Twelve year old Harry Potter sat miserably on his huanches in the Dursley’s attic. Uncle Vernon hadn’t been too pleased with the results of his important meeting with the Masons; truth be told Harry wasn’t either. A strange creature had the gall to dump Aunt Petunia’s precious pudding on Mrs. Mason’s head. In hind sight it might have been funny later if the owl from the Ministry of Magic hadn’t turned up... the Dursley’s weren’t the only ones who did not like creatures of the avian type.

Uncle Vernon had been ropable as he closed the door behind the furious Mason’s with ill concealed viciousness. The fat man then turned on Harry quicker that the youngster could scramble into the relative safety of the kitchen. The next thing Harry knew his nose was pressed to the kitchen table and Uncle Vernon’s belt was searing his butt. That was until Aunt Petunia arrived with her hefty genuine rainforest wood hairbrush.

Harry rubbed his bum thoughtfully. Uncle Vernon had been thorough with delivering hearty wallops with Aunt Petunia’s spare hairbrush, which was kept for occasions like these.

In addition to the humiliating smacking, Harry had been locked up in Dudley’s second bedroom at night and during the day locked into rooms while working on his multitude of chores.

Today Harry had been locked in the dusty, dingy attic and was sorting through old things to throw out. Although it was unlikely anything would actually be thrown out. Aunt Petunia was a little bit of a hoarder.

Harry thought that this job might have been a little interesting if his Aunt had left anything remotely non-boring up here to find. He always liked to indulge in a little bit of healthy snooping while doing chores. Snooping of course was done when the Dursley’s were not looking. Last year Harry had found an old copy of a statement Uncle Vernon had given the police. Something about some young yuppies giving Uncle Vernon what sounded like a well earned thrashing. That particular document was an interesting read and it made Harry feel just a little bit better that someone else had thrashed his Uncle.

Sneezing brought Harry out of his reverie and he continued to sort through neatly packed oddments into carefully uniformed cardboard boxes. So far he found Aunt Petunia’s maternity clothes – seemed like Dudley was huge before he was even born and plenty of Dudley baby photos – Harry kept the one of a naked three year old Dudley for later.

Sniffling and wiping his runny nose on his long sleeves Harry moved to a shoebox and settled it onto his lap. He opened the lid not expecting to find anything interesting. And as he supposed all it was bunches of paper. He was about to fling the whole box into the large rubbish bag when he decided against it. He would regret it if he threw out something important… and there still might be something of note...

The first few documents were old bank statements printed on run of the mill muggle paper. But Harry nearly dropped the box in complete surprise when underneath the seemingly dull mugglish documents was a large wad of parchment… stuff that Harry had only seen in the wizarding world.

Harry pulled the wad out and tugged at the twine that held them together. The knot wasn’t very tight and came undone quite easily. The first thing on the pile was an envelope and when Harry turned it over he nearly fainted in surprise. There plain as day was the Hogwarts seal firmly stamped in glittering purple ink.

He had known since last summer that his Aunt was aware of the magical world. But why would someone from Hogwarts write to her of all people?

With trembling hands Harry opened the letter. After all, if it was from the magical world then most likely it was about him. And a little snooping never bothered anyone.

Mr. and Mrs V Dursley,

I regret to inform you of the untimely death of Mr. and Mrs. Potter. I have left their child in your safe keeping. I am sure that you will have no qualms taking him in. The child and your family shall be safe from dark wizards and the like as long as you do so. Even though the youngster is adopted, Lily’s ultimate sacrifice will protect him, your family and your property.

Enclosed are various documents that young Harry may need later in life. Due to the delicacy of the documents please note it is advisable not to share them with Harry before I appoint a time. Bare in mind the consequences if you choose not to heed my warning.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

(Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)

Harry’s mouth went dry at the word ‘adopted’. He shook his head several times before his brain could begin to think. Adopted, how could he be adopted? Harry’s heart leapt in his rib cage because that meant Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia weren’t really his Aunt and Uncle. But why didn’t Dumbledore tell him he was adopted? Why did he look like James? And why did Dumbledore think he was safe in this house? It was nothing extraordinary after all!

Stuffing the letter and the rest of the documents into his jacket Harry grumbled. He’d read them later, he decided, when he wanted to be put in a foul mood.

Harry had the opportunity to read his letters after he had been thrown back into Dudley’s second bedroom. That had been two days ago and he hadn’t seen anyone expect Aunt Petunia’s hand as she pushed through cold soup through the cat flap.

As it was Harry had finished what school work he could and was now lying on the bed on his tummy bored out if his wits. This is what convinced him to bite the bullet and read the rest of the damn documents.

First he smoothed out Dumbledore’s letter and read it through slowly again. Rude and to the point Harry thought. If he had found out a sibling had been cruelly murdered he would like to be told with a little more sympathy. Sighing he set the letter aside.

Harry pulled out the next parchment. At first glance it looked like a business receipt. Along the top was a gaudy ink design of medieval drawing of a hen with outstretched wings. Underneath was the company name: Little Tykes Agency.

Harry blinked incredulously and glanced down the list.

Mr. and Mrs. J Potter to order: one newborn male child to have no recording of biological parents. To be of pureblooded stock. 660 Galleons.

Changing of baby’s features (deluxe potion) 90 Galleons.

Legal/Consultant Fees: 130 Galleons. Baby to have similar features of adopting parents. Additional 135 Galleons.

Documentation: 75 Galleons.

Harry could hardly believe it. It was like a shopping list for a designer baby. And what on earth was the difference between a deluxe potion and a normal potion. Glaring daggers at the parchment Harry continued down at the part underneath the ‘shopping’ list.

Child’s Name: Harry James Potter
Born: 31st July 1980
Delivered to Adopting Parents on the: 1st August 1980

Total: 1090 Galleons (Paid in Full)

Underneath the total of the bill was James’ signature and beside that was the name of the owner of Little Tykes: Sydney Higglesworth.

Harry couldn’t believe it. His adoptive parents had paid a small fortune for him. It was a little ridiculous really. Seeing red, but his brain not really registering much Harry flipped through the rest of the stack of parchment. Nothing else was noteworthy. It was just a bunch of parchment on early medical information including yes, that designer baby came with ten toes and fingers.

Dear Ron,

Having a rotten summer. A strange creature named Dobby ruined the Dursley’s dinner party with an important client. Uncle Vernon is not happy. It’s a long story; but it stars a creamy pudding and official ministry owls. In retrospect it was kinda funny. Dursley’s have virtually locked me up. Uncle Vernon seems to have forgotten Hedwig. Before I forget, Dobby, the funny creature, says I cannot go back to Hogwarts because it isn’t safe – little git.

On a side note what do you know about adoptions in the magical world?

Harry.

Harry re-read his letter three or four times, hoping that he wasn’t sounding completely and utterly desperate. There was one thing Harry hated being and that was sounding desperate. He told himself that he was not upset by the revelation that he was not a ‘real’ Potter and Dumbledore had known all along and had not found it important enough to mention. He was curious… just curious.

Sighing Harry called Hedwig over and the beautiful snowy white owl settled beside him. “Take this to Ron,” he said as he attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg. “Wait for an answer, okay girl.”

Hedwig gave an intelligent hoot, as if to explain that she understood. Then with two great flaps of her wings she lifted herself into the air and out the window.

Kicking the dust off the ground Harry watched miserably as Hedwig disappeared. “There goes the last of my hope of any intelligent conversation around here. I hope Ron answers my letters soon… I hope Dobby isn’t still nicking them the little git.”

There wasn’t much to do for Harry but to wait for Ron’s reply to his letter. He lay on his bed, or rather thin piece of material that might have once passed for a mattress and laid his head down. Harry thought he only closed his eyes for a moment; however he must have dozed because the next thing he noticed was his room was a lot darker.

Harry stretched slowly, one glance at the cat flap told him that Aunt Petunia hadn’t been up with dinner and that he wasn’t likely to be getting any. He crossed the floor to where the cupboard door was open. Even in the darking grey of the room Harry could see the sliver of light from the mirror inside the door.

He opened the door slowly and stared at his face in the mirror. “I’m adopted…” he mumbled. “This isn’t my real face.”

Even as he stood wondering what he really looked like under the deluxe potion, Harry could have sworn that his hair became darker. He stepped closer. Was his nose a different shape?

Harry’s reverie was broken by rather loud clanging on the metal bars Uncle Vernon had attached to his windows after the Masons’ incident. Spinning around on his heal Harry’s eyes darted towards the bars.

“Psst… Harry… this is a break out.”

Peering through the gloom Harry could make out the blurry form of Ron, Fred and George Weasley staring at him from the other side of the window. He felt a sudden rush of warmth towards the Weasley’s as he stumbled towards them.

“How did you…” Harry’s voice trailed off. “Are you crazy?”

The Weasley’s had brought with them a light blue ford, that had the ability to fly, in order to rescue him. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Don’t be stupid,” one of the twins scoffed. “We flew here didn’t we?”

“Will we get into trouble?” Harry said glancing nervously at the car. Things were never as they seemed in the magical world.

“Possibly.”

“Come on, Harry… we’re rescuing you. It ain’t natural for your uncle to keep you under lock and key,” Ron said, watching as Fred and George noisily worked on the iron bars by wrapping a chain around them.

“If the Dursley’s wake up I’m good as dead,” Harry muttered then added after a moment’s thought, “I think I’m dead anyway.”

Predictably there was trouble when the errant boys reached the Burrow. It dimmed the hilarity of watching poor Uncle Vernon, making a wild grab for Harry and tipping out of the window into Aunt Petunia’s Petunias. Harry always knew his uncle was an idiot; and the man had proved him right. Why on earth would one attempt to catch a boy they desperately did not want in the house? Harry would never guess.

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Weasley screeched coming around the corner and brandishing a rather thick looking wooden spoon. Ginny, Ron’s younger sister peered out behind her mother and her eyes wide and shining with anticipation. Harry was about to make a run for it, when the matriarch of the Weasley family turned to him. “Hello, Harry, how are you dear?”

“Er..”

“Lovely dear.” And before Harry could count to three she was back to chewing up her three boys. “Beds empty; car gone... what was I suppose to think?”

This was when Harry decided now would be a good time to tune out.

Harry glared dubiously at the blank piece of brick that separated Ron and himself from platform 9 ¾ and therefore Hogwarts. The stupid mound of muggle architecture had denied him entry – HIM! Giving the wall a vicious kick; Harry turned in time to see an angry looking train conductor glowering at him.

