Blood Magic by GatewayGirl
Summary: Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry safe, but his relatives are expendable. Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry looking like his adoptive father, but it's wearing off. Blood is a bond, but so is the memory of hate -- or love.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Hermione, Remus
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Slytherin!Harry, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Drug use, Neglect, Profanity, Romance/Het, Romance/Slash, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: Blood Magic Universe
Chapters: 84 Completed: Yes Word count: 337748 Read: 759759 Published: 14 Dec 2009 Updated: 14 Jan 2010
Games and Amusements by GatewayGirl

The next morning, Harry woke in a fine mood. He had no sooner rolled over than he remembered the match, and the usual jittery feeling set in. As he was getting dressed, Ron looked over at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to say something. He didn't, but he didn't glare either -- just dressed nervously.

As Harry was poking at his breakfast, unable to bring himself to put any of it in his mouth, an eagle owl coasted down to the table in front of him. For one surreal moment, Harry thought he had a message from the Malfoys.

The owl extended one leg, holding out a letter. Harry took it, and offered the owl a sausage. The owl ate it and looked expectant, so Harry gave it two more. Apparently satisfied, the owl flew away, and Harry examined the letter.

It was heavy, but finely finished parchment, sealed with bright green wax. Harry thought it more of a leprechaun green than a Slytherin green. He didn't recognize the raised design.

"Who's that from?" Jack asked curiously.

Harry shrugged his puzzlement and cracked the thick wax.

Harry,

Welcome to the scrupulous care of the Ministry of Magic! I believe I am not exaggerating to say we shall take better care of you than you have ever received before. Indeed, it seems almost inevitable.

Severus, Harry thought, had said much the same, but from Fudge, it seemed far more offensive.

I regret that I am unable to attend your Quidditch game, today. Previous engagements, you know! I do wish you good luck -- not that you need it. You're quite the rising star of amateur Quidditch, these days! I do expect to visit you sometime in the next few weeks, to update our previous acquaintance, and evaluate the suitability of your educational situation. I'm certain we shall have a wonderful time together.

Best regards,



Cornelius Fudge
Minister of Magic

Harry, his stomach churning with unease, looked up from the letter. Hermione was watching him, her brow creased with worry.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry snorted. "Oh, it's just Fudge. I think he's going to try to move me to another school."

"Harry...."

Harry waved her concern off, though he did remember to look worried, for the benefit of anyone who might be paying attention. "I can't think about that now. I have a game this morning."


Despite his dismissal of the matter, Harry fumed while he walked across the sun-bright grass towards the pitch. The day was perfect -- mild with occasional clouds and almost no wind -- but it could not take his mind of how Fudge would try to control and use him. He was still fuming when he got to the pitch. He wished he could gripe to Ron about it. Instead, he ended up complaining to Ginny while he waited for Andrew and Jack, the last arrivals, to put on their robes.

"Listen up!" he said, when everyone was ready. "Ravenclaw has a strong side. They have two experienced Chasers and one experienced Beater. However, despite our changes in line-up, I think we work better as a team. We can make up for that lack of experience by working with each other.

"We also have another advantage: Colin obtained permission to photograph this match. I don't want anyone feeling that our experience with that is unfair -- I know that he asked Cho Chang for permission to photograph their practices at least two times, and she refused. If they can't handle the distraction, that's their choice. So if their Keeper flinches when the flash goes off, hurl it in!"

Teresa and Iggy, who had been looking uncertain, grinned. Ginny gave Harry a smart nod.

"That's it." Harry lofted his Firebolt. "Let's get out there and start the season with a win!"

When they stepped outside, Harry was briefly unnerved by the cheering. It took him a moment to realize that the tone was wrong. The usually blended roar was now extended by the shrill screams of younger children. Scanning the stands, he saw a section near the staff that had several families in it. All together, they included no more than a dozen young children. Harry was amazed that few of them could change the sound. A little black girl -- she could not have been more than six -- jumped up and down and waved a red handkerchief at him. Harry grinned and spontaneously waved back.

A moment later, he was in the center of the pitch, shaking hands with Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw captain. Cho's hand was limp in his own. She regarded him with beautiful, pained dismay. For a moment, Harry felt a pang of regret.

"Hermione?" she mouthed silently. Harry, in a flash of anger, gave her a sharp nod, released her damp hand, and turned away.

"Mount your brooms."

The familiar words from Madam Hooch, his Firebolt twitching with readiness between his thighs ... suddenly, everything was clear and good. Harry tensed, eagerly awaiting the whistle. It came, and fourteen players kicked up into the free air. Two -- one blue, one red -- shot out toward the goal hoops, and two -- one blue, one red -- rose up above the cluster. The quaffle and bludgers shot up beneath them, and the remaining mob of players blurred in a muddle of blue and red. Harry wondered if the audience could ever see the full beauty of it.

