“At the shrine of friendship never say die. Let the wine of friendship never run dry.”
-Grantaire, Les Misérables
A week of detention, a burnt book, an ink stain, death threats, one promise of servitude, a broken nose, and a rather disagreeable teaching staff.
Harry had not even gone to class yet.
>=====<
It had started the second he had left his bed. I knew I should have just stayed there.
As he stepped into the bathroom, Ron’s fist had become acquainted with his nose. Shirtless, Harry was, if nothing else saved a cleaning charm, and since one of his books over the summer had covered minor self-healing, the injury was quickly taken care of, much to Ron’s dismay.
“Excuse me, Ronald, but I need to showers.”
“Of course."
He stayed in the shower longer than he usually did, relishing in the soft beat of hot water against his skin, and pretending he wasn’t stuck in a personal hell. When he finally did emerge, it was to discover that the dorm was empty of his roommates, but that their handiwork remained. One of his textbooks was sitting on the center of his remade bed, with a scorching charm placed on it. Harry performed the countercurse, and moved forward to find the rest of their antics.
He had not made his bed before showering, and since it was now neatly made, Harry could only assume that something was waiting for him.
Once the covers were pulled back, revealing an ink stain in the pattern of the Dark Mark, resplendent in green and black. Cleo was sitting dead center in the mess, and was mewing softly when she saw Harry.
The countercurse didn’t work. The sticking charm had to have been Hermione.
I’m sure there is a reason for me not to kill half —hell—the whole school right now; I just wish I knew what it was.
Harry ran a hand backwards through his hair, much the same way his father had, and quietly said, “Merlin, what I wouldn’t give to have a house-elf right now.”
Crack.
Dobby appeared with a desperate happiness. “Master Harry Potter sir? Did you mean what you said? Would you be wanting Dobby to be working for you? Dobby is wanting to be working for Master Harry Potter.”
“You know that half the Wizarding world calls me a traitor, and the other half wants me dead, right?”
“Of course, Master Harry Potter sir, but the wizards is lying.”
Harry managed to keep his expression to a small grin instead of the ear-to-ear smile it wanted to be. “Then I would love for you to help me. Thank you. But you have to promise to keep working here, and make it look like you’re afraid of me, or even better, hate me. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.”
“Then, would you be able to take care of this?” He gestured at the bed and at his cat helplessly. Dobby nodded happily and with a second crack, elf, blankets and cat vanished.
Luckily, Harry was able to walk unopposed to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, his luck didn’t hold. He was glared at until he sat down—far from the others, like the night before—at which point the Gryffindor table began to hiss at him.
Cannot kill housemates, -I use that term loosely- Cannot kill housemates. Cannot kill housemates. Ugh, but sweet Merlin I want to.
He let it continue for a few seconds longer with a scowl he was certain could have curdled milk, until he found his solution. Well, since I can’t kill them, I can at least shut them up, eh Padfoot? Smirking, he walked back to the other end of the table, crammed full of students, and hissed right back.
His hissing was a bit more potent though. The room fell silent as soon as he started. Parseltongue tended to have that effect. “Since I can only assume that the actions presented this morning were in response to the reports from the Ministry, I feel I have the right to defend myself. I have never betrayed my parents. I have never betrayed Sirius. I have never betrayed the wizarding world. However, I may decide to break that last one if you keep treating me this way.” He turned to Hermione and continued, “Congratulations on that spell. Ron and the guys are too stupid to have modified a sticking charm like that, so I assume it was you. Good job, I’m quite proud.”
When he stopped, he couldn’t prevent his smirk from growing. He turned, ready to find his things, more than ready to leave, and heard his name on McGonagall’s lips. “Professor. What can I do for you on this fine morning?”
“Detention, Mr. Potter, all week, 17:00.”
Harry’s face constricted as he bit back a comment. “May I ask for what, Professor?”
“For breaking article one, section three of the Ministry’s newest law.”