“Fell over,” Harry muttered at the guard’s direction, refusing to meet the uniformed man’s eyes as he picked up Hedwig’s cage. The snowy owl did not look impressed. Neither did the guard who was ambling away muttering about ‘teenagers’. Harry was almost tempted to call out and correct him. He had a year until he was a teenager after all. But he shook his head disdainfully – he was used to people thinking very little of him – and he turned to Ron.

Ron’s face was ghostly white. “We can’t get through,” Ron unnecessarily informed Harry in a dead panned voice. In any other circumstance, Harry supposed he would find this funny. But not now, not when Harry’s last hope of getting to Hogwarts was pulling out from the station. He felt his stomach drop dreading his immediate future. Feeling as if his freedom from the Dursley’s for a whole year had suddenly been snatched from his hand.

“It blocked us out,” Ron reintegrated.

“Yes, I can see that,” Harry said dryly.

Ron backed his trolley up a few more steps; took three gigantic steps and rammed straight into the brick wall.

“That’s not helping, Ron,” Harry pointed out helpfully.

“Well, you do something!” Ron snarled, rubbing his bum and glaring at Harry from his vantage point on the cold tiled floor. “What if mum and dad can’t get back through?”

Harry tried valiantly not to roll his eyes. “Why don’t we wait by the car? They have to come back for the car at some point.”

“Harry you are a genius!” Ron cried, getting up and wheeling his cart back in the direction of the car park.

“I am?” Harry mumbled feeling a little disconcerted at Ron’s enthusiasm.

“We’ll fly dad’s car to Hogwarts.”

“Hold on? We, as in you and me?” Harry stood frozen unsure if he should be befuddled or bemused by his friend’s blatant stupidity. “ Fly? To Hogwarts? Ron...”

But Ron was already marching even more determinedly towards the exit.

Thankfully, despite Harry’s mental list of why flying a car, while cool and adventurous, was not a good idea did not have to be used. There was one minor problem that Ron had not taken into account. They didn’t have the keys and Harry was not going to tell his best friend that he had learned to hot wire a car back in the days he was still desperate to be friends with Dudley.

Of course since Dudley’s gang had dared him to hot wire the Head Master’s car – Harry was inevitably caught and spent three months in his cupboard after school and on weekends. Mr. Norland, the Head at the time then gave detentions to Harry for the whole semester. It was the best semester of Harry’s life.

While contemplating his car theft days, Harry watched as Ron panicked sitting in the front seat (Mr. Weasley had forgotten to actually lock the car) and pressing any buttons that his fingers could press.

“It should be simple!” Ron exclaimed “I watched the twins driving to rescue you!”

“We need the keys Ron,” Harry supplied. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Ron slumped in the front seat and crossed his arms. “It was a good idea.”

Harry sighed and pulled out a piece of spare parchment. “We’ll write to Professor McGonagall.”

“Why not Dumbledore?”

“He’ll be too busy to read our letter,” Harry didn’t feel like telling Ron the real reason behind not writing to Dumbledore. He wasn’t feeling terribly charitable towards the old man.

“Yeah well you are Harry Potter,” Ron muttered mutinously as Harry started to scribble frantically on the parchment.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry almost snarled.

As Harry and Ron bickered about who to send the letter to, Mr and Mrs Weasley turned up.

“Hey, ho, boys what are you still doing here?” Mr Weasley cheerfully inquired, despite the murderous look Ron was getting from his mother. Harry doubted that Arthur Weasley ever got mad.

“The brick wall won’t let us through to the platform,” Harry said quietly. “We’re writing a letter to Professor McGonagall.”

Mrs Weasley looked doubtfully at the two boys. “Hurry along dears, we’ll floo you through to Hogsmeade and you can walk up to the castle. Stay by the car, Arthur.”

Ron and Harry followed Mrs Weasley down the street until they came to a familiar looking street.

Harry recognised it instantly as the road where the ‘Leaky Cauldron’ was.

Mrs Weasley breezed through the establishment and pointed imperiously to where she wanted to boys to sit. Ron and Harry sat and watched as the older woman went to speak to Tom the barkeep.

“I’ve gotta bad feeling,” Ron muttered.

Harry only nodded. But anything would be better than being sent to live the year with the Dursleys. Well almost anything.

The two friends watched in trepidation as the older witch returned looking rather triumphant. “It seems one of your Professors is in the ally for last minute resources... you’ll be able to floo with him.”

“Who?”

Harry already had a funny feeling of who it might be. The one man who he didn’t want to see – after Dumbledore of course.

“Professor Snape, dear.”

Harry’s stomach nearly lurched. ,‘I think I’ll stick with the Dursley’s,’ he thought sardonically.

It turned out that they had to wait longer than anticipated for Professor Snape to return. Harry had counted the number of cracks in the wooden floor under his shoes and had identified no less than six steps that creaked when someone stepped on them. He was about to pull out his last minute essay he had written for Binns, who Harry was sure never actually marked any student work, when Snape stalked in.

“Ah Severus, Molly Weasley would have a word with you before you leave,” Tom the barkeep called out at Snape’s black silhouette. Molly Weasley stood and briskly marched over to Snape indicating the boys to follow. Harry and Ron stood like prisoners being marched to the gallows.

Snape meanwhile had stopped and watched stock still as Mrs Weasley approached with two Gryffindors. “I suppose it is too much to hope that you’re here to inform me these two miscreants are not returning to Hogwarts this year?”

“Severus, your foul disposition does not fool me.” Molly tsked. Ron watched in amazement as she peered closely at his least liked teacher. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

Snape blinked. “Quick metabolism,” he murmured glaring at the two Gryffindor boys as if daring them to laugh.

Molly Weasley looked as if she didn’t believe a word Snape had said. “Hmm yes well the boys claim that the brick wall at the platform would not let them through.”

Snape snorted as if to ask the witch what she wanted him to do about it.

“Perhaps it is the same person who tried to scare me off going back to Hogwarts earlier in the summer,” Harry pointed out. There had to be a logical explanation after all.

“Eh, what’s that?” Mrs Weasley demanded. “You never mentioned that to me Harry! I know I may not be your mother but I hope you know young man that...”

“Mum!” Ron cried, rescuing his friend from further embarrassment. “That’s all we’ve been talking about since Harry’s been with us! You know the rouge house elf.”

“Rogue house elf indeed,” Molly sniffed.

“I suppose it is up to me to floo these two hooligans to Hogsmeade?”

“If you would Severus.”

Snape did not look pleased. But he turned sharply on his heel and glided over to the fireplace.

“Watch for Harry, Severus dear... don’t know where that one will end up!”

Harry turned and stared in mortification at Mrs Weasley who waved and bustled back out of the inn.

Snape’s heavy hand landed on Harry’s shoulder. “I suppose I should be thankful for small miracles. As shocking as it may seem Mr. Potter, you didn’t go into insane heroics to get yourself to Hogwarts. It may seem that congratulations are in order as your thought processes seemed to have caught up with you.”

Harry sighed and let Snape lead him to the fireplace. “You first Weasley. Potter will come with me.”

Harry just about died on the spot. Ron didn’t look too sure about the situation but he hastily jumped into the fireplace and called loudly, “Hogsmeade.”

“Come Potter.”

Snape stepped into the fireplace, nearly dragging Harry with him. “Relax,” Snape muttered turning Harry abruptly and snaking one arm securely around his chest. Snape’s arm tightened around Harry’s middle before the horrible sensation of the floo took over.

Moments later Snape stepped out of the fireplace and released Harry before striding out of the shop and out into the village of Hogsmeade.

Harry followed with Ron at his side – Snape was a few paces ahead obviously not too bothered with two second years.

“I forgot how new you are to the world... it’s just a wizarding village,” Ron muttered staring at Harry who was staring with avid interest at the unfamiliar surroundings of a wizarding village.

“Ron whadda you know about adoptions?” Harry asked when he was certain Snape wasn’t listening.

Ron laughed. “You aren’t adopted Harry.”

Harry sighed and decided he better give Ron at least some truth if he was going to get any information out of the red head. “I found something I probably shouldn’t have at my Aunt’s house.” Harry glanced up to ensure that Snape was still ahead and not listening. “I found out that she’s not my aunt... so that means someone was adopted along the line, right? Maybe I’ve got some real family or something.”

“Look, Harry, I’ll be your family... you don’t need some muggle losers to rescue you.”

“Thanks Ron... but don’t let Hermione hear you talking like that.”

“Indeed,” Snape put in dryly from up ahead.

Harry was sure he was going to die from embarrassment.

“Feeling down, are we Potter?”

Harry glared up at the sorting hat. “I don’t think I know what I am anymore.”

“That is simple,” the hat told the Gryffindor matter-of-factly. “You are a son of Gryffindor... proud and noble and not a bore!”

“That’s not a very good rhyme,” Harry pointed out rather unhelpfully. He was feeling a tad testy after Dumbledore had called him into his office and then made him wait with a bowl of unappetising ‘chortling custards’ and a dusty talking hat for company. He’d much rather be with Ron who was probably enjoying the free rein of the school right now. It just wasn’t fair!

“Yes I know... but this year I have used all my best rhyming words for the Sorting,” the hat was explaining excitedly.

Harry’s chat with the sorting hat came to an abrupt halt as Dumbledore walked in, wearing a lime green robe. “Professor Snape tells me you have some concerns. Lemon Drop?”

“No thank you.” Harry opted for the shy school boy approach and crossed his feet and stared resolutely at them.

“I can tell you without a shadow of doubt that you are related to your Aunt. Whatever nonsense you have found is exactly that – nonsense.”

Harry felt his blood boiling. Here was the old man, who very well knew the Potters had purchased him – and he was lying to him to his face.

“I was hoping perhaps there was more family?”

“I’m afraid not child,” Dumbledore said in his best grandfatherly voice.

“Perhaps someone else who would want me?”

“Child...”

“Why do I have to stay with them?” Harry whined plaintively. “They hate me.”

“Young man, you must not say such terrible things about your family. And you must stay with them for your own safety. I don’t want to hear another complaint. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Harry mumbled. “Can I go?”

Harry felt glad to get to his four poster bed that night. The sorting feast had seemed such a chore while Harry felt so miserably alone and angry.

