes widen. “A p-p-professor?” 

“Do you really think a professor is going to betray the Albus Dumbledore?” Hermione raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “But who else would have the access to even try?” The train station they’d arrived at was on the outskirts of a village apparently, but at the time of night they’d arrived, Harry hadn’t noticed it. Regardless, as far as he knew, the denizens of the village were witches and wizards themselves, but they rarely if ever ventured up to the castle according to the older students.

By the time Oliver Wood loudly declares he’s turning in, his not-so-subtle sign to Harry that he should go to bed, they’ve talked in circles and come up empty-handed on suspects. Hermione won’t entertain the thought that a professor could be behind the attempt, while Neville convinces himself that surely that person must be missing because the dog ate him completely. Harry opens his mouth to argue when he realizes that he doesn’t actually know where the blood was spotted, and whether or not there was any other evidence to indicate that the intruder survived their encounter with the guard dog.

He goes to bed pondering the question, wondering if they would even bother informing the students should someone perish while attempting to break into the forbidden corridor. Surely if a student or professor suddenly went missing, they would? 

The next thing Harry knows, he’s sitting bolt upright in bed, convinced that he’s overslept and the Quidditch match is over. He scrambles to put his glasses on only to find that he’s the only one awake, and Neville in fact is snoring loudly in the bed next to his. It’s ridiculous to think he’d miss the match, someone would surely wake him before that could happen, but now he’s paranoid and unable to go back to sleep.

Hoping to hide the fact that he’s nervous, he waits until he hears others starting to get up to get ready for the day. The others are still debating on who is going to be Seeker, while others are now starting to question if Gryffindor even has a Seeker. Maybe they couldn’t find anyone good enough, and instead they’re going without? It would be nearly impossible to win a season like that, but it could be done if the Chasers consistently made 15 more goals than their opponents before the Snitch was caught in every match.

Harry muttered a response when it was expected of him, but he wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter. Dean Thomas mentions he looks a little pale, and Harry makes an excuse about not feeling well. He gets ready quickly, glad that he’ll be putting on the slightly more time-consuming Quidditch gear down at the pitch, and slips out ahead of everyone else.

In the Great Hall, there’s a spattering of students already having breakfast. They’re whispering excitedly amongst themselves, and Harry assumes they too are making match predictions or swapping rumors about the Gryffindor Seeker. Would he be more or less nervous having all these people actually whispering about him? 

Just thinking about that makes him queasy and he finds his appetite is completely shot. Neville and Hermione come down to find him sitting in front of a plate on which is piled the remains of what had once been toast before he’d nervously shred it to pieces. They try to coax him to put something in his stomach, but he waves them off, pointing out that their fussing is just going to draw attention to him as more people start filling out the tables. It works to curb their fussing, although Hermione continues to frown at him over her own breakfast until he makes an excuse about not feeling well and needing to go up to see Madam Pomfrey. Seamus and Ron call out to him to hurry up or he’ll miss the start of the match, and he nods his head absently.

Once he steps out of the Great Hall, Harry lingers by the front doors. There are already students walking out, and he’s debating on whether he can head down on his own without drawing attention when a group of older Gryffindor students pass him. Harry follows after them, hanging just far enough back that he’s not intruding on them, but close enough that from a distance it looks like he’s coming down as part of their group. At the last moment, he slips away and into the Gryffindor locker room, where he is the first person. In the silence afforded to him, he puts on his Quidditch gear. 

By the time the rest of the team joins him, he’s calmed down. At least, enough that he’s pretty sure he won’t throw up after all. Katie Bell, a second year and the only other new member to the team besides Harry, gives him a grin. “Ready to win the first match of our Quidditch careers, Potter?” 

“That’s the spirit!” Oliver agrees eagerly.

When he goes to give a rousing pep talk, it’s interrupted by the Weasley twins picking it up for him and alternating, whispering to Harry that having been on the team the previous year, they’d already heard Oliver’s little speech. He’d used the same one as Vice Captain at the beginning of every match.

“Shut up, you two.” Oliver glared at the twins. “All I want to say is that this is hands down the best team Gryffindor’s put together in years. We can win this.” He says it like a threat, like they had better win this after all their hard work, punctuated by the look he gives each of them. “Right, it should be time. Let’s go.”