“Do you mean the Traitor by Association tripe that the Minister wheeled out?” Her lips tightened imperceptibly, “Of course you do. Might you, by any chance have a copy of that decree so that I might know what the law is before I flout it?”
“No. I don’t.”
“I thought that might be your answer. Then perhaps you have a copy of my class schedule so that I might go to my classes, and be able to receive further punishments from certain anonymous bigoted teachers?”
“No.”
“My, what a useful character you are Professor. I’ll be leaving then.” He held out his hand, summoned his bag, and walked away. The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables exploded into shouting masses that threatened his life and family. Slytherin merely watched him walk away.
>=====<
Harry was currently pacing in an unused classroom, muttering to himself in a hodgepodge of parseltongue, English, and spells. He was enjoying the look of the burning Hogwarts tapestry when an owl flew through the door.
Severus’ Cyleen.
The bundle it dropped consisted of only a few sheets of paper, but Harry had his hopes high.
Harry-
“When did I become ‘Harry’?” He asked aloud.
I thought you might appreciate this. Your schedule is attached.
If possible, arrive at my class before any others, bring the supplies in the leather case, and make sure that you increase the locking charms on your belongings. Do not stay in the company of Gryffindors for longer than you must. Keep your invisibility cloak with you at all times. Schedule your Quidditch tryouts as soon as possible—the time slots fill quickly. Congratulations on leaving your head of house speechless.
-S. Snape
Harry charmed the letter to his own eyes and then looked at his schedule.
Monday
NEWT level Potions
08:30—11:30
NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts
13:30—16:00
Tuesday
Herbology (early morning)
06:30—08:30
NEWT level Transfiguration
09:00—11:00
NEWT level Charms
11:15—13:15
NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts
13:30—16:00
Wednesday
NEWT level Potions
08:30—11:30
History of Magic
14:30—16:30
Thursday
Herbology (early morning)
06:30—08:30
NEWT level Transfiguration
09:00—11:00
NEWT level Charms
11:15—13:15
NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts
13:30—16:00
Friday
NEWT level Potions
08:30—11:30
NEWT level Care of Magical Creatures
12:30—14:00
History of Magic
14:30—16:30
Astronomy
00:00—02:30
Breakfast is served daily 5:30—8:30
Lunch is served daily 11:00—14:00
Dinner is served daily 17:00—20:00
Cramming the schedule into his bag, he drew his wand and said, “Timlus Estimus.”*. A clock appeared before him, and he groaned. 07:30.
Re-summoning his bag, he threw the strap over his shoulder and took off running. Within ten minutes, he had his cloak and the potion supplies in his bag, and was running back down flights of stairs towards the dungeons.
He ran inside the dank room he had come to loathe so passionately, and was met with a cool, “You’re late.”
Harry looked to the Professor, and muttered, “Timlus Estimus.” The clock reappeared. 08:00. Harry frowned. “Timlus Exactus.” 07:52. “You have my apologies, sir.”
Snape scowled, “Where is the case?”
“Right here sir.” Harry handed over the small black case. His palm was facing upward, and somehow, Snape spotted the design laced across his hand, and tossed the case out of the way.
“What is this?”
“My hand, sir.” He ripped his hand out of the older man’s grip and continued, “The design, however appeared when I touched one of the rubies on Godric’s sword. The pattern was originally black, but I put a drop of the healing potion you sent me on it, it turned white, painfully, and now it is like this. It doesn’t hurt, and it is the least of my worries.”
“You felt that this was beneath your notice?”
“Compared to the rest of my life, yes, I did.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No, and I don’t care. May we please return to whatever it was that you needed me here for?”
“No. First, this has to be addressed.”
Harry could feel his temper stretching. “For God’s sake Severus, it’s a pretty little tattoo. It isn’t trying to kill me. It doesn’t call me a traitor. It can’t break into my mind. It doesn’t hiss at me in the Great Hall and it doesn’t dye my cat black and green, so, I don’t particularly give a shit what the bloody thing is.”