"And the players take their positions!" It was Ernie Macmillan's confident voice that met the roar from the stands. "Potter and Chang, both captains as well as Seekers, establishing a good vantage -- And it's Emmet, the youngest new Gryffindor Chaser, with the Quaffle. People have questioned Potter's judgment in taking on a second-year, but look at that girl fly! Corner is close -- Emmet passes to Weasley -- Gould hits a bludger to -- Weasley back to Emmet -- Emmet gets it in! Yes! Ten points to Gryffindor, and don't give that girl an inch, Ravenclaw! She's got it!"

And Colin's got it on film, Harry thought, delighted. He suspected the Ravenclaw Keeper's flinch at the flash had helped Teresa's score. He watched with pleasure as his team racked up forty points, and gloated silently as Cho argued with Madam Hooch about the validity of the score.

Hooch was firm. "Mister Creevy asked to photograph all team practices. You had ample opportunity to experience this before the match."

Chang glanced at Harry. He smirked, and she turned away and stomped her foot. Ravenclaw booed, Gryffindor murmured and cheered, and for the first time in Harry's memory, some of Slytherin jeered at a Gryffindor opponent. Harry glanced over at the stands while he was soaring up again, and saw Draco laughing and saying something to a girl beside him. The score was forty - nil.

The game was spectacular, and as much due to his supremely melded Chasers as to Colin's distractions, Harry thought. When he saw the snitch, Cho was closer to it than he was. Harry dived away from it, bluffing her into going the wrong direction, then looped and caught the now-rising snitch. The crowd went wild as Macmillan announced a Gryffindor win, at 220 to 20. Harry dared a glance over at the staff, and saw his father watching him intently, his expression carefully blank.

Harry restrained himself from waving. He landed, flushed and happy, with the snitch still fluttering in his hand. Ginny, Teresa, and Iggy were hugging and jumping up and down. Ginny pulled him in and Jack thumped him on the back. "Brilliant dive!"

"You were perfect!" Harry exclaimed. He looked around, trying to include Andrew, who was standing uncertainly just out of reach, and Ron, who was glaring as if Harry had insulted him. The look knocked Harry's breath out of him nearly as well as a punch might have. He inhaled, exhaled carefully, and tried to recover his elation. "Everybody just keep flying like that, and the Cup is ours, this year."

Ron stared another moment, then turned and stalked off, moving into the flow of other people who were coming onto the field. Hermione ran up to Harry. "Congratulations! Stunning flying ... as always."

"Thanks." Harry grinned back at his teammates. "I think it's great how everyone's melded -- except me and Ron, of course." He looked gloomily after Ron. Hermione followed his eyes.

"Well, he and I are going into Hogsmeade. Maybe you can catch us in the Three Broomsticks, when he's feeling a bit more relaxed?"

Harry sighed. "I'll give it a try."

"I'll work on him."

"Oy, Harry! What got up Ronnie's nose?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione ducked off as he turned to face the twins. "No idea," he said.

The twins stared at him in open shock. "Er, Harry?" one said. It was George, Harry decided. He was rubbing his arm in that way George sometimes did when he was thinking, or anxious.

"Great to see you!" Harry greeted them. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

The twins looked at each other. As one, they seized Harry's arms. "Come with us," Fred said, and they marched him off to a clear area near the end of the stands.

"Um...?"

"Who are you?" Fred hissed. "Where's Harry?"

Harry felt like he had been hit. He tried not to shrink back. "I'm Harry."

"Good try," one snarled, "but you don't fool us."

Harry hadn't thought he looked that different, but the twins looked grimly serious, for once. He was glad they had had the sense to take him clear of the crowd. A few people were looking over, but no one was close enough to hear. "It's the hair," he tried.

"Rot!" George said, at an urgent whisper.

Not just angry, Harry thought. Afraid.

Fred shoved Harry against the front of the stands. "You don't even sound like him!"

Harry took a deep breath. "I know." He bit his lip. Fred pushed again, until every unevenness in the wall had imposed itself on Harry's back. He wondered dizzily what the bruises would look like. The remaining people were staring. Professor Lupin started to approach, but stopped when Harry waved him back. "But I am him. You need to talk to Professor Dumbledore, if you have questions. I'm not supposed to tell anybody."

"What did you tell us about blood in the sweet?"

"Er...." Harry suddenly realized George was testing him. "Oh -- use semen, instead?"

"Too recent," Fred objected. "Where does our mum keep the jam?"