Frustrated Harry had demanded he first shower and was in bed before the third second year Gryffindor had gotten into the shower. That night, for the first time in years, Harry cried brokenly into his pillow.

Harry awoke the next morning looking forward to only one thing: Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was one of the only things that Harry felt he was good at with the added bonus - Dudley Dursley could not take it away from him.

Generally Harry hated school. If his grades were good back in the muggle world he would get a hiding for cheating; or if they were poor he would get a hiding for laziness. Which meant, no matter how well or poorly he did, Harry was guaranteed an appointment with Aunt Petunia’s hairbrush at report card time. That was something else Harry enjoyed about Hogwarts, the Dursley’s did not read his reports. No one cared two hoots how well he did. He was accountable to no one. Unlike Ron, Harry’s only problem was Hermione who constantly bugged him to complete his homework assignments early.

He rolled out of bed, threw on his Gryffindor uniform and decided he would give brushing his hair a go this morning. “I’m a proud son of Gryffindor, I’m proud; I’m noble and I’m not a bore,” he told the mirror seriously. “Good for you dear,” the mirror yawned. “Now if you could please let me sleep.”

Harry felt that nothing could ruin his happy feeling – he went to breakfast humming an annoying and happy tune the obnoxious Weasley twins had taught him. He ate his fill, he drank three coffees; much to Hermione’s chagrin and he memorised his timetable especially the details of defence.

Harry’s cheerfulness however was immediately dashed as it hit him exactly who the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was. There beaming down at the four tables with perfectly pearly white teeth was the new Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Have you drawn love hearts all over your timetable?” Ron loudly exclaimed looking over Hermione’s shoulder and trying to steal her timetable. Hermione wrenched her piece of precious school paper back and glared at Ron. Harry banged his head on the table.

Harry was not surprised that he was right. Lockhart was an idiot. No, correct that statement: Lockhart was a pompous idiot. And pathetically all the girls, including pug-faced Parkinson, were besotted with the imbecile. Turning around in his seat Harry could tell that the Slytherin boys thought so too.

Malfoy was rolling his eyes heavenward and Harry was almost certain he saw Blaise Zabini mouthing, ‘Merlin preserve us all.’ Harry returned his attention to the front were Lockhart was flashing his perfect white teeth. Prat! If he was a banshee he would run at the sight of Lockhart too!

The lesson only got worse as Lockhart announced a pop quiz. Harry eagerly retrieved his quill and ink. Defence was the one and only thing he felt he was good at, except Quidditch, but then again Quidditch didn’t really count for anything. Harry furiously looked down the test paper as Lockhart ceremoniously dumped it on his desk. He had his quill poised to answer when he read the first question.

Baffled Harry lifted up his head and glanced around the class before putting up his hand. Lockhart looked like he was going to skip around the room when he realised that he could answer famous Harry Potter’s question.

“I seem to have the wrong paper, sir?” Harry said gingerly. Lockhart looked down at Harry’s test paper imperiously. “There is nothing wrong with your test paper, me boy."

“Yes there is!” Harry exclaimed. “Where are the questions on curses, hexes, dangerous animals and defences and what not?”

Lockhart laughed jovially and ruffled Harry’s hair as if the raven haired boy was his favourite nephew. Harry glowered at the man. That was intolerable! And the whole class was looking on and giggling. “Ah eager to learn, Harry me boy! Destined for greatness...”

Harry stopped listening there in Lockhart’s speech but heard Malfoy’s whispered remark. “Destined for dark wizard fodder, you mean!”

Draco Malfoy’s remark was enough to set in steel Harry’s decision to use sarcasm as his only course of action to tell Lockhart that a pop quiz was no place to ask students stupid mundane things that they had no desire to know about their teachers. Picking up his quill he feverishly he wrote down answers that derided and mocked the professor. He knew that if Gilderoy Lockhart had the intelligence to actually read into the questions that the man would realise he was having a go at him – and then he would be in real trouble. Somehow Harry doubted his professor was an intelligent man.

He eventually reached question 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Harry racked his brain before writing down, ‘Gilderoy Lockfart’s birthday is on Black Friday. His ideal gift would be my autograph.’ And with a flourish Harry signed his name on the test paper in a loopy scrawl.

Harry watched nervously as Professor Lockhart flicked through the papers. He watched as the bungling professor reached his and read through his answers. “Dear me, Harry me boy, you’ll need to put my seven books to better use... my name is Lock-hart. It’s an ‘h’ not an ‘f’.” A few boys sniggered as they processed what Harry had actually written on his test paper. Lockhart continued with a quietened voice. “And Harry thank you for the autograph... but fame is a fickle friend and it is a tad early in your career to start giving out autographs willy nilly – looks pigheaded. There may come a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack hand wherever you go, but I don’t think you are quite there yet.”

Harry for the life of him couldn’t believe the stupidity of the man. He had just made the professor a laughing stock and here he was giving him advice on how to handle his fame.

Harry blushed beet red as he heard Zabini and Malfoy sniggering in the background. He sank low into his seat at the glares from the second year girls in the class. No one was growling at him quite as intensely as Hermione.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Hermione fumed as soon as the trio stepped out of the classroom. “You mocked a teacher!”

“So?” Ron queried clueless, “It was funny.”

“It was a disgrace,” Hermione screamed.

Harry was rather worried his female friend was going to self combust. “Look at all the professor’s incredible adventures and all the things he has done and you make him out to be a complete moron.”

“He is,” Ron replied blandly shrugging his shoulders.

“Good one, Potter,” Zabini said slapping Harry on the back as he passed.

Harry stared after the Slytherin boy. “Did that just happen?”

“ARGH!” Stamping her foot in frustration Hermione stomped her way to lunch.

“You better go with her mate,” Harry pointed out to Ron. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders, hefted up his school bag and marched after their furious friend. Harry watched him leave and leaned against the cool brick wall.

“Potter, Harry Potter!” Harry heard his name being called and realising it was Lockhart he dashed away down the corridor. He didn’t fancy another encounter with the man he loathed. Harry had no idea in which direction he was going. But finally he found himself in front of a girls’ bathroom.

“POT – TER.”

Muttering all sorts of interesting muggle swear words, which he had learned at an early age from his uncle, Harry futilely, looked for somewhere to hide. Harry had absolutely no idea of how the man kept up with him. Making a quick choice he slipped quickly into the forbidden area. Luckily no girls occupied the bathroom so he sat by the door.

‘I wish I had another face... I wish I knew what I really looked like...” Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his side. He had enough to Harry – ruddy – Potter. He wanted his real identity back. Surely his other identity would be better than Harry Potter.

Suddenly Harry felt a tingling through his hands and feet, which abruptly turned to pins and needles up his arms and legs. He felt his spine shiver and the skin on his face felt incredibly hot. Harry’s eyes snapped open and he stood on shaky legs.

Creeping towards the mirror slowly Harry gave a strangled yell. Looking back at him was a face he had never seen before. His hair was like fine black silk, his skin was a little paler and he now had large brown almond shaped eyes. He lifted a hand to mirror and was shock to realise that his fingers were now longer and elegant.

Harry quickly closed his eyes, deciding he would use this happy chance to rid himself of the pesky Lockhart! He closed his eyes and imagined that he was now wearing a Ravenclaw uniform. He visualised the raven on blue and bronze.

Very slowly and very cautiously he opened his eyes and to his surprise his Gryffindor robes had changed to Ravenclaw colours. “I wonder if that is me looking back?” Harry muttered to himself.

“Of course it is!” a haughty voice said behind him. “You’re a boy. GET OUT!”

Harry spun on the spot expecting to see a girl. But the speaker was the ghost of the girl. “Who are you?” Harry asked stupidly.

“Moaning Myrtle and this is my bathroom... get out!” The ghost girl started to bawl loudly. There was one thing Harry was sure he would never be able to handle and that was a crying girl – dead or alive. He practically threw himself out of the door and straight into something solid.

“Watch it there, little buddy!”

Harry glanced up to see a seventh year Slytherin boy peering down at him. Harry nearly panicked when he realised he was not in his Gryffindor uniform. “What are you doing in there?” the Slytherin boy inquired sternly.

“I – erm – I... was experimenting?”

“Experimenting?” another seventh year Slytherin repeated dubiously. “With what?”

Harry’s brain scrambled desperately to find an appropriate answer. “The mathematical equation of bathroom tiles?” he hazarded, hoping that the Slytherins would not inquire further.

The Slytherins raised their eyebrows, but they didn’t ask any more questions. “I’m Nero Parkinson, would have been Head Boy if it wasn’t for that Percy Prat,” the first Slytherin said, reaching down and finally setting Harry on his feet.

“Yeah, Percy is a prat,” Harry quickly agreed, wanting to seem amiable.

“I’m Tertius Nott,” the other Slytherin put in not looking at all pleased to be speaking to a second year Ravenclaw.

“I’m... I’m...” Both Slytherins looked at Harry expectantly. “I’m late for Professor Snape’s class!” Harry gabbled as he made a run for the dungeons.

“That’s odd,” Nero muttered watching the small Ravenclaw go.

“What?”

“Snape has double potions with second year Slytherins and Gryffindors.”

“The poor wee mite is confused,” Tertius put in carelessly. “Snape will sort him out poor sod.”

Harry ran almost all the way to the Potions classroom. He stopped just around the corner and closed his eyes. He couldn’t turn up to potions with the wrong face – Snape would have kittens. Although, Harry admitted somewhat reluctantly, it might be funny to watch Snape having kittens, especially if he was the cause.  

Concentrating very hard Harry was pleased to find out he could easily change back to what he surmised as his ‘normal’ Potter face. Hefting his school bags onto his shoulders Harry marched towards the potions classroom with a new purpose.  

Ron and Hermione weren’t waiting by the door, but Draco Malfoy was and he was looking particularly smug. “Not going so well in paradise, eh Potter?” Draco drawled glancing at his perfect fingernails. “Weasel and Buck-tooth leave you in favour of snogging in the corner?”   

Harry felt his face heat up as Draco and his retinue of Slytherins sniggered at his expense. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever snogged a girl,” Pansy put in.

“Feel sorry for the poor lass,” Millicent put in. Harry thought that was a little unfair coming from the unattractive Slytherin. 

Harry felt his face heating until it was a tell tale crimson. Draco sniffed dismissively.  