They headed for the doors leading out to the pitch, the sound of Lee Jordan’s announcing getting louder as they got closer. “--and rounding out the Slytherin team, Chaser and Team Captain, Marcus Flint!” He pauses as a mixture of cheers, jeers, and boos erupts from the stands and then Jordan is speaking again. “And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the Gryffindor Quidditch Team! Starting with Keeper and Captain Oliver Wood; the terrible twosome, Beaters Fred and George Weasley; the talented ladies of Gryffindor, Chasers Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet; and, introducing, the new Seeker Professor McGonagall has kept secret from me until just now–” there’s a pause and then a “--what? HARRY POTTER?”

The team walks out as they’re introduced, and there’s a moment of silence at his name as Harry walks out. He is suddenly sure that his heart has stopped, as if to not interrupt the silence, and then a loud cheer goes up from Gryffindor, picked up by a lot of the rest of the school. In seconds, a banner unfurls in on the Gryffindor side that reads “Go for Gold.” After a while, the words move and it appears someone has enchanted the banner so the letters reform to read “Go Potter!” for a few minutes before reverting back to its original message. 

Madam Hooch calls the captains forward, reminding them that she expects both teams to play a clean, fair game and then she instructs them all to mount their brooms. With a sharp blow on her whistle, she signals them all to take their places, and fifteen broomsticks–all fourteen players, and Madam Hooch herself–move up into the air. The Keepers move back behind their teams, closer to the goals, while the Chasers all move forward. The Beaters and Seekers linger in the middle, eyes darting between the Quaffle in Madam Hooch’s arms and the ground below where the chest containing the Bludgers and Snitch sat, awaiting their release.

Another whistle blow from her whistle and the action starts. The Quaffle is tossed high above before Madam Hooch drops a few feet, watching as the Chasers either surge forward towards the ball or veer off, ready to receive the ball should their team get possession first. The Weasley twins move simultaneously in opposite directions, each following the trajectory of a different Bludger, while Harry watches the glint of gold that is the Snitch hover for a split second above the chest before it takes off.

Once he loses sight of it, he flies up higher to be as far out of the action as possible. Oliver’s plan was for him to keep out of sight, make the Slytherins forget he’s even around, so as to not make himself a target to their attacks. The longer they underestimate him, the better, especially if he can catch sight of the Snitch before Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker. This being Harry’s first Quidditch match ever, as both player and spectator, he’s tempted to watch the action play out instead of relying on Jordan’s commentating. Only the worry that the moment he isn’t looking for it being the exact moment Higgs spots the Snitch before him keeps Harry focused. 

When he finally spots it, his heart leaps into his throat in the same movement as he dips his broom into a dive to go for it. Higgs has seen it too, likely in the same instance, and they are neck and neck until Flint fouls Harry. He veers off course, and there’s noise coming from the stands but the adrenaline coursing through him makes it so all Harry can hear is the rush of his own blood. 

It lasts for only a second, and then he can hear how unhappy the crowd is, reflected in both the lingering shouts and Lee Jordan’s griping at the mic. Harry, however, can’t be upset. Not when he came so close to getting the Snitch. He knows now that he can, in fact, beat the older, more experienced Seeker to the little golden ball, and the last of his nerves fall away with that knowledge. The fact that they can win settles on him, then becomes a certainty: they will win.

Flint’s move seems to signal to the Slytherin Beaters to make more of an effort to take Harry out, and he finds himself needing to dodge out of the way more often now. Then partway through a dodge maneuver to avoid an iron ball to the face, Harry feels his broom lurch unpredictably. There’s a brief moment of uncertainty in which he wonders if he can regain his balance, and then his knees tighten around the broom and he grips the handle with both hands. In no time, he’s steady once more, but his heart is pounding not with the same exhilaration as when he’d nearly caught the Snitch, but with a level of fear he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. 

He’s only just starting to relax when it happens again, this time dipping in the front suddenly at the same time that the rear of the broom comes up. For a time, Dudley had been really into Westerns, and Harry is reminded of one in which a wild horse is caught and, refusing to be tamed, bucks off any who dare try to ride him. His broom is doing a grand imitation of that bucking now, in starts and stops, until Harry attempts to turn it around. He wants to get to Oliver, ask the captain if he can call a timeout while they check Harry’s broom, but it isn’t listening to him at all. Instead, the broom starts moving to and fro, occasionally jolting sideways in a sudden sweeping motion, often coming close to unseating him. 