"When she's hiding it from you?" Harry countered. He looked desperately at them, and they glared back with identical stony anger. "I haven't been to the Burrow in two years!" Suddenly, he could picture Mrs. Weasley, lifting out a jam-jar and holding her finger to her lips. "I remember -- the old cauldron, the dented one that's usually under the sink."

"Who am I?" asked Fred.

"Fred."

Fred looked at him contemptuously. "I'm George."

"No, you're not!" Harry gestured at George. "He's George. You never rub your arm, like that, but he does, when he's worried. And you've been trying to loom over me, and George does that with you, but not on his own."

George looked at his arm. "I do?"

"Since you broke it, in our first year," Fred said. He stepped back. "All right." He took a deep, shaky breath. "You're Harry." He shook his head and remembered to lower his voice, again. "What happened? Transfiguration accident? Animagus return disorder?"

"It's been a slow change," Harry answered, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Most people haven't noticed, because they see me every day. Try to pretend I look normal, okay?"

Fred glared at him. "Your face is wrong -- and you're taller than me!" His voice trembled with indignation. George sniggered.

"Yeah, but he's skinnier than Ron."

"Look, I want to shower and go to Hogsmeade," Harry said. "I have shopping to do. Do you two want to come along, or not?"

Fred looked at George. George shrugged.

"'Course, Harry," Fred said. His sudden cheer seemed a bit forced to Harry. Harry wondered if they really believed him.

"We'll talk to the old man later," George added.

"We have business at Zonko's, anyway."


Harry showered and dressed as quickly as possible, afraid the twins, despite their assurances to the contrary, would start talking to people about him while he was in there. Ron, at least, had left as he came in, and Harry had lingered in the doorway long enough to see him hike off towards the gates, without even looking back at the stands. When Harry emerged from the changing rooms, clean, damp, and dressed for Hogsmeade, the twins, as they had promised, were waiting.

"Harry!" George's shocked rebuke implied Harry had done something rude. Harry stopped in the middle of the doorway.

"What?

"Those robes! People will think you're a Slytherin!"

Harry glanced down. He was wearing the green robes open over grey pants and a white shirt.

"You've seen this before."

"Fine, but not at school!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyone who doesn't know I'm a Gryffindor is hopeless."


They set off down the road. Most people had left already, so no one was close enough to hear them. Still, Harry was quick and quiet about reiterating that they must not draw attention to his appearance, and Dumbledore might be willing to explain the change to them. After they had gone through the gates, George took something out of his pocket and tossed it to Harry.

"We brought you some treats."

Harry looked in the pouch he had caught. It held a few mood wings, two skiving snackboxes, some sweets that he suspected were the skin changing ones, and some things that looked like gumdrops in different colors. "Thanks!"

"Turn it inside out," George urged.

"I don't have any place to put this stuff."

"That's okay. Just turn it inside out."

Fred grabbed the bag from Harry's hands and turned it inside out. The contents were nowhere in evidence. He handed it back to Harry. Cautiously, Harry looked inside. The bag now held a ten-pack of cigarettes.

"You two are brilliant!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh," George waved a hand airily about. "Just a reversible pouch. We don't make them --"

"-- but we find them popular with many of our customers."

"So we have a bit of a resale agreement."

Experimentally, Harry reversed the pouch. The cigarettes did not fall, and the pouch was still full of magical sweets. He switched it back and forth a few times, grinning at it.

"Happy as a Muggle with a magic teapot," Fred commented.

"Spoiled," Harry retorted. "You wizard-born types are just spoiled. You have no appreciation for the wonder of it all."

"Try telling that to Dad."

Harry looked ahead and realized they were close to the village. He slipped the pouch in his pocket. "I'll get back to that later."

"Where first?" George asked.

"Bookstore," Harry said happily.

"Harry!" the twins chorused in dismay.

"Well, I want to buy --"

"Zonko's!"


Harry had a good time looking around Zonko's, and even bought a few things, but he didn't find anything nearly as interesting as the reversible pouch. The twins got into a long negotiation with the owner. Harry doubted they would speak to anyone about him here. They probably wouldn't even think about him while they were here. Eventually, Harry interrupted for long enough to say he would see them later, and he headed out to the bookstore.

It was a much smaller store than Flourish and Blotts. The ceilings were at a normal height, but the books went all the way up to them. Harry looked around for the counter, and finally found a desk, nearly hidden by stacks of books. Behind it, a little wizard was reading contentedly. He wasn't old, but he sat bent over, and his clothing was a confusing muddle of various styles and colors.

"Hello?"

The wizard looked up. A large cat jumped off his lap and stalked away.

"Sorry to disturb you...."

"No trouble at all, young man. It is my job, after all." The man peered at him, then looked surprised. "Harry Potter?"

"Er ... that's right."

The man put his head to the side. "You look a bit different in photographs."