“Shut up Malfoy,” Harry snapped irritably. “Just because you’ve had all the Slytherin girls sometime in the storage cupboards doesn’t mean it is a trend we all want to follow.”  

“My, my, my. Potter has a comeback!” Zabini chortled slapping a slacked faced Draco on the back.  

Harry crossed his arms against his chest and glared at the Slytherins through his lashes.  

“Hello Harry,” Neville cried breathlessly. Harry nearly cheered as the slightly clumsy Gryffindor saved the day. “I thought I was going to be late. Professor... Harry you’re a tad pale. Are you feeling okay?”

Harry blinked stunned. Had he forgotten to change something? He glanced over at the Slytherins and noticed Zabini was eying him suspiciously. Harry looked down at his hands and realised with a jolt they weren’t his Potter hands. Shoving his pale, elegant hands into his pockets Harry turned to Neville. 

“Hey Neville,” Harry said with false cheerfulness. “Yeah, I’m alright, I just skipped lunch that’s all.” 

“You really shouldn’t skip lunch, Harry,” Neville remarked shaking his head. “You’re too skinny.” 

Harry glowered at Malfoy as the Slytherins all had a good laugh at his expense. “Thank you mum,” Harry snapped in Neville’s direction. 

“You’ve been unusually snappy lately,” Neville put in quietly. “Are you sure everything is okay? Percy wasn’t too hard on yah was he?” 

Harry wished he had the guts to shut Neville up then and there. He didn’t want to think about pompous Percy Weasley, who chewed him up because his Gryffindor tie was not perfect this morning and his shoelaces were unevenly tied. Percy had loudly claimed that morning that Harry was a disgrace to the Gryffindor name and that if he had lived in Godric Gryffindor’s time, the founder would have flayed him alive. Hermione had proudly told him that Percy got that information from Hogwarts: A Morbid Medieval History. Harry had made the mistake of telling Percy that he doubted the authenticity of his statement. Percy had then grabbed his ear and pulled Harry to a secluded spot... Harry didn’t want to think about what happened next. 

“It’s fine, Nev,” Harry muttered. “I wish everyone would just let it drop.” 

Ron and Hermione turned up with the rest of Gryffindors just as Snape swept the door open.  “Instructions are on the board.” 

Harry filed in after his friends and pulled out his ingredients carefully. He flipped his book open and pulled out his cauldron and lit it quickly. He chopped and diced ingredients carefully for twenty minutes before realising that he couldn’t quite see the board as well as he normally did. He always had to squint at the board to read Snape’s jagged handwriting but today it was nearly impossible to decipher. Had his eyes suddenly worsened over the summer? Sighing heavily Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. He froze and then blinked before dropping his glasses in shock. He could see perfectly without his glasses on. 

“Problem, Mr. Potter?” Snape inquired suddenly appearing at Harry’s elbow. “Or are we still trying to locate the nearest brain cell?” 

“Er.. no sir,” Harry mumbled still staring ahead in befuddlement. He wished he had corrected his eye sight years ago! Snape stared at Harry and then to the board in what any normal person would call bemusement.

“Then why aren’t we working, Potter?”

“I.. I... I seem to be having some difficulties with my eyes, professor,” Harry managed to mumble. “I’ll cope, thank you sir.” 

“Hmm...” Snape murmured stepping away to stare heatedly into Neville’s cauldron. “Ten points from Gryffindor.” 

Harry stared up at Snape confused. “For not following simple directions: GET TO WORK!” 

Harry bent down and picked up his glasses and shoved them into his pockets. For the remainder of the day Harry decided he wouldn’t wear the awful contraptions. 

Harry worked happily for the next half an hour until he heard a voice. He dropped both his mortar and pestle as he heard the eerie voice. The marble instruments clattered to the ground noisily making the heads of Slytherins and Gryffindors snap up to stare at him. Harry however was too preoccupied with the voice to notice that he had an audience. 

“Rip... kill... kill... taste flesh.... let me kill..” 

“POTTER!” Snape’s angry snarl tore through Harry’s trance. “Look at this mess.”

“That voice... did you hear that voice...” Harry murmured. 

“Potter if I wanted to hear you babbling nonsense I would have feed you my babbling beverage.” 

“Someone’s going to kill someone!” Harry exclaimed fearfully looking at Snape for any confirmation that he too heard the voice. “Silence!” Snape demanded glancing around the class whom was already muttering about Potter’s strange outburst. Snape took in the pale, shaking form of the young Gryffindor and was pleased to note the lad was not stupid enough to keep blathering. Snape restrained a shiver of dread creeping up his spine and spun back onto the class. “Back to work!” he barked. Harry, the Potions Master noted with an air of annoyance didn’t move a muscle. His too bright green eyes were as round as saucers and he was sure that he could see beads of sweat dripping down the boy’s brow. 

“Zabini, Nott escort Potter here to the infirmary and make sure he gets there!” Snape snapped, painfully aware the class’ attention had snapped straight back to him. “Potter, detention. Wasting precious class time when you are ill enough not to be here.” 

“Yes sir,” Harry managed to mumble through a lump in his throat.  Snape stared at his two Slytherins. Messers Nott and Zabini had to be two of the more astute Slytherins to realise Snape wanted Potter escorted to the infirmary and nothing more. 

“And fifty points from Gryffindor for wasting my time!” Snape added in as an afterthought as Harry and his escort reached the door.

Zabini and Nott chuckled. “Come on, Potter,” Zabini said curling his long fingers around Harry’s upper arm. “You really don’t look crash hot.” 

Harry glared at the Slytherin balefully. Nott bent down stiffly and retrieved Harry’s belongings and deftly avoided a well-aimed kick from Ron Weasley’s direction. Flanked by two Slytherins, Harry had no choice but to go to the infirmary. He would have gone to the Gryffindor Common Room if he’d had the chance and he would have been able to talk any of his Gryffindor year mates into doing so. However he didn’t think the Slytherins would let him and he didn’t want to show them where Gryffindor Tower was... not that the slippery serpents couldn’t find out if they really wanted to. 

“I thought what you did today in Defence was brilliant,” Zabini stated, obviously trying to start a conversation on the way to the infirmary. Harry snorted in reply.

“The idiot didn’t understand. Used too many big words.” Nott rolled his eyes.

“Still, for a Gryffie it was not too bad. You weren’t, however, very covert about it.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be covert,” Harry muttered. “I was trying to protest!” 

“Failed splendidly then,” Zabini grinned. “Although, you did make a right idiot out of him.” 

Harry eyed the Slytherins suspiciously. “What do you want?” 

Nott slapped his palm across his heart and pretended to flail about as if he was injured. “Ouch that hurt!” 

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion at Nott’s antics and chanced a glance at Zabini, who was smirking at him knowingly. “Snape wants you safely delivered to the infirmary without any wayward adventures on the side... and to the infirmary you go.”  

 “There’s naught wrong with him,” Harry heard Pomfrey state. He had been sitting on his bed in the infirmary since being dumped there by Nott and Zabini. Intrigued and slightly bored Harry slipped from the bed and tip toed a little closer in order to eavesdrop. 

“The boy is hearing voices that by rights he should not be,” Snape’s voice hissed. “You cannot possibly say that there is nothing wrong with that!” 

“What is this all about Severus?” Pomfrey inquired sounding quiet put out. 

“How are you going to explain this to him then?” Snape returned. 

“You heard the voice?” Pomfrey sounded surprised. 

“Of course I heard,” Snape all but snarled.  

Pomfrey didn’t say anything for a while. “Perhaps you should say nothing to him.” 

“Nothing!” Snape sounded like he was choking. “That child does not know when to give up. Mark my words well Poppy... he’ll be investigating all too soon. He’s already questioning his parentage for Merlin’s sake.” 

“He’s a lonely little boy, Severus,” Pomfrey admonished softly. “Of course he wants some real family members.” 

“Family is overrated if you ask me,” Snape snarled stomping out of the infirmary. 

“Well good thing I didn’t ask you Severus Snape,” Pomfrey said sauntering away into the private domain of her office. 

Harry used Pomfrey’s preoccupation with her newspaper in order to make his escape. He sat cross legged on the bed and concentrated on his real face. After a few long moments Harry was sure that he was no long ‘Harry Potter’ and hence free to leave the confides of Pomfrey’s lair. He found it quite annoying that the neurotic nurse had announced to Snape that he was fine and yet she had not discharged him.

Grumbling he set out across the infirmary and straight out the door. As luck would have it he meet the same two seventh year Slytherins in the hallway. 

“You following us, kiddo,” Nero Parkinson commented looking entirely too jovial for a Slytherin. 

“Er... no...:” Harry muttered feeling strange that these Slytherins would deign to even speak with him. 

“Weren’t you a Ravenclaw earlier?” Tertius queried glancing at Harry’s uniform. 

“Me? Ravenclaw?” Harry repeated just a little slow on the uptake. “Oh yeah we had transfiguration and I thought I could impress some Hufflepuffs by changing uniforms.” 

Nero raised his eyebrow. “Did it work?” 

Tertius snorted. “They’re Hufflepuffs.” 

Harry smiled tightly and tried to edge away from the seventh years.  “So what are you doing in the infirmary?” Tertius asked nodding his head in the general direction where Harry had came from.  

“Nothing interesting...” Harry answered edging a little further away. The older Slytherins must have noted Harry’s discomfort; for with one final nod they left as quickly as they came. 

Harry head to lunch and was not surprised to find that the note from Professor Snape for his detention was already at his seat. That man was nothing but organised. Quickly reading the note Harry groaned to see it was scheduled for seven o’clock... 

At five past seven Harry raced down to the dungeons. Percy Weasley had accosted him alone in the toilets again and it had taken two bites of the hand to make the prat let him go. 

Red cheeked and breathing heavily Harry knocked on the Potion Master’s door knowing full well how much Snape hated tardiness. “

In,” came the curt reply. 

“Sir I...” Harry quickly gabbled as he opened the door swiftly. Perhaps if he explained quickly Snape might be in a forgiving mood. One look at the potions master however, froze Harry in his tracks... Snape looked ready to snap his neck. 

“Your lack of promptness communicates effectively to me that you do not respect me,” Snape said in his soft yet hard voice. “Tardiness to a detention is the height of disrespect, young man.” 

“Sir please...” Harry mumbled. It really wasn’t his fault this time.

But Snape seemed to be in lecture mode. “I do not appreciate being kept waiting, especially when this is not a real detention.” 