Harry can hear Jordan still, but the words don’t seem to penetrate his brain as he tries to remember every single piece of advice he’s been given regarding flying. All of Draco’s pointers on making sharp turns don’t account for when the turns are being dictated by a wild broom. With his Nimbus steadily gaining height, Harry’s also pretty sure that the advice from the twins on how to minimize damage from taking a fall won’t apply when that fall is from thousands of feet up in the air. 

It is at some point between his broom spinning like a top while going straight up, and doing barrel rolls while Harry clings for dear life, that others seem to notice that something is going on. The excited murmuring of the crowd changes tone, but Harry is beyond the point of noticing. He can scarcely tell up from down, knowing only that he cannot let go of this broom no matter what. The barrel rolls stop, but there is no time for relief or even a deep breath as there’s another violent jerk and despite his best efforts, the wood is jerked out of his left hand. 

Time seems to slow as his legs slip off, and there’s a split second in which it seems like the broom will slip away and then his brain catches up and his right hand closes tightly around the handle of his Nimbus Two Thousand. The collective gasp that goes up from the crowd reaches him and Harry looks towards it, his mind taking a moment to make sense of the image before his eyes. Then it all comes into focus, the Quidditch pitch and the tower stands filled with students, while below him players fly. His heart is racing, and Harry can feel every muscle in his arm straining as he holds on. There is yelling from below, though he can make none of it out, and he watches as two figures fly closer. He can make out the bright red hair of the Weasley twins before his broom is moving farther up into the air again, continuing to do so until the twins fall back. 

The broom’s movements are still jerky, and Harry’s grip remains tight as he anticipates another violent jerking motion. Just one more as strong as before and he’s certain his strength will fail him, and man, does he hope someone has a spell ready or a net. Dying two months into his new life in the wizarding world just isn’t the way he wants to go.

Just as suddenly as the broom’s erratic movements started, so too do they stop. Harry is out of breath, staring at his broom like the wild, unpredictable horse he’s likened its behavior to in his mind this whole time. He might have waited for someone to fly up to help him, except that while he was looking up at his broom, a bit of gold flashed for a brief moment above him, and then the Snitch was flying down past him. Adrenaline pumping, Harry swings himself back onto his broom, then takes off after the Snitch. 

The questions and fear that filled his mind moments ago are gone now, replaced with a single-minded sense of purpose. He doesn’t know what the score is, doesn’t know for how long the game went on before his erratic broom drew attention. Had they even had time to call a time-out? Harry doesn’t know, but the fact that the Snitch is flying right before his eyes tells him things aren’t over yet.

Beyond the glinting of silver and gold from the Snitch, the ground is fast approaching. Harry pulls up just as the Snitch levels out, moving almost as one with it, and then he’s jumping forward off of his broom. It goes flying over end somewhere beyond him as he rolls across the ground two, three times before getting up onto his hands and knees. How did he catch the Snitch in his mouth? Who cares? He spits it out into his hands, struggles to his feel, and holds it aloft triumphantly. He’s fairly certain that there isn’t a rule against it, or so he hopes because he can feel how shaky his legs are and Harry’s pretty sure there’s no way he could possibly get back on his broom today.

There’s utter confusion as Madam Hooch lands nearby, followed shortly by both teams. Lee Jordan is happily announcing the results–170 points to 60, Gryffindor–while the Gryffindor team swarms Harry and Flint tries to argue the results with Madam Hooch. Harry’s knees nearly give out under the weight of Hagrid’s hand when it lands suddenly on his shoulder, but he’s grateful when moments later the large man has steered him clear of the crowd, announcing that Harry needs a spot of tea after that bit of flying.

Leaving the crowd behind and making his way up to Hagrid’s is all a blur, Harry seemingly only coming to when a mug of hot tea is set before him on Hagrid’s table and the big man is asking him if he’s all right and what exactly happened out on the field. Before Harry can answer, Draco, Hermione, and Neville are all talking over each other. He doesn’t remember them coming up with them.