“I’ll need to research it further, but for now this will have to suffice.” Severus was talking to himself not Harry, but the disillusionment charm was done aloud. “It will stay until I have located a more permanent solution. For now, there is more that needs to be done and little time to do it. We can discuss another time why you felt that being branded the owner of a powerful magical object was too unimportant to mention.”
Harry scowled at the man’s back when he turned. After a few minutes, he turned back with the case in his hands. “Keep this with you at all times.”
“What did you do?”
“I added the final ingredients to the potions inside it; all of them are now active. You will learn what they do later. Did you receive everything that I sent you?”
Harry nodded. Two days before the start of term, Cyleen had flown into the hotel and delivered a small box with an equally small note. “Shrunken.” The package had contained all of his new supplies including robes, books, quills, ink, and potion supplies. Harry couldn’t help but think he might have the proper ingredients for once.
“Good, now get out of my classroom. Arrive five minutes late. Do not forget your essay.”
Harry nodded again and left to wander the halls, muttering in parseltongue again.
>=====<
Well, that was actually less pleasant than I had expected. I hadn’t thought that was possible. Harry stalked out of the Potion’s room, ahead of the others, and went directly towards lunch.
He had managed to lose a record 58 points in one class. His partner—for the full year—was Millicent Bulstrode. Her healing potion had been spilled on his bag. And, as the coup de grâce, he, Hermione, and Seamus Finnegan had managed to move on; Dean sat behind him.
He stayed in the great hall only long enough to walk away with a sandwich before retreating to a back hall to work on the newly assigned potion’s homework. At least I did well on the essay. Professor Snape had discussed what points they needed to have reached, and Harry knew he had hit each one.
>=====<
Defense against the Dark Arts. He stepped into the room. It had seen many inhabitants over the years, but for the first time, it was owned by a non-British citizen. The room was…different. Quite literally.
The desks were missing, replaced with benches against the walls, and anything that could even possibly injure someone had been either taken out or bolted down.
Harry glanced around from the door for a moment, then moved in and took a seat. His classmates filed in slowly, saw him, and sat on another bench. All of the Sixth year DA students had passed their tests; he’d been told earlier in the summer, but not all of them were in the class. Draco Malfoy was in the class, and sat at the far end of Harry’s bench. For that matter, it looked like almost all the Slytherins were enrolled in NEWT Defense too.
Finally, the Professor entered. She was tall. Very tall actually. By Harry’s guess, she was at least six feet, and was built like a toothpick. She was also young. Twenty-five at the most, with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a bright smile, almost as freakishly white as Lockhart’s.
“Welcome to NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Jen Demival. I was born in Britain, but my family moved out to Australia when I was four, and I’ve been there ever since. I attended the Elfen Academy in the Outback, and I was working for the Australian Ministry when I heard about the job opening up again. Got an owl from an old mate, and decided to come see what it was. No one else wanted the job, so I took it. Hopefully, I’ll last longer than a year, but I’ve always liked keeping tradition so I can’t promise anything.
“I’ve heard about your previous teachers, especially last year’s, so this week we’ll be reviewing whatever we can. Mostly this class will focus on physical practice, as evident by the set up of the room. Should be a bit of a relief after last year. First we need to go through the roll so I can work out who all of you are. Oh, and I should let you know that there are two groups since so many of you received Outstanding on your OWLs. Let’s start on the roll then shall we?”
Then she took a breath.
Harry was fairly certain that up until that point, she hadn’t bothered to. It was mind-boggling to watch. She wasn’t even red in the face. Titters of conversation moved over the room as her lung capacity sunk in.
“Right. Abbot, Hannah? Hi.” And then it began. Moving slowly down the list, Professor Demival greeting each student, and seemingly memorizing who they were. “Potter, Harry? Hi.” She frowned, “Is that the Harry Potter by any chance? Well, you must be since no one else in the school has your name. Sorry if I’m a bit behind the times, Australia had bit of an isolationist era lately. I heard that you ran a Defense Training Club last year. When we start demonstrations you’ll be helping me.” And then she continued on, as though Harry wasn’t a murdering traitorous bastard, a disgrace to the wizarding world.