"It's the hair, I think," Harry said. "And growing."

The man nodded. "Not to mention the dreadful photographic quality in those things." He smiled. "A pleasure. What may I do to help you?"

"Well...." Harry wondered how much to explain. "I was raised by Muggles, you know."

The man looked grave. "I do read the papers."

Harry pressed on before the stranger could become sympathetic. "Yes, well, Wizarding culture confuses me, sometimes."

"So you'd be looking for sociology?"

"No. A friend of mine suggested I should read stories -- Wizarding stories -- children's, adult's.... What do you think would give me a good feel for it? What wizards assume, I mean?"

Harry suspected that book shop proprietors lived for requests like this. The little man fairly bounced as he led Harry around the store, piling up his own childhood favorites and current favorites, with selections of classics, drama, humor, and adventures. Harry ended up with a bundle that would have been impressive for Hermione. He paid for it all, and asked if he could pick it up at the end of the day.

The little man looked at him curiously. "Whatever for?"

"Well, it's a lot to carry...."

"Ah! For large purchases, our shrinking charms are complementary. The man pointed his wand at the bundle and it shrank to pocket size. "Just tap it three times with your wand to expand it."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure." He bowed slightly. "And please tell me how it goes. I'm sure this would benefit many of your schoolmates, as well. Perhaps I can make up a recommended reading list for the incoming Muggle-born students."


Harry stepped out on the street and looked around for a moment. He decided to head down to the Three Broomsticks to see if Fred and George -- or Hermione and Ron -- were there. The pub was loud and crowded. Harry went in until he had reached a relatively clear spot, then stopped and scanned the tables methodically. Near the bar, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus were sitting with a Hufflepuff girl. In the far corner, he caught sight of Remus sitting with a familiar-looking woman. It took Harry a moment to place her as the Selena, the WFU werewolf that Remus had not wanted him to meet. Remus looked happier with her company, today. She said something, and for a moment, he smiled broadly.

With a quick glance behind him, Harry backed up to mingle with the crowd at the bar. He didn't want Remus's companion to see him. He cautiously worked his way back to the door before he risked another look at Remus. The professor looked upset, now. He reached out a hand to the woman, and she tossed her head defiantly. "Please," Harry saw him mouth. Harry left.


Harry wandered back towards Zonko's, but didn't feel like going into the joke shop again. He glanced in the window, and saw Fred and George were still there. George was talking to the owner; Fred appeared to just be browsing.

Harry crossed the street and settled in a shady spot, a stretch of grass bordered by privet and backed by a chest-height stone wall that was set a few yards back from the road. He pulled himself up onto the wide wall, where he had a good view of Zonko's front door, and brought out the reversible pouch.

The cigarette pack did not seem to have the usual tag to tear the outer cellophane. He eventually ripped it with his teeth. He had no matches, he realized, annoyed, and lighting the things with his wand was problematic, as he could not say the incantation while inhaling. He used Incendio to light a twig, and then used that as a match. He was rather glad the twins weren't around watching him blunder through it all.

Harry blew smoke out at the tree above him and watched the strands of grey twist through the branches. He wished he were old enough to do magic outside of school, so he could bespell it into shapes. He realized suddenly that he had done magic, not a minute earlier, and winced. At least it was unlikely to be noticed, here in Hogsmeade. No one had seen. He let a second breath out in a slow trickle, so the breeze played with it. It twisted up like a silver snake. He watched it in satisfaction as he took a third draw in.

Suddenly, Harry was completely unable to breathe, either in or out. He had a moment of panic, then his breath came out in a smoky, grey whoosh. As it did, his feet shot up into the air, and he found himself floating on his stomach, above the wall. He could breathe, now, but everything looked slightly blue.

Harry tried to reach the wall. It was just out of arm's length below him. The cigarette, at least, had fallen on the stones of the wall, rather than in the dry leaves beside it. Harry could imagine himself being smoked like a ham above a smoldering fire, or worse yet, rescued by sniggering townspeople. The closest branch above him was also too far away to seize, especially as he could not roll over. Next, he tried to swim towards the tree trunk. Frantic motions moved him a few inches forward, but had the unfortunate consequence of causing his wand to fall out of his pocket. It bounced and landed right beside the stone wall.

Harry realized he was now completely helpless until this wore off. He should have used the wand first. He wondered if screaming was a good idea. It might attract Fred and George, but it would be embarrassing to have everyone in earshot notice him. Harry realized suddenly that "everyone in earshot" might well include people who wanted to kill him, and he was an easy target, in this state. He had to wait this out. Harry had the panicked thought that the change might be transfigurative. He hoped he was just floating, but when he remembered the sudden loss of breath, he wasn't sure. He could look even less like Harry Potter when he got down.