“It’s not?” 

Snape snorted. “It is now. Sit and write lines... As a young and respectable Gryffindor, I shall accord to the Hogwarts staff the same honour and respect as I would show my own Head of House... Unless of course in the dubious case you would like to share a reasonable excuse.” 

Harry sighed, they would be selling ice skates in hell before he told Snape anything about his problems with Percy Weasley.

Seeing Harry’s tight lipped grimace, Snape turned on his heel with a flurry of robes. “Thought not – get to work.” 

Harry sat where an ink well and parchment appeared and started scribbling frantically.  Snape glanced over his should at the young Gryffindor and shook his head sadly. “

Are you sure you don’t want to say anything, Mr Potter?” 

Harry shook his head and kept himself resolutely bent over his work. 

“Are you well?” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered quickly. Snape didn’t look too sure that Harry was actually telling him the truth. A moment later he stared pointedly at Harry’s parchment and with a barely audible sigh the young Gryffindor continued with his lines. Snape’s gaze lingered for a moment longer. 

“Continue working, Potter, but listen carefully. I don’t fancy having to repeat myself for you more than once this evening.” Harry continued to write but he nodded in acknowledgement of the Potion Masters’ words.  

“Verbal answer if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled glumly. “This voice you are hearing. You may not pursue the matter any further. The staff at Hogwarts is suitably qualified to handle this issue. If I catch you disobeying me you will be one sorry little Gryffindor.” 

Harry glanced up. He knew that Professor Snape didn’t make idle threats but wasn’t quite sure that the older wizard was alluding to. “Or more plainly your Gryffindor backside will be smarting for a week after I am finished with you,” Snape continued dryly.

Harry almost thought the Slytherin House master looked somewhat amused and he couldn’t help but feel his face blushing. “I know Gryffindor house has stopped the practice of corporal punishment and it has been a while I have seen fit to punish one of Professor McGonagall’s cubs in such a manner but I will do it if your behaviour warrants such a consequence. Do we have an understanding?” 

“Yes sir,” Harry stared hardly believing his ears.  

“Good continue with your lines.” 

Harry rushed to continue and missed Snape rolling his eyes as the older man went back to cataloguing his potion ingredients.  

“Sir?” It felt like Harry had been sitting at his desks for weeks writing lines. Snape glanced up abruptly and stared at the cringing Gryffindor pointedly. 

“You are being punished Potter,” the potions master dryly commented. 

“Yes, I know.” Harry faltered for a moment, swallowing audibly as he continued. “I just wanted to know if you have heard of Little Tykes Agency... I heard that they...” 

Snape cut Harry off unexpected. “It’s a disgusting lucrative business. You stay away from Sydney Higglesworth and her ilk if you value your life, boy.” 

“I just wanted to know about them,” Harry muttered almost mutinously. Snape glided over to the now cringing Gryffindor and leaned over the bench so their noses were almost touching.

“Sydney Higglesworth preys on young pureblooded witches to steal and sell their baby boys; selling helpless little purebloods for large profits because of their blood heritage. You stay away from that woman, do you understand me?” Harry nodded. “Good and let this be the end of your maudlin hopes of being adopted and having more family. Arrogant and selfish your father was; but I don’t see the likes of James Potter buying a baby boy... he held the Gryffindor virtues in too high regard.” 

Harry nodded again and continued with his lines.

 The next morning found Harry staring morosely into his cereal bowl. After Snape’s stern warning last night he found that he still wasn’t particularly hungry. An image of him flipped over Snape’s bony knee flittered unwelcomingly into his mind. He shook his head to free himself of terrible imaginings and turned back to his pumpkin juice.  

Harry wasn’t quite sure why the magical world was so enamoured by the orange drink. Why would anyone drink a vegetable willingly? Did the staff believe the students did not consume nearly enough vegetables at dinner? Surely wizards did not drank pumpkin juice for the same reason Aunt Petunia drank a full glass of carrot juice.   

It was still early, so Hermione was busy studying, (Defence Against the Dark Arts) and Ron was still presumably snoring in bed. The red head wasn’t much conversation in the mornings anyway.   

An idea flittered into Harry’s mind. If he could change his body just by thinking it, perhaps he could have a nice bubbly lemonade with breakfast if he tried hard enough.   

It took a long time of staring but eventually Harry was certain the orangey colour of the pumpkin juice became a little lighter. Glancing up Harry checked to make sure Hermione’s nose was still glued sickeningly close to the page to her book and tried again.  

Eventually the liquid in his goblet changed from a bright orange to a bubbly looking clear colour. Harry tasted, then shrugged his shoulders and downed the lot. He poured another cup and tried the process again. He was on his fifth cup when Hermione deigned to speak with him.  

“Giving your kidney a thorough clean out, Harry? That is your fifth cup.” Hermione questioned flicking to the next page. “Water would be much better to flush out your system.”  

“Just thirsty,” Harry replied a little curtly, pouring himself another cup to again. With each attempt his lemonade from pumpkin juice was getting better.  

Twenty minutes later Hermione dragged a reluctant Harry to transfiguration. Harry found a seat and pulled out his equipment while Hermione went to the front and started interrogating Professor McGonagall about something that no doubt didn’t happen to third year transfiguration.   

He watched his studious friend’s conversation and barely registered Ron’s hurried arrival.   “You didn’t wake me,” Ron snapped irritably.  

“When I woke you yesterday you chewed me up,” Harry returned back evenly.  

“Yeah, well – it was early.”  

“I wasn’t going to leave breakfast just to get you out of bed. Either you want me to give you a wakeup call or you don’t.”  

Ron snorted and turned towards the front as other students quickly filed in before they could be late for the Gryffindor House Mistress. It never paid to be on McGonagall’s bad side.  

“Mr. Weasley please ensure you brush your mop before presenting yourself in my class and for goodness sake tuck in your shirt and straighten your tie while you are at it. You look like a slob.”  

Ron melted into his chair as Malfoy and his cronies sniggered. Harry patted his shoulder in an act of sympathy. 

 “Shredded you arrogant Gryffindor dolt!” Snape snarled looking at Hermione’s potion ingredients. Harry twisted his neck around quickly to see what the problem was. It seemed Hermione was not concentrating to her normal meticulous standard and of course that meant Snape was on her case. “If you please Miss Granger refrain from reading Lockhart’s trash in my class and con-cen –trate!” Snape all but bellowed.  

Harry fisted his fingers under his work bench, willing himself not to jump to his friend’s rescue. Hermione was the sort of girl who did not like being rescued too often and Snape had made in abundantly clear he was not going to take any misbehaviour on his part this year. Not defending Hermione was rather difficult as his friend glanced up Harry saw the unmistakable signs of tears in her glassy chocolate brown eyes.  

Unfortunately Ron had not problem defending Hermione. “Shut it you over grown egoistical bat.”  

“Egoistical, Mr. Weasley?” Snape repeated slowly dark humour showing in his obsidian eyes. Harry could have sworn that Snape’s lips twitched just a little bit. Snape turned to Harry. “Does Miss Granger give you vocabulary lessons that you and Mr. Weasley so dearly need, Mr Potter?”  

“No sir,” Harry answered evenly. “She does not.”  

“Nothing to say to me, Mr. Potter?” Snape continued sweeping away from Hermione’s and Ron’s work bench so that he was now standing in front of Harry.  

“No sir,” Harry answered almost cringing. He could feel the heated gaze of the other Gryffindor’s on his back as he answered.  

Snape leaned forward so that he could whisper in Harry’s ear. “Good boy, you have seemed to have obtained some respect for authority and some self control. Perhaps I should have threatened to discipline you earlier. Hmm?”  

Snape suddenly stood up and stalked to the front of his classroom. “Dentention Weasley for you abysmal lack of judgement and Miss Granger for your disgraceful lack of concentration...”  

Harry glanced behind him to look at the disappointed looks of his friends as Snape continued his lecture. At the daggers shot his way by Ron’s accusatory eyes Harry turned back to the front and pretended to concentrate. It was worthless.  

As the class continued on with the practical side of potion making Harry robotically followed Draco’s steps, as the blonde Slytherin was sitting directly opposite. He didn’t notice the potion master securitising him closely.    

“Longbottom that looks like pig swill... quickly add...”   

Snape’s voice cut through Harry’s concentration. Without thinking Harry wished Snape would just be silent and leave his students alone. There was a moment’s pause were everything seemed unnaturally still then Malfoy’s horrified voice screaming, “Everyone down!”   

Stunned Harry half turned around just as Neville’s potion exploded. There was a sizzling hiss and something gooey and very hot landed on Harry’s cheek.   

For the first five seconds Harry didn’t feel anything and then there was agony around and just under his eye and cheek. Harry clawed at his skin and bit down on his tongue to stop his startled cries of pain.   

Moments later Snape’s elegant potion stained fingers were batting Harry’s hands away from his face. Harry briefly wondered why Snape wasn’t yelling at the class or him for that matter, when he realised he had actually silenced Snape and hence caused the accident.  

Snape glared around at the class sternly and then down at Harry, before picking up the slim Gryffindor under his arm and marching into the adjoining room. The class could only watch helpless as Snape exited into the lab where only his top NEWT potion students worked, with a hapless Harry.  

“I’m getting the headmaster,” Blaise Zabini decided firmly after no one made a move.  

A silent Snape set Harry on his feet by a large basin and bent the boy over the rim. Snape’s pale fingers clamped firmly but gently around the base of Harry’s neck as the Potions Master held the younger wizard and turned the cool water on with his free hand. Harry shook his head and tried to free himself from Snape’s grip but Snape held him in place.   

Harry wished that Snape would say something – anything. Barely registering what he was doing, Harry released Snape’s voice. “Calm boy, don’t fight me. The cool water is best for the pain,” Snape said in a very gruff voice as if it was rough from disuse. Harry thought that Snape sounded surprised to be suddenly hearing his voice again.  

Pale fingers brushed across Harry’s searing cheeks and palmed water into his eyes. Gasping Harry shook his head as if beseeching Snape to let him go. Nevertheless he was held firm.  

“My fault,” Harry mumbled to himself. His body seemed numbed to the effect of what silencing Professor Snape had actually meant.   

“Don’t be daft boy,” Snape snarled still holding Harry over the basin rim.   

“May I inquire as to why you are holding Harry over the basin so forcefully?”  Harry nearly jumped out of his skin to hear the Headmaster so close.