Alright, that was odd, He thought. Demival finished the roll, and started running the class through basic spell work, still smiling, and commenting by name.
The three and a half hour class passed quickly, and again Harry tried to slip out first. In the hall though, someone had set off a Weasley Wizarding Wheeze’s Portable Swamp, and traffic was at a standstill while various spells were tried.
In the background, in the classroom, he could hear Ron and Hermione talking to Demival.
“You can’t trust him Professor. He’s a murderer and he’s a traitor. If you let him demonstrate the spells, someone could get hurt, killed even.” Hermione was explaining as though it were common knowledge.
“I’d heard rumors, but nothing substantial. After everything that boy has done at this school—I looked at his records—there is no reason for you not to trust him.”
Ron laughed, and then grunted, Hermione had probably hit him, and she spoke again, “Professor, with all due respect, you don’t understand. He was one our friend for a long time, but I know what he is capable of, and I have to recommend that you use another student for your demonstrations.”
“I thought you said he was your friend?”
“That thing is not my friend. The boy that was my friend died the night that he betrayed us. Our friendship is dead.” Harry could hear the contempt, the hatred in Ron’s voice.
“Are you going to use another student or not Professor?”
“Ms. Granger, I will take into account what you and Mr. Weasley have said, but right now I recommended that you go to your next class.” Harry ducked out of the way. The swamp had cleared and the hall was now empty. They walked a few steps out of the door before Ron found her hand, and they began Harry-bashing again.
Harry himself walked the other direction, towards the library, prepared to find a copy of the Traitor by Association Act. Madame Pince informed him curtly that she had no more copies of the document, and then kicked him out of the library. “This library has no place for traitors.”
>=====<
Harry felt sick. He had lost his appetite hours earlier, and had resorted to leaning against the tree at the edge of the lake, wishing he had anyone he could talk to openly. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the lake, reflecting in gold over the ripples. The sky was stained red at the horizon, fading up through oranges and yellows, leaving the bottom of the clouds pink and the top was a dusky blue.
“I’m not sure how killing a known Death-Eater and training as hard as possible so that I can have a chance at saving the world managed to piss off so many people, but it did work well, Dad. That cannot be denied. Of course, there is something odd about the fact that the only person I trust happens to be the dire enemy of the people I loved the most. This is me we’re talking about though; weird is to be expected then.
“Dammit but I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Sirius. Most of today I just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry myself to sleep, but that isn’t an option. I have to keep fighting, I have to keep training, I don’t ever get to stop. Well, not until either Tom or I is dead. What a lovely fate. And now Remus…I just don’t know what to do, what to think. They’re calling me a traitor, when all I’ve done is work to help them. It’s a bit hypocritical of them don’t you think? Look at what they’ve done, and you’ll see. If I’m a traitor then they certainly are too.
“I just wish they’d stop saying it so much.” He wiped away a tear before it could fall. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect, I’m sorry I’m not doing all this the way it should be done. I’m sorry everyone hates you both. I wish they didn’t hate me. Damn, but why don’t I ever get to be happy?”
The sun was nearly set, the warm glow vanishing from the air, the soft touch vanishing from his skin. He pulled out his wand and closed his eyes, he remember Sirius’ face at Grimauld Place over Christmas, smiling and full of life, Remus behind him. Both of them trusting him. The Order standing up for him. The warm glow inside him knowing that he had something to fight for. Remembering the feeling of that people loved him.
He whispered the incantation, and a pale stag appeared before him. His father’s form knelt at his side, watching him with loving eyes, and letting him feel the calm of a comforting presence. Harry reached out a hand. His fingers brushed against the stag’s nose.
It began to dissipate, dissolving into mist as Harry lost his grip on his happy memories of happiness. The last of the mist whisked away with the last of the sun’s rays. He sat in the darkness, waiting for the stars.
“Why don’t I ever get to be happy?”