Harry decided he was not going to give Fred and George the satisfaction of observing their little prank, if he could help it. While he floated, fuming about their idiotic carelessness doing this to him, a voice suddenly called from the road:

"Look, Draco! Potter's stuck in the air." Heavy footsteps crashed through the few fallen leaves. "We could use him for bludger practice." A loud, coarse laugh followed this remark. Harry managed to twist his head enough to see Goyle, with Draco and Goyle's fifth-year girl behind him, walking through the weirdly blue air.

Draco doubled up with laughter. His fair hair was a pale turquoise over sky-blue skin. He looked like some mad elf. Goyle looked more like a mis-tinted Frankenstein's monster as he cast around for a stick. It wasn't until he found a good, solid one that Draco, still holding his sides, gasped out, "No, Gregory!" He took a few panting breaths. "Potter's my friend, now, remember?"

"Oh, right." Goyle looked at his stick with obvious disappointment. "Is that allowed?" he asked doubtfully.

Draco had taken his wand out and come a few steps onto the grass. "Accio, Harry," he tried. Harry moved towards him, but despite Draco's tugging, remained horizontal, facing down at the teal grass, and at roughly the height of Draco's head. Draco had Goyle try to pull him down, but that didn't do much besides hurt Harry's ankles. Draco started laughing again.

"You'll just need to fall well, Scarhead," he said. "That's your ultimate talent, isn't it?" The humor in his voice kept any sting from the words. He tried a Finite Incantantum, but that did nothing. "How did you end up like this, Potter?" he asked.

"A little something from Fred and George," Harry confessed.

"The Weasley twins? Don't you know better than that?"

"I just wanted cigarettes. They can get to Muggle shops." Harry felt himself heat up. He really should have known better than to think the twins would bring him anything without tampering with it. The solid cellophane, at least, should have tipped him off. "I'm their partner, you know. I thought they'd have a bit more sense."

Draco went over to the wall and picked up the still smoldering butt from the top of it. Harry watched closely to make sure his wand was not in danger of being stepped on. Unless he absolutely needed to, he wasn't going to draw their attention to it -- Draco didn't seem inclined to harm him, but there was no sense in tempting him that far. Draco sniffed at the fag end, then wrinkled his nose. "Gad, Harry -- you wanted that? I can't tell what's in it over its own damn smell."

He dropped it back onto the stones and turned back to Harry. To Harry's relief, he stepped further away from the wand in the process. "How do the Weasleys usually arrange this sort of thing? Is it a timed spell, or do they have an emergency counter-charm?"

"Their tricks just time out, I think." Harry was getting a crick in his neck from looking over at Draco's face.

"Ah. Well, how do you feel about losing ten minutes off your life?"

"Pardon?"

"I could age you ten minutes. Would that be sufficient, do you think?"

"Considering it would be ten minutes I'd spend floating here, go ahead!"

Draco pointed his wand at Harry and muttered a quick spell. Harry just had time to turn in the air to land on his shoulder, rather than his stomach. The world was its normal colors, again. As soon as he could get breath, he ran over to the wall and scooped up his wand.

"You dropped your wand?" Draco asked, scandalized.

"It fell out of my pocket." Harry pocketed the wand again. He sniffed at his fingers, the fresh cigarette smell reassuring him that Draco had aged him no more than he had said. Harry brushed the worst of the leaves and dirt off his robes. He tried to get the leaves out of his hair, but they caught.

"Here -- take out the hair slide," Draco advised. Harry did that, then submitted to Draco casting a neatening spell on his hair. Afterwards, Draco made a patch of air reflective, so Harry could see to pull it back again.

"May I get that smell off you, too?"

"No."

"It's horrible."

"I like it."

Draco put his nose up. "No accounting for taste. It makes you smell like Mr. Nott, though. I'm not sure I can endure that." He shrugged the matter off. "Gregory, Lauricia, this is Harry Potter. Despite his reputation and lack of refinement, he's not a bad chap. Harry, you know Gregory Goyle, but humor me and pretend you're just meeting him. This charming young lady," Draco shot a smile at the fifth year, who blushed in return, "is his girlfriend, Lauricia Barrett."

Harry held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Barrett." She clasped his warmly, but did not shake. He was not entirely sure he was not supposed to have kissed her hand, instead. To cover his confusion, he extended his hand to Goyle immediately after. Goyle grasped a bit more tightly than necessary, and shook solidly.

"Potter."

"Goyle."

"Right then." Draco was clearly speaking through clenched teeth, but Harry was not sure if that was due to exasperation, or an effort not to laugh. "We were headed down to the Three Broomsticks. Come along, Harry?"