“I believe Snape–”

“It was not, you are simply making assumptions!”

“I s-s-saw P-P-Professor–”

“--may have been using some kind of dark magic–”

“Funny how you jump straight to accusing the Slytherin teacher!”

“--Q-Quirrell w-w-was also–”

“That’s enough now!” Hagrid smacked a heavy palm on the wood surface of his table, and the resulting sound instantly quieted the three of them. With it quiet again, he turned to Harry, “Now, ‘ow yeh feelin’ there, Harry? Gave us quite a scare there.”

Harry couldn’t make sense of anything his friends had been trying to say, so he takes a bracing sip of tea before he responds. “I’m okay, Hagrid. What are you guys talking about? What do you think happened?”

“I’ll explain,” Hermione responds immediately, glaring at Draco to keep his mouth shut while she’s speaking, “because someone didn’t even notice what was happening right next to him.”

“Ye’ll ‘ave yer turn, Malfoy.” Draco, who had been about to interrupt again, closes his mouth with a frown and crosses his arms.

“Thank you,” Hermione says primly. “Now, when your broom started acting up Harry, some of the boys started asking if Flint could have done something to your broom, and Hagrid said it would require powerful, Dark magic–” 

“Which while true, does not automatically mean someone from Slytherin was behind this.” Harry is less surprised by Draco’s interruption than he is by how long it took him to interrupt. He’d uncrossed his arms and now stands facing off with Hermione, hands on his hips.

“I’ve read all about jinxes, I’ll have you know, and one of the requirements to casting a jinx is maintaining constant eye contact while casting.” It’s her turn to cross her arms now as she faces Draco, challenging him. “Professor Snape was muttering something, I could see his lips moving, and the whole time his eyes were on Harry and his broom. If he wasn’t jinxing Harry’s broom, what was he doing?”

Draco throws his hands up in the air. “How should I know? But frankly?” He matches her glare. “He’s a Potions master; if he wanted to take Harry out there are simpler, more subtle ways to do it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the way to convince us he’s innocent.” Hermione matches her sarcastic tone with a roll of her eyes.

Neville’s been looking back and forth between them, and he suddenly speaks up, surprising them all. “Professor Quirrell was doing it too!” They all turn to look at him, and his cheeks color as Hermione asks what he means. “Wh-When you ran off. I kept looking, and…he was staring too. At Harry, I mean. And his mouth was moving…” Neville trailed off.

“Well, there you have it,” Draco declares triumphantly.

“Then why did Harry’s broom go back to normal after I set Snape’s robes on fire?” Hermione challenges, and both Harry and Hagrid look at her wide-eyed.

“You mean when you barrelled through the Slytherin stands, knocking nearly everyone over, including Professor Quirrell?” Draco spits back.

Hermione raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying Professor Quirrell tried to kill Harry?”

Asked aloud, it seems to hit Draco how exactly that sounds, because he frowns. “Well, no. That sounds even more ridiculous–”

“Exactly.”

“Rubbish.”

Hermione and Hagrid both speak up simultaneously, but Hagrid is the one who continues. “Snape and Quirrell are Hogwarts teachers, and ye think they’d try to hurt Harry? They’d do nothin’ o’ the sort.”

“What reason could Professor Snape possibly have to try to kill a student?” Draco adds.

“Harry overheard Filch telling him he found evidence of blood by the three-headed dog,” Hermione began, but the sound of Hagrid dropping his teapot makes them all jump.

“How do ye know bout Fluffy?” 

“Fluffy?” The name is echoed by the four students, who share a look of disbelief, which Draco’s disgusted, “Who would name that thing Fluffy?”

“What’s wrong wit’ Fluffy?” Hagrid sounds defensive. “He likes it.”

“Hagrid, is…is Fluffy yours?” Hermione asks.

“Yep,” he confirms proudly. “Got ‘im off a Greek chappie in a pub last year. Let Dumbledore borrow ‘im ta guard the-” He stops abruptly, realizing the room has gone silent as they listen attentively. 

“Yes?” Harry prompts after a silent beat.

“Never ye mind,” Hagrid rebuffs gruffly. “Ye shouldn’t even know bout Fluffy.”

“But someone is trying to steal whatever it is,” Harry says.