Snape on the other hand didn’t seem at all surprised by the intrusion.  “Sometimes all a pain riddled Gryffindor cub needs to leave his wounds to someone else,” Snape replied evenly. He abruptly turned and took Harry under his armpits and sat him neatly onto a steel potions bench. Harry sat their dumbly blinking. Had Snape picked him up as if he weighed very little?  

Snape hummed, tilted Harry’s chin to glanced under the boy’s right eye. He prodded gently with one elongated finger then grimaced;  all the while completely ignoring the Headmaster who was waiting patiently.   

“A simple burn salve should be sufficient,” Snape said aloud as he buried his long croaked nose into a cabinet.   

“Are you certain Severus?” the Headmaster put in. “It looks like a nasty burn.”  

“Quite sure,” Snape snapped managing to sound professional at the same time. Harry wasn’t quite sure how Snape managed it.  He swung his feet patiently and pointedly ignored the Headmaster.   

“There will be an investigation,” the Headmaster said almost too softly. Snape paused momentarily before returning to rummage through his potion supplies. “I admit I’m surprised that you slipped in your usual adequate supervision during class time, Severus.”

Harry thought the Headmaster seemed a little disappointed and felt a shock of sympathy for Snape.  “It wasn’t his fault!” Harry cried out before he could contain his impulsivity.  

“I can defend myself, Mr. Potter,” Snape said softly turning to stare intently at the Headmaster. “There have been accidents before – so why does this accident warrant such attention?”  

The Headmaster pointedly glanced in Harry’s direction.  

“Oh, I see,” Snape said in a horribly dead panned voice.  

“I didn’t duck in time,” Harry muttered mutinously in Professor Dumbledore’s direction. “Professor Snape was already at Neville’s cauldron.”  

Snape returned with the burn salve and shoved in into Harry’s hands with a curt command, “Leave and let the adults talk.”  

Harry didn’t hesitate he tucked the burn salve into his robes and slipped from the work bench. A moment later he slipped in between Dumbledore and Snape who both looked like they were locked in a physiological duel.  

The class had obviously been dismissed and Harry quickly stooped before where he had been working and picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. As he trudged up the stairs towards the Great Hall Harry decided to stop off in the boys toilets – he didn’t fancy showing if face at the Gryffindor table without knowing what he looked like.  

He slipped into the first toilets and relieved to find himself alone he stowed his book bag away. As he had guessed he didn’t look too good. Slipping his glasses off his nose and into his pockets, Harry touched his cheek and surrounding skin softly. It was red and blistered.  

Very carefully Harry unscrewed the lid and applied the salve gently. Snape’s mixture immediately sank blissfully into Harry’s skin and the remaining pain instantly vanished. Harry watched as raw red skin slowly and meticulously turned pink then to healthy white.  

Harry stashed the burn salve away into his robes. He’ll have to remember to hand it back to Professor Snape and thank the man personally, much that he loathed to do so.

Just because he was in the bathroom Harry turned on the tap to see if he could turn the water to coca-cola... to his surprise the water almost instantly turned the familiar dark colour. Harry stuck his finger in grimacing to find it was warm and flat.  

Harry turned his uniform bright orange, pink and violet before turning the emblem into the Hufflepuff yellow and black.   

He turned off the tap and closed his eyes. ‘I wish I just could be normal.’  

When he opened his eyes Harry saw his real face in the mirror and three shocked Slytherin’s faces staring back at him.

“This is unbelievable,” Theodore Nott muttered, while Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini stared slacked jawed. “Are you really a Hufflepuff?” Not understanding the Slytherin’s question at all; Harry decided to back up slowly, pick his bag up from the floor and make a mad dash for it. Draco, however seemed to have other plans. He quickly slapped the entrance door shut while Blaise hastily added sloppy locking charms.  

Harry hefted his bag higher onto his shoulder and stared warily at the Slytherins.  

“Is this some joke?” Blaise Zabini finally choked. “No one is supposed to know yet. Not even our esteemed Headmaster.” 

“Joke?” Harry blinked nonplussed, hoping beyond all hope that the Slytherins hadn’t seen his new trick. “What joke?”  

Theodore Nott nearly choked on his tongue. 

“Over the summer my mother seemed to have become bored of me,” Blaise said patiently, elegantly stepping out of Theodore’s way as his friend tried to elbow him none to gently in the ribs. “It seems that...” 

“Blaise...” Draco warned in a strange sing-song voice. “Your REAL dad is going to kill you not to mention us if this gets out.” 

“Shut it, Draco!” Blaise snarled in Draco’s direction before quickly returning to his pleasant demeanour and turning to Harry.  “Anyway, seems she’s getting a few galleons short since husband number five is suing for all his worth.” 

“I like him,” Draco muttered grinning. “Reminds me of my dad.” 

Harry blinked slowly and refrained from reaching to his arms and pinching himself. Everything suddenly seemed so surreal. He shuffled towards the door but Blaise cut across his path and took his arm. 

“It seems my mum faked her pregnancy to fool husband number three into marrying her.  So she went to this agency paid a whole load of galleons...” 

“Let me guess Little Tykes Agency by Sydney Higgleworth?” Harry hazard, he felt suddenly feeling a little bit braver, despite being cornered in the toilets by three Slytherins while wearing a Hufflepuff uniform. They had no idea of who he was but that was beside the point. It was not an ideal situation. 

“How did you know?” Blaise enquired creasing his brow in consternation, “Never mind. I was delivered approximately eight months later with a bill.” 

Harry noticed Zabini’s face beginning to change ever so slightly. He watched in absolute horror as Zabini’s dark sink faded until it was pale and as nose elongated and rich almond eyes stared back at him. 

Harry had to hold his chest to stop himself from throwing up his guts. 

“My real dad hasn’t told me much about mum,” Blaise continued, “And he never mentioned that I could have a twin...” 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Harry muttered. 

“Typical Hufflepuff,” Draco murmured sitting Harry on the tiled floor. The blonde boy sniffed indifferently. “Look he’s gone a funny green colour.” 

“I found documents too,” Harry heard himself say rather stupidly. “And I’ve been doing strange things lately.” 

“Dad says it is wish magic,” Blaise commented. 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah... older bloke that looks like you both,” Theodore remarked somewhat dryly. 

“Who?” Harry asked feeling almost like after all he didn’t really want to know. 

“Professor Snape,” Blaise said as if the answer was obvious.  

Harry felt his stomach lurch for sure that time.  “You can’t say anything to anyone,” Blaise informed Harry seriously studying him with critical dark eyes. Harry stared up at his double and swallowed. How on earth had he missed the physical resemblance; everything about his new face had screamed Snape. And he was just beginning to like it to.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t like it if he found out too early. He might take us away from dad.” 

“Us?” 

“Yes. Us,” Blaise said firmly, he grabbed Harry’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, show yourself and we can go and see dad and tell him.” 

“No!” Harry stumbled away. 

“You cannot possibly tell me you are afraid of the dreaded Professor Snape?” Draco drawled studying his perfect fingernails. Harry often wondered why the blonde even bothered sometimes. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” Blaise asked turning himself back to Blaise.

“At least tell me who you are.” 

“I can’t,” Harry repeated dumbly. 

“Yes, we got that. But why?” Theodore stressed. 

“This is bad,” Harry almost wailed as he reached the door. He half clawed desperately at the handle feeling panicked. Snape most certainly could not be his real dad. He vaguely heard the soft footfalls approach before Blaise’s hand was on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Blaise murmured. “I get that... but...” 

“What am I supposed to say,” Harry snapped sarcastically, “ ‘Hi Dad, I’m the kid you never knew existed. Please chop me up and add me to your latest potions experiment.’ Trust me we’ll be better off if he doesn’t know.” 

“Oh let him go for Merlin’s sake,” Harry heard Draco whine in his pompous accent. 

“Just promise you’ll meet me later; say the greenhouse at eleven tonight.” Harry bobbed his head in ascent and Zabini released the locking charm. He was out the door before it was fully open. 

“Snape is going to kill us if he finds out,” Nott mumbled staring at Harry’s retreating back.  

“So?” Zabini snapped irritably as he watched his double disappear around the corner.  

 Harry cursed his stupidity as he curled himself in the greenhouse the second years were currently working in. It was cold and he was miserable and confused. On one hand it looked like he had a twin brother then again his brother was a Slytherin and was friends with Draco-Perfect-Malfoy. Worse his biological father was Severus Snape and his mother was probably a banshee or a vampire or something even worse. 

“Hey.” 

Harry glanced up and saw the silhouette of Blaise in his Snape face towering over him. Very slowly Blaise sat on the earthy ground beside him. Lifting his eyes further Harry saw the lone figure of Goyle at the entrance. 

“He’s smart enough to be able to lookout for us,” Blaise commented with a chuckle. “Stupid enough to risk our Head of House’s temper. I wasn’t able to convince Theo and Draco.” Blaise shrugged his shoulders and drew his knees tightly into his chest. He continued on after a slight pause, “Besides I wanted to speak with you alone.” 

“And Goyle is intelligent enough not to listen in,” Harry whispered. 

“Something like that,” Blaise chortled but a moment he was serious again. “Dad calls me Cyrus in private; once we go public with our blood relation my name will be Cyrus.” 

Harry remained silent, unsure exactly of what Blaise, or rather Cyrus, wanted from him. “What shall I call you?” Cyrus enquired pointedly. 

Harry shrugged. 

Cyrus sighed long-sufferingly. “Look it’s not every day that you find out you have a twin after spending your whole life feeling so ruddy empty... Oh I get it you already have a family.” 

“Well, yes,” Harry muttered, “But it’s not that they actually want me. And it’s not every day that one finds out one is a twin and his father could not hate him more than he already does.”  

“Don’t me so melodramatic!” Cyrus chided slapping Harry’s knee playfully. “Dad’ll love you – once he gets over smashing a few potion bottles.” 

“I’m the worse possible student to be his son!” Harry blurted. 

“You’re not really a Hufflepuff?” Cyrus asked slyly; dark mischief in his eyes before his eyes widened. “Of course it is perfectly okay if you are and all...” 

Harry stared at the Slytherin in disbelief. Dare he say it? Cyrus looked excited.   

 Cyrus nee Blaise had a plan. It was a plan he was sure would work. If only he could convince his dad to unwittingly give his elusive twin, who still refused to give him any indications of his identity, a perfect name. Maybe if Cyrus gave his brother an identity then he would see that he could be trusted and wheedle him into revealing himself.  