"I suppose. I'd like a word with --"

On cue, Fred and George came out of Zonko's. Whatever showed on Harry's face, it was enough to cause Draco to turn and look. "Have at it, then," he whispered, giving Harry a bit of a push toward the road. Harry stepped into the sunlight, and Fred and George saw him immediately. They trotted over, but stopped a few paces away, with uneasy looks.

"What," Harry spat, "do you two think you're playing at?"

They looked at each other. "What's the trouble, mate?" Fred asked.

"The cigarettes!" Harry's mood was not improved by the twins' knowing sniggers. "If you're going to make them do things that leave me helpless, you should at least stay with me until I have one!"

"We weren't expecting you to wait," George protested. "Then you wandered off. We didn't have time to follow, and they're not dangerous."

"Not dangerous!" Harry retorted indignantly. "Floating helplessly isn't dangerous?"

"You can magic yourself around --"

"My wand fell out of my pocket! I couldn't even reach it! Then I was found --"

Draco strolled forward. "It's a sad circumstance when my intervention is required to protect Harry Potter from being used for bludger practice," he drawled. "Risky, if you ask me."

The twins stared at him. "You're that Malfoy kid," Fred accused.

"Quite right. And you are those Weasley hooligans."

Harry grinned.

"Harry!" George protested. "What are you doing with him?"

"Being rescued?"

The redhead pointed accusingly at Draco. "His father is a Death Eater!"

"Very good." Harry gestured at Goyle. "As is his. And they are the people who found me floating defenseless in Hogsmeade, and if they'd wanted to kill me, they could have done."

"Wasn't going to kill you," Goyle protested, understanding part of this. "Just whack you around a bit."

"And you have no basis to say that about Goyle's father," Draco interjected, in a brittle tone. "Such a harmful accusation should not be leveled irresponsibly."

Harry bit back a knee-jerk retort. It really was a serious accusation, and even if true, potentially dangerous to Goyle the younger. "Sorry," he said. "You're right. I do know there is a Death Eater of that surname, as I've heard Voldemort call it, but not the degree of relationship."

"Quite," Draco said, mollified. "It could be one of his many cousins, or an uncle, or, considering the longevity of Gregory's family, an older relative."

"But my --" Goyle silenced at a sharp look from Draco.

"Gregory! I know you're upset, but allow me to handle this."

"Subject closed," Harry said, struggling to restrain a smile. He turned on the twins. "The point is, I was at their mercy. Now, Draco got me down --"

"How?" George asked.

"Aged him ten minutes," Draco said.

"Oh."

"-- but some others might not have," Harry persisted. "It was ridiculously careless of you, considering the number of people who are out to kill me."

Fred rolled his eyes. "This is Hogsmeade."

"Where people were killed, a week ago."

"Not in broad daylight."

Draco leaned carelessly back against a tree. "He was back there." He gestured to the alcove. "Private enough. If I'd sent out the curse while he had his attention on Goyle, he would have died before he screamed."

"Oo! And no falling body!" Lauricia said brightly.

"No...." Fred stepped back. "Harry! These kids are all Slytherins."

Harry looked at Draco and sighed. Draco smirked. "What clever friends you have, Harry."

Harry sniggered. He turned back to the twins. They looked as horrified as when they had first seen him, that day. He decided to give up on the lecture.

"Do these all have side effects?" he demanded, waving the open pack at them accusingly.

George jumped. "Er ... no. Three don't."

"Are any of the side effects transfigurative?"

They had to think about that. "Two."

"Three."

"Right. Three."

Harry sighed. "We'll talk later." He glanced back at Draco, who was watching him thoughtfully. He cleared his throat. "We were just heading down to the Three Broomsticks. Come with us?"

Fred and George looked rather as if Harry had offered them a nice bit of rotten fish. Then, with an exchange of guilty glances, they agreed. The odd group walked together to the pub, getting more than their fair share of stares. Draco made a show of talking cheerily to Harry. Goyle walked quietly with Lauricia's hand in his own. She spoke occasionally. Fred and George trailed behind, whispering to each other.

In the warmth of the pub, they looked around. Harry spotted Ron almost immediately. With him, of course, should be Hermione. As he craned his neck to confirm this, Malfoy, by his side, made a pleased noise.

"Sabra!" he said, his attention on a small cluster of Slytherins in the far corner. "Well, I'm off. The rest of you will be all right?"

"Harry's coming with us," Fred said grimly.

"We'll be fine!" Lauricia chirped. Harry barely had time to nod his goodbyes before he was dragged off to Ron and Hermione's table by Fred and George.

"Isn't Sabra supposed to be saved from the dragon?" Fred muttered.

Harry shot George a warning look. "Don't even think it," he said.

George laughed. "I've got other plans."