Hermione nods. “Possibly Snape. Or,” she adds looking over at Draco, “Professor Quirrell.” 

“Nonsense.” Hagrid refuses to even entertain the idea.

“Someone is,” Harry corrects, staring back at Hermione.

“Harry, you didn’t hear the whole conversation,” she reminds him.

“What if Filch was warning Professor Snape he was almost caught?” Neville’s eyes are wide. “What if they’re working together?” In his mind, someone as mean as Filch could absolutely be a bad guy.

Hermione seems to suddenly remember something. “But Professor Quirrell was walking with a limp,” she reminds them. “In the courtyard yesterday, remember?”

“Yer wrong!” Hagrid declares hotly, putting an end to their debate. “No Hogwarts teacher is tryin’ ter kill any students, least of all Harry. Now the four of ye listen ter me, once n’ fer all; ye’ve no business meddlin’ in dangerous things. Ye forget ‘bout that dog’n what it’s guardin', ye hear me? That’s between Professor Dumbledore n’ Nicolas Flamel–”

“Who is Nicolas Flamel?” Neville asks.

Draco looks pensive. “The name sounds vaguely familiar…”

Hagrid looks absolutely furious with himself and refuses to say another word.

[spinnersendprince]

Harry Potter and Afterlife Inc. - Chapter 1 - Dunuelos - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

[toreadfanfic]

Harry Potter and Destiny's Last Chance By: Amoretti2008 

 My take on Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge. Harry is sent back to his third year on his last chance to fulfill his destiny and change his life for the better. Can he defeat Voldemort, get the girl, and keep his Death from getting fired? Contains a few characters from Black Butler, select Weasley and Dumbledore bashing, and romance. 

Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Romance - Harry P., Hermione G. - Chapters: 11 - Words: 35,553 - Reviews: 147 - Favs: 332 - Follows: 559 - Updated: Sep 6, 2017 - Published: Apr 26, 2015 - id: 11209573

[hms-harmony-discord]

There have previously been challenges such as Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge which, while beloved and an inspiration for many great stories, has been done many times. It is past time that a new challenge was presented to the Harmony community. This challenge is aimed to be much different in tone and to utllize the potential in a setting that is not seen enough in HHr fics. Introducing the....

The Jily Meets Harmony Challenge

Must include: 1. James/Lily and Harry/Hermione strictly. 2. James and Lily must be alive. Either by surviving Halloween, coming back to life, or their canon deaths never happening/being avoided. (Can include either Time Travel or a Canon Divergence event) 3. Sirius should also live and be free/exonerated. 4. Lily must at some point braid Hermione's hair. 5. James and Harry must at some point fly together 6. Harry cannot have a Boy Who Lived (Or Wrong Boy Who Lived) sibling. 7. No Jily bashing 8. The story must be written for the challenge and mention the challenge by name in an Author's Note. We hope for and highly encourage as many unique ideas as possible! However, if you are having trouble, here are a few possible scenarios that can be used to get you started: 

Potential Scenarios to ensure #2 (Jily Lives):

1. Harry and Hermione try their luck with a ritual to bring his parents back to life. They are surprised it works. 2. During the time turner adventure of POA, Harry and Hermione do more than saving Sirius. They go back in time and end up saving them all. 3. James and Lily end up travelling to the future. 4. Harry and Hermione end up being given another chance at life. But have they gone to the past or is this a different dimension entirely? 5. Something happened that fateful night on October 31st that ensured the Potters lived to tell their tale.

Your story can involve anything from Harry and Hermione going back in time, the Potters going forward in time, the Potters never dying, the Potters (or Harry and Hermione) travelling to another dimensions.... The sky's the limit! Optional: 1. Line from James: "Are you sure you don't fancy Hermione?" 2. Line from Lily: "You know, Harry is lucky to have you." 3. Line from Sirius: "I'm trying to decide which pair of you lovebirds is more [__]." 4. Preferably avoids common tropes (overdone bashing, love potions etc)This challenge has no expiry date. However, the HMS Discord is encouraging those who wish to participate to try to post their first chapter by October 31st.  A night where James and Lily lost it all will now be used to bring them back to life. There will be an AO3 collection and a community on FFN to submit to and all entries will also be featured in the discord.