Cyrus sighed as he slipped through the open door and changed his identity back to his ‘Cyrus’ face. He watched with lidded eyes as his father work expertly and quickly with his potions. It was unwise to approach a potions master until said master had indicated it was safe to do so. 

“Cyrus.”

At the sound of his father’s calm voice Cyrus crept further until he stood beside the potions master. “You should not be tempted so often to visit me, my son,” Snape said without looking up, his deft hands sprinkling an exact amount of a foul smelling herb into his cauldron.  

“I know,” Cyrus sighed watching the depths of the cauldron as it bubbled over. He decided it was now or never. “If I had a brother what would you call him?” 

The potions master stopped abruptly and turned his body to face the young Slytherin. “I beg your pardon?” 

“If I had a brother...” 

“You don’t,” Snape snapped turning back to his workbench and started ripping leaves with a little more force than what Cyrus strictly thought necessary. 

“Hypothetically speaking...” Cyrus continued after a deep breath. Snape sighed heavily and let the potion ingredients he had been massacring fall to the work top.

“Cyrus please... cease at once.” 

“I’m curious,” Cyrus said blinking and trying to look as innocent as possible. “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” Snape reluctantly agreed softly, carding his hand through Cyrus’ hair. “Of course you’re curious.” 

Cyrus waited patiently for the older wizard to continue. It would do no good to harp on – Snape would only answer when he was good and ready. Cyrus was not disappointed. 

“Saige, for your mother.” 

“Saige?” Cyrus nose wrinkled. “Like a potion ingredient?”   

Snape smiled sadly and carded his hand through Cyrus’ hair firmly and stopped at the base of his neck.  “Was my mother’s name Saige?” 

“No,” Snape shook his head. “She was a little younger than I. I was halfway through my masters when she first contacted me about the possible medicinal properties of sage. She was beginning her own mastery in healing.” 

“So mother was intelligent. Ravenclaw?” 

“Only a Gryffindor would have enough audacity to skip over dozens of potion masters to ask a lowly apprentice.” A sad smile tugged on Snape’s harsh features.  

“My mother was a Gryffindor?” 

Snape nodded and turned back to the cauldron. “She was a Gryffindor; a woman of intelligence, passion and so kind.” Snape swallowed thickly. “I was not forth coming with her inquiries at first... she was persistent. And she always used to cook with sage, I used to tell her she was completely obsessed with that damn herb more than...” Snape blinked rapid and left his sentence to hang in the air. 

“What was her name? Where is she now?” 

Snape gestured for silence. “Forgive me Cyrus... when I am ready I’ll tell you more.” 

Cyrus stared up into his father’s face. The older wizard looked so downcast that he reluctantly agreed and slipped away from the potions lab. 

 Harry huddled uneasily in the greenhouse. It had been raining all day and Harry had not brought a cloak with him to keep warm. Unlike some of the other children, Harry only had the bare minimum of the Hogwarts uniform range.  Harry was pretty sure he was the only Gryffindor that had only one winter cloak. And that one winter cloak had formed a blanket underneath him to stop mud soaking into the sweat pants he used for pyjamas. Even that was getting a little thin and tatty as he had been forced to use it for bedding over the summer.

 To make things worse; Blaise was late and the blasted rain could get in through the greenhouse. He was so cold he was numb.  Harry tucked his knees to his chest and nose to his knees so that he was curled over.

“I should never have come,” Harry muttered. “Blaise is probably hyperventilating with laughter by now.”  

“Ahh... that’s what you think about me when my back is turned.”  

Harry’s head shot up. Blaise had finally turned up and was grinning madly. Harry wanted to wipe the ridiculous smile off his brother’s face. 

“You’re late Blaise... and I’m blinking cold.” 

“It’s Cyrus,” Blaise snapped the cheeky grin falling from his face. “And you should have brought a waterproof cloak with you.” Despite Blaise’s annoyance and lecturing tone the Slytherin boy wrapped the edge of his cloak around Harry’s shaking shoulders.  

“My cloak is on the ground in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

“Then bring two.” Harry looked at Blaise as if he was stupid.

“I only have one.” 

“Oh?” Blaise blinked and looked guiltily at the muddy cloak they were sitting on. “You can have my cloaks from last year.” 

“I can’t...” 

“Well you can’t go around without anything for warmth. Face it. Your cloak has seen much better days. I can’t just let you wonder about Hogwarts without a cloak and getting ill.” 

Harry sighed and stretched his fingers. “If you knew who I was you would.” 

“Only a silly Gryffindor would speak like that.” Cyrus sniffed in indignation. “I can count myself among the traditional Slytherins. What do you honestly think is the most important thing to a traditional Slytherin?” 

“Power? Prestige? Purebloodedness?” Harry hazard throwing his hands up in the air. 

Cyrus winced visibly and sent a sidelong glance at Harry. “You have to be a Gryff with self esteem issues?” 

Harry didn’t deign to answer; instead he stared diligently off into the darkness. 

“Mum was a Gryffindor,” Cyrus informed Harry with a wistful sigh. “I think dad is still madly in love with her. Isn’t that romantic?” 

“I didn’t take you for the romantic type.” 

“Not usually,” Cyrus confessed with a frown. “There’s something terribly romantically mysterious with our mother. Anyway my point is; family is the most important aspect of Slytherin clan life.” 

“Clan?”  

“Were you brought up under a rock or something?” Cyrus snorted. “Like eh... Malfoy is a family in the Archibald clan; Nott is a family group connected to Sutcliff and Weasley to Nika.” 

Harry blinked dumbly. How could there be a whole family system that he didn’t know about? 

“Let’s take Gryffindor, that should be a name you are familiar with. Now there are no ‘Gryffindor’ family in existence but the name Gryffindor has been broken down to Potter, Dalton , Cathmor  and Linleigh; together they form the Gryffindor family of clans.” 

“Oh.” 

“So yeah, family is more important than this house rivalry rubbish.” 

“Oh.” 

“Can’t possibly be a Ravenclaw with your eloquent speech. Perhaps you are a Hufflepuff after all?”

Harry yawned and glanced exasperatedly down at Colin Creevey, who decided despite the fact it was the crack of dawn, thought that Quidditch practice would be an exciting endeavour. Harry on the other hand had to force himself not to do anything drastic: such as ermanently sticking the minuscule first year to the wall.

“You were the youngest seeker of the century weren’t you? Eh?”  

Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. He had already answered that question at least six times; perhaps if he ignored the excitable kid he would just go away.  

“I heard your dad was on the Gryffindor team in his day. Must get it all from him? Where did you get your broom? Is it your own? Can I fly it?” 

Colin must have seen his dark scowl because he took the hint and started asking his questions in a more sedated pace. “Have you ever gotten hurt? Broken something? Have you injured someone else on an opposing team? Is there a lot of blood and guts in Quidditch?” 

Harry stared into the space in front of him, his emerald eyes glazed over as he pretended to listen to Colin Creevey’s inane prattle. A part of him wished he could make the little Gryffindor shut up but immediately Harry began to feel a tad guilty. Unspoken Gryffindor Rule Number One: Never pick on a First Year. Harry thought that the rule was ridiculous because now that he was in second year he was vulnerable to the ilk of Percy Weasley who seemed to delight in pointing out all his faults.  

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts away from Percy Weasley, annoying first years and Gryffindor Rules. Instead he thought back to the meeting with ‘Cyrus’ in the green house the night before.  Cyrus had been quite pleased about something. His dark eyes flashed as he told in great detail how he had gotten to name his twin ‘Saige’.

“And that’s what I shall call you from now on, Saige Snape,” Cyrus said pompously. 

Harry remembered his indignation. “Why?” he demanded. “It sounds like a potion ingredient!” 

Cyrus had been a little put out and explained very slowly as if talking to a village idiot. “A father always names his sons; a mother the daughters. It’s wrong not to have Father name you.” 

“Why?” Harry demanded. He had always enjoyed playing the devil’s advocate. Cyrus didn’t have an answer; but it seemed Harry was stuck with the alias ‘Saige’.

He murmured the name under his breath so Colin – Annoying – Creevey wouldn’t hear. No trouble there the brat was still rattling off questions.  

Harry considered the name and remembered the ‘romantically cute’ story Cyrus had told him about their mother. He would be lying to say he was not curious. Actually Harry was dying of curiosity; Snape as far as Harry could tell was not married nor did he have a partner. Where was his mother? More importantly did she have a name and a face? While living at the Dursley’s he was deprived of knowing Lily Potter’s name and face made him obsessed with needing to know these things. Cyrus the mountain of knowledge of these things could not shed any light on their mother’s identity. 

Having the little toe-rag Creevey tagging along had made Harry late and had annoyed Oliver Wood. Harry pretended to watch Oliver’s early morning presentation of lines and squiggles. But there were too many lines and arrows and shapes that Harry’s tired eyes started to see kaleidoscope patterns.  

After Oliver finished blabbering on about Quidditch tactics and had told everyone how they were to do their job the Gryffindors were marched out onto the field: the grumbling Weasley twins taking up the rear. 

They hadn’t been in the air too long when Oliver swore loudly and swooped to the ground. Harry would never forget that confrontation. 

 Harry would never forget the confrontation that ensued. Nor would poor Ron, Harry thought with a mixture of bemusement and resentment at the slimy Slytherins. Even now Ron was taking regular trips to the toilets to throw up large, thick, slick slugs. Harry sat as far away from his friend as possible, while being close enough to be supportive. Even the thought of those horrid slugs made Harry shiver with revulsion – and he rather thought that his stomach might just revolt at the sight of them. 

“I’m going for a walk,” Harry muttered to Hermione who was watching Ron dash from the Common Room for the seventh time that hour. “I need to think.” 

Hermione nodded wistfully and not getting a verbal answer Harry stood and slipped from the portrait hole. He walked along some deserted corridors and down some stairs that looked like no student had stepped on for the last decade. It looked like a promising place to explore without being disturbed. There were even lacy spider webs in the corners that blew in the castle breeze. 

Taking great care to remember where he had been Harry explored some very old looking classrooms and offices. He had even found an old parchment with lines, ‘I shalt no pick my nose in Madam’s class it isn’t very ladylike.’ Harry folded the lines carefully and stashed them into his robe pockets, who knew when they would be good for a laugh and prosperity before continuing on. 