Indeed, at the table, Fred and George moved in on either side of their little brother in a coordinated threat. Fred whispered something. When Harry sat between George and Hermione, Ron's objections were restrained to glares.

Hermione's nose wrinkled immediately. "Harry! Have you been smoking, again?"

Harry scowled. "Not enough. Unfortunately, I let Fred and George bring me fags, and they just had to muck about with them. I ended up helpless from one of their tricks."

Ron twitched in alarm, but Hermione just frowned at the twins. "You shouldn't pander to his bad habits, you know."

"I don't think we are." The two looked at each other and grinned.

"After all, he can have them, but not lightly," Fred pointed out.

Hermione looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged. "Typical tricks, but it's more serious than they think. I can't have them." He slouched back, feeling cross.

Madam Rosmerta came past their table, and the twins ordered whisky for themselves and butterbeer for Harry. As soon as she left, Hermione pulled a box from under the table. The box had holes, and frantic scratching noises came from inside it. She extended it to Harry like a peace offering, and he took it automatically.

"We bought a ferret," she whispered conspiratorially.

"You did," Ron protested.

"Ron's going to keep it in his room."

"I am not."

"Ron -- we've been over this. We're only allowed one animal apiece. Lavender will tell on me, and your mates won't tell on you." As Hermione spoke, she opened the box. A white and grey ferret scrambled out and into Harry's hands. Harry held it in surprise for a moment, then the ferret slipped through his grasp and climbed up onto his shoulder, where it tickled his face with inquisitive whiskers.

"I don't care --"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "Of course we'll keep it, Hermione."

"I'm not keeping it!" Ron protested.

Madam Rosmerta placed a tray on their table and leaned over to pet the little ferret.

"Such a sweet thing!" She started unloading drinks from the tray. "What's its name?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged guilty looks. Harry realized they still expected animals not to be allowed in such places. "Haven't named it yet," he said bravely.

"Do it soon!" she admonished, with a wag of her finger. "They need to learn young." With that, she clicked away across the floor.

"Malfoy," Ron said, sniggering.

"What?" Harry glanced around. Draco was nowhere near them.

Ron focused on Hermione. "You should name it Malfoy."

Harry shifted uneasily. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Hermione was more specific. "Ron -- have you ever heard of the three a.m. rule?"

"The what?"

"Never name a pet anything you can't yell out your door at three a.m."

Harry smirked. "Imagine if it got lost. You'd be wandering around the castle calling "Malfoy! Here Malfoy!" Harry kept his voice pitched cautiously low. He didn't want one of Draco's friends to overhear and think he was making fun of Draco.

"And you'll start cooing at it, eventually," Hermione said. "Or I will, at least. I bet Harry will, too. And imagine how that would sound."

Ron blanched. He focused on Hermione. "You've convinced me," he said.

The ferret had climbed down Harry's arm and was investigating his butterbeer. Harry dipped a finger in the drink and let the ferret lick it off. The ferret sneezed.

"Smoke," Harry suggested slyly.

"Huh?"

Hermione shot him an icy glare. "No."

"But he's all grey and ... serpentine."

"Will o' the wisp?" Ron tried.

"Mist," Hermione suggested.

Harry lifted the wriggly ferret and nuzzled its coarse, musky coat. It settled down in his arms. "Shadow," he said.

Hermione nodded. "Shadow, then. A good name for a spy."


Harry stayed for one drink. Primarily, he played with the ferret. He and Ron both participated in the conversation intermittently, but Ron never spoke directly to him. When Ron addressed a reply to one of Harry's comments to Hermione, Harry saw Fred starting to fume.

Harry downed the rest of his butterbeer. "Got to go," he said. "I need some more clothes --"

Ron snorted. "Right little fashion boy, now, aren't you?" he sneered. Harry was sufficiently taken aback by Ron acknowledging his existence to be at loss for words.

"I think that's an excellent idea," Fred said, standing up. George threw back the rest of his whiskey and stood, also. "To start with, let's get you something that's not green. Come on."

Harry did not protest at the escort. He would rather have the twins where he could keep an eye on them, at least until they talked to Dumbledore. After depositing the now-sleeping Shadow in Hermione's arms, he nodded a tentative and unacknowledged goodbye to Ron and headed out. The twins followed him like bodyguards.


"So," Fred asked, "what do you want to buy?"

Harry shrugged. "I got some good clothes -- you know, ones that fit -- this summer. Since then, I've realized that the robes are colored, but everything else is black, white, or grey. So I want some colored shirts, I think."

Harry watched a gentleman in a blue and silver brocade cape and matching floppy hat pass them. "And I'm trying to understand wizarding styles."

"Don't fret over it, mate."

"You're better off without all that."