It's time for Harry to finally have a happy Halloween

[ao3feed-jily]

Finally

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3fDaDFv

by chaosys

Death is tired of Harry failing to do anything he's fated to do in his life, and sends him back to the beginning to maybe, just maybe, finally get it right.

Words: 658, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Harry Potter, Lily Evans Potter

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter

Additional Tags: Reptilia28's Don't Fear the Reaper Challenge

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3fDaDFv

[ao3feed-deamus]

Harry Potter and Destiny's Last Chance

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2CN3yCY

by Kowareta_Tenshi

This was originally posted on FF.net but I'm more active here.

My take on Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge. Harry is sent back to his third year on his last chance to fulfill his destiny and change his life for the better. Can he defeat Voldemort, get the girl, and keep his Death from getting fired? Contains a few characters from Black Butler and romance. Manipulative Dumbledore. Ron getting called out on his bullshit.

Words: 43522, Chapters: 13/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Multi

Characters: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Bill Weasley, Colin Creevey, Dudley Dursley, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, Lee Jordan, Luna Lovegood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Daphne Greengrass, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Amelia Bones, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Buckbeak (Harry Potter), Dobby (Harry Potter), Winky (Harry Potter), Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Andromeda Black Tonks, Percy Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Peter Pettigrew, Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, William T. Spears, Grell Sutcliff, Undertaker (Kuroshitsuji), Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis, Sieglinde Sullivan, Hermione's parents - Character, Selena Menzel (Ravenclaw OFC), Emily Tarleton (Gryffindor OFC), Persephone Proudmore (Gryffindor OFC), future children of pairings (ofc and omc)

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Katie Bell/Fred Weasley, Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Dudley Dursley/Daphne Greengrass, Colin Creevey/Original Female Character(s), Lee Jordan/Alicia Spinnet, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Viktor Krum/Ginny Weasley

Additional Tags: Reptilia28's Don't Fear the Reaper Challenge, Mentions of Star Wars original trilogy, Ron Weasley Being an Asshole, no seriously he is, he might redeem himself, Ginny needs therapy, seriously she was possessed by voldemort and she needs mental help, her past bad actions won't be held against her as the story progresses, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, crossover with black butler/kuroshitsuji, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Amelia Bones, Grelle is mtf transgender, this is canon but isn't well known unfortunately, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, we don't do canon around here, i suck at tagging lol, i'll probably add more here as i think of it, Redeemed Dudley Dursley, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Severus Snape, some character bashing but it's not the usual bullshit, Black Lavender Brown, the chapter titles contain song references or crappy jokes, ya girl is back on her bullshit and you know you love it

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2CN3yCY

[ao3feed-snape]

Seventh Time’s the Charm

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/8cav4G9

by AstralVLS

A lost battle, a meeting with Death, and the last chance provide the opportunity to finally defeat Voldemort. And perhaps the possibility for something more...

Words: 3314, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Action/Adventure, Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28's Don't Fear the Reaper Challenge, Friends to Lovers

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8cav4G9

[rachelundefined]

Title: Reboot Author: Kallanit Fandom: Harry Potter Tag: Timetravel

Summary: Very loosely based on the Reptilia28 Don't Fear the Reaper Death Challenge, whereby Harry gets to relive his life. As do a couple of other people. What effect does this have on Harry's life and the Voldemort Blood wars? Not a Discworld crossover, but the story did cry out for some guest appearances by Death's granddaughter. Pre Cursed Child & Fantastic Beasts. COMPLETE.

[nidamae-approvedhpfanfics]

My own response to Reptilia28's challenge. Harry died in the battle with Voldemort. What happens when he meets the Grim Reaper? Especially when the Reaper isn't happy with him. Rating changed to more appropriate one. HHr. Other pairings as they come.

Language: English Words: 106,036 Chapters: 36/36 Collections: 4 Comments: 149 Kudos: 1,644 Bookmarks: 578 Hits: 57,628

Also available on fanfiction.net - author: dunuelos

This is a quick fix story with major help from the goblins. Well written and fun - Voldy gets a unique form due to a change in ingredients.

[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.

[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.”

[spinnersendprince]

Harry Potter and the Angry Grim Reaper - TomHRichardson - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

[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]

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.