In one of the lasts classrooms of the corridor Harry was surprised to find that he wasn’t alone.  “Good afternoon, Nick,” Harry said in way of greeting to the Gryffindor ghost, who was looking positively glum. 

“Afternoon yes,” Nick replied glancing down at a transparent letter. Apparently ghosts were able to send each other mail – but their parchment was a clear as they were. “Good no.” 

“Er – you looked troubled.” 

“Yes well apparently I don’t fulfil requirements to join the headless hunt,” Sir Nick pointed out. “But you are only nearly headless,” Harry said and then immediately cursed his tactlessness as Nick stared at him bitterly. “Half an inch – half an inch of skin and sinew. If that! Most people would say that is good and beheaded, but oh no not nearly good enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore!” 

“Well it sounds like you don’t like Sir Podmore. Do you really want to be in his little club?” 

Sir Nick sighed noisily through his ghostly nostrils. “Yes. No. I suppose not.” 

“I wish I could help,” Harry murmured. 

Sir Nick stopped suddenly and Harry not watching at all where he was going stepped through him. Harry shivered violently. Walking through any ghost was like taking a freezing shower.

Nick however was staring at Harry with fathomlessly eyes burning with excitement. “A mortal at my deathday... oh yes... Sir Poddy never had mortals at his deathday,” Nick mumbled  to himself. Harry was not feeling too happy about the ghost rambling and was frantically wondering what he had just got himself into. “There is something you can do for me...”

 Harry let Sir Nick’s words to hang thickly around them and waited partiently for the ghost to continue.

 Harry had ended up dragging both Hermione and Ron to Sir Nick’s deathday party.

“That was the most depressing birthday party I’ve ever been to,” Ron complained as they made a hasty exit as Sir Nick valiantly tried to give an awe inspiring speech over the noise that was the headless hunt. 

“I don’t think it was supposed to be cheery,” Hermione said, her cheeks still had a green hue they had taken when they had smelt the decaying food. 

“Pudding might still be on the table,” Ron said hopefully. 

“How can you think of food after standing near the party tables?” Hermione muttered. 

That was when Harry heard that voice again. 

“... kill... blood...tainted...hungry... thirsty.” 

Harry stopped dead in his tracks for a heartbeat. Once he was certain he knew which direction the voice was coming from, he conveniently forgot about Snape’s dire warning and dashed down the corridor with Hermione and Ron close on his heels. 

“Harry wait!” 

“The Great Hall is the other way!” 

Harry leaned on a wall and pressed his ear to the cold stone. 

“Harry...” Ron started to whinge.  

Harry however silenced Ron with a simple hand gesture and hissed urgently. “Don’t you hear that?” 

“...time to hunt... kill...hungry... no food...so long.” 

“Harry I can’t hear a thing,” Hermoine pointed out unhelpfully. “Perhaps you should just go to bed.” 

Harry shook his head and decided to chance Snape finding out and discover what was behind the mysterious voice that only he seemed to be able to hear. He dashed around the next bend only to come to a screaming halt. Words glistened and gleamed in the torch light. 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.EMEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE. 

Harry edged closer and slipped. Glancing down he realised there was a large puddle of water on the floor. He gulped and pointed needlessly to the horrific words.

“It looks like it is written in...” 

“...blood.” Hermione and Ron chorused. 

“Er... what’s that?” Ron inquired pointing a finger to a dark silhouette hanging from a torch bracket.  

Hermione crept forward slowly and then gave an unladylike shriek and clasped her hands over her mouth. Her chocolate brown eyes were wide with fright. It was Mrs. Norris, Filch’s ferociously loyal cat. She hung stiff as a board swinging slightly like a morbid Halloween decoration. “Happy Halloween,” Harry muttered. “Filch is going to torture us.” 

The trio however, didn’t have time to retreat before half the school came baring down on them. Harry noticed with some consternation that the Slytherins were looking morbidly curious at the strange scene and words. Draco Malfoy even read the words incredulously and eyed Hermione with a smirk. 

“What’s going on here? Outta the way? Shoo!” 

Harry gulped as Filch’s wispy grey head came into view. He would take Snape over Filch any old. Filch’s bulbous eyes scanned the scene to the figure of a now unmistakable outline of the feline hanging stiff as a board. 

“YOU!” Filch hissed surging forward and grabbing Harry collar and hoisting him straight into the air. “You murdered my cat! You murdered poor Mrs. Norris!” 

“Argus a little bit of decorum please.” Harry almost breathed in a sigh of relief as Snape glided through the Slytherin crowd. Almost, the dark potions master was staring at Harry with slitted obsidian eyes. 

Filch slowly lowered Harry to the ground and the young Gryffindor took quick steps away from the murderous caretaker. 

“I suggest that anyone not wanting to be cleaning the dungeons for the rest of term depart now,” Snape said airily and at the same time darting his hand out and pinching Harry’s ear. Predictably students scrambled as fast as they could to their dormitories despite wanting to see what gruesome fate awaited poor Harry Potter. Even Hermione and Ron left with sympathetic yet relieved expressions. 

“Take your frail feline friend to Madam Poppy,” Snape said snidely sneering at the misshapen Mrs. Norris. “Stop snivelling man. She’s petrified not dead. Potter and I are in need of a serious discussion.”

 Snape gave Harry’s ear a painful wriggle before turning abruptly and dragging the young wizard down the now deserted hall. 

“Sir, I...” Harry began feebly, wishing with all his might that Snape would let his ear go from his pincer grip. He thought perhaps some quick damage control might save him from the quite obviously wrathful potions master. Snape gave Harry’s ear a vicious tug in response.  

“Ow!” Harry complained and tried to bag Snape’s fingers away. “That hurts.” 

“Silence,” the older wizard hissed venomously. “You’re lucky I didn’t turn you over my knee in the hall for all to witness.” 

Harry audibly gulped – it was definitely time for damage control. “Sir it wasn’t what it looked like.” 

“Indeed,” Snape huffed. “We’ll discuss that at length in my office.” 

“Sir...” 

“SILENCE!” Snape barked. “Not another word from you.” 

Harry sighed heavily and resigned himself to the fact that he was now officially doomed. Snape, Harry thought bitterly, had already decided that he was guilty and was determined to punish him. Never mind the fact the man was probably relishing the idea of humiliating him. 

Snape however glanced down at his now silent charge. He hated the way he was always so protective of Harry-Ruddy-Potter. He hated the fact that he was always around picking up the pieces for the stupid child of James-too-perfect-Potter. 

Snape barged through his office door and practically shoved Harry at the corner. “Nose to wall and don’t think of moving.” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled somewhat mutinously staring at the brick wall. He hated the way that his gut clenched in the ominous silence that followed. It was almost like Snape’s disappointment was tangible in the room.  

‘It doesn’t matter; I don’t care what Snape thinks of me,’ Harry told himself scratching his nose and peering inconspicuously over at Snape who seemed to have started some marking. The man was slashing red ink over some poor Hufflepuff’s essay. But just looking at Snape Harry knew he was kidding himself, although the intimidating Head of Slytherin had no idea, Harry knew the truth. The man was his father... and undoubtedly was going to punish him and his rear end quite soundly. 

Finally, after what had seemed to have taken millennia, Snape pushed his chair away from his desk. “Potter to me.” 

Harry dragged his feet but found himself in front of the dour potions master.  

“You heard the voice again,” Snape commented. Harry grimaced and nodded feebly, just wishing that Snape would just get it over and done with. “You pursued said voice.” 

Harry stared at his shoes listening to his breath as it came too quickly. 

“An answer in this century would be greatly appreciated.” 

“Yes sir,” Harry mumbled miserably. ‘What was it with adults making you feel more miserable than you already were before punishing you?’ Harry though with disdain. 

“Even though we had discussed the punishment for pursuing the voice,” Snape continued in his quiet silky voice. 

“Yes,” Harry almost squeaked, wishing that he had the guts to outright lie to the head of Slytherin. If it had been Professor McGonagall he would have tried it; but Snape seemed to know when you were lying before the words were out of your mouth and Harry knew that Snape hated lying. 

“Well...” Snape continued. Harry glanced up there was decidedly something off in Snape’s voice. “I fully intend to keep my promise.” 

Snape’s hand shot out grabbed Harry’s waist and before Harry could mentally count to three he found himself over Snape’s knee. The younger wizard surprised how right he was in his assumption; Snape’s knees were bony. 

Slap!  

Harry yelped in surprise. Snape’s hand did not relent, more stinging swats ensued landing on his upturned bum at a rapid pace. Snape wasn’t just good at potions Harry realised biting on his lips to stop his sobbing; the man possessed a firm hand and was very good at delivering a spanking. Harry would even take a pummelling from Dudley over a spanking over Snape’s lap.  

It wasn’t until Harry counted to at least thirty swats and he was sobbing, that Snape’s voice interrupted the rhythm of swats. 

“If concern over your own welfare, Mr. Potter, will not stop your foolish stunts perhaps your concern over your backside might.” 

Harry tried to wriggle free in the interlude, but Snape had pre-empted him and caught him firmly before delivering six harder swats in very quick succession. Embarrassed Harry found himself yelping, squirming and crying harder than he’d thought he could.  Snape merely raised one knee.

“Be thankful you did not lie to me like you were thinking about doing,” Snape commented. “A full dozen of the ruler I think would do you well.” 

“Noooo,” Harry whined and wriggled; despite having promised himself he would not beg Snape under any circumstances when the man had started. 

“I don’t think you are in the position to argue,” Snape commented wearily before bring the ruler down; hard. 

Harry mentally counted the swats and by ten he was sure he was howling. Snape finished the spanking with two last swats and set the young Gryffindor on his feet.  

“Give thanks that you are not a Slytherin,” Snape told Harry sternly steering him through the door and towards some sinks. “The most I can do to you is smarten your trouser pants with a ruler.” 

Harry gulped heavily and swiped his face quickly free himself from any trace of tears. He was very thankful that Snape did not know that he was his father. He had a strange feeling he would be seeing the dungeon floor over Snape’s lap often, if the man knew. He did not want to even contemplate being spanked on the bare over that man’s lap. The man was a tyrant! 

“Wash up and back to your lion’s den,” Snape commanded before turning away with billowing robes, “And Potter I will not hesitate to give you a full spanking with my ruler if the circumstances warrant it.”