Harry looked at the two of them. Their trousers might have passed for jeans if the background blue hadn't been overlayed with an iridescent gold scaled pattern, but their lizard-skin jackets went down to mid-thigh. Harry pointed at Fred's trousers. "Would you wear those without a jacket?"

The twins exchanged an odd look. George laughed at a higher pitch than usual. "In a club, yeah."

"Or a party. Perhaps at home."

"But not here," Harry pushed. "Not on the street."

"Well ... no."

"See, that wouldn't occur to me. That they needed something other than a shirt, I mean."

George frowned at him. "It wouldn't?"

"Of course not. Muggles aren't particular about that." Harry gestured nebulously at the air. "It's just a formal thing."

By now, they had reached Gladrags. George frowned thoughtfully at Harry. "I've always liked your disregard for convention," he said. "I don't want you to get all stuffy."

"Disregard is fine," Harry responded. "Ignorance isn't. I like to know what rules I'm breaking, thank you, and I may choose not to, at times."

"Well, it hasn't mattered much, until now," Fred contributed, opening the door and waving Harry through.

"Children have more leeway."

"But you're hardly a child, anymore."

George darted to the side and pulled a shimmering gold half-cape from a rack. "Here! If you want a looser look, go for a cape."

Harry looked at the garment in horror. It sparkled enough to hurt the eyes. The only person he could picture in such a thing was Gilderoy Lockhart. Still, capes, in general, seemed quite common. Harry scanned through the rest of the rack. A cape in green a shade darker than his robes caught his eye, but to placate the twins, he pulled out the next one he noticed -- a burgundy, three-quarter length cape. He swung that on over his robes.

"Like this?"

"Right. But probably without the robes."

"Unless it's cold enough to freeze dragon-fire."

Harry grinned. "Well, maybe I should try some things." He whipped through the shirts, grabbing anything that caught his interest. He got admitted to a dressing room by the shop clerk (who seemed quite flustered to be attending to Harry Potter), then began showing his favorites to the twins. When Fred protested that one pale shirt was green, Harry glared at him.

"Yes. One is green. One is also blue, but no one will mistake me for a Ravenclaw, now, will they?"

"But if they did --"

"Shut up, or I'll go buy a snake."

"Harry --"

"And don't make me remind you who was nicest to me, today."

The twins looked at each other. "Harry?" George said tentatively. "No offense, mate, but is that what Ron has gone off about? These Slytherins you're chumming around with?"

"It's just Draco, really, and no, that's not what he's angry about. I can't tell you what he's angry about. You need to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

That shared look again. "Is this ... because of his old crowd?"

"In part."

"I'd think we'd...."

"Soon, I expect."

"Harry...." Fred looked as serious as Harry had ever seen him. Harry suddenly realized that Fred, for all his jokes, was older than he had been when he left school. His next question was cautious, and almost fearful. "Are things all right between you and Dumbledore?"

That, Harry thought, is a code, if anything is. Regardless, he answered it literally. "Pretty much. I'm not thrilled with how he handled some things, but I'm mostly over it. We talk, occasionally."

"I heard from Dad that he tried to become your guardian."

Harry shrugged. "Just guilt, I think. It would have been a strain if he'd managed." He ducked back into the dressing room.

"But Harry!" George protested. "Fudge!"

"Yeah -- well, at least I sincerely hate him. There'll be no confusion." Harry shrugged at his reflection. "And I'm sixteen. Honestly, if I was a normal kid, they wouldn't give me a guardian. He can only do so much before public opinion turns against him."

Harry tucked in the crimson shirt he had saved for last and surveyed himself in the mirror. He opened the door.

"What do you think?"

"Nice."

"Flashy," George said, in a tone of agreement.

"How about a waistcoat?" Fred suggested.

Harry accepted a dark gold satin waistcoat without protest, but then pounced on a brilliant green shirt saying how perfectly they went together. He enjoyed the distressed looks on the twin's faces. He was tempted by a black morning coat with gold and maroon details, but decided he looked ridiculous enough, by his own, admittedly rather twentieth-century Muggle, standards, in the cape. It did, he noted, conceal his bum, except when he turned sharply. It crossed his mind that his father's neat pivots might have a flirtatious origin, but he suppressed that unnerving thought quickly.

He ended up with three shirts: the emerald green, the crimson, and one in pale gold. The twins had apparently expected him to choose a single one, and were startled when he took the lot to the register, along with the burgundy cape, the gold waistcoat, and a fitted pair of burgundy trousers that tucked easily into his boots.

"I'm beginning to suspect we need Ron's side of this," Fred whispered, none too quietly, while Harry was paying. Harry chatted with the clerk to avoid acknowledging the comment.

The End.


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